Irresistible You (23 page)

Rosanna groaned inwardly as Sandro Constantini lunged into a tirade.
As though she didn’t have enough to cope with already with her sister’s two ex-fiancés.

‘I trusted you, Rosanna, and this is what you get up to the minute my back is turned,’ he yelled, his face contorted with anger.

‘But I’m not getting up to anything!’ Rosanna said.

‘Then who are these two men in my apartment? What will the neighbours think, eh? You’ll be getting me a bad reputation and I do not need a bad reputation at this stage of my career!’ he said, dramatically tossing his thick fringe out of his eyes. ‘Come on, then. Who are they?’

‘They’re my sister’s fiancés,’ Rosanna explained.

‘Eh? What do you mean? How can they both be her fiancés?’

‘You’re right – they’re not. At least, not any more. She broke up with them. Or, rather, Reuben broke up with her and she broke up with Mark.’

Sandro’s eyes widened in complete incomprehension.
‘Well, I want them out of my apartment! And where’s my
Bimba
?’

Rosanna looked around desperately for the cat-child. She hadn’t seen the since she’d kicked it out that morning and hoped it hadn’t got itself lost. She might be able to get away with being caught with two men in the apartment but, if anything had happened to the cat-child, she’d have to get herself a lawyer.

‘Didn’t you hear me?’ Sandro said. ‘Out! Out!’ he cried dramatically and Rosanna chased the two of them down the stairs.

‘Rosanna!’
Sandro yelled from the kitchen. ‘Have they gone yet?’

‘They’re leaving right now,’ she yelled back.

‘I hope they took their shoes off before coming in,’ Sandro added.

Reuben and Mark looked at one another and started laughing.

‘
Please!
’ Rosanna said. ‘You’ve got to go.’

‘Rosanna,’ Reuben began.

‘What?’

‘Come and see me as soon as you can,’ he said.

‘I will.’

‘Soon!’ he repeated leaning forward to give her a kiss. ‘Here’s where I’m staying now,’ he said, pressing a card into her hand.

‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry about Sandro. He’s just tired from travelling.’

Reuben shook his head. ‘He’s an asshole.’

She shook her head and gave him a small smile. ‘But he’s a very kind asshole,’ she said.

She opened the door for him and watched as he left and then, she turned to Mark.

‘What will you do?’ she asked.

He shrugged his shoulders. ‘There’s not much for me to stay here for now, is there? I guess I’ll be heading home sooner than I thought.’

Rosanna frowned. ‘Are you sure you won’t stay? I’m sure Elena will be back soon.’

‘Are you?’

Rosanna bit her lip. ‘No.’

‘I don’t think I’ll ever see her again.’

‘Don’t say that!’

‘That’s how she left me feeling.’

Rosanna felt as if her heart was bleeding inside her. ‘Mark! Won’t you go to her?’

He
sighed a long, hopeless sigh. ‘She doesn’t want me there. She didn’t even want me here, Rosanna.’

‘She
did!
I’m sure she did! She just didn’t know it!’

He shook his head.

‘You have to try again! Won’t you? Please, Mark-’

‘I’m tired, Rosanna! I’m so bloody tired of all this.’

Rosanna looked at him and could see that he was telling her the truth - he looked absolutely exhausted. Elena had done her very best to drain him of all life.

Rosanna took his hands in hers. ‘You’re a fool if you believe she doesn’t love you.’

They looked at each other and he shook his head. ‘I was a fool to believe that she did.’

*

Prof and Anastasia had, once again, met for lunch. Prof realised that it was turning into a bit of a routine, albeit a very nice one, but he wasn’t meant to be getting into routines with other women when he was engaged to Elena, was he?

The conversation hadn’t flown as easily today and Prof
thought he knew why: he was feeling guilty. It almost felt as if Elena was with him, sitting beside him with an expression of horror - wondering what he was doing with another woman. He wanted to explain things: it wasn’t what it looked like. But that was such a cliché. Anyway, what exactly
was
this thing with Anastasia? He was still in love with Elena.

He fidgeted in his chair and looked at his watch surreptitiously under the table.

‘It’s nearly two o’clock,’ Anastasia said.

‘Sorry,’ he said, his face flushing. ‘I should think about going.’

‘Where?’

He felt cornered. He didn’t actually have an answer for her and she seemed to know that.

‘It’s my last day tomorrow,’ she told him, her large eyes peeping up through her thick red fringe.

‘Is it?’

She nodded. ‘Then it’s back home. Back to the four walls and cooking for myself again.’

There was a pause. Prof felt that the very air about him was full of reproach and he swore he could feel his skin prickling with the discomfort of deceit.

‘So,’ Anastasia began.

‘So?’ Prof echoed. Their voices seemed to say this was the end of their non-affair. What had started out as being such fun had crumbled away as they both faced the reality of their
situations.

‘Look,’ she said, her hand reaching out across the table to touch his ever so lightly. ‘I know things are difficult for you at the moment and I don’t want to get in the way of you making a decision, but I do want you to know that I’m here. Or rather, I’ll be there - if you want me to be there. You’ve got my number?’

