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Approach
ing the wheelchair, he stood looking down at the man seated in it. Falcon had taught him by example to give their father respect, as a matter of duty and as a gift of love and honour to their dead mother, but it was not a respect that came freely and lovingly from his heart, Rocco acknowledged.
‘How could you, a Leopardi, marry this—this nobody?’ the Prince demanded furiously. ‘You are my son. You have a duty to me and to your name. Now you have shamed me and that name by marrying this nothing, who should have been sent back where she came from once you knew that her child was not Antonio’s. It is no wonder that you married in secret to hide your shame.’
There was so much Rocco wanted to say to his father. But he could see where the swollen vein in his temple had started to throb and pulse under the force of his anger, and he could see, too, the anxious concern of the medical attendant Dr Vittorio had placed in charge of the Prince’s day-to-day care.
How pitiful he was, this man who had dominated his childhood and who had filled Rocco with both the longing for approval and attention and the bitter realisation that he would never receive them.
Now, as a result of his treatment of them as children, at a time when a good father should at this stage of his life have commanded their love and care, his father could only command the cold emptiness of duty. Rocco thought of the way in which Josh was already recognising him, smiling up at him and holding out his arms to him. He made himself a promise that the baby’s trust would never be abused, and that the small shoot of love was something he would protect and nurture for as long as Josh needed those things from him.
‘What you mistake for secrecy, Father, was in fact speed. And the reason I married Julie with speed was because I was afraid she might realise how unworthy of her I am and that I would lose her.’
As he spoke Rocco recognised that there was a great deal of truth in what he was saying.
‘Far from being ashamed of my wife, I am very proud of her, and there is nothing I would have liked more than to have my brothers witness our marriage.’
‘Your brothers! Bah! The three of you cling together, speaking with one voice, when it is to me, your father, that you owe your loyalty.’
‘It is not loyalty that binds the three of us together, Father. It is our mutual love for one another. And as for our loyalty, there we have followed your example. Our loyalty is given to the Leopardi name, not those who carry it.’
Rocco watched as something that might have been vulnerability flickered across his father’s face, quickly replaced by anger.
‘With every word you say you show how much you are the son of your mother,’ the Prince told Rocco with contempt. ‘I came here to see what could be salvaged from the folly of this marriage, and was fully prepared to pay this Englishwoman to leave. But now I shall leave you to suffer the consequences of your own making.’
‘As all men must,’ Rocco agreed calmly, then ignored his father to speak to his attendant. ‘My father treats you very unfairly, Aldo. I know it is through no fault of yours that Dr Vittorio’s instructions have been ignored. If you will take my father back to the castle, I shall speak to Dr Vittorio and ask him to call there and see my father as soon as he can. Father, Aldo will take you home now.’
Rocco could see expressions of fury, bafflement and confusion crossing his father’s face at Rocco’s refusal to engage in an acrimonious exchange of words with him.
‘I know you will be disappointed that it has not been possible to find this child Antonio said existed, but maybe it is for the best,’ Rocco told his father, exhaling before acknowledging that Julie had already had a very profound effect upon him, even if she herself didn’t know it. Why else, after all, would he be standing here like this, considering his father’s feelings, and actually feeling pity for him where once he would have only felt bitterness and loathing.
‘Aldo, take me back to the car,’ the Prince ordered his attendant.
Silently Rocco walked alongside the wheelchair as he escorted his father out to his waiting car.
Before Aldo activated the electric ramp that would lift the chair into place in the specially adapted car, Rocco placed his hands on his father’s shoulders and bent to kiss him, first on one cheek and then the other. Not as a supplicant, or even as a survivor, but for the first time as a victor who knew that his victory was unchallengable and who could afford to be generous because of that knowledge.
It was Julie who had given him that gift.
Julie.
As the car pulled away Rocco looked up towards the second- floor windows.
Maria was waiting for him in the hall.
‘I have something I need to discuss with my wife,’ he told her crisply. ‘And I do not wish to be disturbed by anyone for any reason.’
When he crossed the hallway a second time he was carrying an ice bucket containing a bottle of champagne and two glasses.
Maria smiled happily to herself. A house like the villa needed a big family to fill it—many bambini—and, unless she was very wrong, the first of them wouldn’t be very long in the creating. She must have a word with her daughter. She was just the right age to train up as a nursery nurse…
‘I think there’s something you need to tell me.’
How calm Rocco sounded as he carefully placed the champagne bucket down on a small table next to the bedroom armchair along with two glasses.
Julie felt sick with despair. She had known that he was bound to demand an explanation for what he had obviously overheard.
‘I’m sorry if I spoke out of turn and…and offended your father.’ Her voice was stiff with the need to protect herself, and she wasn’t going to risk looking at him.
