‘Mum’s as stubborn as a mule. Give her an ultimatum and she’s off in the other direction. You should have played along with her.’

‘Settled for an affair because she thought I was too young?’

‘That was just talk,’ Sol declared, with the wisdom of twenty-one. ‘Once she’d got used to living with you she’d have seen that you were right. When the time came to leave she wouldn’t have been able to. You’d have been married by now.’

The truth of this was so blindingly obvious that Carlo nearly burst out laughing.

‘If anyone had told me that I’d be sitting here taking advice from you,’ he murmured, ‘I’d never have believed them.’

At the gate he clapped Sol on the shoulder.

‘Good luck,’ he said. ‘See you again soon.’

It was Hope who took over the arrangements for the day Della left hospital. When she heard that Carlo planned to take her to his apartment she vetoed the idea without hesitation.

‘That place is on the third floor, and quite unsuitable,’ she declared.

‘There is an elevator, Mamma,’ Carlo observed, but he spoke mildly, for he could see where Hope was leading, and it pleased him.

‘No arguments,’ she said with finality. ‘I have decided. She’s coming home with us. It’s all settled.’

Della had a demonstration of exactly what it meant to be Hope Rinucci when it came to persuading the hospital to let her go early. At first the doctor was dubious, but Hope swept him off to the villa, showed him the ground-floor rooms that were being prepared for the invalid, and emphasised that there would always be people there to care for her.

‘She will never be alone in the house,’ Hope insisted. ‘Not for one moment, even when the nurse has left-for of course I will hire a nurse at the start.’

Della began to see how alike Carlo and his mother were. The same quiet forcefulness was present in both of them.

On the day she left hospital the doctor took Carlo aside.

‘There are things you need to know, signore. She’s better, but her health has been seriously impaired, and it always will be. She had a heart attack immediately after the crash, and she’ll always be vulnerable to another one. If you’re thinking of having children-’

‘No,’ Carlo said at once. ‘I won’t do anything that means the smallest risk for her.’

‘Good. Hopefully that will prolong her life.’

‘But not by much,’ Carlo said quietly. ‘Is that what you mean?’

‘With the greatest care she could have another twenty years. But she’ll always be frail, and it might be less.’

‘Whatever it is, it’ll still be more than I feared.’

‘I’m glad you’re a realist, signore. You’re going to need to be.’

Carlo travelled in the ambulance with her. At the villa she was greeted by Toni and Hope, Ruggiero, Primo and Olympia, and with flowers and messages of goodwill from the others of her new family who could not be there.

They had prepared a home for her, with a room for herself-so well equipped that she might still have been in hospital-a room next door for the nurse, and one nearby for Carlo.

At first they left her alone, knowing that she would need rest more than anything, and she slept for two days before waking to feel better than for a long time.

Now Carlo was with her all the time, even when the nurse was tending her. He watched everything the nurse did, and learned. It was he who got her back on her feet and held her as she struggled to walk again. From a sedentary life she progressed to a walking stick, first clasping him with her free hand, then without him.

‘You’re improving fast,’ he told her. ‘At this rate we can start planning the wedding.’

She sat down, gasping slightly from the effort she had made.

‘Are you really sure you still want to go ahead?’ she asked. ‘It’s such an undertaking-’

‘You mean you don’t think you can face a lifetime with me?’ he asked wickedly.

‘You know what I mean. The cost to you will be much greater now.’

‘I can’t believe that we’re still arguing about this. We settled it long ago. In my heart you are already my wife. Now you will become my wife in the eyes of the world. That’s it. Final. End of subject.’

‘You don’t give me any choice?’

‘It’s taken you so long to realise that?’ he asked, with a touch of his old humour.

‘But one day-’ Della stopped, silenced by the look he gave her.

She’d been going to say that she wouldn’t tie him down. He could divorce her whenever he liked.

‘No,’ he said firmly, following her meaning as if by telepathy. ‘Never say that. Never!’ He kissed her, then spoke more gently.

‘It would be treating me like a boy, one who can’t make his own decisions, and we’ve been down that path before. When we marry it must be for real-and for ever.’

‘But I can’t give you children,’ she reminded him.

‘Then we must love each other all the more.’

They spent many evenings on the terrace, looking out at the night, wrapped in each other’s arms, talking endlessly, discovering each other’s minds. She began to realise how little they had talked in the old days, when their fierce passion had left no time for talk. Now he sometimes seemed afraid to touch her for fear of doing harm.

‘I’m not breakable,’ she told him once, when he had broken off a kiss by sheer will-power. ‘We could go into my room and-’

To calm his nerves he took refuge in clowning. ‘Make love before our wedding night?’ he asked, in mock horror. ‘I’m shocked. Shocked!’

‘Well, perhaps it’s best that you know the truth about me,’ she said, matching his mood.

He seized her wandering hand and spoke in a shaking voice.

‘Will you stop, please? How much self-control do you think I have?’

‘I’m having fun finding out.’

He gave her a hunted look that made her burst out laughing. He joined her, while still gripping her hand out of sheer self-preservation. They made so much noise that Hope came out to see what the commotion was. But beneath the laughter Della saw the seriousness of the man who would never risk her safety, whatever it cost him. And it did cost him, she knew. There were evenings when he parted from her abruptly, lest his strength of will collapse, for his desire for her was as great as ever. She loved him for that, too. But most of all she loved him for what she discovered in his mind, in the long talks they had in the semi-darkness.

Now she could tell him about the path she’d travelled as she lay, unconscious, in hospital.

‘Everything was scary, dark and confusing. But then I heard you talking to me, telling me that everything would be all right because you were my husband, and you’d look after me.’

