Читать книгу Shadows Of The Past - Frances Housden - Страница 10

The journey north hadn’t taken Franc as long as Maria predicted, and because of that, he’d stopped the car on the brow of a hill at a scenic outlook where Maria said the view of the coast was at its loveliest.

“I wish you could see the view properly. From this distance it’s muted around the edges, like an impressionist painting. I always think the best thing about going away is coming home again. How about you?”

“The view looks fine to me. As for going home, give me until tomorrow to see if that’s true. This is my first trip away from my new apartment.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Maria turned to face him, and something like sympathy flashed across her perfect features. “Is that why you wanted to stay home for the holiday? How long have you lived at Birkenhead Point?”

“Three months. I haven’t done much to the place yet. I bought it as it stood along with most of the furniture.”

“So that’s why it looks…?” She’d braved the kitchen and dining room and lounge of Franc’s apartment while he grabbed an overnight bag.

“Don’t tell me it needs a woman’s touch. It was a woman who designed it. Once I’ve had time to collect a little clutter of my own it will look different.” Work wouldn’t always be this frantic. One day soon he’d be able to indulge in the things he’d never had, like good paintings and pieces of furniture to his own taste that would take away the blank-canvas effect.

“I wasn’t going to say that. But from the little I saw of the apartment when you picked up your gear, it didn’t reflect your personality. It lacks your warmth.”

He hadn’t expected her be so perceptive, not when he’d been doing his damnedest to make sure their relationship was about sex, sex and more sex. Getting to know Maria better bore some considerations that went beyond trying to get her into bed with him. “Dare I take that as a compliment?”

“That would depend on how you see yourself.”

This was a moment that called for a kiss. On the other hand, in his Porsche Boxter only a contortionist could achieve the desired effect with any elegance.

He settled for tucking a few errant strands of slippery black hair behind her ear. It gave him a better view of her profile, short nose, full lips and the small mole that drew attention to them. A slight movement toward him turned his gesture into a caress as his fingers grazed her cheek. He felt a short sharp jolt in his chest. Face on, her features became twice as heart stopping and he had to force his reply out of a larynx gone rusty. “Definitely a compliment then. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me too soon. If I know Mamma, she’ll want chapter and verse about you and your family. So don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Warning heeded, but I doubt it’s necessary, I’ll only be there overnight.” No way could he tell Maria’s mother about Milo Jellic. Chances were if he did, his stay was likely to be of shorter duration. He’d learned that with some people of an older generation the sins of the fathers were still visited on their sons, especially with his father’s dubious history.

Bile spiked in his throat, taking him back to a past he’d thought was well and truly gone.

Abruptly he spun the wheel and pulled the car out onto the road. The sun had nearly finished its plunge into the hills behind them, and ahead scraps of pink reflection were strewn across the sea like silk banners.

With distance to add magic, house windows shone out of a denser patch of horizon, draping it with festive lights, a scene undiluted by knowing the truth. “I take it that’s Kawau Island?”

“Yes, it looks so different at this time of year. The population triples round the bays and inlets at Christmas. Home will be quiet in comparison. We ought to be there soon.”

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. He was used to meeting strangers, selling himself and his ideas, that’s what had got him where he was today. What was wrong about spending one night out of a lifetime where, for a change, he had nothing to gain?

Except maybe their daughter? But then, he only wanted to borrow Maria, not keep her for good.

“How far to go now?” he asked as they sped down the hill and the lights on the horizon disappeared from view.

“We’re almost there. Look, over to the left. Can you see the lights winking through the vines? That’s the southern edge of our boundary.”

The car headlights illuminated a two-story white house with a blue roof and matching shutters. Welcoming lights shone out from the front porch. Kids’ picture-book stuff. And he was the guy whizzing the princess home. What did that make him, white knight, or wizard with evil intentions?

Only time would tell.

Rosa congratulated herself that when Maria had called earlier, to ask if Franc could stay the night, she hadn’t let her excitement show. This was an event that required marking on the calendar after all these months; her daughter was bringing the man she was dating home. The mystery man she’d wanted to keep to herself for a while. She supposed she couldn’t blame her; the Costellos en masse might scare away a prospective suitor.

