‘I wondered would you ever come,’ he said softly.
His words cracked open all Lou’s anxieties. He was telling her that he’d known about her and that he’d wanted her to come, that he hadn’t wanted to make the first move. She couldn’t have said how she knew all that from just one sentence, but she knew: it was obvious from the look in his eyes and the joy on the noble old face.
‘I didn’t know,’ she said simply. ‘I only found out last Friday night. It’s a lifetime of not knowing.’
‘Ah,’ he said, nodding. ‘I have often wondered if you knew but I didn’t want to insert myself into your life. I had done enough already. I didn’t want to make it worse. Women do not always want the men who fathered their children to stay around, and I knew that was certainly the case with your mother. Is she dead? Is that how you found out?’
From behind Lou, Toni snorted.
‘Hi,’ she said, ‘I’m Toni, Lou’s sister. Lovely to meet you.’
Angelo reached out and shook her hand. ‘So your mother is not dead?’
‘No,’ said Toni brightly. ‘Not dead. She’d kept this a secret all our lives and we only found out on Friday at Lou’s party.’
‘You are fifty years old, then?’ said Angelo, looking thoughtful. Lou nodded.
‘Yes, it was my fiftieth,’ she said.
‘You don’t look fifty,’ said Angelo.
He spoke in the accent of a west of Ireland man and yet the odd inflection was pure Italian.
He went back to her, took her hand and led her out onto a terrace.
Toni and Trinity looked at each other as if unsure whether to follow or not.
‘I will make us cold drinks,’ said the young woman.
‘That would be lovely,’ said Toni. There was no book of etiquette on how to behave in these situations. ‘Are you Angelo’s daughter?’
‘No, I take care of the house,’ said the woman, as if this should be patently obvious.
‘I am Angelo’s wife, Renata,’ said the lady sitting on the couch, and she rose elegantly to her feet. She had long dark hair tinged with silver and though she was possibly not as old as her husband, she walked slowly with a cane. She looked frail and Toni hurried over to her.
‘No, please don’t get up on our account.’
‘I want to greet you properly, but I am not well.’
‘I’m Trinity,’ said Trinity, coming over. ‘You poor thing. What’s wrong with you?’
Toni glared at Trinity. What was it about the young that meant they thought they could say or ask anything?
‘I have rheumatoid arthritis,’ said Renata, one brown slender hand moving gracefully, many tiny gold bangles tinkling as she talked. ‘It’s debilitating. This is why Angelo and I have never had children.’
‘Oh,’ said Toni faintly. There was no answer to this. Asking questions was what she did for a living but this immediate information dump in such a tricky situation was almost too much for her.
‘I’ve always known about your sister. But Angelo did not want to interfere. He said it wasn’t his place.’ The gold bangles tinkled again. Renata talked with her hands as well as with her voice.
‘Was that hard?’ asked Toni, sitting down beside Renata.
If Renata wanted to spill, then Toni would listen. In this scenario, she wouldn’t have dreamed of asking such questions, but Trinity appeared to have started it all off, so Toni might as well find out as much as she could.
Renata seemed to consider it, turning her fine-boned face away thoughtfully.
She was stunning, Toni thought. All finely sculpted and delicate, yet strong at the same time.
‘Difficult? Yes and no. We have a beautiful life here. We make art. We are both painters.’ The elegant hand gestured at the walls where many eclectic canvases were hung. ‘What will be will be.’
