Let it go, the landlady had said. Let it go.
As bees searched the last flowers of the oregano and butterflies explored the massive thistleheads of purple cardoons, Claudia thought back to that day in the tavern.
I'm sorry for you, honest I am, because you wouldn't have come all this way if it wasn't important.
At the time, though, it was…
It's never just one man, she had said. It's always somebody's father and somebody's son, a brother, a lover, a friend.
Yes, but whilst a woman might have several brothers or sons, lovers or friends, she will only have one father…
The way I see it, love, if the man you're looking for's dead, then he's dead, and if he's alive — well, I reckon he don't want to be found.
The Merry Widow was right. Of course the wretched woman was right. And, in her heart, Claudia had known all along that it was stupid to waste time and effort on a man who hadn't thought his daughter worth so much as a note. It was the future that mattered, not the past — but what was the future? It was so easy to manage the past. The past was a known entity, something you could deal with because it was familiar, where the future was no more than a gamble that relied on the toss of dice by an unknown hand.
Or was it?
Was it really coincidence that the Security Police had turned up in Sicily, Umbria, Gaul? Was it really coincidence that Marcus Cornelius could crack paedophile rings and thwart assassination attempts on the Emperor's life, yet was incapable of clapping widows in irons for paltry misdemeanours? It wasn't until she had cut him down from the tree yesterday that she had realized. As he slumped on to her shoulder, he didn't thank her or let out a sigh of relief. He'd said I love you before he collapsed.
'That four letter word you muttered in the forest.'
'Yes, I apologize about that. It was just that Vincentrix-'
'Not that one.'
'Oh? You have to remember I'd inhaled a lot of drugs by the time you arrived. I was seeing people who'd been dead twenty years. Can you be a little more specific?'
Dammit, he wasn't making this easy. 'Like it or not, Orbilio, you're worse than a rash-'
'I hate it when you flatter me.'
'But since there's no cure for this rash, I… ' She cleared her throat. 'Orbilio, there's something I have to tell you.'
'Now there's a coincidence.' He moved closer and his voice was little more than a rasp. 'I came down here with something to tell you, too.'
He might not have remembered that moment in the clearing, but there was a dark, intense glint in his eye that she didn't recognize. With a skittering inside, the likes of which she'd never known, Claudia resisted the urge to wrap her arms round his battered, bruised body and heal his cut, swollen lips with her kisses.
'You first.' She wasn't sure she could get it out in one breath anyway. Treacherous lungs had stopped pumping air. 'There's ample time for me to say my bit on the journey home.'
'Well, that's the thing,' Marcus rasped. 'I need to move on with my life, Claudia.' He paused. Shifted his crutches. 'I won't be returning to Rome this time round. I've made other plans for my future.'