While Kit looked on, Ruby emptied the dying flowers from the urn, refreshed the water from the tap beside the gate, and arranged the new red roses on the grave. Then she stood up and slipped her arm through Kit’s. He didn’t flinch away, not any more.
‘A whole fucking year,’ said Kit with a sigh.
Ruby squeezed his arm. ‘He meant such a lot to you,’ she said. ‘I know that.’
Kit looked at her. She almost thought there was a glint of tears in his eyes. He’d lost so much, her poor nameless boy. Michael, Gilda, Bianca…
‘He was my dad, you know. My true dad. Not that fucker Cornelius.’
‘We both loved him.’
Ruby thought about how much Michael had meant to her. There had been just one betrayal, with Vi, with a woman who pursued him fanatically, put it right there on a plate. Foisted it in his face, the bitch. Maybe she wouldn’t have forgiven him for that if he’d still been alive, but he was dead, the victim of one woman’s mad obsession, so what the hell, what difference did any of it make now?
‘Kit?’
‘Hm?’ He was staring at the gravestone.
‘Have you really forgiven me? Truly? Completely?’
Kit looked up and his eyes met hers. He heaved a sharp sigh.
‘You know what? For the longest time, I couldn’t. I tried. For Michael, I tried. But I couldn’t do it. And then I was shot. And Rob told me about how you sat there beside me all the time, even though you were exhausted, wrung out, you sat there and talked to me, willing me back to life. And I could hear you. It was a fucking frightening place to be, but I could hear your voice and… well, it made it bearable somehow.’
Tears slipped down Ruby’s face as she recalled how awful it had been, fearing he would die. Kit squeezed her arm. ‘Hey, don’t cry. Everything’s fine now. You and me, we’re OK. All right?’
Ruby nodded, smiling through her tears.
‘Perhaps she’ll come back,’ said Ruby, sniffing. ‘Bianca, I mean.’
She knew that was his dearest wish, but she was torn over it, wanting his happiness but fearful of his choices. Really, she was glad Bianca was gone. The girl had hurt him, nearly killed him.
Kit stared at his mother’s face. Ruby was being kind, trying to give him a little hope, but he had none, not any more. Ah shit, Bianca! He’d searched for her so hard, he’d nearly gone crazy looking for her. He’d had word out on the street, find her, find her. But no one did. He’d gone to the Danieri house. He didn’t give a fuck if he ran into Fabio there, but as it happened he didn’t. There was no cream Morgan on the drive, no sign of Bianca. The old woman was there, Bella, and she came to the front door when he rang the bell.
‘Is Bianca here?’ he asked her flat-out.
And what had struck him as weird was that Bella didn’t answer. Eyes blank, she turned and shuffled across the hall and into the kitchen, then sat down at the table. Kit followed. Somewhere in the building ‘Nessun Dorma’ was playing on a stereo. The kitchen was dirty, disorderly. Everywhere there was dust and mess. The place felt cold, and there was a faint smell, sour and unpleasant, hanging in the frigid air as he crossed the hall – like something nasty had crawled behind a wall and died.
‘Have you seen Vittore?’ she asked him.
Kit looked at Bella more closely. Shit, she’s off her head, he thought.
‘I told them blood would flow. I warned them,’ she said, thin lips trembling. ‘Sometimes I think I see her, you know. In the hall.’
‘Who?’ he asked. ‘Bianca? Is she here?’
‘No, I mean the slut… that slut who took my boy…’
Kit left her sitting there and searched the house, top to bottom.
No Bianca.
After that he drove down to Dante’s, but the place was boarded up, the car park empty except for a few desolate fliers swirling along the ground in the fresh sea breeze.
In the end, he gave up, admitted to himself that this was it; she was gone for good. He had killed Tito, and owned up to it; here was his punishment. He’d lost the love of his life.
Ruby thought that it was all past. None of it mattered any more. All done – like poor Joe, like Betsy, like her friendship with Vi.
Time to let it go.
She had her son back now, truly back, and her daughter, and the twins. There was the question of what would become of Nadine and Billy, Joe and Betsy’s orphaned children. She had already stepped in, conferred with the boarding school they attended so that their schooling went on without interruption. She’d had them with her in Marlow during the summer holidays, and kept in regular contact with them over the autumn term. Now she was determined to see to Christmas for them, to make sure they were cared for.
And there was Thomas, of course. She had lost a friend but gained a lover. Life could be good again. It would be. She was determined about that. And finally she was ready to voice what she had been thinking about for the past few weeks.
‘I’m considering selling the business,’ she said.
Kit looked at her in surprise. ‘Really?’
Ruby nodded. ‘I reckon it’s time for a new challenge,’ she said. ‘I’d hoped Daisy might follow me into it, take it over one day, but that was just wishful thinking. I’ve no idea what she’ll do, but it’s certainly not that.’
‘Maybe she’ll marry Rob,’ said Kit with a faint smile.
‘That would be wonderful. I love Rob.’
Kit shrugged. ‘It’s a good business. A big business. You sure you’d want to give it all up?’
‘I could do something different,’ she said.
‘Such as?’
‘Sail the world. Hike across the Pyrenees. Anything.’
‘You hate boats. And hiking?’ He looked down at her elegant court shoes. ‘I don’t think so, Mum.’
Mum, thought Ruby. The sweetest word in the whole English language. She smiled up at him. Her son, who’d come through for her when she was sure he would not. She loved him so much.
‘I’ll see,’ she said, thinking that the world held all sorts of possibilities now that she had her family united once more.
‘Let’s get on home,’ said Kit, and together they turned and walked back to the gate as the darkness of the winter’s afternoon gathered around them.
127
Life went on.
Kit carried on running his firm, with Rob at his side, watching his back. Traders, shopkeepers, restaurant owners, paid him to keep them safe from thugs, and he did. His boys collected on loans, broke a leg or two on the late-payers – this was after all a business, not a fucking charity.
Time went on.
General Franco died, and so did Graham Hill the famous racing driver, in a light aircraft he was piloting. The Australian Prime Minister was sacked and the Queen opened the North Sea oil pipeline.
Winter deepened and hardened its grip, and soon it was December: Christmas Eve. Kit had presents to buy for Daisy and Ruby and the kids. Along with most of the rest of the population of London, he’d been up and down Oxford Street, which was twinkling with a million festive lights.
Finished at last, knackered after jostling through the crowds, he drove back home, parked up, got the presents out of the boot and locked the Bentley. He was halfway across the pavement in the rain when he saw someone sitting on the steps leading up to his front door. He stopped walking and stood, immobile, staring up at the small white shape huddled there. His heart was in his mouth.
‘Bianca?’ he said.
It couldn’t be her. He’d lost her, she’d vanished from his life, and he had come to terms with that. He wasn’t going to get her back. The shock of all he’d told her had been too much for her. But now…