‘But Dante isn’t actually your son, is he?’ Ferne said, startled.
‘Oh, son, nephew, what does it matter? He’s a Rinucci, and now so are you.’
Next day, she took over the preparations for Dante’s tests, telephoning a contact at the local hospital. He moved fast, and Dante was admitted that day for a lumbar puncture and a CT scan. From behind a window, Ferne watched as he prepared for the scan; he kept his eyes on them until the last minute, as he was swallowed up in the huge machine.
After that the minutes seemed to go at a crawl until they were given the results. During that endless time, Ferne realised that she had always known what the truth would be.
‘The tests show that you’ve already had one mild rupture quite recently,’ the doctor said. ‘You were lucky. You came through it. You might even go on being lucky. Or you could have a major rupture in a few weeks and possibly die.’
Dante didn’t reply, but sat in terrible stillness, as though already dead. After a lifetime of avoiding this moment, he was forced to confront it.
‘But surgery can make it all right?’ Ferne’s voice was almost pleading.
‘I wish I could say that it was as simple as that,’ the doctor replied. ‘The operation is very difficult, and there’s a high death-rate. But if he goes into a coma first then the rate is even higher.’ He addressed Dante directly. ‘Your best chance is to have it now before things get worse.’
Dante had been sitting with head sunk in hands. Now he looked up.
‘And if I live,’ he said, ‘can you guarantee that I’ll still be mentally normal?’ He choked into silence.
Gravely the doctor shook his head.
‘There’s always a chance of complications,’ he said. ‘I wish I could give you a guarantee, but I can’t.’
He walked out, leaving them alone, holding each other in silence. After all the dancing with fate, all the arguments, there was only the bleak reality left. With the operation or without it, the possibility of death was high. And, with it, there was a real chance of something Dante considered far worse.
Why should he choose to walk into the unknown? Ferne knew that there was only their love to make the risk worthwhile, but was that enough? Now he was really dancing to the edge of the abyss, but not with fate, with herself, trusting her to stop him plunging over. But even she had no power to do that.
At that moment she would not have blamed him for walking away.
‘What am I going to do?’ he asked desperately. ‘Once I would have said that dying didn’t worry me, and it would have been true. But now there’s you-and her.’ He pointed downwards, and a wry smile twisted his mouth. ‘Who’d have thought that having something to live for could be so scary?’
She waited for him to say more. The only words that mattered would come from him.
‘I’ve used my illness as a way of avoiding responsibility,’ he said after a while. ‘I didn’t see it like that at the time. I thought I was doing the sensible thing. Now it just looks like a form of cowardice. My whole life has been a sham because I couldn’t face the reality.’
He looked at her in agony, whispering fiercely, ‘Where do you get your courage? Can’t you give some to me? Because I don’t have any. Part of me still says just walk away and let it happen as it will.’
‘No!’ she said fiercely. ‘I need you with me. You’ve got to take every chance of staying alive.’
‘Even if it means becoming like Leo? That scares me more than dying.’
She drew back and looked into his face.
‘Listen to me. You ask me to give you courage, but can’t you understand that I need you to give me courage?’
‘Me? A clown, a chancer?’
‘Yes, a clown, because I need you and your silly jokes to shield me from the rest of the world. I need you to make fun of me and trip me up, and take me by surprise and get the world in proportion for me. You made me strong and whole, so that now I need to be able to reach out and hold your hand for my protection, not yours.’
He searched her face intently, trying to discern the answer to mysteries. At last he seemed to find what he needed, for he drew her close, resting his head on her shoulder.
‘I’ll do whatever you wish,’ he said. ‘Only promise to be there.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE doctor emphasised that there was no time to lose, and a date was set for the next day.
They spent that evening at the villa, where the family had gathered to wish Dante well. He had apparently recovered his spirits, even making a joke of his new deference to Ferne.
‘I don’t believe this is Dante,’ she said. ‘It’s so unlike him to keep agreeing with me.’
‘He’s turning into a Rinucci husband,’ Toni said. ‘However strong we look to the rest of the world, at home we all obey orders.’
Nobody knew which of the wives murmured, ‘So I should hope,’ but the others all nodded agreement, and the husbands grinned.
‘But he’s not a husband,’ Hope pointed out. ‘Perhaps it’s time that he was.’
‘You’ll have to ask Ferne,’ Dante said at once. He smiled up at her with a hint of the old, wicked humour. ‘I just do as I’m told.’
‘Then you’ll be a perfect Rinucci husband,’ she said in a shaking voice.
‘But when is the wedding?’ Hope asked.
‘As soon as I come out of hospital,’ Dante said.
‘No,’ Hope said urgently. ‘Don’t wait so long. Do it now.’
Everyone knew what she meant. It might be now or never.
‘Can it be arranged so quickly?’ Ferne asked.
‘Leave it with me,’ Hope said.
She had contacts all over Naples, and it was no surprise when after a few phone calls she announced that an emergency service could be arranged for the next day. The wedding would be in the afternoon, and Dante would enter the hospital straight afterwards.
It was all achieved in double-quick time, and Ferne was left worried that Dante felt he was being hustled into marriage. Her fear increased when he was quiet on the way home.
‘Dante?’
‘Hush, don’t speak until you’ve heard what I have to say. Wait here.’
He went into the bedroom and searched a drawer, returning a few moments later with two small boxes. Inside one, Ferne saw two wedding-rings, large and small. Inside the other was an engagement ring of diamonds and sapphires.
‘They belonged to my parents,’ he said, taking out the engagement ring. ‘I never thought the day would come when I’d give this to any woman. But then, you’re not any woman. You’re the one I’ve been waiting for all this time.’
He slipped it onto her finger, dropped his head and kissed the spot. Ferne couldn’t speak. She was weeping.
‘And these,’ he said, turning to the other box, ‘are the rings they exchanged on their wedding day. They loved each other very much. He got up to mad tricks, and she tried to stick with him whenever she could. She was afraid that he’d vanish without her.
‘I used to blame her for that. I felt resentful that she took risks without thinking of me, left behind. But I understand now. I’ve come to understand a lot of things that were hidden from me before.’
His voice shook so much that he could barely say the last words. He bent his head quickly, but not quickly enough to hide the fact that his cheeks were wet. Ferne held him tightly, fiercely glad that in her arms he felt free to weep, and that she too had come to understand many things.
That night they made love as if for the first time. He touched her gently, as though afraid to do her harm. She responded to him with passionate tenderness, and always the thought lay between them: perhaps never again; perhaps this was all there would be to last a lifetime. When their lovemaking was over, they held each other tenderly.
Next morning a lawyer called with papers for Dante to sign, and also some for Ferne.