The Italian Girl (34 page)

‘I see. Well, the chances are he’ll arrive to a new son or daughter.’

Rosanna winced as another pain ripped through her.

‘Let’s get you upstairs to the maternity unit. Those contractions are coming fast and furious, my dear. Hang on just one moment while I fetch a nurse. Stay with her,’ he added to Stephen, who was hovering uncertainly close by.

‘Listen,’ Stephen said, coming over to her side, ‘give me the number and I’ll try calling Roberto again.’

Rosanna nodded weakly and fumbled in her handbag for her address book. ‘It’s in there, under “Chris Hughes”.’ She handed him the book.

‘Fine. Don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll manage to get a message to him somehow.’

A nurse bustled over and began to wheel Rosanna towards the lift, closely followed by Dr Hardy.

‘Take the lift up to the fourth floor and meet us there,’ he instructed Stephen.

‘Oh, but . . . I mean, I hardly know Mrs Rossini. It’s just coincidence that I arrived at her house when I did.’

Dr Hardy frowned. ‘I see. Well, is there anyone else who could come to the hospital and be with her? A relation or a friend, perhaps? I’m sure she’d be happier to have someone she knows with her.’

Stephen immediately thought of Abi. ‘Yes, there is.’

‘Good. You can use the telephone by reception. Excuse me.’ Dr Hardy jumped into the lift with Rosanna as the doors began to close.

Stephen picked up the receiver on the reception desk and dialled the New York number. The line rang and rang.

‘Come on, come on,’ he murmured. Finally, to his relief, it was answered.

‘Yeah?’ The voice was sleepy and disgruntled.

‘Hello, is this Mr Rossini?’

‘No, it’s Chris Hughes, his agent. Are you the jerk that called half an hour ago? I just made it to the phone as you rang off!’

‘No, that was Mrs Rossini actually, and I do apologise for disturbing your sleep. Is Mr Rossini there?’

‘No, he isn’t. Who are you?’

‘Stephen Peatôt. I’m a friend of Mrs Rossini. I’m calling you from the Chelsea and Westminster Hospital in London. Mrs Rossini has gone into labour and she asked me to let her husband know.’

‘Oh Christ! I thought she wasn’t due for another couple of weeks?’

‘Well, it seems the baby’s decided to make its entrance a little ahead of schedule. Can you pass the message on to him? I’m sure Mr Rossini will want to come straight to the hospital when he lands in London.’

‘Yeah, of course, leave it with me. I’ll let him know.’

‘Great, thanks,’ said Stephen.

‘Look, send my best to Rosanna and tell her Roberto’s on his way.’

‘I will.’ Stephen replaced the receiver, leafed through Rosanna’s address book and dialled Abi’s number. Abi’s mother answered the telephone and told him that she and Henry had gone off for a long weekend in Scotland and she had no idea where they were staying. Stephen thanked her, and asked her to tell Abi the news as soon as she arrived home.

With all other avenues now closed, Stephen realised it was down to him.

Five minutes later, he was ushered by Dr Hardy into Rosanna’s room. She was sitting up on the bed looking anxious.

‘Did you manage to get in contact with Roberto?’

‘Yes. He’s coming straight here.’

‘Thank goodness.’ Rosanna sank back onto her pillows.

‘How are you feeling?’ Stephen went to the bed.

‘I’m okay in between the pains. Dr Hardy has examined me and says I still have quite some time to go, but everything’s fine with the baby.’

‘Good.’ Stephen twiddled his thumbs. ‘I tried to call Abi but her mother said she and Henry have gone away for the weekend.’

‘Never mind,’ said Rosanna. ‘Thank you so much for your help. You can leave me now. I’ll be fine.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes. I have a very nice midwife who—’ Rosanna’s face contorted.

Stephen moved to her and instinctively grasped her small hand.

Her grip tightened on his knuckle until she breathed out and gave a small smile. ‘Ouch,’ she said, the mistress of understatement.

‘Maybe I’ll stay a little longer,’ Stephen said wryly.

‘Thank you,’ Rosanna replied gratefully.

The midwife appeared in the room.

‘Okay, Mrs Rossini?’

‘I think so, yes.’

‘Shall I leave?’ asked Stephen.

‘No, no need, unless you want to,’ said the nurse, placing a strap round Rosanna’s waist and turning on the monitoring machine. ‘It’s nice for Mrs Rossini to have someone with her. It can get quite boring having a baby, you know. Especially as it’s her first – she could be here for some hours yet.’ She searched across Rosanna’s stomach with a round silver monitor until a small thumping sound was heard.

