Roman Holiday Page 25

  “Please,” she said, “read the pages – start where I’ve them turned down. Then you’ll know why I’m such a fucking mess.” She stood on wobbly legs, a half-smile on her exhausted-looking face. “I need to take a shower and get some sleep. Our flight leaves early and the taxi will be here by 6 a.m.” She bent down and kissed him on his forehead. “Happy Christmas, Nick.”

  And she walked away.

  Chapter 18

  God, it was good to be home. Caro threw herself back on the bed, flinging her arms above her head, and luxuriated in the feeling. Their flat, hers and Toby’s, had been kept aired and dusted by her mum and she was grateful. They didn’t bother with a tree or decorations this year as they intended being here only intermittently, spending most of the holidays in her family’s home in the seaside town of Dalkey, south of the city of Dublin. But to be here, on her own bed, hearing Toby in the living room on the phone to his pals, Irish talk radio on in the background, a cup of proper tea next to her bed . . . yeah, she was home.

  Her parents expected them for dinner, a welcome-home affair with as many of the Fitzgeralds as possible showing up. With only two days till actual Christmas and another two to the wedding, well, suffice to say Caro assumed that the next while would be crazy town – and that was putting it mildly. She turned and swung her feet over the side of the bed, sat up and swallowed some of her hot, strong tea. She’d unpacked the few small things she’d brought home, as she and Toby had clothes here already and she really wouldn’t need much other than the few staples.

  She got up and wandered the familiar room, noting things that hadn’t struck her before. She needed new curtains and definitely a new carpet. Maybe she’d have the floorboards sanded and refinished. Maybe she’d invest in decent blinds, instead. Living in a country, and especially a huge palazzo that was the top end in style, must be rubbing off on her. Still, nothing had to be decided today. Or indeed tomorrow.

  Caro propped her shoulder against the window jamb and looked down on the street. It was wintery. A light sleet was blowing and people were bundled up warm as they braved the elements. She must get Toby some ski gear if he was to avail of the di Lucas’ invitation to go skiing upon their return. She wasn’t 100 per cent convinced Toby actually wanted to go – but again, didn’t have to be decided now.

  Taking a deep breath, Caro let her thoughts wander to the evening ahead. Everyone would want the whole sordid story of Toni and the “other” family. She knew they’d be discreet, for the most part, while Toby was there, but she’d be in for some grief, especially from her brothers, when he went to bed. Had to be faced. As did her own new feelings of uncertainty following the reading of the diary.

  She’d been almost happy to hate him, to be justifiably angry with him – it was way easier to deal with than the pain of losing someone you loved, who desperately, it seemed now, loved you back. Reading his words, in his handwriting, Caro remembered loving him so hard. His laughing, gentle ways and his kindness. His cheeky grin and irreverent air. She’d loved it all. Was it better knowing now, reading how much he’d loved her in return? The truth poured from every word on those pages. He did love her, or he had loved her – that was no longer in doubt in her mind.

  What did remain doubtful was the why – why had he spurned her attempts to contact him and why had he married Marianna? She must have fallen pregnant the same time they were together, but she wasn’t even mentioned in the journal. Not once. Strange, indeed.

  Would those questions ever be answered? She hadn’t finished the diary when she handed it to Nick just last night, but she knew he’d keep it safe till she got back. She didn’t still think Toni was lying to her all those years ago, not now, not after reading the beautiful, romantic, soul-touching things he’d put on paper. About her. About them. And how amazing it had been for him, too. Believing that made the whole Marianna part just plain weird.

  Enough. Nothing to be done or changed or decided for now. Now meant getting Toby sorted, their bits and pieces together and a trip to her family home for the next few days.

  Frankie would bring the bridesmaid dress over this evening – God, she hoped it fit – and she remembered she even had a bunch of clothes back in her old room, so one small bag for the duration would do. The mirror over her dressing table reflected her image as she turned abruptly to look for something. Had she changed in just a few months?

