‘You didn’t send many photos these past few days. I hope you were too busy having a lovely time to think of us.’
That was one way to put it.
‘I want to hear all about it over a glass of wine tonight, sweetie. I’m so proud of you for going out and doing something for yourself. You’ve sacrificed so much of your life, but Cilli’s growing up and we’re here now. I can’t wait to see you spread your wings.’
Daphne’s turn of phrase only made Toni think of the butterflies in the forest – and the fleeting nature of happiness.Her mother wanted her to have a different life, but that was a dangerous path to dissatisfaction. Toni had to be content with what she had: Cilli and memories of her great love.
And she had to keep the truth about Gabri a secret from her mother – at all costs.
21
Greeting Donatella with a kiss on the cheek, Tuesday morning, Gabri kept half an eye out for Toni, hoping he’d see her – part of him dreading when he saw her but couldn’t kiss her. He was rather horrified by how much he’d missed her in his bed last night.
‘The new wedding planner arrived yesterday,’ Donatella told him. ‘She’s with the bride and groom at the moment but let me introduce you later. She might need a little hand-holding, I think.’
‘Why would she need that?’
The way Donatella drew back suggested he’d snapped those words with too much emphasis.
‘It’s her first wedding on site, apparently. I’m used to Sophie and Ginny knowing who everyone is, but she seems nice. A single mother.’
He had a hundred responses to that:she’s notjusta mother; she’s not simply ‘nice’, she’s warm and funny and intuitive and a good listener.‘Yes, I’ve had a lot of contact with her via email. If she’s busy, I’ll just get my initial supplies unloaded.’
‘Oh, I need to talk something through with both of you,’ Donatella said, holding him back with a hand on his arm. ‘It’s only a small change, but we have a turtle nest on the beach and we need to move the position of the ceremony – the spot where you’ll build the wedding arch.’
He froze, turning back to her. She might call it a small thing, but a nest from an endangered sea turtle was an important event for the community – and even more for the island environment. ‘Have you spoken to the municipality, just to be sure? It’s early for hatching, but it wouldn’t be unheard of.’
‘I’ve spoken to the celebrant on the phone and she didn’t mention a problem. Of course, we’ll stay well away from the nest.’
He hesitated, wondering if his concerns were overblown. ‘I’ll take a look at the nest, but I think to be on the safe side, we need to speak to the municipality – the environment department – and to Legambiente. Their volunteers will be monitoring the nest.’
Cristina was a volunteer for the environmental charity; at least, she’d talked about it once or twice when they’d been seeing each other.
‘It’s a small wedding on a large beach. What could be the problem?’
‘You might be right, but I’d rather know for certain. The species is protected and there are only a handful of nests on the island. How about you bring Toni down to the beach when she’s finished and I’ll meet you there?’
After quickly stowing his supplies in the storage room in preparation for the work to come creating table centrepieces for the reception room, he made his way down to the beach. A fierce libeccio wind was blowing, churning up the sea. Striped umbrellas tugged at their fastenings and the sunloungers wereunusually empty, but for a few hardy holidaymakers struggling to hold open the pages of their magazines and paperbacks.
He didn’t initially see the nest, so he tugged off his Birkenstocks and headed onto the sand. It was mixed with pebbles here, warmed from the sun. The peak of Monte Capanne rose in the distance to the right. It was a beautiful spot for a wedding, even if it hadn’t been called Innamorata.
As he dawdled in the direction of the water, looking up and down the beach, he noticed a small figure hurrying between the sunloungers, holding a plastic spade. The child threw himself down onto the sand at the end of the row of umbrellas and began furiously digging.
That was when Gabri noticed the fence posts, strung with red and white tape, warning people that the turtle nest was buried there.
‘Ehi!’ he called out. Taking off at a jog – laborious over the sand – he rushed to the nest to stop the boy disturbing the eggs. ‘Stop! You can’t dig there!’
He wasn’t sure why he’d spoken in English. Too much time spent with Toni over the past week. Or perhaps it was something about the boy’s blond hair. It was the right thing to do, because he looked up immediately, pale eyes huge in alarm as he cowered on the sand.
He was all arms and legs, like a baby deer. Gabri had no idea how old he might be. But it was his face, something about the shape of it that snagged Gabri’s attention – and the tiny freckles on his nose.
Gabri froze, his heart kicking in something like alarm. The boy’s eyes weren’t brown. Toni’s husband must have been fair. But the resemblance was unmistakable enough that his gaze was drawn to the echoes of her in this face while he said nothing. He simply dropped to his knees beside the boy and stared.
‘I’m sorry,’ the boy said. ‘I didn’t mean to do it.’
Gabri wasn’t an expert on British accents, but this one was the exact shade of Toni’s. He needed to explain to the boy –Cillianwas his name – but his astonishment had stolen his voice. He shouldn’t have been astonished. He’d known Toni was here with her son. But he hadn’t expected…
As daft as it sounded, the resemblance had socked him in the gut and had a hold of him still. God, what wouldhischild have looked like, if any of those embryos had survived?
