Wanda felt once again that this was all too much for her. It wasn’t good for Marie to get agitated this way; the fever would never break if she did. Where in the world was she supposed to go to read this diary? If she didn’t want to wait for nightfall, then she had no choice but to shut herself away in the bathroom.
Marie gave a tired smile. “I feel so dizzy again . . .” Her gaze roamed around the room, and she was having trouble concentrating on Wanda. “When you’ve read what’s in there, you’ll understand what I must ask you to do.” Her lower lip began to tremble as she spoke.
“What do you want me to do?” With every word Marie spoke, Wanda felt more sick at heart. This was a nightmare. She was trapped in a nightmare. This water is too deep for me! screamed a voice inside her. I can’t swim!
“You have to take Sylvie with you. Back to Lauscha. She mustn’t stay here, not for anything. Do you hear me? Not for anything! Don’t let anyone stop you from taking her!”
Had she heard right? “But how . . .” Wanda began.
Just then, the door flew open. When Patrizia saw Marie so agitated, she became furious and began hurling reproaches at Wanda. But Wanda paid no attention to the dragon, not any more than Marie did. They looked into one another’s eyes, each trying to read what they saw there.
“Do you promise me?” Marie asked again, urgently.
Wanda nodded. How could she have refused?
The next time Marie fell asleep and Patrizia left the room, Wanda teased the notebook out from her bodice. Her body heat had warmed it right through, and for a moment she was worried that the ink may have blurred. But when she opened the first page, she saw Marie’s unmistakable handwriting with its deep loops and slightly oversized capital letters.
Saturday, 14th January. A week ago today I was driven from Paradise. A week ago today I discovered that my husband, my “beloved,” is not a man of honor but a murderer.
Wanda froze.
Next came a detailed description of all that Marie had heard that night at the office door. A few pages later she had written:
I still cannot believe it. Every part of me fights against the knowledge. Night after night I lay in bed next to a murderer, I delighted in his caresses. Perhaps he already had deaths on his conscience when I fell in love with him? The idea almost drives me mad.
How could I have been so mistaken about him? Again and again I remember our time together in New York. What did he say and when? And how did I answer? I feel like a surgeon, placing my scalpel to the chosen spot . . .
The pain in those words! Wanda could hardly bear it. She lowered the diary and looked at Marie for a few minutes as she lay there asleep. What demons was she fighting when she thrashed about and moaned? Wanda could not imagine. She did not doubt for a moment the truth of what she had read. All the same she was unable to make the connection between the words in this book and the people she knew. She began to read once more.
Perhaps . . . if I had listened more closely at the time, I would have realized that light and dark are very closely mixed in Franco. But I was so much in love that I did not want to see what I was looking at, to listen to what I heard! Otherwise I would have realized that the Italians, the restaurant owners, treated him with a mixture of fear and contempt. I was a silly cow to believe that they were showing deference, that they respected his noble name! And why did I never wonder why he did not ever want me to go to the harbor with him? When he was otherwise so jealous of every minute I spent with others?
There was more such self-recrimination. Wanda felt shocked, but also enraged and deeply, deeply sad. What had Marie done to herself during all those weeks when she was imprisoned? None of this was her fault! Nobody had seen through Franco; he and his family had put up such a fine show that nobody would have suspected their evil deeds!
When she read about how Marie had tried to escape, her heart almost broke. The count and countess were monsters!
. . . after that Patrizia did not come to see me for a few days. She sent that dreadful Carla instead. It’s crazy, I know, but now I actually feel guilty that I tried to escape.
The old witch! It wasn’t enough that she kept Marie under lock and key, but she had been playing mind games with her as well! Wanda looked toward the door, filled with hatred. If only Patrizia should dare show herself now! She frowned and read on.
And I can shout and rage as much as I like—Patrizia doesn’t see that she has done anything wrong. She is convinced that she is only acting in the family’s best interests and she says that I will simply have to put up with a few “inconveniences” for that reason. What an elegant way to describe this prison they have put me in! Una famiglia—how often must I hear those words! Nevertheless, if there is ever another chance I will try it again. But only if I do not put the baby at risk. Patrizia may put the family above all—but for me, my baby is more important than anything else. They can take my freedom, but they cannot take my child!