  Her hair was styled a bit more chicly, her make-up a little more obvious – which means discreet for most people – and her style of dressing had been subtly updated. That’s what living in Rome did for you, she supposed. She’d lost weight though, which was surprising considering the divine food on offer, but when one then considered the turmoil she’d been through – well, maybe not that surprising.

  “Hey, Tobias, are you unpacked and repacked for Grandma’s?” she called.

  “Almost.”

  Which in Toby language could mean precisely anything.

  She gathered her last few bits, smiled longingly at the bed she wouldn’t be sleeping in for days and headed out to the living room where, shock of all shocks, Toby was completely surrounded by approximately zero packing. She glanced at him as he typed furiously on his phone and decided to give him a break. His room was still relatively neat and he had in fact laid out clothes to take – beside the case. Naturally. God forbid, he’d put them in it.No matter. In the grand scheme of things, he was an excellent youngster and a few unpacked clothes was so minor in their crazy world right now that she simply filled his case, closed it and returned to the hall, where she put it by the door.

  She gave him his five-minute warning and began the trips down and back to the car. Her beloved, battered old Toyota started – just like every time – and she gave it a loving pat as it ticked over, warming up for the first time in ages. Scratch that. She was pretty sure her dad had given it a turn over several times while she was away – he was that kind of dad. As she packed the boot, Toby came hurtling down the steps, several bags in his arms.

  “Sorry, Mum. Thanks a million for doing all that. I was on to Gavin and the lads are meeting up tomorrow in town. Can I go?”

  “It’s Christmas Eve, Toby! Town will be manic, are you sure?”

  “Yes! It’ll be epic and it’s only for a couple of hours in the afternoon – I’ll get the DART home for five, I promise.”

  “Okay. Text them back and say yes.”

  As he raced up the steps again, his phone in his hand, she winced at the thought of facing the city on Christmas Eve – there had been a time, of course, when that kind of mad behaviour was fun. Now, it just seemed crazy. Age, that’s what it was, a woman in her early thirties should surely not feel as old as she did right now. She really should not.

  “Come on,” she yelled up at the open door, “and lock up behind you.”

  Now I know what Frankie meant, Caro thought as she took a glass of wine from her brother’s hand; this is what would alarm her best friend whenever she came back to Ireland. The noise and the sheer largesse of everything in the house would drive an introvert into instant hiding. Everyone was home, to welcome them back, to catch up and to, she suspected, hear all the gory details of their last few months away. That’s what families do – she knew that. In the past she used to bombard poor Frankie with all manner of questions and here she was, almost longing for an escape. And people thought Italians were loud!

  “Thanks, Dev,” she said to the prospective bridegroom. Oh, but he looked well. And so happy. Content even, which was not a word anyone would ever have used to describe the hothead of the family.

  “We missed you.” He nudged her shoulder with his own as he plonked on the arm of her chair, swilling his wine casually. “And the brat. We actually missed him more.”

  Dev adored Toby, they all did, and had never ever given her grief over his parentage.

  “Yeah, yeah, you old softie. Being a fiancé has made you turn to mush. Crikey, what will you be like in a few months as a married man?” She tried for incredulity b
ut knew it didn’t really come off.

  “Happy,” he said quietly, “I’ll be ridiculously happy.”

  Caro tilted her head to look up at her older brother by a year. He was gazing across the room at his bride-to-be. Francesca Jones, who, once a famous actress of stage and screen and now a promising writer, was engaged in what appeared to be a very serious discussion with Toby. Her cropped dark hair was still a shock to Caro, but damn if it didn’t make her even more beautiful. Those wide cheekbones and slightly slanted slate grey eyes were now more prominent and gave her a very European look.

  “How has she been?” Caro asked Dev, referring to the various traumas they’d been through the past summer.

  “She’s amazing. Deals with it the way she deals with pretty much everything – head on.” He rested a hand on his sister’s shoulder. “She misses you, you know.”

  “And I her. So much. Thank God for FaceTime or I’d have gone insane.”

  “I think she misses your common sense more than anything. All the wedding palaver has been a huge strain on her, especially with the press still looking for interviews about her family. But she’s pulled it all together.” He smiled proudly. “It’s going to be an amazing day.”

