Then the little girl looked up, saw Vincenzo and, with a glad cry, began to run towards him. He opened his arms and she hurled herself into them, babbling in Italian. Julia could just hear the words.
'I looked for you-'
'I'm here now,' he soothed her. 'But what are you doing here?'
'You said you were coming to the funeral of your friend, so I asked Gemma to bring me to see Mamma and Papa. I knew you'd come to see them too.'
Julia began to move forward very slowly, staying close to the wall, making no disturbance, but getting close enough to see better. Then the little girl raised her head from Vincenzo's shoulder, and Julia gasped at the sight of her. If she'd had any doubts before, they were settled now, for it was her own mother's face that she saw. This was the child she had last seen years ago, at the start of the nightmare.
Vincenzo looked back and for a terrible moment Julia thought he would ignore her. Instead he said gently, 'Rosa, I have a friend for you to meet.'
The child looked straight at her. Julia held her breath, waiting for the burst of joyful recognition.
But it did not come.
Rosa regarded her mother politely but without recognition.
'Buongiorno,' she said.
'Buongiorno,' Julia replied mechanically. 'I am-'
She fell silent. No words would come. She could hear her own heart pounding.
'This is Signora Julia Baxter,' Vincenzo said.
'Buongiorno, signora. Sono Rosa.'
She offered her hand. Hardly knowing what she did, Julia took it. For a moment it lay in hers. Her daughter had shaken her hand like a stranger.
Vincenzo was introducing the nanny, who had a kind face. Julia greeted her mechanically. She was functioning on automatic while her brain struggled to cope.
'Julia came with me to Piero's funeral,' Vincenzo explained. 'He was a friend we were very fond of.'
'I promised Carlo he could come to see Mamma and Papa this time,' Rosa said. 'He was too young before.'
'Carlo?' Julia asked blankly.
She knew that she sounded vague, but that was because her mind was rejecting the monstrous idea that was growing. Surely it was impossible?
But nothing was impossible.
'He's my little brother,' Rosa said, indicating the sleeping child in the pushchair. 'He's only two.'
She reached out eagerly to Vincenzo. 'Come with me.'
He took her hand and they went up the steps together. Julia heard her say, 'I didn't do the flowers properly.'
And Vincenzo's tender reply, 'Let's do them together.'
He helped her to arrange the leaves. When they had finished the child stood a moment looking at the pictures. Slowly she passed her fingertips over them as though seeking comfort from the cold marble, then leaned forward and kissed them, first her father, then her stepmother. Julia bent her head, unable to watch. But in the next moment she looked up again, unable not to watch.
She waited for her daughter to cry, but, as before, Rosa's face was blank. Whatever she was feeling was being kept bolted down and hidden from the world.
'Just like me,' Julia thought, appalled. 'I know exactly what's happening to her inside. But no child should feel like that, or have such a look of frozen misery. Dear God, what's happened to her?'
After a moment the little girl came down and went to the pushchair, gently shaking the toddler. He awoke with a gurgle, instantly smiling.
Like Bruce, Julia thought. He's got his face and his charm.
The nanny started to help but Rosa shook her head, polite but determined as she undid the straps and helped him out. Hand in hand they climbed the steps together.
'Look,' Julia heard her say. 'That's Papa and that's Mamma.'
He beamed and stretched out his hands to the faces of his parents, but when they encountered only cold marble he flinched back. Puzzled, he looked at his sister, and reached out again.
'Mamma,' he said. 'Mamma, Mamma!'
He began to sob, pounding the marble with his fists and screaming out his disillusion.
At once Rosa gathered the child into her arms, murmuring soothing words.
'It's all right, little one. It's all right. We'll go home now.'
She helped him down to the ground, put him back into the pushchair and kissed him gently, stroking him until he stopped crying.
'It would have been better to wait until he was a little older,' Vincenzo told her.
Rosa nodded sadly. 'I'm sorry, Uncle Vincenzo. I just didn't want him to forget them. But I should have remembered he's only a baby.'
She turned politely to Julia.
'Buongiorno, signora,' she said, as politely as a little old lady. 'I'm afraid I must be going now. I hope that we will meet again.'
'So do I,' she said with an effort.
She watched as the little party walked away, the baby's hand extended to clutch Rosa's, as though there he could find safety.
'I didn't know they were coming here,' Vincenzo said. 'Rosa just spoke of the next few days.'
'That little boy-is he-?'
'Yes, he's Bianca's son, and James'. I wish it hadn't been sprung on you like that.'
'I suppose I should have thought of it.'
Suddenly the wind that blew down the corridor of flowers was bleak and desolate. She shivered.
'It's cold. I'm going home.'
The group had reached the end of the path and were about to turn out of sight. They stopped and looked back at Vincenzo.
'We need to talk,' he said, 'but-'
'But you have to go.' She smiled faintly. 'Your family needs you.'
'You'll come with us to the landing stage?'
'I think I'll wait and take the next boat. Go quickly before they get worried.'
'Yes.' He was uneasy, but there was no choice.
Julia didn't watch him catch up with the others. She turned away and walked in the opposite direction, wondering how this could have happened. After the years of yearning and hoping she had finally met her daughter again, and the moment that should have been so happy had brought her greater pain than anything in her life.
Vincenzo didn't appear at the restaurant that evening. Julia tried not to read anything into it, but she regretted hurling an accusation at him. He was her only friend and it was foolish to alienate him.
But she knew that this practical reason wasn't the only one. Bit by bit the sense of closeness they shared had become essential to her.
She thought of him as the man she might have loved if love were not impossible for her now. Deeper than that she didn't dare to look into her own heart.
When the restaurant closed she went wearily up the stairs and shut herself in. Her brain felt as though it were going around and around on a treadmill. She must go to bed and try to sleep, but she knew she would only lie awake.
The building was old-fashioned, with shutters on the windows. As she went to close them for the night her gaze was caught by something in the calle below.
Pushing open the window, she leaned out and saw a man standing there.
'Come in,' she called.
She was at the door, waiting for him as he turned the corner of the stairs, ready to open her arms to him in her relief.
'I didn't think you'd come,' she said fervently.
He nodded almost curtly, but made no move toward her. 'I had to.'
'I thought you were angry with me after what I said.'
She stepped back to let him into the room, realising that there would be no embrace.
'No, I'm not angry any more,' he said. 'You were in a state of shock. Let's forget that it happened.'
This wasn't the joyful reunion she'd anticipated when she'd seen him in the street. He was here, but emotionally he was holding back from her in a way he'd never done before. When she laid a hand on his arm he smiled cautiously, but didn't take her into his arms.
'Perhaps you'd make me a coffee,' he said politely.
'Of course,' she replied, matching his tone.
As she was working in the kitchen he came and stood leaning against the doorway.