vulnerable child he once was? The little creature, whose life hung
on a thread as he lay in her arms. How good God has been to her.
Her son is now a great man, reasonably healthy and a success in
the world. My Antonio!
‘Take good care of Anna,’ whispers the old woman,
moistening her cracked lips with the tip of her tongue. ‘Of course,
mother,’ replies Antonio. ‘I always do. And she has Paolina too.’
His mother fixes him with a steady gaze, as if she has
something more to say to him. With difficulty she raises a beaker
to her dry lips, sips, returns it to the bedside table. ‘Anna is your
daughter,’ she whispers hoarsely, hardly able to articulate the
words. There is a moment of utter silence as Antonio stares at his
mother. ‘So. After all!’ he manages at last, nodding.
‘You knew?’ she asks, amazement in her still bright eyes.
The priest shrugs.
‘I had an idea, but Paolina denied it.’
He does not understand how she could have hidden this
from him.
‘She has her reason for that,’ murmurs Camilla.
‘Does father know?’ asks Antonio anxiously.
His mother shakes her head feebly. ‘I swore to Paolina
never to tell a soul. But I want to be sure that my family is safe
when I’m gone. Promise me that you will do as I ask?’ He feels the
gentle pressure of her touch on his hand. Taking her fingers in
both his warm hands, he kisses her softly.
‘I promise, mother. Don’t worry.’
A vague smile flits across her features before her eyes fall
shut, and she sleeps. Antonio sees the quiet rise and fall of the
bedclothes over her chest. He runs his hand over her grey hair, and
silently leaves the room, her words still clamouring in his head.
‘Anna is your daughter.’
For more than fifty years Giambattista and Camilla Vivaldi have
shared their lives. Of course Giambattista can look after himself,
but from one day to the next his life is radically altered. A vacuum
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