  Caro gave him a sisterly whack on the arm. “I hope you pulled your weight there, buddy, and didn’t leave all the deets to Frankie. You were supposed to be her wingman!”

  Dev laughed as he rubbed his punched arm. “I did! I was! I am . . . ”

  “Dinner!” Their mother, Jo, called from the dining room as she carried in the last casserole in gloved hands. “It’s on the table, you lot. Come and get it.”

  It was the universal call for all dinners in the Fitzgerald house and woe betide anyone who delayed.

  The meal was fantastic – two large chicken casseroles with a mound of mashed potato and a massive salad. It wasn’t exactly salad weather, but Jo was determined, as always, to get greens of some variety into her brood. They were all here: her parents, Jo and Patrick; her eldest brother, Flynn, who came late and would, most likely, leave early owing to work constraints – but he did come; Dev and Frankie, the most loved-up couple ever; and Caro’s sisters Ali and Molly, who bombarded her with questions about her life in the palazzo and how hot the Italian men were. So, a pretty normal dinner, all in all. Toby was delighted with all the attention and broke into Italian at the drop of a hat, happily showing off to those who loved him best.

  “You kept the whole Italian connection pretty dark, didn’t you?” Frankie leaned over, her voice low so only Caro could hear. “And all those secret Italian lessons? You were always going to take him there, weren’t you?”

  Caro squeezed her best friend’s hand. “Yes, Frankie. It was always my intention but truthfully . . . ” She looked straight into the solemn grey eyes. “What happened to you and to Toby last summer made me realise I couldn’t wait any longer. And what a shitty idea that was, as it turned out, since it was too late anyway.” Frankie’s gentle touch on her hand brought her attention to the white-knuckled grasp she had on her knife. She relaxed her grip and took a deep breath. She continued, “I’ll never forgive myself for not going sooner. Never!”

  Shit. She could feel the tears welling. How could there be more tears? She’d cried a bloody river just recently, hadn’t she?

  Frankie touched her shoulder. “Come on, we’ll bow out till dessert arrives. Come with me.” And taking Caro’s arm, she led her from the room.

  Frankie’s bedroom was the same one she’d always had when she came, summer after summer, from the age of ten. Now, Caro was pretty sure Dev stayed here, too, when he was home. The pair of them both lived mostly in Dev’s studio in the centre of Dublin, but for the wedding prep they’d opted to come back to the family home. It was a sanctuary for Frankie in her youth and it was now for Caro. They sat, side by side on the bed, as they had done many times before, and Caro let her tears fall. Frankie’s arm was strong, firm and loving. She didn’t even get her sorry story out, she just let the comfort of Frankie seep in.

  “God, I’m a mess.” She swiped a hand across her wet cheek. “You don’t need this dumped on you. Sorry, Frankie.”

  She looked at her friend directly, who just snorted out a laugh.

  “Are you kidding me right now? Your dramas are exactly what I need. Your timing is exquisite, sweetie. You’re saving yourself, and indeed the world around you, from the Diva Jones!”

  Caro let out a watery chuckle. She loved Frankie’s odd accent – a mix of American, Irish and the world all mingled together. She knew Frankie was imagining that diva comment in capital letters, because that was the running Fitzgerald joke. Despite her fame and wealth and celebrity-queen status, whatever else Francesca Jones was, it was absolutely not a diva!

  “Come on, we should go back down.” Caro took the Kleenex tissue Frankie offered. “I’d better let them eat dessert before I regale the lot of them with our drama, I suppose.”

  “Oh, honey.” Frankie squeezed her arm as they headed back downstairs, Caro a little less on edge now the tears had dried. “There’s no way that family of yours is going to wait till after dessert!”

  “Ours. Family of ours now, and don’t you forget it.”

  As Caro reached for the doorknob, it was Frankie who was hastily blinking away tears.

  Rare was the occasion when the entire Fitzgerald was silent at the same time. Caro looked around the table. No one stirred. They were all simply gaping at her with stunned expressions.

  It was, naturally, Ali who broke the silence.

