The Soul Room (16 page)

As soon as he opened the door, a delightful blast of cool air sprang up
from the gloom. He reached for a light and a steep flight of worn stone steps
sprang into vision. We descended, and again I was led through more corridors; I
was trying hard to remember the turns but it was difficult. The air was still
and strangely scented – dust, old wood, a vague fruity smell – but there was no
mustiness.

‘I used to make myself come down here, as a dare.’ Collette’s clear high
voice echoed down the corridor. ‘I was so scared sometimes, but each time, I
would make myself go further.’

Fabrizio put his arm around his daughter’s shoulders and pulled her
towards him. ‘You always were my brave
bambina
.’

Finally the corridor we were in came to an end, with two doors, facing
one another. The one we were opening, Fabrizio told me, led to the main
domestic cellars. The second door was smaller than the other and looked even
older than the one we had come through.

‘The other door, where does that lead? It looks very old.’

He glanced quickly over his shoulder. ‘Oh, that one. It goes nowhere; to
a couple of store-rooms and passages that were used for bringing provisions
into the house at inconvenient times - so that the family weren’t disturbed.

‘Ah.’ I nodded. I intended to open it and have a quick look – much in the
way that you have a peak in a new friend’s bedroom when you go to the loo. I
rested my hand nonchalantly on the ancient handle and then two things happened
at once. The first was that my baby aimed a ferocious kick at the underside of
my ribs, so hard that I felt the top of my belly distend, and the second was
that Fabrizio – far louder than I think he intended – said ‘No! It is locked.’
With a deep, slow, silent intake of breath I managed to hide my response to
both and instead shrugged and smiled at Mr Amarena.

Collette took my hand. ‘It is this way for the wine cellar Maddie.’ She
pulled me gently away from the old door and down the corridor. We turned left
then right and into a low-ceilinged room with a stone-flagged floor. The walls
were lined with bottles of wine, from floor to ceiling.

‘Ha, here it is.’ Fabrizio removed a small slim bottle filled with
honey-coloured liquid from one of the shelves and blew the dust off it. ‘It is
very fine, possibly it will be the best you have tasted.’

I realised that wine, and pride at least, were two of Fabrizio’s weak
points.

The rest of the
meal passed without incident and I knew that I could call on tiredness at any
time if I wanted to leave in a hurry. There was no need though, and I returned
to Nonna’s just after 11. She had gone to bed but left a note and a pan of
sweet, slightly spiced milk on the stove for me. She warned me in the note that
storms were on the way – I had sensed them already on the ride back with
Fabrizio. Despite the warmth, the hairs on my arms had risen with static, and
there was a faint smell of burnt sugar in the air.

I went to bed, drank my milk and tried to sleep. The day kept playing
through my mind though, my thoughts dipping in and out of all that had
happened, searching for anything that could possibly link the Amarena’s with
Dan.  I found my thoughts stopping regularly on the storage rooms that Mr
Amarena had alluded to. They were linked to the house and the grounds. They were
so deep in the Terranima earth that they would be an ideal place to hide
something, or
someone.
I knew it was irrational to think that Fabrizio,
a respected and prosperous businessman, had anything to do with Dan’s
disappearance. I had no reason or evidence to suggest it, just a slight feeling
of general unease and mistrust. I couldn’t stop my imagination exploring these
passageways; adrenalin coursed through me and made me want to leap out of the
bed that minute and go and investigate them.

I breathed deeply and tried to calm myself. I wasn’t the only person I
needed to consider any more. There was a small life inside me, totally
dependent on me to keep it safe.  I would have to bide my time, find some kind
of proof to make it clear that the risk was worth it. As often happened at the
end of the day, the baby started to kick and squirm. I stroked my belly
affectionately, feeling the changes in skin tension – the ripples and gentle
distending. It was always a comfort to feel him in this way, to have the reassurance
that he was strong and well. Sometimes the kicks and movements were so intense
I felt sure that he was already keen to be born and the thought scared me and
motivated me in equal measure.

I sighed and changed position. As I did so, the whole atmosphere in the
room changed quite suddenly. The air became denser and hotter, and the Cicadas
started to screech hysterically in the long dry grasses below the window. It
reminded me of another evening, here in Terranima, when a thunder storm had
woken me up and I had listened in to my parents and the Amarenas talking in the
garden outside.

