The Last Heir of Monterrato

The next one was more difficult. Informing Ibrahim, her boss at the gallery, that the ‘three or four days’ she had taken off work to come here might actually now be more like three or four weeks was not going to go down well. He was prone to bouts of hysteria at the best of times and this was undoubtedly going to ramp up his rage levels. Still, it had to be done. So, punching his number into the phone, Lottie tucked her hair behind her ear, cleared her throat and waited for the soothing buzzing of the connection tone to be shattered by his familiar bark.

* * *

The palazzo was quiet and still when Lottie finally stepped out onto the landing, the air smelling of polish and freshly cut flowers. Descending the stairs, she looked cautiously around her, feeling the smooth mahogany banister run beneath her hand. She crossed the hall and, pulling open the heavy studded front door, took in a deep, restorative breath.

The Monterrato estate spread out in all directions, as far as the eye could see, sparkling with early-morning dew. In front of her stretched two rows of towering poplar trees, casting strong diagonal shadows across the long driveway that cut through the manicured lawns on either side.

Lottie descended one of the twin flights of stairs and crunched along the gravel path that followed the side of the palazzo. The crisp, cold air felt good against her cheeks and she breathed it in greedily, feeling it scour the insides of her body.

With her hands pushed deep inside her coat pockets she strode purposefully on, knowing exactly where she was going—past the kitchen gardens and the outbuildings, the deserted stables and the swimming pool, to a winding path that threaded through a wooded area.

The first signs of spring were starting to appear: snowdrops and crocus were defiantly poking their heads through the cold soil, scattered around the feet of the trees. The path gradually ascended until the trees stopped and there, perched on the top of a hill, was the Monterrato chapel, its burnt umber walls stark against the pearly blue morning sky.

A shallow flight of stone steps, overgrown with moss and weeds, led up to the chapel and the graves that were spread out around it, their headstones tipping drunkenly in the cold sunshine. This was the final resting place for generations of Revaldis, at peace in these beautiful surroundings.

Lottie moved respectfully between them, picking a pathway towards one particular very small grave. The sight of it clutched at her heart. There was the carved angel, still faithfully guarding the slab of painfully clean white marble, one cheek resting on her hands, her wings spread out behind her.

Squatting down, Lottie took a moment to steady herself as the memories came flooding back: the sight of the tiny white coffin being lowered into the ground, the sound of the first handful of soil as it had landed on the lid. Reaching forward, she touched the headstone, her cold fingers tracing the inscription, the words carved into her heart.

Someone had placed a posy of fresh flowers in a small urn and as she absently rearranged them a robin perched on the angel’s head, watching her with its beady eyes. All was peaceful and still. Savouring the precious moment, Lottie uttered a small, silent prayer to her daughter and watched as the robin took off, carrying her blessings up into the sky.

‘Lottie?’

Lottie swung round with a start. Rafael was standing a few yards away, tall and dark in a long black overcoat, the raised collar skimming his bruised jawline, like some dashing Victorian villain.

‘I thought I might find you here.’

Stumbling to her feet, Lottie pulled her coat closer to her. ‘I...I just needed to think—to be with Seraphina.’

‘Of course. You don’t need to explain. I will go...leave you in peace.’ He was already turning away.

‘No.’ Suddenly she knew she didn’t want him to go. She wanted him to stand with her, beside their daughter’s grave, together. Not to distance himself in the way he always had. ‘Why don’t you join us?’

If the words sounded flippant they both knew the very real intent that they held. Lottie watched as Rafael hesitated, wariness, uncertainty and pride crossing his face before he quietly moved between the overgrown graves to join her, standing sentry-tall beside the towering angel.

There was a short moment of painfully poignant silence, abruptly ended when Rafael shifted his position and gave a small cough.

‘You look cold, Lottie. We should go back to the palazzo. There are things we need to discuss.’

‘I’m fine.’ A shiver so violent that it shook her shoulders said otherwise.

Registering the challenge in her voice, he increased the authority of his own. ‘Then come into the chapel. It will be warmer in there.’

