Finally, she came to the picture of the folly. It was exactly as it had been thirty years ago. Not one item had been moved or changed. The bed was the same, with the faded curtains and silk bedspread. The little dressing-table complete with pots of creams and glass phials of perfume. The Queen Anne mirror into which her mother must have so often gazed, was still at an angle, as was the chair upon which she must have sat while the Marchese lay waiting for her on the bed. The pretty little desk. The strangest thing of all, however, was the light. There was something other-worldly about it, as if it was illuminated not from the outside, but from within.
Alba returned to her bedroom to find Panfilo sitting up in bed engrossed in a book. He looked at her over his reading glasses and guessed that she had looked at the Polaroids. Alba had no intention of admitting she had been snooping; she undressed and climbed into bed without a word. After a while, Panfilo switched off the light and snuggled up behind her, winding his arm around her waist and pulling her against him. She could sense him staring at her through the darkness, feel the unformed words balancing on his lips.
‘Don’t say it,’ she warned.
‘Don’t say what?’
‘That you know.’
‘That I know what?’
‘I’ve seen them, okay.’
‘Have you?’ He played ignorant.
‘I still have no desire to go up there though.’
‘Of course you don’t.’ He kissed her neck.
‘I couldn’t help looking at them. They were there on your desk. You put them there on purpose.’
‘It’s my desk!’
‘They were in plain view.’
‘On my desk.’
‘I didn’t want to see them, but I couldn’t help it.’
‘You’re a prisoner of your own convictions, Alba. I couldn’t care less whether you looked at them or not.’
She rolled over and let him wrap his arms around her. ‘Here’s the one place in the world I feel totally safe,’ she whispered. ‘Here, pressed up against you.’
‘As irrational as you can be, we belong together.’
‘You think I’m irrational?’
‘You rather enjoy a melodrama.’
‘I do not!’
‘Just a little bit.’
‘You’re absolutely wrong about that,’ she insisted.
‘But you’re irresistible.’
‘I’m glad I have at least one redeeming feature.’
‘You have many. Now stop talking and let me kiss you.’ He placed his lips on hers and felt her smile beneath them.
Feeling reckless, Luca drove to Naples to buy Cosima a ring. Caradoc was right: love had hit him when he had least expected it and now he couldn’t imagine ever living without it. Cosima filled his soul with something warm and sweet, right to the very farthest corners. He liked who he was when he was with her. She had no idea how wealthy he was, but loved him for himself. He would buy her the world if she let him. If only he could buy her back her son.
It didn’t take long to find a ring he felt would suit her. It had to be a diamond and it had to be simple. The ring stood out from all the others in the same way that Cosima stood out from all the other women he had ever met. A large solitaire. As big as a candy.
He recalled buying an engagement ring for Claire. He hadn’t chosen it himself but had sent her off to design it with a jeweller she was fond of. He had simply paid the bill, which was less than he had expected. Back then she hadn’t been spoiled. During the ten years of their marriage she had acquired a knack for homing in on the most expensive items in the shop – and shopping had been her greatest pleasure. From Rodeo Drive to via della Spiga to Bond Street, Claire had a vast capacity to acquire and she never wore a party dress twice. Cosima was from a simple family and she had simple tastes. Unlike her cousin, Cosima seemed content with what she had. Perhaps the death of her son had taught her the unimportance of material wealth. The only things of any value to her were the people she loved. He recalled her face when he had given her the earrings and her pleasure filled his heart with bubbles. He wanted to buy her every jewel in the shop.
As he drove back down the coast he decided it was time he brought his own car out to Italy. If he was going to settle here he needed to put down some roots, make a home, think of something constructive to do. He imagined making love to her. He imagined spending the rest of his life with her. He couldn’t wait to propose in the good old-fashioned way. But Freya was arriving that weekend with her mother and stepfather so he’d have to wait until they had gone. Then he would take Cosima to the beach at sunset and go down on bended knee. At his age there was no point wasting time.