Lucy Gordon - Married Under the Italian Sun

Vittorio threw himself back on the bed, staring at the ceiling as though he could see his life being played out there, and Angel lay down beside him, with her head against his chest so that she could hear the deep, soft thunder of his heart. When he spoke it caused a soft vibration against her ear.

‘What happened today has happened before. I see him all the time, in crowds, at the end of streets, going into shops, only he’s never there when I follow him. Because he never is there, except in my mind. Sometimes I think I’ll spend the rest of my life chasing down endless roads that lead to nothing, or round and round in a maze that has no centre, and no exit.

‘But even if I did find him, what good would it do? The money’s gone. I’ll never get it back from him.’

‘You could hand him over to the police,’ she suggested.

‘For what? He didn’t commit a crime. He just arranged things so that the debts fell on me. It was legal. I’ve got no comeback.’

It was true. For the first time Angel understood the sheer blank nothingness that faced him.

She was all he had to defend himself from that nothingness. And suddenly she was afraid for him.

IN THE morning Angel made Vittorio breakfast in his minute kitchen, and they sat drinking coffee like an old married couple. They had passed the night in each other’s arms, not making love, but being comfortable.

‘Oh, by the way, we forgot these,’ she said, rummaging in her purse and producing the lottery tickets. ‘I’m not sure which one is yours any more.’

‘It doesn’t matter.’ He took one without looking. ‘When will we know if we’re millionaires?’

‘Tonight, I think.’

‘What do you want to do today?’

‘I don’t mind, as long as it isn’t energetic,’ she said, smiling. ‘And you’re there.’

They spent the morning on the beach, doing nothing much except being sleepy and content. In the afternoon they bought rolls and wine and took them back to his shabby home, where they spent the afternoon in sleepy contentment.

‘I could stay here for ever,’ she murmured.

‘So could I. But I suppose we have to go.’

‘Back to the world,’ she sighed. ‘I hate the world.’

He kissed her forehead. ‘Come on, let’s go.’

They arrived at the villa to find Sam in good spirits and Berta about to serve the evening meal. Watching Vittorio across the table, Angel was happy to see that he seemed relaxed, as though their peaceful time together had wiped out the despair of the day before.

‘Sam seems to have enjoyed his weekend,’ she observed quietly to Roy. ‘You were right about him needing his television.’

‘He’s got all tonight’s programmes marked out.’

‘Well, I want to watch the lottery programme.’

‘Have you had a flutter?’

‘You bet. I’m probably a millionaire by now.’

‘Let me get you another coffee,’ Roy said with comic deference.

‘Maybe a multi-millionaire,’ she teased.

‘In that case, two coffees and some cake.’

‘Vittorio’s got a ticket too,’ she said, laughing. ‘It would be a shame for you to waste your energies buttering me up if he’s going to be the millionaire.’

Frank’s eyes gleamed. ‘Vittorio, old friend,’ he declared, ‘why have I been neglecting you?’

Vittorio grinned, enjoying the joke, and everyone laughed. Sam declared that they would all watch the programme together, and at nine o’clock they gathered in front of the television. Even Berta and the maids crept in, refusing to miss the excitement.

‘What numbers are we looking for?’ Sam demanded.

They obediently read out from their tickets, and the opening credits of the show came up.

‘Quiet everyone!’ Sam insisted.

Almost at once it was clear that Vittorio had no hope, but Angel grew tense. The first number was hers, then the second, and the third, the fourth…

‘What do you need?’ Sam demanded in a stage whisper.

‘Fifty-four and eighty-seven,’ she said, hardly able to speak.

‘Fifty-four!’ came booming from the set, and everyone held their breath.

And the last one…

‘And finally, the number you’ve all been waiting for…’

‘Get on with it,’ Sam begged in agony.

‘Eighty-’ There was a collective intake of breath from everyone in the room.

‘Eighty-nine!’

The intake turned into a groan of disappointment.

‘So near and yet so far,’ Frank mourned.

Berta was the first to recover. ‘But signora, you will still be a winner-not millions, but you have five numbers. The last man who had five received twenty-thousand euros.’

‘In that case,’ Sam yelled, ‘let’s have some champagne.’

‘Twenty thousand,’ Angel murmured.

The next moment she grabbed Vittorio’s hand and dragged him out into the garden.

‘Twenty thousand,’ she said ecstatically. ‘You can get out of that dump where you live.’

‘But this money is yours.’

‘No, it’s ours. We bought the tickets together.’

‘You bought them.’

‘But you paid for your ticket,’ she argued.

‘It was your ticket that won.’

‘Who’s to say? I don’t even remember which numbers I picked for yours or mine, and then the tickets got dropped in the carriage, and there’s no way of knowing which one belongs to who. You’re probably the real winner.’

The look he gave her was as gentle as it was implacable, and she knew that she’d done this all wrong.

‘We divided the tickets and the winning numbers are yours,’ he said quietly.

‘But I want you to have this money. You need it.’

His voice was suddenly iron-hard. ‘Understand me once and for all, I will not take your charity.’

‘It isn’t charity. I told you.’

‘Yes, you were very clever in finding excuses to make me a gift of money, and if I had no pride I would let you.’

‘Look,’ Angel said, beginning to be desperate, for she could see she was against a brick wall. ‘I do understand about your pride-’

‘No, my dearest, you don’t understand at all. You think you do, but there’s no way you can even begin to understand.’

‘But this is me,’ she pleaded.

‘And you think I have no pride with you? You think I’d find it easier to take money from you than from anyone else?’

‘No, I suppose you’d find it harder,’ she said wretchedly.

‘Thank God you at least understand something. My pride seems a contemptible little thing to you, but it’s all I have. Let me at least keep that.’

