Runaway Love (18 page)

Chapter Thirty-Two

Domino set up a pattern.  He ambled to the door of the studio, sat down and whimpered.  After a few minutes, he wandered back to the easel and lay down with a disgruntled snuffle.  Then, at a time calculated by him, he lurched to his feet and repeated the cycle once more.

At first, Lorenzo managed to ignore the restless Domino.  Ordinarily, he could focus on his canvas to the exclusion of everything around him.  Ordinarily Domino would let him. 

His canine friend's past routine in the studio had been to sit and watch Lorenzo for a while, then, when he got bored, he'd lie down and doze off.  Of course, it had been a long time since they'd worked in the studio.  Perhaps Domino had forgotten his usual habit.  Or, more probably, wanted to get back to his more recent habit - following Genie everywhere.

Only she wasn't here anymore for him to follow.

Domino returned, flopped down, rested his chin on his forelegs and stared up at Lorenzo.

“I miss her too, amico.”

Lorenzo summed up this day as one of the most unsettling for as long as he could remember.

At first, she had pleasantly surprised him by joining him in the kitchen soon after he got up.  However, it wasn’t long before she took the pleasure out of the surprise.

“I’m going to go back home today, Lorenzo,” she said with forced firmness.

It was too sudden for him to grasp immediately. 

“I’m sorry, it’s so sudden,” she continued.  “Better that way, don’t you think?”

He nodded, already visualising her absence - no longer milking Gloria; no longer feeding the chickens; no longer sharing the preparation of their evening meal.

“Better,” he said. “It is all right.  You have no need to apologize.”

  While Genie prepared, he worked fast to complete his most pressing chores so he could give full attention to her departure.  He fantasized several ideas for encouraging Genie to delay.  The wildest idea, which raised a rare smile for that day, was to create an avalanche to block the pass.

“She'd probably climb over it,” he said.  

After a while he gave up his fantasies.  They too painful since they could not be realized. 

“Face facts,” he said.  “You knew this moment would come.  She is determined to leave.  Has been from the beginning.”

Nevertheless, the sense of loss due to her impending departure swelled within him so massively, it restricted his breathing.  If only she could stay.  The house, the farm - everywhere he went - was already feeling empty without her.  He crossed his arms, gripped his shoulders and pressed his chin against his chest to try to protect himself again reality.

He's been here before - after Anna.  But this, somehow felt worse.  With Anna, he could have done nothing to prevent the tragic outcome.  With Genie...there were options.  And he'd never explored any of them.

In the studio, the last image he held of her driving away taunted him.  It was her face he wanted to see, not her back.  His desperation in that desire drove him back to the studio.  Soon he would see her face on the canvas.  This one would never leave.  This one would always be near - with him.

Like Anna’s.

He studied the rough, but recognizable sketch on the canvas and felt a surge of excitement in his chest.  Already, spending time with Genie in this way, gave him a kind of release - a connection.

Painting again. 

Hurt, he realized, was the catalyst.  That's what drove him to the canvas.  First Anna - and now Genie. 

The brush he held in his hand felt like it had never been absent.  It was as though the intervening two years had never been.  The brush, the palette, the canvas - all as familiar as yesterday.

His vow to never paint again had lost its power. 

The sketch of Genie the evening before - that's where his vow had begun to disintegrate.  A wave of ice cold fear engulfed him.  He wanted to hold onto his vow.  It mustn't be undone like this.  Vows are meant to be kept.

But, his subsequent 'confession' to Genie about Anna and their life together had an even more disturbing outcome.  Instead of the memory drawing him closer to Anna, it seemed to create a distance.  It was almost as if she was telling him to let go.  Was it Anna?  Or was it wishful thinking?

Now, whatever the reason, the final truth was, with Genie gone, all he had left were two ghosts.  And, here he was, standing before a rough sketch of Genie on canvas, brush and palette in hand, aiming to paint some life into her ghost. 

He filled his brush with a chosen colour and, gently, at first, he began to fill in Genie's face with skin tone. 

“I should have told her how I felt about her...about you,” he said to the emerging likeness on the canvas. “Perhaps, if I'd told you, it would have made a difference.”  He paused.  “What if I'd asked you to stay?”  He raised his eyebrows momentarily.  “What would you have said? 

Domino ambled up close, sat down and leaned against Lorenzo's leg.