I decided that sleep at that moment was a lost cause, and hauled myself
inelegantly out of the bed. I rummaged through my suitcase and found my Mum’s
diary. I had been meaning to finish it for weeks. I had surprised myself by not
reading it in one sitting; but it was hard work emotionally - to hear those
private words come out of the world of the dead. I had to steel myself before
each reading and so it had been slow-going.

The bedroom had lovely old French doors, leading out onto a small covered
balcony which sat snugly over the front door. There was a rickety but pretty
wrought iron chair and small table there; I fetched the pillows from the bed
and tried to make myself comfortable. The sky had split in two. The top half
was thick, impenetrable black cloud; the bottom half, strangely back-lit with
peach coloured light. The air buzzed. Then the storm started, streaks of
lightning laced the sky; some thick, like molten fissures in the air, others as
thin and delicate as a spider’s leg. Great claps of rough, dry thunder
followed, but there was no rain. I watched, mesmerised for several minutes,
then eventually my mind drew down to the diary in my lap - the one disguised as
a Dickens novel.

I was about three-quarters of the way through. At the last sitting I had
read June and July, the daily trials and tribulations of my mum’s life,
affectionate little stories about my antics (all of which made me cry) and
regular references about the much anticipated holiday in Italy. It also became
clear in the diary that she had moments of ambivalence and doubt about her
relationship with Dad. This hurt me. I had never seen any sign of it in my
childhood, had never suspected. I had struggled to forgive Dad after his
confession to an affair on the day of Mum’s death. It had taken me a long time,
and more life experience of my own, to accept that I had no right to judge him.
My mum’s feelings expressed in her diary, made me forgive him a little bit
more.

I had to confront the fact that my mum was consummate at hiding her
feelings, that she maybe saw Dad sometimes as a compromise, always fearing that
there was someone better around the corner that she had missed out on. Yet they
managed to stay together, throughout it all, and always presented to Dan and
me, a partnership that seemed based on mutual affection and respect. Did
something happen that forced them both to start talking and sort their
relationship out? Did Dad stop feeling lonely?

I went back into the room and fetched a tissue and a candle. The storm
was slowly moving on and the air had become darker and fresher. The candle
burned brightly, the air was extraordinarily still considering the tumultuous
clash of
ions
that had recently taken place,
so it cast plenty of light to read by. The Cicadas had also ceased their atonal
accompaniment, and a new peace settled over the house; the storm now a distant
glow on the dark edges of the horizon. I opened the diary and started to read.

AUGUST 3
^RD

At last, today is the
day! We fly to Rome to be picked up by Fabrizio and Rosa. Maddie is electric
with excitement and has packed her own little suitcase for the plane; felt
tips, a little pad, her favourite teddy, a pack of Cadbury’s chocolate fingers,
a couple of Mr Men books and two matchbox cars! I do hope it’s not too big to
be counted as hand luggage. The taxi is here so I’ll sign off for now. It’s a
beautiful day outside though very hot so it’s bound to be scorching in
Terranima.

The next few entries were mainly records of what we
got up to on the holiday – happy days spent exploring the vineyard, having
picnics, bemoaning hangovers after long dinners on the terrace, staying out
until the sun rose. Then I read the entry for Sunday August 20
^th
.

Oh dear God. What am I to do? I’m not religious, I
never have been religious, but it’s what keeps going through my head, oh dear
God, oh dear God. I can hardly bear to write this in my diary but I know I
must. I’ve got to tell it somewhere or I’ll go mad. It would come out somehow
and I have vowed that I never, never want that to happen. I want to bury it,
here and now in these pages. These pages are it’s coffin, and if there is one
good thing to come out of this horror, it is that I see what a fool I have
been, what an arrogant, vain fool; and I make an oath right now to start to
cherish my husband again as I used to; to love him and talk to him and open up
to him. Except for this. He must never,
ever
know about this.

I don’t know how I am going to write this down, how I
can with all the revulsion and anger and guilt that is swarming inside me. As
an old friend once said, ‘just say it’.

