The Untouchable (33 page)

Too tight, too fast, too close to the edge. A light touch, a wobble, and Marco, lucky, in the middle, sprang free. Brief and breathtaking. The championship all his, in two seconds. He blasted ahead to the chequered flag, leaving the other two to clash handlebars in the vacuum he’d left behind.

***

Once the champagne had cascaded, and the accolades and celebrations complete, Marco kicked back and turned his full attention to getting married.

“Somewhere really cold, so my ankles behave,” Rosemary pleaded, making him inspect them for swelling. There wasn’t any, but she didn’t believe him.

They married in a luxury chalet in a hamlet in the French Alps, the snow thick and white outside, closeting them in warmth and love as they exchanged vows with only a very special few present.

An hour before the wedding, Marco, dressed and ready, slipped away from Zavi, the best man, and went upstairs to the suite. There, he found Lucy, Fiona’s cousin—award-winning dressmaker, apparently—about to dress Rosemary, who stood, partially obscured by a giant arrangement of white flowers, in
front of a full-length mirror. She wore only pale blue lace lingerie, including stockings, with a garter of blue roses around her right thigh.

“Shoo, at once!” they cried, turning on him, flapping their hands to drive him out. “You’re not supposed to see.”

“Where’s Zavi?” Lucy frowned. “He’s not doing his job very well.”

“To be fair, I escaped where he couldn’t follow.”

Lucy’s eyes blazed holes in him. “That’s really mean!”

“Do me a big favour.” He smiled. “Please go downstairs and console him. I’ll only be a minute.”

Cross, she went.

“Bad boy, Marco.” Rosemary swathed herself in a giant towelling robe, unfortunately, and walked across the carpet to give him a kiss. “Mind my hair,” she said, her voice muffled by his hug.

“I have something for you.”

“Oh?”

He let her go and put a hand into the inside pocket of his jacket. Out came a flat blue leather box with the monogram
DD
stamped in gold.

“They’re really from my father, but he wanted me to give them to you.”

She took the box, opened it and gasped, “Oh, but these are the earrings I saw in the painting…”

“Diamond and sapphire earrings my father’s father gave my mother on her wedding day. They’re yours now.” He lifted them out of the box and fastened them to her earlobes, breathing her fragrance.

She turned to the mirror and he followed, standing behind her, his arms around her, his hands on her tummy.

“Beautiful!” she said.

He kissed her neck. “You are.”

She laughed. “I mean the earrings! Thank you, they’re exquisite.” She touched the leather box. “There’s something else here, wrapped in tissue.”

“Yes.”

She lifted it. “What is it?” She undid the paper and a giant, rusty key fell into her hand. “What is this?”

“The key to a sad old house in Bargemon.”

“Oh, Marco!”

“Don’t cry. Lucy will kill me if you smudge anything.”

She blinked, meeting the reflection of his eyes. “How did you know to wear a blue shirt?”

“Lucy told me to. She rejected the first two I bought.” He grinned. “I must go.” He released her and went to the door. “Who are the flowers from?” He pointed at the arrangement, his other hand on the doorknob.

“Lily.”

“Lily?”

“Your ex. Leo’s mother.”

“You are Leo’s mother.”

“Lily will always be Leo’s mother. For his sake, for his future happiness, be civil to her, at least.”

“
She’s coming to the wedding
?”

“Of course not, silly. She heard from your sister that we were getting married, so she sent flowers.”

Marco opened his mouth to object but she cut him off. “And your sister will be here. At the wedding.”

“Alessandra?”

“Isn’t she the only sister you’ve got?”

His eyes darkened. “But we haven’t spoken for a year. Why did you invite her?”

“You said the guest list was up to me, that you weren’t interested. Zavi was going to tell you, just before the ceremony, so you couldn’t make a fuss, but because you barged in on me, you saw the flowers and I had to tell you about Lily. I went for broke and told you about Alessandra as well.”

Marco stared at her, dumbfounded. After a moment he said, “Any other surprises?”

“No, and take that rebellious look off your face. I’m not going into this marriage with hatchets waving.” A tiny frown wrinkled her forehead.

“Okay,” he managed. She came to him and stood very close, her scent, his favourite smell, invading his head. Briefly, he closed his eyes, standing on a road one year ago, next to his Ninja, talking to Ricky, and then walking to the car and bending to talk to her through the window. Seeing her face for the first time. “Okay.”

“Promise?”

“Not fair. You could make me promise anything right now.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

She kissed him and gave him a little push. “There. Off you go.”

***

After the ceremony and the initial flurry of congratulations and kisses, after he had taken Rosemary’s shoes off her feet, elegant pale blue leather with jeweled heels, beautiful, but far too high for a woman carrying not only her own weight but that of two nearly fully-grown babies, Marco withdrew to the side of the room, away from the blazing fire, into candlelit shadows near the bar. In the next room, he could see tables laid with linen and silver, heavy crystal glasses, candles and tall, slender vases of flowers. The resultant beauty of Rosemary’s efforts to make everything perfect brought an ache to his eyes.

She spoke to his father, turning her head from side to side so he could admire the earrings, a perfect match to the colour of her wedding dress. Lucy had draped, tucked and stitched many, many yards of blue silk into an exquisite garment that turned Rosemary, with her dark hair piled on her head, into a Greek goddess, regal, beautiful, and fecund, all at once. It was impossible to stop looking at her.

He dragged his eyes, shot with tears, off her, to watch Zavi. He sat beside Lucy, who perched on the arm of a chair, laughing at something he said with her head thrown back. All the elegant restraint she had applied to Rosemary’s dress had run feral in hers, an extraordinary explosion of golden colours and textures. Marco saw her lean forward, smiling, to touch Zavi’s arm.

