My Name Is Rose Page 4

  ‘So what? Who needs to know where words come from?’ Victoria retorted.

  ‘You might as well say there’s no point in learning history since it’s all about things that have happened in the past and can’t be revisited,’ argued Mrs Luca.

  ‘There isn’t any point in learning history, except perhaps what happened a few years ago,’ said Victoria.

  ‘But history is what has shaped who we are,’ Mrs Luca disagreed.

  ‘Far better to learn about business and finance, I say,’ interjected Mr Luca, just as Marina appeared with a tray of tea and biscuits. ‘This house wasn’t bought on history and Latin.’

  ‘What do you think, Anna?’ Victoria suddenly addressed her. ‘Do you think history and Latin are a waste of time?’

  Rose could feel herself blushing with confusion and looked to Mrs Luca for help.

  ‘How would you like your tea, Anna? With milk? Sugar?’ Mrs Luca picked up the plate of biscuits and offered it to Rose. Rose nodded in response to both questions and took three biscuits from the plate. She was hungry, despite the enormous breakfast she had eaten that morning.

  Victoria immediately gasped, then snorted with derision. ‘She’s taken three in one go, Mummy!’ She turned to her father and said something to him that Rose didn’t understand.

  ‘The poor girl’s hungry!’ Mrs Luca defended Rose. ‘As you would be if you’d been living on hospital meals for weeks on end. And I won’t have you talking in English in front of her, thank you, Victoria. Not until she learns how to speak it herself.’

  ‘But she can’t speak at all, Mummy.’ Victoria pouted.

  ‘You know what I mean, and she can understand our own language perfectly well.’

  Again, Victoria muttered something to her father, who grunted and demanded his tea.

  Rose was amazed that the tea was being served from a silver pot and that the sugar and milk were also in silver containers. She balanced her cup and saucer on her knee, terrified she might spill something on the pale, patterned carpet. She hardly dared lift a biscuit to her mouth in case it caused Victoria more mirth, and wondered if she should put two of them back on the plate instead of leaving them to stare at her accusingly from her saucer.

  She was relieved when Mr Luca finished his tea and stood up.

  ‘I shall have my bath and then I expect to be left in peace for the rest of the day,’ he announced, before walking stiffly out of the room.

  Victoria jumped to her feet. ‘I’m going for a ride,’ she said abruptly.

  ‘Oh, but, darling, I was looking forward to having a catch-up with you,’ protested Mrs Luca. ‘It’s been so long since we were together.’

  ‘Later,’ said Victoria. ‘Anyway, you’ve got her to keep you company.’

  Chapter 10

  Rose lay among the plumped-up pillows of her enormous bed and listened in the pitch-black silence. Heavy curtains at the windows prevented even the smallest glimmer of light from entering the room, making it difficult for her to tell what time it was. She had tried to sleep, turning from one side to the other, pushing back the thick, quilted covers because she was too hot, then pulling them over herself again because she was cold. After Mrs Luca had pecked her on the cheek and said her goodnights, and before settling down, Rose had tiptoed to the bedroom door to see if she could lock it, and had been disappointed to find that there was no key. She didn’t like being shut in, but she wanted to keep everyone else out.

  She thought about the events of the last two days. They felt like the longest two days of her life. Only the previous morning she had woken in her hard, narrow, starched hospital bed, surrounded by the familiar sounds and smells of sickness and suffering, but comfortable in the cocoon she had built around herself. Since then, she had flown across the world into the chilly, privileged lives of a family who might just as well have come from outer space for all that they bore any relation to Rose’s own family, and where unfettered luxury threatened to smother her. I’d give anything to be snuggled up at the back of the wagon or camped underneath the stars.

  Rose clambered out of bed, crept over to the windows and peered through the curtains. She gazed up at the sky, but there were no stars. The moon was just visible through a sweep of cloud and picked out the tops of trees with thin shafts of light. There was a spill of light too on the water spurting from the whale fountain, which made it look as though it was dancing on hot coals. Rose opened a window slowly, carefully, wanting to breathe the night air and hear the night sounds. The gentle flurry of a breeze greeted her, still mild but with a cool edge that made her shiver. Somewhere in the distance a tawny owl hooted, and closer by a vixen screeched.