Ever since we arrived I’ve noticed that Fabrizio has been paying me
extra attention.  Little things that other people wouldn’t notice – long looks,
thoughtful little compliments and observations, delicate physical attentions,
like taking my hand to help me down the last few stairs, his hand on my back to
guide me – that kind of thing. I have to admit that I had found this immensely
flattering, and that after a couple of weeks of this treatment I fancied myself
a little in love with him. He is, or at least until yesterday I thought him, a
very handsome man. There is also a power about him that made him very
attractive, not just the power implicit in his build and strength, but in his
manner and confidence too. It is no excuse for allowing this to continue, but I
have felt bereft on the romantic front for a long time.

Duncan long since forgot to tell me if he thinks I
look nice, to stroke my hair like he used to. I’ve allowed these things to
build up into resentment, and that resentment allowed me to indulge in
Fabrizio's attentions blindly. Even to start to seek them and miss them if they
weren’t given. I told myself that I deserved them – that I was still a woman
and a desirable one at that, and that if Duncan wasn’t careful he would end up
losing me. I was so caught up in this, the glamour and excitement of it that I
didn’t really stop to think of the consequences – of the hurt to Duncan and
Rosa, and poor little Maddie. I was blinded. Until yesterday.

Two nights ago, after dinner, when Rosa had taken
Duncan to the stables to show him her new horse, Fabrizio declared himself to
me. He was feverish and insistent. He held my hands and rested his forehead on
mine. He told me he was in love with me, that I was the most beautiful woman he
had ever known, that he would fight to win me. That I must make excuses and
meet him at one of the old barns on the estate the next day at 2pm. I was blown
away, we kissed, my heart raced. I hadn’t felt like that for twelve years. It
was utterly intoxicating and utterly irresistible. We kissed, my insides went
to jelly, it felt right. We stopped in time before Rosa and Duncan reappeared.
That night I couldn’t sleep, I was caught in a fit of ecstasy and anxiety. I
made love to Duncan and then felt aghast with guilt as I had only done it to
release the desire built up by Fabrizio’s caresses.

The next day I was hungover and felt a little
guilty and subdued. But my heart still leapt when I saw Fabrizio. I told myself
that I hadn’t done anything yet – not really – and I owed it to myself and
Fabrizio to see if we were meant to be together. I would make sure I didn’t go
too far, but by the same token I wasn’t going to give up on something that
could give me a whole new chance at happiness, at least not yet. So I went to
meet Fabrizio. He was as passionate and eloquent as the night before. We held
each other and kissed, and then, imperceptibly something changed. He started to
caress my breasts through my dress, his kiss became harder, more insistent. I
felt myself on a precipice, poised between wanting it and not wanting it. His
grip on my breast became harder. One of my hands was under his shoulder and
behind his back. The other he pinned behind me with his spare hand and bent me
backwards. It was uncomfortable, I tried to speak but his mouth was still
clamped on mine. His hand moved down between my legs, that was when I managed
to twist my head free. I had gone over the precipice, I didn’t want it. I told
him so, I struggled. He held me tighter. ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ He said to me,
laughing. ‘Of course you want it. You wore that dress when you knew I could see
your nipples through it. You become aroused every time you see me, every time I
so much as touch you. Even now,’ he slid his hand roughly into my knickers and
brought his fingers out, glistening, I gagged with shame. ‘It makes no
difference!’ I managed to say. ‘I was attracted to you, but I don’t want it
now. I don’t want
you
now, let me go.’ That made him angry. He pushed me
onto the floor, now holding both my hands pinned behind my back and raped me. I
don’t know for how long. I cried and struggled but his face was cold and showed
no mercy and no shame. When he’d finished he got up and wiped himself. I lashed
out at him, kicked his legs, but he just laughed and walked out into the
vineyard. Somehow I got back to the house, managed to get in and shower before
anybody saw me. Thank God Maddie was out with Colette, even just seeing her
would have broken my defences completely. Later, Duncan came in and found me
packing. ‘So you’ve heard already then?’ he said. I couldn't speak and could
hardly bear to look at his kind familiar face. ‘Apparently  some business
emergency has come up.  Fabrizio and Rosa have to go to Connegliano.  They’ve
booked us flights home.’