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She cried for Rico too.
For the man who had danced in her dreams, who had allowed her to glimpse all he could be, if only for a fleeting time—the man who had held her, loved her, even if he couldn’t admit it to himself.
A man she would mourn now for ever.
‘Let it out, Catherine.’
For a second she stilled, frozen for a moment in time as Rico knelt beside her.
‘Leave me,’ she sobbed, but Rico as usual ignored her, instead wrapping his arms around her, pulling her into his embrace as she struggled like a cat. ‘Leave me,’ she pleaded again, but she felt him shake his head, and the vice of his grip was curiously comforting, something to hold onto as tears again took over.
‘Let it out, Catherine,’ he said again, and suddenly the whys didn’t matter. Rico was here, and as she wept his arms were around her, holding her, almost an extension of her own body, a rock to lean on. And however temporary, however ill-fated their union, for a moment or two she allowed herself to cling to him, not strong enough to face this moment alone.
‘Janey loved you.’ He was trying to comfort her, trying to say the right thing, but his words only fuelled her pain, only widened the abyss of her loss.
‘She hated me—how can I look after her daughter when she hated me?’ Catherine gulped. ‘It’s time I faced the truth.’
‘Is it?’ His question forced her attention. Her shimmering eyes flicked up to his, and her sobs gave way to gentle hiccoughs as he stared back at her. ‘Tonight I found out the truth, Catherine. Tonight I found out what really happened to Janey and Marco—that is why I didn’t come to you. I truly thought you were too weak to hear it, that now wasn’t the time.’ He took a deep breath, and for a second so small it was barely there she swore she registered tears glistening in the dark pools of his eyes, swore that for once in his life emotion truly had the better of him. ‘It wasn’t easy to hear, Catherine, but it is something you need to know, whenever you are ready.’
Summoning strength, she stared bravely back at him. ‘I’m ready.’
‘Not here.’ Standing, he pulled her up, led her out from the graveyard, across the deserted street. They wandered through the bracken till she felt the cool crunch of stones beneath her sandals. She gazed out at the water before sitting down on the cool ground and staring up at the stars. He wrapped his jacket around her, his eyes narrowing in concern as he felt her frozen pale cheeks.
‘It is too cold here, Catherine. You are not well; you should be at home…’ His voice trailed off, the word ‘home’ had been placed out of bounds by Catherine, and as much as it tore him he had to respect that.
‘I can’t go back, Rico.’
He nodded, staring at her for a moment, clearly desperate to take her in his arms, to tell her the truths that needed to come out, but her pallor concerned him.
‘We could sit in the car; I could put the heater on.’
A tiny shift of her head told him he was wasting his breath.
‘Wait there.’
She didn’t respond, just stared into the twinkling sky as Rico wandered over the beach, gathering driftwood. Her tears had left her exhausted—spent, but curiously detached. It had been cathartic cleansing so deep she felt almost void of emotion now, as if nothing more could hurt her, nothing more could touch her.
He knelt close by, parting the stones and filling them with driftwood, lighting the leaves and fanning the tiny flames until the wood caught. And still she said nothing, just gazed into the firelight, mesmerised by its beauty. The hint of eucalyptus as the flames licked the heavy logs was comforting somehow, and the heat from the fire warmed her chilled bones as Rico sat beside her.
‘They weren’t drinking, Catherine.’ His words were soft, but very measured. ‘And they hadn’t been taking any drugs. As I was seeing Antonia out Dr Sellers came back. We both spoke to him; he took us through the post mortem results.’
‘But Marco staggered out of the restaurant; the doorman said he was so drunk he could barely speak…’
‘He had a stroke.’
A gasp escaped her lips, a strangled gasp and her hands shot down and held her cheeks. Her mouth opened and shallow breaths came out in a grief so raw, so painful she was sure the scream that resonated around her head must be audible.
‘Marco had a stroke—that’s why he lost control of the car, that’s why everyone assumed he had been drinking. And the saddest part of it is they were actually out celebrating—celebrating the fact they were going to get their lives on track.’
‘How do you know all this?’
&nb
sp; ‘I spoke with Jessica; when she returned from the shops we had a long talk. I think she was waiting for me to ask.’
‘She probably was,’ Catherine admitted. ‘She’s been trying to talk to me about it, but I kept pushing her away.’
‘You should have listened,’ Rico scolded softly. ‘We both should have listened. Janey loved you, Catherine. She told Jessica that you had both been right to say something, that you in particular had always been right, that she was living life too fast and too dangerously and it was time to slow down. She said she knew it was time to grow up, to take a leaf out of your book and face up to her responsibilities. She was proud of you, Catherine; she wanted to be like you. You should talk to Jessica also,’ he added. ‘I think it might help you.’