There was no point in arguing. Lottie followed him to the arched doorway of the chapel and watched as he turned the heavy iron ring on the door.

The small space welcomed them in with its domed sky-blue ceiling, sprinkled with hundreds of gold stars and the gilded altar at the back watched over by the Madonna and child. There was that particular, evocative smell—a mixture of wood and damp and incense.

Walking between the rows of ancient pews, Rafael went to light a candle at the altar, then joined Lottie on the front pew, his long legs stretched before him. They were quiet for a moment, neither wanting to break the spell.

‘So...’ Eventually Rafael spoke, his voice low and respectful of their environment. ‘Your decision last night...’

He turned guardedly to face her, and Lottie noticed that the cold had puckered his scar to a white slash.

‘...it still stands?’

‘Yes, of course.’ She returned his look defiantly.

‘Good.’ He let out a breath that lowered his shoulders. ‘Then I thank you again. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how much this means to me.’

‘No, you don’t Rafael.’ Lottie clasped her cold hands together. ‘And, despite the novelty, please don’t think that you have to keep thanking me either.’

‘As you wish.’ He looked at her curiously, trying to gauge her mood. ‘Perhaps you would prefer me to move on to the practicalities?’

Lottie wouldn’t prefer it, as it happened, but she knew that she had no choice. She scuffed her feet against the ancient tiles.

‘Dr Oveisi will be arriving at two-thirty tomorrow.’

‘What?’ That stopped the breath in her throat.

‘Yes. We were fortunate. He had a free day.’

Of course he had. World-renowned IVF specialists were bound to have plenty of time on their hands—empty diaries just waiting for a call. At least that was how it always seemed to work in Rafael’s world.

‘Tomorrow.’ She repeated the word slowly, trying to get it to sink in.

She didn’t know why she was surprised. Rafael was a man who, once a decision had been made, acted on it there and then. He was hardly going to suggest a cooling off period—thirty days in which she could change her mind, cancel her contract.

And, despite the shot of panic she had to concede that there was no point in delaying things. She wasn’t going to change her mind. The sooner they did this, the sooner they would know if it had worked. And if it did...? Just the thought of that sent a giddy thrill of excitement all the way down to her wriggling toes.

Yesterday, when she had made her decision, it had almost felt as if someone else had taken over her body. Some reckless, feckless madam who had elbowed her sensible self to one side, gagged her with a frivolously decadent undergarment and said, Yes, Rafael, of course I will agree to this preposterous idea.

She had strongly suspected that the morning would see her deeply regretting the idea. But her sleepless night had produced more than the dark circles under her eyes. Those chilly hours of darkness had focussed her mind, made her see things more clearly than ever before. She had realised that Rafael was right; she did want to be a mother and, even though she hated to admit it even to herself, more than anything in the world she wanted to be the mother of Rafael’s child.

This was her one opportunity to make it happen—the embryo’s one chance of life. To say no now would be closing the door on that dream for ever, effectively agreeing that their embryo should be destroyed. Something she knew she could never, ever do. Today she was surprised to find that she felt strong—empowered, even, by her decision. This was a huge, massive risk she was taking, but what was it that people said? That life’s biggest regrets came not from the things you had done but the things you hadn’t? Well, she wasn’t going to be accused of that—not this time. No way.

Gazing around the chapel, she felt a flutter of anticipation go through her. If their future chance of parenthood was now in the lap of the gods this felt like the right place to be: seated next to Rafael in this timeless capsule of calm, with the Madonna and child before them. She took strength from that.

‘Tomorrow is all right with you?’

Rafael’s question cut through Lottie’s thoughts and she realised he was waiting for her reply.

‘I thought we might as well move this on as fast as we can.’

‘Tomorrow is fine.’ She turned to face him full-on, even risking a bright-eyed smile. ‘The sooner we can do this the better.’

* * *

Dr Oveisi turned out to be a rather dapper, middle-aged man with blue-black slicked-back hair and a fondness for gold jewellery. As Lottie nervously shook his outstretched hand she could feel the chunky rings against her sweaty palm.