Yaya’s eyes narrowed. “Uh huh. Now we are getting somewhere.” She pressed her hand to the top of the desk. “Sit. Tell me about him.”
And Lauren did. She poured it all out to Yaya – how she and Thom had been best friends, and then they’d married even knowing they wouldn’t have long. How hard it had been to know what was coming, but how happy she’d been to be able to love him through the end, to give him a slice of normality when everything else was shifting and fading. And Yaya listened, an impassive look on her sweet, lined face. Every now and again she’d make a little ‘hmm’ noise of encouragement, but otherwise she was content to sit and let Lauren pour everything out.
It was cathartic and necessary. For years Lauren had held onto her own grief while absorbing the sadness of others. She hadn’t realised how it had festered, how badly she’d needed to speak about Thom and how his loss had affected her, and with Yaya who understood.
“Loving like this is – a gift,” Yaya said, finally, when Lauren was done. “But also, it is a burden.” She put a hand on Lauren’s knee, her fingers swollen at the knuckles. “You are lucky to have had him, even if it was only for a short time.”
“Yes,” Lauren wondered why she’d never really thought of it that way. “I think I was.”
“And since this husband of yours?”
Lauren lifted her shoulders. “No one.” The lie was difficult to say, but Raf wasn’t worth mentioning, was he? It wasn’t a real relationship, just sex. But no, that didn’t sit right either. Raf was hard to explain – and definitely to his own grandmother! “No one important,” she amended, even when that still felt wrong.
“Everyone who comes into our life is important, cara. We can learn a lesson from them, no?”
“I suppose,” Lauren agreed, with a small frown. What had Raf taught her? The answer surprised her. A lot. Just as he’d said – she needed him to remind her what it felt like to live and breathe and experience passion and fun.
“You’re young, Lauren. Too young to have decided you want to be alone all your life.”
“I’m not alone,” she reminded Yaya with a voice that rang with false contentment. “I have my work, my patients.”
“Hmmm.” If Lauren knew Yaya as her grandchildren did, she would know that ‘hmmm’ was generally not a good sign. It meant she was ruminating on things, possibly even hatching a plan. It often signalled disapproval or disagreement.
“This is my daughter.” She flipped the album open to reveal a photograph of a young woman with shimmering blonde hair and green eyes. At a distance, they did look a little alike, she supposed. “Isn’t she beautiful?”
There were many forms of grief and she felt Yaya’s now – the loss of her daughter, twice. First to a marriage and estrangement and then to death.
“Yes,” Lauren reached out. “May I?”
Yaya’s nod was all the permission Lauren needed. She took the album but held it low, so Yaya could see the pictures too. She flicked through slowly. The first half of the album was packed with photographs, Camilla with her brothers, Camilla swimming, Camilla horse riding, Camilla cooking, Camilla with a younger Yaya. But then, the photos stopped and crudely cut out pictures from newspapers and magazines took their place – wedding photos, a photo of Camilla dressed in a very ornate and beautiful robe, then another – obviously pregnant – and the last picture, a photograph of Camilla holding the hand of a little boy with dark brown skin and chubby legs, and eyes that seemed to look through the camera lens and break the veil of time.
Silence fell. Lauren had no words to offer, but sitting together in the quiet of Gianfelice’s office seemed to restore Yaya’s equilibrium. “I like to look at her photographs, when I can bear it. It makes me feel closer to her.”
“I can understand that,” Lauren murmured. She brushed her hand comfortingly over Yaya’s. “Would you like to go back to your room?”
Yaya’s eyes met Lauren’s. “Cristo, no. I feel like I’ve been couped up in there a millennium, at least.” Her grin was pure wicked disobedience. “Let’s go to the terrace. We’ll have more tea.”
Chapter Twelve
“ALESSIA!” LAUREN STOPPED SHORT in the corridor, only a few metres from Raf’s door. Guilt flushed her skin. “I didn’t know you were here?”
Alessia’s smile was welcoming. “Max had some business to go through with Raf. I decided to come too and check up on my favourite patient.”
It felt to Lauren as though her heart had taken up residence in her throat. It was seven o’clock at night. What would Alessia think of Lauren strolling down the family corridor?
“How did you find her?” Lauren asked quickly, wondering if she kept conversation moving Alessia might not have noticed where they were. She began to move in the direction from which she’d come; Alessia fell into step beside her.
&nbs
p; “Lauren, she’s wonderful,” Alessia’s smile was radiant. “I knew she was a fighter and I hoped, even as I prepared everyone for the worst, that I might be wrong, but oh, she’s doing so well. This evening I thought she was almost like the old Yaya.”
“And she’s had a big day, too,” Lauren murmured. “She woke up with renewed energy and has refused to sit still for long, despite my best efforts. We’ve been to the office and the terrace, she even sat on the edge of a sun lounger, low enough that she could dangle her feet into the pool.”
Alessia’s eyes flew wide and she shook her head. “That lady is made of iron, I tell you.”
“She’s remarkable.”
Alessia’s features shifted, morphing into a look of discomfort. “I’m only sorry I dragged you out here. You must think this has all been a waste of your time.”