Venetian Masquerade (16 page)

The idea of Christmas with both his parents was a great spur to the little boy, and he began to improve radically. He grew stronger and his headaches faded away, although he still got tired very quickly.

“He’s been lucky,” said the doctor. “In truth, I thought we might lose him, but he has a fighting spirit, and in a couple of weeks, he will have more or less forgotten all about this.”

Amy and Alessandro spent the last two days before Christmas decorating the house, putting up an enormous Christmas tree, and buying presents. Amy chose lots of small things for Alessandro, including a CD of the Vivaldi which had touched her so deeply at the concert in Venice. Then, the day before Christmas Eve, having spent a restless night thinking about what she had to do, Amy made an excuse to escape from the house and asked to borrow the car and Franco, Alessandro’s chauffeur.

“Where are you going?” asked Alessandro.

“Just shopping,” she replied, crossing her fingers, and as he nodded and disappeared into his study to answer the phone, she climbed into the car and asked Franco to take her to Giovanni’s home.

As they approached the exclusive house, which actually looked more like a palace, she almost changed her mind. The security guard, recognizing Alessandro’s car, let them into the vast grounds, and then it was too late; there was no going back. The huge, oak front door opened as the car drew up outside, and a flunky came to open the car door, expecting to see Alessandro.

“You have an appointment?” he asked, puzzled.

“No. But I would like to see
Signor
and
Signora
di Benedetto. It’s very important.”

Doubtfully, he asked her name and allowed her into the hallway—a vast atrium with a glass roof through which sunlight streamed onto marble tiles, Persian rugs, and a wide curved staircase descending past portraits of ancestral di Benedettos. It was awesome, like a Hollywood set. If Alessandro’s house seemed rather austere, this place was like a museum. It echoed his footsteps as the manservant walked away.

A few moments later, he returned and asked her to follow him into surprisingly cozy room with a log fire burning in the grate. Giovanni was seated in a chair, and his wife Dolores rose from the sofa to inspect Amy as she stood in front of them.

“
Signorina
Hamilton. What can we do for you?” she demanded.

“You don’t remember me, do you?” Amy asked softly.

“I…yes…yes, indeed.” For a few seconds, she looked uncomfortable, but then with a gesture, she invited Amy to sit down. “You have caused us much distress, young lady.”

“And you separated me from Alessandro by telling lies. Thanks to you, my son has only just met his father.”

“Your son? Oh, dear God, she has set the oldest trap in the book. So now you have reappeared to claim vast sums of money from Alessandro?”

“I have no need of money from him. If that had been my aim, I would hardly have stayed away for nearly six years, would I?” she snapped, trying to keep calm. Clearly, there were good reasons why Alessandro avoided his mother. “I came here thinking that perhaps you might like to get to know your grandson and hoping that there might be reconciliation with Alessandro. I came to invite you to spend Christmas day with us, but obviously, I made a great mistake. I’m very sorry to have bothered you.”

She turned to leave, but Giovanni suddenly called her back. His face was contorted slightly, and he had great difficulty speaking. Reluctantly, she turned to face him.

“Young lady…please.” He held out a gnarled hand, and slowly, she went towards him. “I have a grandson? I can’t believe it.”

“Yes,
Signor
, you do,” she replied gently, taking his proffered hand. “He is five, and his name is James. We live in Venice. Would you like to see a photograph?”

“I would.” His rheumy eyes begged her, and she pulled out of her bag a picture of James, riding his bike around the garden, laughing at the camera, his eyes alight with mischief. “He is so like Alessandro…see, Dolores.” Shakily, he passed her the picture, and she gave a bad-tempered sigh as she took it from him and stared silently at the image.

“History repeats itself,” she said through gritted teeth, and with a loud derisory sniff, she stuffed the picture back into Giovanni’s hand and abruptly left the room.

“Sit with me…
Signorina
.”

“My name is Amy,” she told him.

“Amy. I did you both a great wrong.”

“Yes, you did.”

“Can you forgive me?”

“Yes,
Signor
, for the sake of my son, and for Alessandro. That is why I came. James almost died this week from meningitis, and he is still in hospital. It made me realize that he might never have had a chance to meet his family.”

“Alessandro may never forgive me,” he told her sadly.

“I am sure he will.” She rose and walked to the door. “The invitation for Christmas day still stands. Lunch will be at two o’clock.”

“Amy, thank you,” he called after her as she slipped out of the room.

“Franco, that visit was secret between you and me. I just hope I did the right thing,” she said to the chauffeur, getting back into the car.

As it grew dark on Christmas Eve, they were finally able to go to the hospital to collect James. Alessandro carried him to the car and gently strapped him in. He was happy and excited, and there was a sparkle back in his eyes, lifting Amy’s spirits. As the car approached the house, James gave a shriek of delight as he saw the twinkling lights adorning the garden, and as they carried him inside to see the Christmas tree, he beamed with pleasure.

Lucia had prepared a traditional Christmas Eve meal of fish and seafood, to honor the apostles who, she told them, were fishers of men. But just before they went in to eat, there was the sound of music from outside.

“What’s that?” asked James.

“Come and see.” Alessandro took him to the front door.

Outside, the
zampognari
, folk bagpipers, had come to play the Christmas songs
Cantata dei Pastori
and
Gesu Bambino
for James, before moving on to the Piazza Navona, where they would give their Christmas concert. The little boy was enchanted, and Amy was overcome at such a lovely gesture.

