The Italian's Token Wife

He ran them down to the sea’s edge, lapping gently on the sand, and Benji clutched at his hair, infused with laughter. They all collapsed into the water in a splashing heap, and soon Magda was breathless with laughter as Rafaello whooshed Benji in and out of the water, breasting him through the tiny waves while the little boy shouted with pleasure.

Her heart turned over as she stood, legs apart, thigh-deep in water, watching them. Rafaello was so wonderful with Benji. She could not believe it.

Something tugged at her with an emotion that was almost pain. Again the dangerous, tempting thought flitted across her mind—what if this were real? What if they were what the other people on the beach clearly took them for—a family?

She pushed the thought away. Today—this wonderful, heavenly day—was just a memory in the making.

One which would have to last the rest of her life.

It was with a sense of sated happiness that they finally headed back inland at the end of the day. Dreamily she sat beside Benji in the back of the sleek saloon, lost in a haze of sweet contentment. Benji, exhausted and replete with gelati, nodded off in his child-seat.

As they wound eastwards along the autostrada, heading for the rolling hills, Magda thought how utterly different this journey was from the one she had made from the airport at the beginning of the week, only four days ago.

Was Rafaello really the same person now as he had been then? She remembered how he had sat, in his corner of the limo, totally absorbed in his work, paying no attention to her or Benji.

We didn’t exist for him then, she thought. We were just objects to be used and moved the way he wanted—the way he paid for.

Her eyes shadowed. That last had not changed—he was still paying her. So how did that square with the way he was treating her now? She knew he was being kind to her, but today he really had seemed to be enjoying himself as much as she and Benji. Was that just being kind?

Again, she put the thought aside. There was no point in thinking about it. She would not spoil the sweetness of the day. She would simply sit here, as the powerful car purred along, continue to watch the man who drove, and store up memories.

By the time they reached the villa Magda, too, was nearly asleep. The sun and the sea air had tired her out. Sleepily she extracted Benji, who promptly surfaced with renewed vigour and demanded to be set down. She slid him to his feet and he toddled purposefully towards the door, opened by Giuseppe, who came down to say something to Rafaello and help with the baggage.

‘My aunt and uncle have left,’ Rafaello said to Magda as he extracted the beach bags from the boot of the car. ‘They have gone to console my father in Rome, so Giuseppe tells me. We have the house to ourselves.’

He smiled at her—that same intimate smile he had smiled on the beach. A frisson went through Magda, and a sudden sense of panic as she realised that there would no longer be the reassuring presence of the Calvis over dinner. Last night they had served to dilute the intensity of her awareness of Rafaello, seated at the head of the table and dominating the meal by his presence alone.

Tonight there would be no such buffer. The realisation was alarming.

So when Rafaello said casually, as they went indoors, ‘We have been invited out tonight—some friends want to wish me a happy birthday! There will be plenty of time for you to rest and prepare yourself, and put Benji to bed,’ her first reaction was relief.

Then, straight away, the implications of what he had just said struck her.

‘No, please—you do not have to take me. I will do perfectly well here—’ she started.

Rafaello paused and looked at her. ‘They also,’ he went on, a touch of humour in his face, ‘want to take a look at you—they are most curious.’

Magda bit her lip. ‘Um—is that wise? I mean,’ she went on hastily, ‘won’t that lead them to think that…that this is a real marriage?’

The words were hard to say, but she had to say them. A strange, unreadable look came into Rafaello’s eyes for a moment. Then it cleared. In a bland voice he answered, ‘But this is a real marriage, Magda—it is quite legal, and we need to behave accordingly. Besides—’ a humorous, cajoling note entered his voice ‘—are you not eager to try out one of your new evening dresses?’

She made no answer, feeling awkward, but Rafaello simply went on smoothly, ‘Now, why do you not refresh yourself? Then let Maria have some time with Benji and give him his supper. You can bath him and get him off to sleep, and then get ready for the evening, hmm? Oh…’ He paused at the foot of the stairs. ‘Maria suggested she root out my old cot—it must be in an attic somewhere—and put it beside your bed. She is anxious, she tells me, that you may roll onto Benji when you are asleep. I trust you do not mind?’