“Marco?”

He started. Rosemary had come to stand next to him. “You’re miles away,” she said, stroking his cheek.

“I am.”

“Isn’t it lovely?”

He kissed her. “It’s the loveliest wedding I’ve been to.”

Epilogue

Marco sprawled in an armchair, alone in the parents’ room of the maternity wing of the Saint Theodore Clinic, drinking coffee. He’d hoped never to see the insides of the place again, but here he was, and delighted to be here at that, proud father of two, three counting Leo. The sister had suggested he take half an hour to shower and shave before returning to the ward to visit Rosemary, Baby One, the boy, and Baby Two the girl—younger by six minutes and four seconds. At the door of the washroom, towel in hand, he’d stopped himself. He went to sit down, wanting to live in the moment a little longer.

Eleven p.m. He’d wait to be called, spend a little time with Rosemary, and then go home for a shower and a sleep. He’d be up early with Leo to tell him the news and bring him to the hospital to see his mother and siblings. Leo would enjoy that, like he enjoyed everything.

But for now, Marco wanted to sit quietly, alone, and think. Think about the recent amazing months of his life, and think about what he had just seen: two tiny human beings lifted from his wife’s body.

He closed his eyes, drifted, and let go. They’d honeymooned in the same chalet where they’d married, once the guests had left and Ricky and Mel had taken Leo back to Villa Diana. Marco skied the lower slopes early in the mornings while Rosemary slept and had breakfast in bed. She laughed at his silly woolly hat with plaits and had thrown a mean snowball at it when he’d told her she was pretty much snowball-shaped herself. It hit him on the forehead, dead centre, and melted snow ran into his eyes. He’d grabbed her, kissed her, over and over, wetting her face. Honeymoon done, they’d driven straight to St Theodore’s, on Hollingberry’s insistence.

Marco dozed. Sometime later, voices in the passage woke him. He stood, stretched, and went for a second coffee.

“Mr. Dallariva?”

“Yes?” Abandoning the coffee, he turned to the door.

“Mrs. Dallariva is ready now,” the nurse said, “with the babies. You can go back in and see her.”

She led him to a ward where Rosemary lay supported by a mountain of pillows, the babies in a crib at her side. He picked one up and the nurse handed him the second, no more than two handfuls of tiny, dark-haired baby. She left, closing the door.

Marco sat on the bed and marvelled. “How are you so clever,” he asked, “to grow such beautiful babies?”

“You did your wonderful part.” Rosemary rested a hand on his arm. “We need to choose names. What are your family names?”

“My grandmothers were Sophia and Raffaella, my grandfathers’ Leonardo and Roberto.”

“I love those names, but what about Diana and Federico, after your mother and Frederick?”

“Does this mean you’ve you forgiven Frederick for not loving you the way you wanted him to?

“Yes, because he gave me something precious in the end.” She smiled. “He gave me you.”

Marco leaned forward, careful of the babies, and kissed her. “And he gave me you.”

“Yes.”

“So.” Marco looked down again at his children. “What about your mother’s name, Eve?”

“Maybe.”

Marco thought for a moment. “All right, let’s do it this way. You choose the girl’s name and I’ll choose the boy’s.”

“Deal.” Her eyes drooped.

“We’ll sleep on it and discuss in the morning.”

She nodded.

Marco stood up and put the babies back in the crib. He leaned over the bed and kissed Rosemary softly on the mouth. “I’m going home, to leave you to rest, but meanwhile, know that I love you, and this has been the most exciting day of my life.”

Rosy smiled, half asleep. “So far,” she murmured. “So far. But just you wait, Dallariva. Just you wait…”

THE END

Acknowledgements

A big, warm thank you to my readers. I appreciate every moment of your reading time and hope you’ve enjoyed the story. Thanks also to my super editor Cindy Davis who has taught me so many valuable lessons about writing, yet is still so kind and informative when I break the rules, over and over. And thank you to James, my cover designer, for his endless patience and fab final product.

This astonishing phenomenon called Moto GP! Where to start? Huge thanks to Julian Ryder and Toby Moody—those utterly brilliant presenters of motorsport— who commentated on the first race I ever watched (baptism by fire and heart failure come to mind), when living legend Valentino Rossi duelled with Casey Stoner in what turned out to be an iconic race at Laguna Seca. You guys were, are, the best ever and I have adapted—okay, borrowed—some of your humorous sayings in the story, followed by offerings of red velvet cake, to make it all right (I hope). Your humour and expertise made me a solid, lifetime fan of the sport.

Impossible to say which rider inspired me most over the seasons I’ve watched. There’s not one, across every class, who’s not passionate and brave. Talent and creativity applied at mind-blowing speeds, split seconds from disaster, literally take my breath away. I love them all. There’s a little piece of each one in this story—a team effort, I like to think.

To any purists who may read this book, please forgive me for bending the rules and playing havoc. Yes, I know there are no Moto GP races in eg. Rome and The Hague. On the one hand, I doubt one can tempt fate with words, but on the other, I don’t like to take chances.

Last but not least, thanks to long-suffering family and friends who are made to offer opinions on imaginary people living make-believe lives. Sincere thanks for taking me seriously.

References:

Ring of Fire,
Rick Broadbent, Bantam Press 2009

What if I had Never Tried
it
?” Valentino Rossi, Arrow Books 2006

Barry
Steve Parrish & Nick Harris, Sphere 2008

Moto GP Technology,
Neil Spalding, 2010

www.motogp.com

Faster
DVD, by Mark Neal, Sony Pictures 2003

Fastest
DVD, by Mark Neal, Universal 2012

TT Closer to the Edge
DVD, eone 2011