  “That fuckin’ selfish, no good, lying, cheating bastard!”

  “Jeez, Ali, tell us how you really feel,” mumbled Dev.

  “That’s quite enough, Alison,” Jo intervened. “You are speaking of Toby’s father and I’ll thank you to remember that. Now, darling,” she turned back to her elder daughter, “can you explain to us why you’re accepting the largesse of the di Lucas and continuing to stay with them? Is it not, how shall I put it, awkward?”

  Caro laughed. Her mother always ended up becoming more stage Irish than she could ever be in real life. Either that, or she assumed a terribly grand accent when she was under stress. Looks like tonight was the latter.

  “Actually, Mum, although it really should, as you so succinctly put it, be terribly awkward, somehow, it’s not. Ask your grandson. Toby, you’re up, you tell them all about our life at the palazzo and your new Italian grandparents.”

  Patrick cleared his throat to gain the family’s attention.

  “I vote it’s brandy and port in the drawing room in ten minutes and we’ll give our boy the stage, agreed?”

  That was the standard cue for a quick table clearance, which as everyone pushed back chairs and began collecting dishes among the instant chatter, happened quite automatically. Flynn tagged Caro on the arm, pulling her slightly away from the others. Molly, passing by, could see they were about to have a private word, so she reached over and took the empty potato dish from Caro’s hands and kept walking.

  “I have to get going in a few moments,” Flynn said, “but I just wanted to let you know I’m having some checking done on Toni’s accident and all the family over there. Just to be on the safe side,” he continued as Caro quickly tried to protest. “It’s happening whether you think they’re a bunch of saints or not. I’m not letting you and my favourite nephew be surrounded by a bunch of people none of us know.”

  “Your only nephew,” she muttered, not really surprised.

  This was Flynn, after all. The man who invented i-dotting and t-crossing. The brother who’d saved her son not that many months earlier. The brother who stood for all of them. Always.

  “It’s not necessary, but . . .’ She held up her hand. “I get it. And I do appreciate it. And you might want to do a background check on Nick Sullivan, too.”

  Oh, God. Why had she said that? Why did she have to bring him up? Damn, now Flynn was going to read all kinds of things into that request. She could feel her cheeks heat as she
wondered if her brother would somehow find out about them. Double damn her and her big mouth.

  “He’s clean.”

  “What?”

  “I already ran him. He’s fine. Left a good career as a partner in a high-end architects firm in New York to run the family business in Rome and, by all accounts, seems to be doing a stellar job. One speeding ticket when he was twenty-two, if that bothers you.” Flynn smiled down at an open-mouthed Caro. He tipped her chin up to close it. “Your boyfriend is one of the good guys. Relax and enjoy. You deserve a bit of happiness.” He kissed her cheek. “Got to go. See you at Christmas dinner. Tell Mum thanks for the meal.”

  And he turned and walked silently down the hall to the front door, closing it gently behind him.

  Well.

  Goodness.

  Caro’s mouth fell slightly open again as she stared after her brother. He was some piece of work. She knew she should feel cross or pissed off or irritated with him for being so high-handed, but what was the point? If all of her mess had been Ali’s or Molly’s story, she’d want him to do exactly the same – watch out for them.

  Shaking her head in wonderment at his intuition, she bypassed the kitchen and flopped down on a large, comfortable armchair next to the fire in the living room. Her dad was adding some coal to the hearth and quirked an eyebrow at her.

  “No kitchen duty for you, my pet?”

  “You know what, Dad? I think I deserve a pass tonight. I’m the entertainment, it seems.”

  Patrick laughed softly. He replaced the bucket and, stretching over, ran a wrinkled hand over her head.

  “We’re so proud of you, darling,” he said softly. “You’re strong and brave for your boy. We would have expected nothing less.”

  Before Caro could let the sudden lump in her throat materialise, the rest of the gang trooped in. Toby stood at his place by the drinks table and took orders. When everyone had a drink he walked over to his grandma’s chair and sat on the arm, one leg bent, the other balanced on the ground. He swallowed some of his ginger ale and beamed at them.