James went to bed soon after dinner and snuggled into his duvet with Teddy. They had decided to exchange Christmas presents the next day, as the child had so much excitement already. Alessandro stayed to tell him a story before coming downstairs and pulling Amy onto his lap on the sofa. The only light in the room was a glow from the fire and a shaft of moonlight through the window, and for a while, she just wrapped her arms around him, soaking up the scent of his hair, the firmness of his body, the exquisite pleasure of just being so close to him. But she knew it had to end soon.

“We have to go back to Venice in a couple of days,” she told him. “I can’t leave Gabriel and Sonya to organize everything. There will be a gala night at the beginning of the Venice Carnival, so I have a big event to plan—and,” she added with a huge smile, “I am going to indulge myself with the most beautiful costume I can find.”

“Am I invited?” he asked.

“Of course. But you must also come in costume.”

“You won’t recognize me!” he promised with a laugh. “But I have commitments I can’t avoid, Amy, and since I have a duty of care to my clients’ money, I’m afraid I won’t be able to come to Venice for a couple of weeks.”

She was crestfallen. Since hearing him tell James that he would never be parted from them again, she had been wondering what he had in mind, and somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to ask. Living in Rome was not a possibility for her; she wasn’t comfortable there and knew the social circle in which Alessandro’s family moved would be closed to her. Not that she could imagine being a part of the rich set that spent their lives gossiping and sleeping with each other’s husbands and wives. Amy was happy in Venice, and more importantly, so was James. He would be devastated to be moved again away from the friends who had become his extended family. But clearly, Alessandro’s business and home were in Rome, so she concluded with regret, there seemed little chance that they could ever live together permanently. It had been a promise to James he clearly would not be able to keep.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

“Oh, just thinking ahead to how much work I have to do before the hotel opens,” she lied.

“I was thinking of more romantic things,” he whispered, kissing her very thoroughly. “The soft moonlight falling through the window on your face makes you look just like a Bellini angel.”

“I don’t actually feel very angelic,” she teased him, sliding a hand down his body and causing him to gasp.

“I think it’s time for an early night, don’t you?” Taking her hand, he led her to his bed, where once again, the night passed with very little sleep for either of them.

Chapter Thirteen

C
hristmas day dawned fair, and Amy woke to find herself blissfully wrapped around Alessandro. He opened his eyes at the same moment and pulled her into an even deeper embrace.

Just then, the door creaked open, and they both turned their heads to see James, shyly peeping around it. He looked a little confused to find his mother in the wrong bedroom, but since his main ambition was to be allowed to open his presents, he made no comment other than to ask when they were coming downstairs.

Half an hour later, they gathered round the Christmas tree and watched as he excitedly pulled the wrapping off a complete train set, a computer game console, and a radio-controlled car.

While he was happily entertained, Amy and Alessandro drifted into the kitchen to make breakfast and exchanged their own gifts. As well as the Vivaldi CD, the significance of which Amy intended to explain in bed later, she had bought him an adult-sized Juventus shirt with a number ten on the back. “I can’t wait to see you both wearing your shirts to a match.” She giggled. “Seriously, I have no idea what to buy the man who already has everything.”

He kissed her and held her tenderly. “My darling, I didn’t have everything until a few weeks ago when you and James came back into my life. I want for nothing more.”

Alessandro then produced a small box for Amy. She unwrapped it and discovered the most exquisite emerald and diamond earrings, which must have cost a fortune.

“Thank you. They’re lovely. I’ll wear them later.” Her heart began to pound as she wondered whether Giovanni and Dolores would accept her invitation to lunch—and whether Alessandro would be furious with her.
Well, it’s make or break time.

Alessandro spent the morning with James putting together the train set in the lovely conservatory while Amy passed the morning in a fever of cooking and preparing a traditional Christmas day lunch of Parma ham with salami and olives, followed by an egg soup and then a selection of roast meats and vegetables. Lucia came to help before going off to join her own family, and by two o’clock, everything was finally ready. The table gleamed with silver and candles, and Amy could hardly contain her tension, waiting to see whether Alessandro’s parents would arrive. The clock ticked on, and at two fifteen, she decided they were not coming and went to remove two place settings from the table before dragging Alessandro and James away from the toys.

“Lunch is ready. James, go and wash your hands, please.”

Just then, there was a crunch of gravel on the drive and a large limousine pulled up outside the house.

“What the…” Alessandro went to the window, and his face darkened with fury as he watched the chauffeur help his parents from the car. “Amy…did you invite them?” he demanded.

“Yes, I did—please don’t be angry—because it’s time to draw a line under what happened. James needs to know his family—and you need to make friends with your father before he dies.”

“It was not your place to arrange this,” he growled.

“I think it was. I was wronged as much as you because I was left with a child to bring up on my own, but if I can forgive them, so can you.” She faced him, her chin raised and eyes sparkling with determination.

“Amy, this is unforgivable interference.” For a moment, he glared at her and then turned on his heel and went to open the front door.

Nervously, Amy waited in the living room, and a few moments later, Alessandro drew his parents into the room. Giovanni, in a wheelchair, looked very pale and ill. Amy went to him and took his hand while Dolores looked on from the doorway.

“I’m so glad you decided to come. Alessandro, could you fix some drinks, please? I left a tray in the kitchen.”

With a curt nod, he left the room and returned a few moments later bearing a bottle of champagne and glasses. Silently, he popped the cork, poured the wine, and passed the flutes to Amy and his parents.

“I need to tell you, Alessandro, that I am sorry,” said Giovanni in a querulous voice. “I manipulated both of you, and I don’t deserve your forgiveness. But I am a sick old man and I don’t want to die without seeing you—and my grandson.”

Alessandro stood silently for a moment, then went to his father, knelt down, and put his arms around him. “It is over, Papa. We are friends and you are welcome in my house.”