‘After I took everything else from you. That’s what you mean, isn’t it?’

‘It wasn’t you who robbed me, I know. But now my pride is in your safekeeping and you must protect it for me. Only you can do so, and, if you don’t, then you will truly have destroyed me.’

She made a last effort.

‘All right. Half each. That’s fair.’

For a moment she thought she’d persuaded him, but then an iron curtain seemed to come down over his face and she knew how far apart they really were.

‘Please, Vittorio…’

He shook his head, gentle but unyielding.

‘Oh, damn you!’ she said, in tears.

He managed a smile then.

‘Yes, damn me,’ he said, touching her face. ‘I can’t say or do any of the things you want. I’m like a man with a leg missing. You’d gladly offer me a crutch but I can’t learn how to use it. You should forget me and find a nice, sweet-tempered man who can say everything you want to hear.’

‘I don’t want a nice, sweet-tempered man,’ she said, exasperated. ‘I want you.’

Vittorio even managed to laugh at that, but he was very pale, as though something was gnawing at him painfully inside.

‘You’d better get back,’ he said. ‘You can’t miss the celebrations.’

‘Come with me.’

‘No, I’d rather go home.’ He touched her face. ‘I’m sorry. I can only be the way I am.’

If he had shouted and cursed, Angel could have born it better than this sad resignation. It showed her something she had tried not to see. He had nothing, and she had everything that should be his, and perhaps the greatest love in the world would be too little to survive that.

He walked away around the curve of the house, without looking back. A moment later she heard his car starting up, then fading into the distance.

The next time she saw Vittorio he smiled and spoke to her pleasantly, but he wouldn’t let her refer to the subject again. When she tried he remembered something he had to do and vanished to a far point of the estate. To the casual eye all was well between them, but she knew that an abyss had opened up. Or perhaps it had always been there, and she had refused to see it.

He still came to the house to play chess with Sam, but she felt that he avoided being alone with her.

One evening, as they were just getting ready for supper and laughing over one of Sam’s more outrageous stories, Berta came into the room, looking concerned.

‘Signora, there is a man to see you. I asked his name, but he just says he knows you will be glad to see him.’

‘And that’s right, isn’t it, doll?’ said a voice from the doorway. ‘I haven’t forgotten you, and I just know you haven’t forgotten me.’

Everyone turned to see the swaggering creature standing there as though he owned the world, but only Vittorio spoke.

‘Mio Dio!’ he said. ‘“Ghastly Gavin.”’

A loud snort of laughter from Sam greeted this, while Roy and Frank smothered grins. Gavin wisely pretended not to notice. It gave Angel a moment to get over her first surprise and study him.

She’d thought she knew how he looked, but the magazine pictures had only partly prepared her. He was heavier, flabbier, with an unhealthy, pasty face that spoke of self-indulgence. At nineteen she had thought him fantastically gorgeous. Now there was just enough of that Adonis left amid the ruin to make her sad.

‘Hello Gavin,’ she said.

‘Angel!’ He approached her with his arms outstretched, voice throaty with emotion. ‘It’s been so long.’

‘Yes, hasn’t it?’ she said with faint amusement, before being swallowed up in an embrace that was so heavy with the cheapest brand of male cologne, nearly making her choke.

‘Sam!’ Gavin turned on him with even more fulsomeness, ready to embrace him too, but Sam was ready for him.

‘Get off!’ he spluttered. ‘Who are you? I don’t know you.’

‘Of course you know me. We used to be the best of friends.’

‘No, we didn’t. I don’t know you. And I don’t like you.’

‘Sure you do.’

‘Don’t you tell me what I like, young man. Keep away from me. You smell like a brothel.’

Gavin’s smile became a little frayed and Angel, deciding it was time she remembered her duty as hostess, hastily introduced Roy, Frank and Vittorio as ‘family friends’.

‘It’s lovely to see you again, Gavin,’ she lied. ‘But how do you come to be here?’

‘I was just passing and I knew my old friend Angel lived nearby, so I thought I’d drop in.’

It was so absurd that Angel almost laughed out loud, but instead contented herself with saying, ‘When you knew me I was Angela. I was never Angel to you.’

‘But I always thought you were an angel,’ he riposted quickly. ‘Do you think you and I could talk-privately?’

He invested the last word with a throaty emotion that was almost too much for her self-control.

‘I’m afraid not,’ she said firmly. ‘We’re about to have something to eat, but you’re welcome to join us.’

‘He damned well isn’t,’ Sam growled.

‘Come on, Sam,’ she coaxed. ‘He’s our guest.’

‘He’s no guest of mine. I don’t want him in the house.’

‘But it’s Angel’s house,’ Gavin said, smiling ferociously.

‘I wonder how you knew that,’ Vittorio mused aloud to no one in particular. ‘You must have been reading glossy magazines.’

‘Throw him out,’ Sam yelled.

‘I can’t send a guest on his way without something to eat,’ Angel protested.

‘All right, give him something to eat. Then throw him out.’

From the hall there came a cry and the sound of crockery hitting the floor. Angel turned to leave the room, but she was met at the door by Berta, who was flustered and annoyed.

‘Scusi, signora. Ella has had an accident in the hall and broken some plates, but it was not her fault as she fell over two suitcases that she didn’t know were there.’

‘No, of course it wasn’t her fault. Give Ella a glass of wine and tell her to sit down for a while.’

They had spoken Italian but when Angel turned back to face Gavin it was clear that he’d understood the gist.

‘I brought a few things with me,’ he said with a placating air. ‘I thought you might ask me to stay.’

‘Two suitcases?’ she enquired sweetly.

‘I’m a snappy dresser.’