Instead of the multitude of questions Rosa had wanted to ask, she’d simply said, “Yes, yes, bring him with you, we’ll see you soon,” and hung up.

From the window, she watched the sports car negotiate the gravel driveway. With its top down she could see Maria’s friend was exactly as she’d described him all those months ago. The car’s momentum blew his dark hair back from his forehead, a strong wide forehead. He looked reliable, the kind of man who wouldn’t hurt her baby, she thought with relief. At last she and Papa could go ahead with their plans without worrying.

She’d probably taken her mother away from the stove. Mamma loved to cook and always overdid the food at the holiday season, but then that was Mamma.

Maria knew that when they got inside, the house would be filled with the delicious aromas of lemons, dried fruits and spices. And tomorrow morning, her sister and sisters-in-law would add to the feast till the house overflowed with people and food.

Mamma was out on the porch by the time they drew up. The shutters behind her had faded to a milky-blue and the wraparound porch was overgrown with jasmine, but Maria wouldn’t change a thing. That’s what made it home.

Franc helped her out of the car just as her mother made it to the steps. Tiny and plump, her dark hair liberally streaked with silver, it didn’t stop her from leaping down the steps like an eager teenager.

Maria knew what was coming of old.

From one step up, Mamma easily reached her face, running her hands over it, looking into her eyes. “You’re so pretty, but why don’t you get contacts and let people see your eyes properly?” Then before Maria could reply, she cut her off by asking, “Have you been eating properly? You look thinner.”

“Never miss a meal, Mamma. I’ve been working hard.”

She saw her mother look past her shoulder at Franc as he pulled their bags out of the trunk. “Playing hard too, maybe. You need your sleep.”

“I’m okay, Mamma, don’t worry. Come meet my friend.”

“Franc, I’d like you to meet my mother, Rosa Costello.” Maria pulled him over. “Mamma, this is Franc Jellic.”

Franc held out his hand. He had expected someone more like Maria, but this little woman had hands like quicksilver, and their movement added emphasis to every word she spoke.

Maria finished introducing him. “Franc’s family came here from Dalmatia.” It was as if by telling her mother this, she created a bond between them that Rosa would approve of.

“Great, this year we’ll have a United Nations. I expect you know Papa and I are from Italy, but did Maria tell you Kris, her brother-in-law, is German.”

Rosa smiled up at him, her eyes sparkling as she took his hand. “I’m happy to meet you, Franc.” Reaching up, she gave his cheek a gentle tap. “You be good to my girl.”

“Oh, Mamma.” Maria protested loudly, as if shocked.

Rosa just laughed. “Franc understands.”

“You could say I got the message.” Could this woman see right through him? He tightened his gut. What happened when he got inside, would they bring out the thumbscrews?

“See, I told you, he understands. I’m glad this daughter of mine has brought you to meet us at last. Welcome to our home.”

Franc darted a glance toward Maria, waiting for her to correct the misunderstanding. When she didn’t, he began to say, “No—”

“I know,” cut in Rosa. “No time. People in Auckland are always busy, but you’re here now. That’s all that matters. Come on inside and meet the others.” To Maria, she said, “Papa gave me a moment to have you to myself.”

“I bet he’s just keeping out of the way in case you start weeping all over us. He knows how sentimental you are at Christmas.” Maria stepped between them, slipping a hand through each of their arms, separating them as they climbed the steps to the porch.

Her mother chuckled, “No, if you hadn’t come—then I might have cried. The others can thank Franc that it won’t come down to that.”

Rosa leaned forward and looked at Franc. “Maria doesn’t come home often enough to suit me.” She looked him up and down and winked. “But I suppose I can’t blame her.”

Franc lifted an eyebrow at Maria for guidance.

She scrunched up her eyes and mouthed the word wait then turned to her mother. “You said others, who else is here?”

“Everyone. It’s a surprise, the whole family is here to spend Christmas together under one roof.”

Maria had a premonition of doom. No wonder her mother hadn’t been able to take the time to speak to her earlier. She wondered who’d be sleeping on the couch, her or Franc. But her mother hadn’t finished. “I’ve put you two in the small rooms at the end of the house.”