Prof nodded. He had. She’d given it to him the night before and he’d taken it, carefully placing it in his travel copy of
The Selected Works of Byron
.

‘And you’ll call me if you need to talk?’

‘I will,’ he said, daring to look across at her. She smiled at him.

‘Things will work themselves out - one way or another,’ she said.

‘Of course they will,’ he said, wondering why it took a relative stranger to tell a professor such a thing.

They called over to a waiter for the bill and Anastasia picked it up.

‘No, no,’ Prof said. ‘Let me.’

Anastasia seemed a little reluctant but Prof took the bill from her. ‘It’s the least I can do to thank you for your time.’

She smiled. ‘You know, I didn’t really believe in English gentlemen until I met you,’ she said.

As they left the restaurant, they sighed in unison and then laughed.

‘Have you time for a walk?’ she asked.

Prof nodded. He looked absent-minded, as though he didn’t really care too much what they did next and so they walked in silence, gazing half-heartedly in the shops stuffed to bursting point with bright glass. There were photo frames, vases, wineglasses, necklaces, bracelets and earrings.

Anastasia wrinkled her nose in distaste. She’d never worn costume jewellery. Something she did have a weakness for, though, was jewellery boxes and, when she saw a display of beautiful wooden-inlaid boxes in rich reds, blues and chestnuts, she grabbed Prof’s arm and was in the shop.

‘What do you think?’ she asked, picking up a small, oblong box which played
O Sole Mio
. It was Prof’s turn to wrinkle his nose.

‘A bit cheesy?’

He nodded. ‘Just a bit.’

She picked up another: an octagonal box in a dusky red with a pattern of flowers on the top. She opened it up and the bright notes of Beethoven’s
Für Elise
flew out into the shop from the red velvet interior.

‘Oh, yes!’ Anastasia grinned. She turned to see what Prof
thought but he’d left the shop. She frowned just as a sales assistant walked over to give her his music box spiel.

‘I’ll take it,’ she said, producing a credit card before the assistant had time to open his mouth.

‘I lost you,’ she said a moment later outside the shop, her new acquisition well-wrapped up in a carrier bag.

‘Sorry,’ he said.

They walked out and found themselves in San Marco. The tables outside
Quadri’s
and
Florian’s
packed with tourists, the Easter sunshine prising jackets and jumpers from them. The Campanile soared high into the sky, its vivid green spire tipped with a golden angel and, standing opposite, the wedding-cake dreaminess of the Doges’ Palace. It was only a short walk from here to the Danieli, and Prof was itching to get back to his room but he wasn’t quite sure how to go about it.

‘I really didn’t expect to meet someone like you out here,’ Prof admitted at last in a voice barely above a whisper.

‘I didn’t expect to be met,’ Anastasia replied.

Prof looked down at his shiny shoes and wondered how, exactly, they were to say goodbye. They’d passed the boundary of handshakes and yet weren’t familiar enough for an embrace. But Anastasia solved the problem by leaning forward and kissing him daintily on the cheek.

‘Goodbye, darling,’ she said. ‘Don’t you go forgetting me, will you?’

Before Prof had a chance to tell her that he could sooner forget himself, she’d turned and walked away into a crowd of tourists and was gone.

Prof gazed up into a sky dotted with tiny white clouds, the haunting notes of
Für Elise
playing in his mind. It had been part of a programme he’d taken Elena to hear on their first date together, and the unexpected reminder in the shop had shaken him. It was as if somebody was reminding him that he wasn’t meant to be there with Anastasia.

*

‘Remember this?’ Emiliana asked, walking through to the living room with an old, stuffed bear in her arms.

‘Fernando? Where on earth has he been?’

Emiliana shook her head. ‘Rosanna gave him to me after my divorce.’

Elena stretched her hands out to greet the ancient bear. ‘Dear Fernando! I’d forgotten all about him!’

Fernando, the custard-coloured bear, who’d been around for as long as Elena could remember, was “a sharing bear”. He didn’t belong to anyone in particular - rather he was given to the member of the Montella family who was in need of him most at the time. He’d been given to Elena and Rosanna when they’d split up from boyfriends or been dumped over the years; when they’d been unsuccessful in interviews; when Rosanna had failed her driving test for the first, second and third time; and every other family incident which required a custard-coloured cuddle.

‘You know why I’m giving him to you now?’

Elena frowned. ‘Because I’ve just split up with two fiancés?’

‘No. Because I think you should give him to Rosanna.’

‘Rosanna!’

‘She sounded very upset when she rang.’

‘
She’s
upset?
Mon dio!
That really is the limit! I’m made out to be the villain here. I don’t believe it!’

Her mama shook her head silently.
‘Take Fernando. You know it’s the right thing to do.’

‘I’m not using Fernando as a peace offering. It would be more appropriate for me to give her a cobra.’

Emiliana glowered at her daughter. ‘Can you hear what you’re saying?’

‘At least I’m being honest! I really think it’s me who needs Fernando - not Rosanna!’