‘There’s baby’s heartbeat. It sounds fine. That green line there shows your contractions, Mrs Rossini. I think there’s one on its way. Now, er . . . ?’

‘Stephen,’ he replied.

‘Stephen, come and squeeze Mrs Rossini’s hand like you were doing before. Give her something to concentrate on.’

Stephen moved next to Rosanna and took her hand. He had a feeling it was going to be a very long day.

The telephone rang, breaking the silence in the apartment. Roberto awoke and the shape next to him stirred and moaned, then lay still. The ringing did not abate. Finally, she cursed, reached for the light switch and picked up the receiver.

‘Yes?’

She turned towards Roberto. ‘It’s for you.’

Roberto’s heart missed a beat.

‘Who is it?’

‘Chris Hughes.’

‘What the hell is he doing calling me here at five thirty in the morning?’ Roberto snatched the receiver from her hand. ‘It’s me. What do you want?’

She watched as his face drained of colour.

‘
What?
Oh,
mamma mia
! When?’ Roberto looked at the clock by the bed. ‘Okay, I’m on my way. Can you check and see if there’s a seat on the ten o’clock flight to London? I’ll stop by and collect my case and you can order me a car to take me to the airport.
Ciao
.’

Roberto handed Donatella the receiver and leapt out of bed.

‘Where are you going? What’s happened?’ she asked as Roberto struggled to put on his clothes.

‘It’s Rosanna. She’s gone into labour. She is having our baby while I . . .’

The agonised look on his face told Donatella all she needed to know. Her heart sank.

‘I see.’ She watched him silently as he hurriedly finished dressing and then made for the front door.

‘Don’t I even get a goodbye kiss?’

He turned and shook his head.

‘I . . . I’m sorry, I should not have been here, I . . .’ He shrugged despairingly. ‘Goodbye.’

The door slammed and he was gone.

Donatella sank back onto her pillows and burst into tears.

On arrival at Chris’s apartment, Roberto frenziedly packed an overnight bag, then said goodbye to his manager. ‘See you in London. And I’m sure you don’t need me to remind you that if I ever hear a whisper of my whereabouts this morning, I’ll know where it came from and you and I will be finished.’

Chris nodded. He who paid the piper called the tune, after all. ‘Sure, Roberto. Now, the car’s waiting downstairs. Go and take care of your wife and child.’

Roberto sat and stared into space for most of the flight, refusing everything except endless cups of coffee. He wore his sunglasses to hide the tears of remorse that kept trickling out of his eyes.

Again and again, a picture of Rosanna alone and in pain kept entering his head. His wife had needed him while he was making love to Donatella on the other side of the Atlantic. How
could
he have done this to her?

Roberto made his way to the small bathroom, took off his sunglasses and wiped his eyes. If Rosanna ever discovered the truth, she would leave him. He’d been so stupid, so selfish, and, what was more, unbelievably careless. He knew there were a number of people at the Met who’d suspected what was going on during his last days in New York. He’d even bumped into Francesca Romanos, his leading lady, when he and Donatella were having dinner one night at The Four Seasons.

‘Oh God . . . I am a complete shit, a dirty, rotten cheat . . .’ Roberto put his head in his hands.

A few minutes later he returned to his seat. As the number of miles between him and New York grew larger, Roberto saw starkly just what he’d been putting at risk.

Surely it wasn’t too late? If he stopped now and never saw Donatella again, there was no reason why Rosanna should ever know. And he’d make it up to her in any way he could. He would never leave her side again. The two . . . the
three
of them would be together. He would buy her the house in the country that she’d talked about, cancel his commitments for the next six months and help Rosanna with their baby. Yes, yes, that was it.

Roberto began to feel calmer as he planned his penance. He would just have to bear the burden of guilt alone – and make damn sure that Rosanna was never exposed to the terrible pain of discovering his secret.

‘Come on, Rosanna, a few more pushes and the baby will be here,’ said Dr Hardy. ‘I can see its head.’

She looked up at Stephen and groaned. ‘I can’t, I can’t.’

‘You can,’ said Stephen, understanding she was almost at her limit after hours of labour, and so was he. ‘Come on now, here we go.’

Stephen gripped Rosanna’s hand as she pushed and let out a groan of pain.

‘Good, good, two more and baby will be in your arms,’ encouraged Dr Hardy.

Stephen winced as Rosanna’s nails cut into his hands. ‘That’s it, Rosanna, that’s it,’ he said, smiling down at her as she drew in her breath and prepared for another huge effort.