She looked at Franc again as if measuring him up. “Only single beds, I’m afraid, and the connecting bathroom is tiny, but I’m sure you’ll manage. The children can all squeeze into one room for a change. I expect they’ll like that better anyhow. I just hope we can put up with the noise.” She chuckled. “This is going to be a wonderful Christmas.”

For years after her abduction, her family had kept her close, their way of protecting her from the big bad world. Now, her mother had done an about-face with a vengeance.

What really bothered her was Mamma’s willingness to throw her into the arms of the first man Maria had ever brought home.

For the moment, all she could do was go with the flow and explain to Franc later. She squeezed his arm as they entered the large sitting room. “I’ll explain after,” she whispered, hoping Franc got her message and that his sense of humor was in line with her own.

The moment he entered the sitting room Franc realized he was outnumbered. The words enemy territory flashed before his eyes.

The huge sitting room ran the full width of the house and was practically bursting at the seams, adults, kids…cats. In self-defense, he bent to pick up the cat, giving his hands something else to do other than drag Maria out of there and back into his own comfort zone.

As his brain worked on his problem, he counted six children, my God, six, and five adults, not including the three of them entering the room.

Everyone talked at once, and the snatches of conversation he managed to pick up made no sense. Rosa brought a tall slim man with dark thinning hair, who, from the looks of him, couldn’t be anyone other than Maria’s father. Franc let the cat spring to the floor as everyone stopped talking. And stared at him. Now he understood what it meant to be put under a microscope.

“Franc, this is Pietro, Maria’s father.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind Franc heard a clang of metal gates shutting behind him. Trapped.

Everything in the room, the people, the atmosphere, all the kids, were perfect reminders of why he didn’t do the family thing. The urge to run a finger round inside his collar made his hand itch, but he kept it clamped by his side. It was all too much like sitcom material.

Pietro clasped his hand, shaking it heartily, with a hand that was as tanned as his face. His dark eyes creased into a hundred lines as his laughter kept time with the energetic pumping of hands. Hard calluses bit into Franc’s knuckles. Lean and sinewy, like the hands of a man who had worked hard all his life, they carried as little meat as the rest of the older guy’s body.

“Welcome. We thought Maria was never going to let us meet you. And tonight is the ideal time.”

There it was again. The family had him confused with someone else. Randy maybe, though that thought stung in spades.

Why didn’t Maria just come right out and tell them? Set them straight, for Pete’s sake?

He glanced at her; she shook her head, and left him none the wiser. He read embarrassment, and maybe a little confusion in her expression at her father’s effusive welcome.

As Pietro let go, Franc reached out for Maria, meshing his fingers with hers. For a couple of seconds he rubbed both sets of knuckles against his thigh on the off chance it would relieve the tension gripping him.

A damn futile course of action as it turned out. How could he have known it felt the natural thing to do, as if they often communicated this way?

His heart turned traitor, thudding against his breastbone as he found himself wishing it wasn’t a lie.

Escape.

A wiser man would have turned on his tail and run. Franc caught the inside of his cheek between his teeth as if grounding himself in the present instead of cloud cuckoo land where all this junk was happening to him. “So? Apart from Christmas, what’s so special about this evening?” Franc asked, before realizing he might have left himself open to some crazy suggestion.

Laughingly, Pietro slapped him on the shoulder. “You will find out soon, we’ve been waiting for you both to arrive. But first…” He turned to Maria. “Introduce Franc to the rest of the family while I open some wine.”

Then he turned to Rosa, saying, “Wineglasses, Mamma.”

Maria squeezed Franc’s fingers, stopping him voicing the question at the forefront of his mind. “Don’t let this lot scare you off, Franc. They can be a bit overpowering at first.”

“Like this situation, you mean.”

She studied his eyes. For all his abrupt statement of the facts, warmth softened their depths, making her knees go weak. “Can you wait until later for an explanation? Please? I don’t want to embarrass my parents. Mamma in particular.”

He released her hand, but the imprint of his remained as she waited to hear him say no. Instead, he looped an arm around her shoulders, stooping closer so no one else could hear, and whispered, “I intend to keep you to your word. And it had better be good.” That said, Franc continued to hold her against the lean muscled strength of his body as they moved farther into the room.