“You're right amico mio,” he said, rubbing behind Domino's ear.  “We both loved her.  I should have asked her - at least.”

He straightened up to examine the canvas.  “With the pass clear, she had choice.  I should have asked.”

Slowly, he began to apply paint once more.  Then, as the face began to come alive under his brush, he gathered momentum and worked with a sense of urgency.

He wasn't aware of how much time had passed before his concentration was again destroyed by Domino.  He trotted to the door, then back to Lorenzo, letting loose intermittent 'woofs'.

“Quiet amico.  I'm trying to work.” Lorenzo waved his paint-encrusted palette in the general direction of Domino.  “Genie's not out there, amico.  She's gone.” 

Domino nudged his leg, returned to the door and looked at Lorenzo.

“All right, you nuisance,” Lorenzo told him.  He strode across and opened the door.  “Off you go.  You won't find her out there.  She's gone.”

The faint ring of the telephone struggled out of his office and weaved uncertainly up the stairs and into the studio.

“So, that's what's bothering you,” Lorenzo said.

Domino began to run down the stairs and when he discovered Lorenzo hadn't followed, he came back up and emitted a snuffly grunt.

Lorenzo hesitated.  In his past painting life, he had resisted all forms of interruptions.   It destroyed his momentum; undermined his creativity. 

His first thought now was to let it ring.

His second thought was more motivating.  What if it's Genie?

Not really expecting it to be her - but hoping - and, since Domino had already disturbed him, he decided to answer it.

His shoulders slumped and his heart felt as though it had shrunk to half its normal size when he discovered the voice on the other end wasn't Genie's.

“Buon Giorno, Lorenzo,” said Bernardo.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Genie settled back, warming her hands on her cappuccino cup and concentrated on soaking up the atmosphere.  The air was so clear and fresh.  She sucked it in to give her lungs a cleansing dose.  Not that they'd breathed anything less clean for some time now in the rarefied atmosphere of Lorenzo's farm.  They probably savoured it with gusto.  They never breathed air this fresh in London.

Just what had she been filtering through her lungs all her life?   

Now, she aimed to go back and punish her lungs some more.

Back to London.

She ran through the events that will almost certainly take place on her arrival.  Her mother will crush her with one of her over-zealous hugs.  Her father will welcome her with a gentle kiss on her forehead.  When she tells them about Lorenzo and being snowed in, their expressions will be a wonder to see.  Their minds will be brimming with questions they'll be too polite to ask.

That's okay.  Let them think the worst.  Or would it be, the best?  What does it matter?  They'll never believe that she and Lorenzo had never taken advantage of the situation - well almost never. 

Sort of.

Of course, her friends will have a field day when they learn about him.  They’ll add their own details to the story to make it a spicy tale worth passing on.  With each telling, the story will escalate beyond all recognition.  Lorenzo’s farm will become a searingly hot love nest.  She wouldn’t be surprised to discover the story ending up in “Celebs” magazine.

That's okay too.

Another little scandal to feed dinner parties and the wider social scene.  She could hear the buzz now.  “Have you heard about that Genie Hamilton - you know, that heiress with all that money?”

She will have to put up with silences when she walks into a room; the sidelong looks; the sniggers.

“I can deal with all that,” she said.  “Isn't that what friends are for?”

Friends.

She wondered if that's what they really were.

Genie doubted at times.  She was “The Heiress with the Mostess” after all, and that alone made her worth knowing.  Who could tell what the benefits would be having such a friend?  Even if the sole perk was a free pass to parties, and other events where admission would be otherwise impossible, that would be enough. 

In her heart of hearts, Genie knew this already.  However, she had lived with it.  What other way could there be, given her circumstances?  As long as she knew the score, she had been able to let go and enjoy herself - and their company.

How different it was here in San Rafaele.  True, she was seen as an extension of Lorenzo, but as far as she could tell, San Rafaelians simply accepted her as she was.

She looked around.  The bright, clean ski slopes, cluttered with bodies in motion; the air filled with the babble and laughter of people.  The glassy ice in the rink where skaters floated here and there, holding onto each other, or skating alone to the rhythm of the music.  Logic told her that what she saw wasn't the full picture of life in San Rafaele.  As with all other communities, it must have its dark side.  But now, the overwhelming image was one of happiness and fun.

“Why am I running away from all this?” 

