Last Voyage of the Valentina(128)

“I wish Cosima could be a bridesmaid,” she said and felt a swell of emotion. “She would so enjoy it.”

“You miss them, don’t you?” said Margo, realizing the root of the problem.

“I miss them all, but I miss Cosima the most. I can’t stop thinking about her. Talking to her on the telephone from time to time isn’t the same. There’s a delay and she’s shy of it. My throat aches so much trying not to cry, I sort of dread it.” She swallowed hard. “I feel desperate. She needs me and I’m not there.”

“Have you and Fitz talked about living in Italy?”

Alba laughed at the absurdity of the idea. “He could never live in that sleepy place.”

Suddenly her stepmother’s face turned very serious and she put down her pen. “Darling, if you don’t feel ready to get married, you can still call it off.” Alba looked at her with astonishment, like a drowning person suddenly thrown an unexpected lifeline. “Your father and I won’t mind. We just want you to be happy.”

“But you’ve organized everything. Gone to so much trouble. We’re about to send out the invitations. I couldn’t pull out now!”

Margo placed her hand on Alba’s arm. Once it would have felt odd, but now it felt quite natural. Motherly.

“Darling girl,” said Margo gently. “I would much prefer to cancel the wedding than have you sitting in London all miserable. There’s no point going through with it if you’re just going to divorce three years down the line. Imagine if you have children, what a ghastly business. If you want to go and live in Italy, we’ll all understand and support you. If your heart is there, darling, follow it.” Alba blinked back tears and threw her arms around Margo’s neck.

“I thought you’d be cross with me.”

“Oh, Alba, how you misunderstand me.” She pushed her stepdaughter away and lifted the gold locket that hung on her bosom. “You see this?” she said. Alba nodded, wiping her face with her hand. “I always wear it. Never take it off, ever. That’s because it contains photos of my children. All four of them.” She opened it so that Alba could see. There inside neat little gold frames were small black-and-white photographs of her, Caroline, Miranda, and Henry as children. “I love you the same as I love them. How could I not understand?”

“I’d better talk to Fitz,” said Alba finally, sniffing.

“You had better,” Margo agreed and they put all the unwritten invitations back into the box.



Alba dreaded breaking her news to Fitz. After all he had done for her, after all the time he had waited. It seemed so unfair that he was going to be hurt all over again. But as she climbed the stairs to his room she felt the quiet tingle of excitement stir within her. She pictured Cosima’s little face aglow with happiness, and Immacolata and Falco smiling with joy. She saw them on the quay, welcoming her home. She knew it was the right thing to do. She knew that Fitz couldn’t go with her. What would he do in such a small, provincial place?

She waited on his bed for him to return from his game of squash. The light faded and heavy dark clouds gathered in the sky. The trees were bare, their branches like hundreds of wispy fingers against the desolate backdrop. Finally, she heard voices on the stairs, the cheerful banter between him and her brother. She felt nervous. It would have been so easy to go along with it all and pretend to be happy.

Fitz registered her solemn face at once. “What’s happened?” he asked, his own good humor dispersing like bubbles.

Alba took a deep breath and plunged in. “I want to go back to Italy.”

“I see,” he said. “Since when?” Suddenly the air was heavy with sorrow. He sat on the bed.

“Ever since I came back, I think.”

“Have you discussed this with your parents?”

“Only Margo. I want you to come with me.”

He shook his head and stared out of the window. “My life is here, Alba.” He felt a nasty sense of déjà vu.

“But couldn’t you write a book?” she said, kneeling behind him, winding her arms around his shoulders.

“I’m an agent, not a writer.”

“You’ve never tried.” She pressed her cheek, damp with tears, to his.

He frowned. “Don’t you love me?” he asked and his voice cracked.

“Yes, I do,” she exclaimed, desperate to alleviate the sorrow in his soft brown eyes. “I love you so much. We’re meant to be together. Oh Fitz!” she sighed. “What are we going to do?”

He drew her into his arms and held her tightly. “You can’t live here and I can’t live there.”