My Husband's Wife(67)

‘I should have said nothing,’ added the neighbour. ‘And don’t press your mother or grandmother. They have been through enough.’

But that didn’t mean she couldn’t plan for the future. ‘Don’t worry,’ she would say, holding her mother in her arms when she wept every night. ‘We will be all right in the end.’

‘But how?’ her mother had sobbed.

Her fists clenched. ‘I will think of something.’

Before long, Carla showed the natural aptitude at school that she had just started to discover back in England, before it all went wrong. Nonno began to boast about his granddaughter who got such excellent grades. He even began to listen to the teachers who said she should consider a career in the ‘professions’. How about becoming an avvocata? Carla showed great skill during school debates.

And that’s when the idea began to form. She would go to university to study law. It was a five-year course – a commitment – but it would be worth it. You can do it, her teachers had assured her. (Indeed her grades were so good that she’d been put up a year at school.) But the real reason that Carla wanted to take the course was because Lily had proved that law gave you power. A right to decide other people’s future. The Lily she’d seen in the corridor that last night was full of it. It might also make her rich enough to rescue Mamma from the stultifying atmosphere in Nonno’s home.

With the hindsight of time, Carla realized that Mamma had not behaved as well as she might have done in England. Perhaps she should have called that doctor sooner. Maybe she should not have had an affair with a married man. But she had been a vulnerable single mother. Now it was up to her, Carla, to protect her.

It was during her final year at university in Rome that one night, when researching a particularly dull case, she had suddenly felt a burning need to see what would happen if she put Ed and Lily’s name into Google.

So! Lily was a partner now. It was not fair that she was doing so well while Mamma was almost a prisoner in Nonno’s home as a result of Lily’s actions. The headshot on the firm’s website showed that she had cut her hair into a bob. Lily looked almost glamorous. Nothing like the Lily she once knew.

As for Ed, she could find very little about him apart from the odd small exhibition here and there. But then a picture jumped out at her from an obscure arts site. Her heart started pounding. The picture was of a little girl with black curls and a smile playing on her lips which somehow managed to look both innocent and knowing at the same time. The colours were dramatic – a crimson-red dress against a sky-blue background – but it was the way the child looked out of the frame that really got you. It was as if she was there in the same room.

Which of course she had been. Because the child had been her. The dress had in fact been black. But an artist, Ed had said at the time, was ‘entitled to change things’.

‘Artist sells acrylic painting to anonymous art collector for a five-figure sum,’ announced the text below.

A five-figure sum?

Stunned, she read on.

‘Ed Macdonald has given hope to all up-and-coming artists everywhere after a collector made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. “I actually painted The Italian Girl some years ago and entered it for an award where it won third prize. However, it didn’t find a home. I was stunned when a buyer, who has asked not to be named, recently walked into a gallery where I exhibit and bought it on the spot.” ’

It wasn’t fair! If it were not for her, there would have been no painting. So Carla wrote to Ed. She had not been paid for her services as a model, she pointed out. Perhaps Ed might like to share some of the money he had been paid.

After three weeks, there was no reply. Maybe they had moved. So she sent a second letter to the gallery mentioned at the end of the article.

Still nothing. How dare he not acknowledge her? The more she thought about it, and the more phone calls she had from poor, housebound Mamma, the more she became convinced that she was owed something. The bitterness grew and grew inside her.

Then a chance remark from a tutor gave her an idea. ‘You are fluent in English, yes? Perhaps you should consider a transfer course in the UK. It will increase your earning power.’

It would also take her nearer to the people who had hurt Mamma, including Larry. To claim what was rightfully hers. And to have what Lily had. Money. A good job. A new look – maybe a bob would suit her too. And whatever else she could take.

There was a gentle touch on her arm. Carla started. Woken from the dream-like memories of the past. ‘We are about to land,’ said the man with the terrible tie. ‘I thought I ought to tell you.’

Peeling off her eye mask, she smiled at him. ‘Thank you.’

‘Not at all. Where are you going to stay in London?’

‘King’s Cross,’ she said confidently, thinking back to the hostel she had found on the Internet. It had looked so nice, and it was reasonably priced too.

‘Have you been to London before?’

‘Of course. But many years ago.’

‘Things have changed.’ He took a business card out of his pocket. ‘Here is my number in case you feel like a drink sometime.’

She glanced at the silver wedding band on his left hand. If Mamma’s experience had taught her one thing, it was that married men were not worth it. ‘Thank you but that is not necessary.’