Could she even feel comfortable again walking the streets of London, surrounded by people crushing...pushing...rushing like a raging river?  Images of her old haunts in the city, now, overwhelmed her - smothering her as efficiently as entombment by avalanche.

As the comparisons swished back and forth through Genie's mind, she felt the emptiness of the life she had led.  Even her photography had not shielded her.  After all, most of her assignments were recording the eternal round of useless parties and events for the rich and famous 

Her kind. 

Food for the Glossies. 

Insular.

No one really cared - unless they featured in the photographs.  Their images served as evidence of the circles in which they moved and the 'right people' with whom they were seen.

She had been too close to this lifestyle to see it for what it was.  Now, on the point of escaping from her snow-bound experience, the nature of her former life was thrown into sharp relief.  By contrast, here she'd experienced the open friendliness of the San Rafaelians.   Here, she'd been living the relatively simple life surrounded by magnificent natural beauty.  It invigorated her.  Made her feel alive. 

Made her feel...at home.

Home.

What a thought.

Home - here in San Rafaele.

“I could live here.” 

She wrinkled her forehead and took another scan of the scene before her.  “I really could live here,” she said.  “This is where I can just be me - Genie Hamilton.”

She twisted in her seat and stared up at Lorenzo's house standing proudly on the edge of the steep escarpment.  A dark-blue ache swelled inside her, sweeping up from the pit of her stomach and filling her chest.  Her breathing became shallow and fast. 

That could have been home. 

Genie quickly dropped her gaze to her untouched cappuccino.  But, the image of Lorenzo's house remained.  She began to explore her memories.  She saw Lorenzo working through his regular chores and Domino lumbering around doing his own thing.

She saw herself working beside Lorenzo.

She saw his dark eyes glinting in the sun, his laughter, felt his kiss... 

Tears welled up.  She had a hole in her heart where Lorenzo should be.  Her fault.  She'd blown it.  She could have stayed.  He would have been okay with it. 

Maybe more than okay.

She was sure. 

But, what about Anna?  Would Lorenzo have accepted her as Genie Hamilton, or just as a bodily replacement for the ghost of Anna Calderone?  

And his painting - was that a totally lost cause to Anna's memory?

Did he know about the "Heiress with the Mostess' anyway?

A thump in her chest jolted a startling epiphany into life. 

“I don't care.”

She lingered on those words to see how she really felt about them.  They felt good.

“I don't care,” she repeated to confirm the reality.

It really was real.

“None of that stuff matters.  It's Lorenzo.  He's the only thing that matters.” 

Genie's mind raced ahead of the pace of her heartbeat. 

“He can have Anna's memory.  He doesn't have to paint if he doesn't want to.  And, if he knows about me, so what?”  

“I don't care.”

Then, something else mushroomed from within her that gave her heart a thorough workout. 

“I think I love that man”

She paused, testing her words one by one in her thoughts.  Every one of them filled her with a mixture of fear and excitement.  She could trust herself to love and be loved.  There were no conditions - just stepping out and venturing into unknown territory of real love.

“This is real.  Really real,” she said.  “I do love that man - that Lorenzo Calderone.  Really.”

Saying it felt even better that time.

She wanted to shout it out so everybody in the world knew - well, everybody in San Rafaele, anyway.  But, the music and the babble of voices would probably prevent the sound of her confession from leaping past the edge of her table.

For a few moments, she basked in this realization.  It was a good feeling.  Her paranoia about men seems to have melted away.

“I'm in love.”  She stared at her cappuccino for a few seconds and then drank it in celebration.  Wiping away her frothy moustache, she repeated, for effect, “I am in love.”

Then reality crept back in.

“Am I crazy, or what?  Did I have to run away from him to find out...to know?” 

True, there were moments when she felt a connection.  But most often, she pushed such thoughts aside.  Lorenzo is sure to have picked up those signals.  The avalanche episode made her intention abundantly clear.

The darkness, spawned by the fact that once again she'd run away, enveloped her.  Was that all she knew how to deal with romantic situations?  Did they frighten her so much?  Her breathing became laboured as she felt the lost hope pressing down on her chest.  Closing her eyes, she could easily imagine that she was still buried under an avalanche.

She looked up at Lorenzo's house, willing him to come and rescue her once again.

No chance.  He expected her to be half way to Switzerland by now.  No way was he about come searching for her and dig her out in the land of the cuckoo clock.

Not even Domino could find her there.

“I've really messed up this time - big time.”