When she walks past the door to what was Ettore’s room Clare shrinks back, and doesn’t stop. From a high window she sees Leandro on the roof, in the same place he stood two days earlier, staring out in just the same way. For a second her thoughts scatter into wild imaginings of it really being two days earlier – of how she would do things differently if she was given the chance, if she really had walked back through time. How she would force Leandro to let her out, so she could warn Ettore about the extra guards at the farm. How she would rush down the stairs as soon as she saw Pip and Marcie waiting at the foot of them, and snatch the revolver from his hand. How she would take it from him after he’d shot Ettore in the shoulder, instead of leaving it to Boyd to disarm him. How she would refuse to help the raiders by opening the door, so that perhaps they would call it off. She tortures herself with what might have happened if she had not done the things she did, in the order in which she did them; pouring salt into her wounds until she can’t take any more. Then she goes up to the roof and stands beside Leandro.
He turns to look at her briefly, his expression unchanging. He looks older, and tired; he stares off into the far distance as if he can see the future there, so Clare follows his gaze and tries to do the same. The landscape hasn’t changed, and that seems unreal because it feels as though great seismic shifts have shaken everything to pieces. She expects to see ruins, giant fissures in the earth. But she sees the flat, long land with its brown grass, its burnt stubble fields; she sees the same gnarled olive trees that have witnessed generations of human lives flickering out at the end of their time like the stars at dawn. She sees the dry stone walls and the dusty road; the madly bored aia dogs and the trullo by the gates where Ettore first kissed her, and they first made love. The breeze rolls softly from the north. It moans over the stone parapets of the complex and the low field walls; it runs through Clare’s hair and flutters her shirt against her ribs, filling her ears with quiet noise. It’s impossible that all this should still exist when Ettore does not; Clare wonders whether perhaps she doesn’t exist either. She feels like thistledown; she’s the same weight as the air – she could blow away at any moment, and drift, disperse, vanish.
Leandro’s voice, when he speaks, is sombre.
‘You want to leave. You must do. Do you want to see Boyd before you go? It could be arranged.’
‘No,’ says Clare. ‘No. Never again. But… Pip might.’ She must sound afraid because Leandro turns with a speculative look.
‘You can’t think he’ll want to stay here, with his father?’
‘I don’t know. He… he was very angry with me. About Ettore.’
‘Jealous of your attention, only.’ Leandro shrugs. ‘He’ll want to be with you. He doesn’t love his father like he loves you. I saw that from the start. And now he knows how his mother died…’
‘I hope you’re right.’ Clare pauses. ‘There… there was something you wanted to find out from Boyd before you would let us go home. Ettore told me. Was that it? Was it whether or not he might harm me?’
‘That was it.’ Leandro nods. ‘Killing that girl changed me. Killing Emma Kingsley. It may be hard for you to believe, but she was the only woman I ever harmed and, by Christ, she haunted me afterwards. And I changed; I went into business. I’m not saying I was a model citizen ever after, but… but I was never as low and dirty again as I was that night. The night I shot her and her lover. I wanted to see if Boyd had changed as well.’
‘But couldn’t you tell straight away that he was just the same?’
‘Not for sure, and even when I suspected it I wasn’t sure what to do about it. How to change things. He… it was cowardly, you see. It was cowardly to have her killed, rather than to confront her, or just let her go. It was cowardly not to kill her himself, if that was what he wanted. But why kill her at all, when she had a child that needed her? There was no need. But he’s unbalanced; he doesn’t think the way I think, that much is obvious.’
‘No, he does not. I was a thing to him – an idea, not a person. I think I’ve always felt it, though I couldn’t quite define it. And when you say he’s a hypocrite you don’t know how right you are. He has been unfaithful to me – with one woman that I know about, and perhaps others that I don’t. And yes, he is a coward. I thought he was grieving, but it was guilt. I thought he was afraid to let me know how deeply he’d cared for Emma, but he was only afraid of me finding out what he’d done – of anyone finding out. I thought he was vulnerable, and ultimately kind. But his vulnerability was just… weakness, and his kindness was a fraud. I tried to love him but I… I never could.’
‘Who could love such a man? But you stayed for the boy? For Pip?’
‘Yes. I stayed for him. And because I had no idea there could be an alternative. It never occurred to me to look for one.’
‘I wanted you to come here for Marcie – that was also true. I could feel I was losing her, and I wanted her to be happy. But after Boyd spoke about you that way I needed to meet you, too. I needed to… see.’
‘I’m grateful to you. I owe you my life.’
‘No. I risked your life,’ says Leandro.
‘But I’m free of him now, and it’s your doing.’
For a while the two of them stand and watch the world, and wait. There’s no hurry. Clare breathes in, and breathes out, and feels calmer for being by Leandro’s side, and knowing that he is waiting too. Waiting for thoughts to come, and go; waiting for the next moment, and what it will bring. ‘Will you write to me and… keep me informed as to Boyd’s whereabouts? And what happens to him?’ she says, at last.
‘Yes. If you want me to.’
‘Not for me, but for Pip. And I’m sorry, Leandro. I’m very sorry that I betrayed you, and didn’t warn you about the raid,’ she says. Leandro smiles faintly.
‘Ettore gave you little choice. I understand that. And besides, I’m too angry with my niece, and with Marcie, to be angry with you too. I might give myself a stroke if I tried.’
‘You’re angry with Paola?’
‘Of course I am. She was always the firebrand, always the instigator. Left alone, Ettore would have fought with reading and propaganda, with speeches and strikes. He would have fought with his brain, you understand? But Paola’s as spit-and-claws as they come. She’s already told me the raid was her idea – she’s proud of it. Attacking her own family…’
‘What… what will you do with her?’
‘Do? Oh, nothing much, I shouldn’t wonder.’ He takes a long breath in, lets it out slowly. ‘I only want her to stop fighting. It’s over. She must stop being a soldier and start being a mother to that baby.’
‘Will you take care of her? She has nobody else now, nobody to support her. Valerio is too sick to work.’
‘Yes, yes. I’ll take care of her. She’ll come and work in my house in Gioia, whether she likes it or not. It’s either that or she can go and be tried as a brigand with the rest of them. She won’t like it,’ he says, grinning sourly. ‘So I get to punish her and take care of her at the same time.’
‘What about Marcie? What will… what will you and Marcie do?’
‘What will we do?’ He shrugs. ‘Again, nothing. We will do nothing. If she wants to leave me, she can, but she’ll leave empty-handed. I’m staying here, in this place. This isn’t the first thing she’s done to hurt me since we came here. I know she hates it here, and I know part of her hates me for bringing her here. But I love her – what can I do? How should I punish her for what she did?’
‘I don’t know,’ says Clare. ‘Pip’s only fifteen years old. She used him… she’s broken his heart.’ She can’t hide her anger.