EPILOGUE
‘HAVE I TOLD you how beautiful you look today, Signora Mastrangelo?’ Pepe whispered into his wife’s ear.
She grinned up at him. ‘You’re looking pretty spiffing yourself. It’s nice to see you’ve made the effort,’ she added with a snigger, referring to the charcoal suit he wore with his salmon cravat.
The priest coughed and they forced their attention back to the proceedings before them. When instructed, Pepe carried baby Benjamin to the font, Cara right by his side.
Of course he’d made the effort today, at their youngest child’s christening, just as he had for the christening of their twins. From the corner of his eye he saw a pair of miniature grenades launch themselves up the aisle, quickly followed by his elegant mother, who had been designated babysitter for the day.
A loud voice stage-whispered theatrically, ‘Gracie and Rocco are being very trying today.’
Titters could be heard throughout the congregation. Luca and Grace were standing at the font with them, their heads bowed, their frames shaking at the precociousness of their eldest daughter, who sat in the front row looking self-important for all her five years of age. Their youngest daughter, two-year-old Georgina, was conspicuous by her absence, no doubt rifling through handbags in the hope of finding sweets. Pepe knew a couple of his artist friends had planned to bring sweets laden with sugar and additives in the hope of watching all the toddlers turn into Scud missiles.
Pepe still felt guilt whenever he recalled turning up at Lily’s christening dressed more appropriately for a day out sailing than the baptism welcoming his niece into the world. Looking back, he couldn’t believe he’d been so selfish. A child’s baptism was one of the most wondrous days for all the family. Instead of appreciating that, he’d deliberately dismissed the event, determined to prove to himself that babies and marriage meant nothing when, in reality, family meant everything.
What a shallow life that had been.
Thank God for Cara.
He would never be able to express the pride he felt in her and the pride she gave in him. He would watch her chatting to clients at the gallery they owned in partnership with his brother and Grace, and which Cara ran, and be awed at her knowledge and the daily battle she fought to unlock her shy tongue and speak coherently. She’d even had another go in his helicopter, a trip that had been aborted after five minutes. Some battles just couldn’t be won, and severe motion sickness brought on by helicopter travel was one of them.
Once the ceremony was over, all the guests trickled out and headed to the party being held at their Parisian home.
Pepe, Cara and their children lingered a little longer.
They walked to the altar at the side of the church, which held the memorial candles, Pepe holding a sleeping Benjamin in his arms. Cara gave the three-year-old twins, Gracie and Rocco, some change to put in the donation box, then helped both children light a candle.
‘Is this for Charlotte, Mama?’ Gracie asked.
Cara’s eyes were bright with unshed tears but she nodded and smiled for their daughter.
Then it was their turn. Standing close together, they lit their candles and each whispered private words of love to the child who would for ever live in their hearts.
Once the five candles were lit—Pepe lit one for Benjamin too—he turned to his wife and kissed her, a chaste brush of the lips that sweetened the melancholy of the moment.
Only then did they leave the church, somehow managing to keep a hold of each other as well as their hyperactive toddlers and newborn baby.
In his heart he knew they would always keep hold of each other.