‘So why did you try to keep me away when you woke up?’

‘Because when I came back to reality everything changed. I knew it had been a wonderful dream, and that I had to be sensible.’

‘Being sensible has always been our curse,’ he observed. ‘It’s time you stopped that bad habit.’

‘I promise never to be sensible again.’

Sometimes she stared anxiously into the mirror, worried that her ordeal might have aged her faster. Her face was thinner, and there were scars around her left eye, which the nurse assured her would fade to thin lines. But to her relief there was no sign of premature grey hair.

‘Not like me,’ Carlo told her one day. ‘Look.’

Incredibly, the first signs of grey had started to appear at the side of his head. She examined them, wondering if suffering had done this to him.

‘You’ll have to treat me carefully now I’m getting decrepit,’ he told her mischievously.

‘Don’t let him fool you, daughter,’ Toni said. ‘The Rinuccis always go grey early. It’s just a family trait.’

‘Spoilsport.’ Carlo grinned. ‘I was going to make the most of it.’

Toni winked at Della. ‘When your name’s Rinucci it’ll happen to you, too.’

‘I didn’t think it worked like that,’ she said, chuckling.

‘You don’t believe me? Try being married to this one, and it’ll put ten years on you.’

Everyone laughed, and Della felt the world become a brighter place-partly, she thought, because Toni had called her daughter.

Gradually she saw that her looks had changed, but not in the way she’d feared. Her hair, which had merely curved gracefully before, now decided to curl, so that it was easier to wear it much shorter.

‘You look like a pretty little elf,’ Sol informed her.

‘Cheek.’

‘No, it’s nice.’

And Carlo thought so, too.

Sol was visiting, armed with photos of his newly-born son. He’d gained his degree-not brilliantly, but well enough to escape censure-and had a job lined up for when he returned to England.

Hope was thrilled with the child.

‘Our first great-grandson,’ she said.

‘But, Mamma,’ Carlo began to protest, ‘he’s not-I mean-’

‘Are you saying that Della isn’t one of us?’ Hope demanded.

‘Yes, she is. But-’

‘Then this baby is also one of us,’ Hope said firmly, thus settling the matter for all time.

When Della was well enough to move around almost normally Carlo vanished one day, and returned in the evening with the news that he had taken a job in a local museum. He explained that he would only need to go in on three days a week, which would give him time for his own projects at home, but it was still the kind of conventional employment that he would once have spurned, and Della and Hope were both loud in their dismay.

‘What are you thinking of?’ Hope asked him when they were alone.

‘Money,’ he said simply. ‘I haven’t worked for months and my cash is running out.’

‘You’ve been giving us too much-we can take less-’

‘I know that having Della here is expensive, and I won’t let that expense fall on you.’

‘As though Poppa and I minded-’

‘But I mind,’ he said, in the quiet, firm voice that was usual with him these days. ‘I’m taking this job.’

‘For how long?’

He shrugged cheerfully.

‘But what about expeditions?’

‘I can’t risk leaving Della. When she’s stronger we might manage some short trips together, but we’ll see how it works out.’

Hope said no more. She saw this dazzling son of hers, the most talented, the most brilliant, giving up his chance of an outstanding future. And yet he was happy. Because he’d found something that meant more to him.

At one time she would have blamed Della, but she knew better now.

It was Della herself who brought up the subject, finding Hope alone that evening.

‘You must hate me,’ she said slowly.

Hope spoke gently. ‘I have no reason to hate you. Never think that.’

‘You didn’t want me to marry him, and you have even more reason now. I’m tying him down, taking up his time when he should be working at his career.’

‘Once I would have thought so, too. But now I know that what he’s doing is more valuable to him than any career. Before, everything was easy for him-too easy. Then he had to fight for you, and it made a man of him. Don’t try to stop him. Take what he offers. Because in doing that you’ll be giving him the kind of love that he most needs.’

On the night before the wedding Hope found Carlo sitting alone under a lamp in the garden.

‘What are you reading, my son?’ She took the book from his hands. ‘English poetry? You?’

‘The sonnets of Elizabeth Barrett Browning,’ he said, showing her the one that had held his attention. ‘I found them through Della.’

‘“How do I love thee?”’ Hope read. ‘“Let me count the ways.”’

‘Look at the last line,’ Carlo said. ‘I’ve read it so often-’ He whispered the words. ‘“And if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.”’

‘Do you think of that very much?’ Hope asked, sitting beside him.

‘All the time. Twenty years, if we’re very lucky. Perhaps fifteen-or less.’

‘And then you’ll be left alone, with no children and nothing but memories,’ Hope said sadly. ‘But at least you’ll still be young enough to-well-’

‘No,’ he said at once. ‘I won’t marry again.’

‘My dear boy, you can’t know that now.’

‘Yes, I can,’ he said slowly. ‘You’d be amazed at how far and how well I can see ahead. It’s as though a mist has cleared, and I can follow the road to the end. I see it all, and I know where I’m going.’

She didn’t want to ask the next question, but she needed to know the answer.

‘And when you get there? How will you bear it without her?’

‘But I won’t be without her,’ he said quietly. ‘She’ll always be with me, still loving me, as I’ll always love her. Don’t worry about me, Mamma. She’ll never really leave me.’

His eyes were shining, and she had to look away. The next moment his arm was about her shoulder and he was hugging her.

‘Hey, come on,’ he said in a rallying voice. ‘Don’t cry. Everything’s all right. Tomorrow’s my wedding day. I’m marrying the woman I love, and I’m the happiest man in the world.’