Second Marriage

'You know the old tombs, with their exquisitely carved effigies of marble and fine stone, often inlaid with gold and silver?' he remarked quietly, still in the same icy flat tone. 'People look at them and they marvel, do they not, at the craftsmanship, the beauty, the splendour of it all? But inside—inside is a different story. Inside there is decay and stench and dead men's bones.'

'I don't understand,' she said bewilderedly. Tombs? Effigies?

'No one could understand, Claire, unless they had been inside the tomb, seen for themselves the difference between the exterior and the interior, where the rot and the decomposition are exposed in all their grimness.' He leant forward slightly now, his eyes haunted as they looked into hers. 'But I have been there. I have seen.'

'Romano, what are you trying to say?' This was be­coming surreal, misty. There was something she knew she should know, but was unable to grasp.

'Simply that—'

'A boy and a girl!' A tornado could not have made a more dramatic entrance into the room than Donato, his face beaming and his eyes alight. 'I have a son and a daughter—a son and daughter, Romano,' he shouted exuberantly, before his voice broke and he fell on his friend's chest with a cracked sob. 'I thought…I thought for a time back there—'

'I know what you thought.' Romano's voice was deep and husky, and as he hugged his friend his eyes met with Claire's over Donato's head and she saw they were wet.

'And Grace? She's all right?' Claire asked after a mo­ment or two as Donato straightened.

'She is wonderful,' Donato said softly, with such a reverent note in his voice that it was all Claire could do not to smile. 'You must come and see the babies, both of you.'

'Now?' Claire stared at him in amazement. 'But should we? I mean, won't they mind?'

'They? They? Who are these "they"?' Donato bel­lowed ungrammatically, his face splitting in an ear-to-ear grin. 'No, "they" will not mind if our two dearest friends come to see their namesakes.'

'Their?…' Claire knew she resembled a goldfish, but she couldn't for the life of her shut her mouth.

'Little Claire Liliana and Romano Lorenzo.' Donato looked absurdly pleased with himself, before a look of horror came over his face and he clapped his hand to his mouth. 'Oh, I was not supposed to tell you yet,' he said quickly. 'It was to be a surprise.'

'It is.' Romano's voice was very dry. 'Are you sure about this, Donato? I would have thought one Romano in the family was enough?'

'We're sure.' Donato all but bounced towards the door. 'Come, Grace is waiting. She is very tired but she wants to see you both.'

The room in which Grace had been installed was of the sterile-clean hospital variety, but it was possessed of all the little luxuries that wealth made possible. Claire's eyes went straight to the two small cribs at the side of her friend's bed after she had hugged her close.

'Oh, Grace…' Two tiny black heads peeped out from the blankets, one pink and one blue, and as she ap­proached the see-through plastic cribs one of the babies, the boy, gave a huge yawn and little grimace before appearing to fall asleep again. 'They are beautiful—ab­solutely beautiful. I can't believe it,' Claire said softly, the tears running unheeded down her face.

'I know.' Grace bore a certain resemblance to a bal­loon that had been popped, and her next words added weight to the notion. The girl weighs seven pounds and the boy six pounds two ounces. Where did I put all that, Claire?' she said.

'And you didn't have to have a Caesarean, then?'

'No. The boy had got himself wedged, somehow, but he suddenly popped out like a cork from a bottle, even as the surgeon was preparing to scrub up, and the little girl followed within minutes.' Grace's voice was soft as she added, 'We'd like to name her after you, Claire, if that's all right, and the boy after Romano?'

'I told them,' Donato admitted shamefacedly.

'Oh, you're hopeless.' But the loving look she sent Donato sai

d something quite different, and her voice was tender as she said, 'Give Claire to Romano, would you, Donato? And Romano to Claire?'

If only. As Claire's arms opened to receive the blue blanket, complete with baby, Grace's words echoed in her head like some sort of mocking refrain, and her eyes were blurred as she looked down into the minute little face encircled by soft wool. If only.

'She is so tiny.' There was a note in Romano's voice she had never heard before, and she lifted her head to glance at him, so big and dark and masculine, standing with the baby cradled tenderly in the curve of his arms. 'I cannot believe her little hands—so perfect,' he added in a shaky whisper, the look on his face as he gazed at the sleeping baby causing a huge lump in Claire's throat and a hot stinging in her eyes. 'And you will be loved, little one,' he said softly. 'You will be treasured all the days of your life.'

She saw Donato grip his friend's arm for a moment in silent understanding before he said, 'You will be their godfather, Romano, as you are Paolo's?' She knew Donato's present tense was not a mistake, that he and Grace were including their first child in this moment of celebration and that he was as real to them as the two children cradled in their arms.

'Of course. I would be honoured.' Romano didn't look up as he spoke, his gaze riveted on the baby's wrin­kled little face.

'And you, Claire, you will be their godmother?' Grace asked quickly. 'Please say yes.'

'I wouldn't dream of saying no.' Her voice was tremu­lous, and as she looked down at little Romano Lorenzo again, the wonder of his tiny, perfect features and wispy black hair gripping her heart, she wondered if she would ever hold a child of her own in her arms. She didn't think so. She couldn't marry someone she didn't love, and how could any man follow Romano?

A tear dropped onto the baby's face, and she was just wondering how she was going to get through the next few minutes without breaking down completely when a stout and very austere-looking nurse bustled into the room, and then stood looking askance at them all.