Emiliana threw her hands in the air in desperation - a gesture which immediately reminded Elena of her sister. Her mama was right - there would never be any running away from her family; there was nowhere to hide from your relatives because they were a part of you. Still, that didn’t mean you had to forgive them in a hurry.

‘I’m not ready to speak to her yet,’ Elena said after a few moments of silence.

‘But you will talk to her?’

Elena sighed. ‘Not yet.’

‘You need to sort this out. You can’t let it fester away-’

‘I know, Mama! Just let me get my head round things, please!’

The two women looked at each other across the small living room. ‘I hate to see my two daughters fighting. You’ve no idea what that does to a mother!’

‘Don’t start!’

‘Well, you’d better put a stop to all this nonsense soon.’

Elena got up.
‘Mama! This isn’t my fault!’

Her mama glared at her.

‘Well,’ Elena began, ‘maybe it is – a bit. But don’t heap
all
the blame on me.’

‘I’m not apportioning blame. That’s not my job.’

Elena sighed. It seemed that that was exactly what her mother was doing.

‘So, how did your trip go?’ Rosanna asked Sandro the next morning. Her question was more out of politeness than real interest, and she was still rather angry at him for his rude eviction of Mark and Reuben.

‘It went very well,’ he said. ‘In
fact, so well that I may have to leave Venice.’

‘Leave Venice?’
Rosanna asked, shocked. Sandro was as much a part of Venice as the water and he’d lived there most of his life. How on earth could he think about leaving? And there was something else which shocked Rosanna: how such a move would affect her. If Sandro left that would mean she’d have to leave too.

‘It’s really very inconvenient,’ Sandro explained
, his face scarred with a scowl. ‘I mean, my whole life is here but, I’m told, I have to be in New York if I really want to make things happen. That’s the place to be for me now.’

‘Oh,’ Rosanna said, stunned. Already, she was planning ahead. There’d be no more freeloading off Sandro Constantini. No more lucrative modelling assignments from the only real artist she sat for. That was bad news.

‘But how can you think of leaving Venice?’ she asked in a plea for him to think about all he’d be giving up. ‘How can you contemplate living in a place without water? And living in a place with high-rise buildings! How will you
breathe
in such a place?’

‘Venice isn’t the only place in the world with water, Rosanna! New York’s surrounded by water and, as to open spaces, there’s always Central Park,’ Sandro said in defence of his new home.

‘But how will you cope without this place?’ Rosanna said, sounding more and more like an anxious mother who doesn’t want her only child to leave home.

‘I’ll have to find another place,’ he shrugged, taking in the studio with a quick glance. ‘The change will be good for me and, more importantly, good for my art. I feel ready for a new beginning. An artist shouldn’t ever become settled or too complacent or they stagnate.’

So, Rosanna thought, that’s what it all came down to – Sandro Constantini’s art. She was fighting a losing battle there, wasn’t she? She was up against an artist’s ego and bank balance.

‘I don’t think your
Bimba
will like it,’ she said at last, pulling out her trump card.

Sandro’s face froze and he gave a weary sigh. ‘I’ve been thinking about her,’ he said. ‘New York is no place for a cat.’

‘No!’ Rosanna agreed, thinking that the animal she had hitherto hated might now turn out to be her saviour.

‘I’ll have to give her away, I suppose,’ he said, his mouth puckering up into a blossom-like kiss – the sort he usually reserved only for his precious
Bimba
.

‘Give her away!’ Rosanna was aghast at such a declaration. The cat was his child. Was he really willing to make this sacrifice for his career? She wondered.

‘I have to make this sacrifice for my career,’ he said.

‘Gosh!’ Rosanna said. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

‘I could think of nothing else on the plane back. My mind was a maelstrom!’ he said, ever the drama queen. ‘I love this place, of course.’

‘You’ll never find another like it,’ Rosanna interrupted.

‘I know. You don’t need to tell me that.’

I do, she thought.
Before you sell it. ‘So, you’re really prepared to give it up?’

Sandro threw his head back and gazed up at the criss-cross of dark beams. It was a space like no other. Would he be able to find such a space in New York? Was there such a space anywhere in the world to rival this one?

‘I don’t think I can really sell it,’ he said at last.

Rosanna breathed a sigh of relief. Thank goodness for that, she thought.

‘I will, perhaps, rent it out.’

Even worse.
There was no way that Rosanna could afford to rent something like Sandro’s.

‘Do you have anyone in mind?’ she asked, realising that she’d soon be packing her bags and heading back to the mainland.

‘It would be a good idea if I could find another artist,’ he said thoughtfully.

‘An artist?’

He nodded. ‘It makes sense. It’s such an excellent space.’

‘Yes!’ Rosanna said, getting excited. ‘And I might just know somebody who’d be interested.’

‘Really?’

Rosanna nodded. She wasn’t sure what kind of money Reuben made or even if he’d be interested in moving to Venice but it was worth a try.

‘Because, if you know of someone, perhaps my dear
Bimba
wouldn’t have to move after all!’ he said, getting excited.

Rosanna frowned. That wasn’t quite what she had in mind.

‘There would be a discount, of course, if you could find somebody to look after the cat!’

Rosanna smiled. Things might just work out in her favour after all.