‘Good, good, Rosanna, that’s it. Baby’s coming, keep pushing,’ Dr Hardy urged as she gave a final howl and he lifted a small red body with a crown of jet-black hair into his arms. The tiny figure immediately let out a high-pitched cry.

An exhausted but jubilant Rosanna propped herself up on her elbows to take her first look at her newborn baby.

‘You have a little boy, Rosanna. Congratulations,’ Dr Hardy said, as he swiftly cut the cord then swaddled the wriggling baby in a white blanket before handing him to his mother.

‘He’s so beautiful,’ she whispered. She put her finger inside the tiny hand and felt her baby grip it. ‘He looks just like his father, doesn’t he?’

Stephen looked down at the tiny, wrinkled face. ‘I suppose he does.’

‘Okay, Rosanna, now we have a little bit of tidying up to do,’ said Dr Hardy. He turned to Stephen. ‘Why don’t you go and get yourself a cup of coffee? There’s a machine just along the corridor and a lounge where you can relax.’

‘Does the machine sell cigars?’ Stephen grinned. ‘I feel as though I should smoke one. I’ll pop back in a little while,’ he added to Rosanna as he left the room.

Half an hour later, Stephen found Rosanna sitting up in bed, her hair brushed, wearing a fresh nightgown, the baby sound asleep against her chest. Rosanna’s eyes were sparkling with happiness and Stephen didn’t think he’d ever seen a woman look more beautiful. He sat down in the chair by her bed.

‘How are you?’

‘Wonderful,’ she smiled. ‘Stephen, how can I ever thank you?’

‘There’s no need, really. Any chap would have done the same.’

‘Well, I don’t know how I can ever repay you, but would you like to hold him?’

‘If you’re sure you don’t mind.’

‘Of course not. You’re one of the first people he ever saw. He might think you’re his papa,’ she chuckled as she handed the bundle carefully to him.

Stephen took the baby and held him in his arms. He looked down as two bright, dark eyes opened and gazed, unfocussed, up at him.

‘He’s very alert.’

‘Yes.’ She reached over and stroked the baby’s cheek, then rested her hand on Stephen’s. ‘You were so very kind.’

The two of them looked up as the door burst open and Roberto entered the room.

‘Roberto! Oh Roberto, you’re here, you’re here at last. We have a boy, a beautiful boy!’ Rosanna stretched out her arms as tears began to plummet down her cheeks.

‘My darling.’ He walked swiftly to the bed and held her tight in his arms. ‘I am so proud of you. How can I forgive myself for not being here with you?’

‘It doesn’t matter. Stephen was wonderful, Roberto. You must thank him,’ she urged.

Roberto glanced at Stephen, a man he’d never before met but who was holding his baby. ‘Of course I will, but first may I hold my son?’ he asked brusquely.

‘It goes without saying,’ Stephen replied, feeling horribly uncomfortable as he held out the small bundle to its father.

Roberto gathered the child up in his arms, then turned his back on Stephen to face Rosanna.

‘He’s beautiful,’ he murmured, ‘just like his mamma.’ Gently, he lowered the baby into Rosanna’s arms, then encircled them both in a tender embrace. ‘
Amore mio
, I’m so proud of you. I love you.’

‘And I love you.’

Stephen stood up and edged towards the door, realising his presence was no longer needed. ‘I’d better be . . .’ He started to speak, but, seeing they were oblivious to him, he walked quietly out of the room.

The Metropolitan Opera House, New York

So, Nico, that is how you came into the world. Some might say that that is when the rot set in for me and Roberto; after all, it was another man who saw you born. Your father, for reasons I only became aware of later, missed your birth. Perhaps it was an omen.

But at the time, I was the happiest woman alive. I had my perfect baby and my beloved husband back by my side.

Soon after we had returned home, your father drove us up to the picturesque village of Lower Slaughter in the Cotswolds. When we reached the outskirts of the village, he turned off the road into a long gravelled drive bordered by huge lime trees. As we rounded a bend, I could see up ahead one of the most beautiful houses I’d ever laid eyes on. Roberto told me it was named The Manor House. It had been built during the seventeenth century and was surrounded by sweeping lawns. Even in the middle of a rainy November afternoon, the house looked welcoming, with its honey-coloured stone exterior and mullioned windows. Roberto had a key and we looked round inside. Every room was cosy and inviting, with beamed ceilings, exposed stone walls and open fireplaces smelling of wood smoke. Roberto asked me whether I liked the house and I replied that I loved it. He said he was glad as he’d bought it for me as a present. His plan was that we’d keep the London house, but this was to be our new home. He wanted us to move in as soon as possible.