Last night, they’d danced almost as close, so the combination of aftershave and his peculiarly male muskiness filling her head was already fixed in her memory. But she hadn’t known a man’s body could burn with such heat. A heat so strong it made her want to melt into him and over him till she couldn’t tell where she began and he ended.

Her insides clenched and she almost cried out with the strangeness of the sensation. This was desire, and until Franc, she’d never known its effect could be so utterly physical.

The journey of a few feet seemed to have lasted a mile. Now, an arm’s length away from the generations of Costello, born in New Zealand, she warned him, “Okay, take a deep breath and keep in mind most of us are of Italian descent. If they ask anything embarrassing, just pretend you didn’t hear, and answer someone else’s question.”

He slightly pushed away, flicking her with a glance that said, “You’ve got to be kidding.”

So, he was new to the game. He’d learn.

There didn’t seem to be as many of them with everyone sitting down, now he’d gotten over the hurdle of meeting them all, and the shock of having two more adults appear from the kitchen.

Way past their bedtime, the children still rolled around the faded Persian rugs, pushing, shoving, laughing and squabbling over toys, but no one appeared worried.

The sitting room was comfortably, yet tastefully decorated, suitable for a big family. Long and narrow, open French doors led to a tiled patio at the far end of the room where a breeze drifted in, lifting the sheer curtains hanging on either side.

“Quiet, you lot,” ordered Giovanna, a younger version of Rosa, who was married to Kris; she sat with a baby on her knee. Two of the older boys looked up for a second and went back to their game, and the noise continued.

Everyone, her sister, brothers and their various spouses were being very nice, too nice. Suffocatingly nice.

Look-how-good-it-is-to-be-married nice.

If it hadn’t been his suggestion to drive Maria home, he could almost think he’d been set up. It was as if the Costellos were husband shopping for their little sister and his name was on the top of their list. All he wanted to do was find a big black pen and score it out.

Maria appeared to be going along with the charade that they’d known each other a lot longer than two days, when she deferred to his opinion. “What do you think, Franc?”

And she smiled a lot, touching him shyly, as if they were lovers in the first flush of discovery.

Lovers. The word took on more onerous connotations than ever before. He couldn’t deny making love to Maria had been on his mind, but he hadn’t planned on having her family around when it happened.

Franc took a quick step back from his thoughts. The aura of nuptial bliss had to be messing with his mind. Next thing he knew, he’d be breaking out in a cold sweat.

It was a relief to see Pietro come back into the room carrying bottles of wine—sparkling, from the shape of them.

Andrea, the eldest brother, commented, “Must be something special, Papa’s had that wine laid down in his personal cellar for almost ten years.”

The cold sweat arrived with a vision that played havoc with his imagination, of Pietro standing up and announcing his daughter’s betrothal. To him!

No. Even Maria wouldn’t go that far to please her family. As for him, was it fear of actually playing along with the charade that made his top lip damp?

As the wine fizzed in the background, Franc took stock of his reactions. There was no doubt about it, this was unfamiliar territory. And maybe he was actually shying away from discovering what he’d missed out on. He’d never experienced the close-knit structure that the Costellos projected as a family.

To make more space now that everyone was in the sitting room, Franc perched on the arm of Maria’s chair. Around them the atmosphere sparkled like the wine frothing from the bottles. Pietro poured, while Rosa passed around champagne flutes, and when they were done, stood together before the fireplace.

“We wish to make a toast,” Pietro announced, holding up his glass. “To our retirement.” He clinked glasses with Rosa and they both drank.

They were going to sell the house! Maria couldn’t believe it. A dull roar had settled inside the top of her head and it wasn’t caused by champagne. Her tongue felt stiff and thick, and the words she wanted to say, questions she needed to ask, wouldn’t come out. It was the shock. She’d never ever thought they would sell the house.

Andrea found his tongue first. “What about the vineyard? You can’t sell that!”

Pietro lifted his hand in a calming motion. “Of course not. The vineyard will belong to all of you, and the work needn’t change. I know three of you have your own vineyards, but maybe this is the time to expand and begin taking on the big vineyards. Of course, you will have to come to some agreement with Maria, she may want to sell her share.”

“I don’t want to sell.” If she knew one solitary thing, it was that she could never barter her rights to Falcon’s Rise Winery for money.

“We couldn’t afford to buy you out anyway,” her brother, Michel countered, frowning. She knew why. His vineyard was the least established, and he owed more money on it. He and Sarah had been in their house less than a year.

As questions buffeted her ears from every side, Maria piped up, “What about the house? Do you have to sell it?”

She wished it unsaid as soon as the words were out, but the others all had their own homes. All she had was a room for rent in the city. It wasn’t the same thing.

This house was her home.

“Enough!” One word from Rosa and silence replaced their anxious questions. “We thought you’d be happy for us. We won’t move far. We’re thinking of Warkworth. But first we want to take a vacation in Italy.” Rosa slid her arm round her husband’s waist. “Drink up now,” she ordered. “Be happy for us.”

Franc carried their bags as they followed her mother upstairs.

Just as well. She didn’t feel fit for anything as she trailed behind, her head ringing with the news. What was worse, she hadn’t known it would affect her this way. Thoughts of selling the vineyard hadn’t troubled her before because she’d been sure it would always be there. Always be her home.

“The rooms are at the far end of the hall,” said Mamma to Franc. “You’ll like the view, they look down over the patio.”

Gradually, her feet slowed. Connecting rooms. How could her mother do this to her? It had to be because they were retiring. Nothing else could explain their eagerness to be rid of her.

“Tell him how nice the view is, Maria.”

“It’s very nice.”

“Don’t sound so enthusiastic,” her mother chided as she opened the door on the right and flicked on the light. “You’re in here, Franc.”

He propped her bag against the door opposite his then shrugged through the narrow entrance to the room he’d been allotted.

She wished now that she’d said something and ended up with the whole family annoyed with her instead of Franc, who probably wanted to ring her neck right about now. She measured the space between the two doors. The distance could have been longer, say, about half a mile. While her mother showed Franc where everything went, Maria carried her bag next door.

The room was smaller than her one down the hall with its queen-size bed, but at least it was quite airy, and higher than the mosquito line, so the window could be left open at night. She smiled as she imagined her nieces and nephews sleeping top-and-tail in her bed. This she had to see.

Her good mood lasted until she heard her mother showing Franc the bathroom. “It’s small, but it will give you more privacy from the children.”

The door on Maria’s side of the bathroom was flung open and her mother entered. “Maria can show you where the towels are kept if you need more. Now,” she said, looking as if she’d just performed magic, “I’ll see you for supper in a few minutes. No need to unpack. Just wash up.”

Maria turned her back on Franc, who was framed in the doorway, and walked over to gaze out the window. Her brothers and Kris were on the patio, watching Papa wave his arms around, pointing things out to the others. It didn’t matter that it was dark; they all knew the vineyard like the backs of their hands. The way she did.

“No time for looking out the window,” Mamma told her. “Get ready for supper.”

Franc leaned against her bedroom door as if that would bar it against Rosa. Maria hadn’t moved from the window. She glanced over her shoulder at him as though she wondered what he was doing there, in her room. Well, he’d soon set her straight. He wouldn’t be here a minute longer than he could help.

He took a deep breath to center his thoughts and find some balance. Now he knew what they meant by culture shock. He was suffering from it.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Maria shrugged. “It’s no big deal.”

“You should have told your mother we’d only just met. When I take a woman to bed, I prefer to do my own asking. I won’t be forced.”

“No force intended, we have separate rooms.”

“Connecting rooms.” He’d had enough. Maria was no help. “Look, I’ve no intention of stepping into Randy Searle’s shoes. So what do I have to do to get out of this place? Should I come down with a virus, or do I have to break a leg?”

He felt as if he was coming down with a case of happy-families, a disease that came with a ton of mouths to feed and could only spell disaster for his ambitions. The chances of his taking Maria to his bed no longer seemed like a cure for what ailed him.

Although he sensed he might just die a happy man, if he was going to go down, he’d be fighting all the way.