  The crunch of gravel made Rose pull back sharply. She leant forward again slowly, screening herself with the curtain, and stared down. A tiny red glow hovered in the darkness, disappeared, flickered, then disappeared again. There was a muffled cough, a further crunch of gravel. The red glow moved agitatedly backwards and forwards, then suddenly the entire area in front of the house was drowned in white light.

  ‘Blast!’ Rose heard as she dropped the curtain. ‘Wretched lights!’

  She stood to the side of the window and moved the curtain just enough to enable her to see who it was. Mr Luca, wearing striped pyjamas, was stalking up and down directly below her. Seconds later, he dropped his cigar­ette to the ground, trod on it savagely and turned his head up in the direction of Rose’s window. He stayed there for a while, staring, before striding back into the house. The security lights stayed on as though expecting this intruder to return, but eventually abandoned their vigil, and the house and grounds were plunged into a deeper blackness as the moon was swallowed up by the clouds.

  Rose crept quickly back to bed, heart pounding, legs like jelly. Did he see me? Is Mr Luca on his way upstairs to ask me why I was spying on him? She pulled all the bedding right up to her chin and listened for any sound that might warn her he was on his way, wishing again that she had been able to lock the door.

  A clock began to chime. One, two, three, she counted. Why was Mr Luca wandering around outside at three o’clock in the morning? It was sweltering under the covers, but she dared not push them back – not yet, not until she could be sure that nobody was coming.

  At last, she decided it was safe to emerge. She pushed the covers away and sat up against the pillows. I haven’t done anything wrong, she decided. Why should he be cross with me just because I wasn’t asleep? She had looked out of the window and seen him smoking, that was all. Except that it wasn’t all. What she had seen was that he was able to walk perfectly normally – that all the limping and groaning was a sham. So what? she thought. He wants people to feel sorry for him. He wants attention.

  Uncle Aleksandar could be like that, Rose remembered Esme saying. Uncle Aleksandar could describe a minor stomach discomfort as a major digestive problem and have poor Aunt Mirela running around after him with lotions and potions until she was ready to drop, while he, when she wasn’t looking, would indulge himself with multiple bars of chocolate and too much home-brewed ale. He loved the attention and sympathy his wife gave him, but Esme said that Aunt Mirela knew exactly what he was about and didn’t mind playing the game with him.

  ‘She loves him, that’s the fact of it,’ said Esme. ‘She’ll do anything for him. And if he makes a song and dance about things from time to time, so what?’

  Rose found it easy to understand why Aunt Mirela loved him. Uncle Aleksandar was big and loud and funny and full of beans – at least when he wasn’t full of ale, which tended to make him soppy. He played the cello to Nicu’s violin, and what he lacked in talent he made up for in melodrama. During ballads he swayed from side to side, drawing his bow across the strings with exaggerated sweeps and pulling such sad faces that he looked as if he would dissolve into tears, which indeed he seemed to when, at the end, he wiped a handkerchief across his brow and dabbed at his eyes. During jigs and reels he rocked on his seat and tapped his feet, nodding his head furiously at the same time a
nd grinning from ear to ear. He couldn’t sing, though occasionally he tried to join in, until Nicu shot him a warning look, but he still hummed and whistled and clicked his tongue.

  He was a boxer too, one of the best in his day, Esme told her, before his waistline gave in to his appetite. He still liked to think he could hold his own against the young pretenders who wanted to challenge him, but Aunt Mirela protected him by sending them away.

  ‘We all know you were the best,’ she tutted. ‘You don’t have to keep proving it. And you know if you do insist you’ll be laid up for days.’

  ‘I could whip the pants off any of those whipper­snappers,’ Uncle Aleksandar snorted, jumping from his seat and throwing punches at the air. But his protests were hollow. He quickly settled back down to whittling wood or swapping channels on his treasured television.

  Aunt Mirela certainly loved him, and he loved her too. Just as Esme and Nicu had loved each other. Rose was convinced that Mr Luca didn’t love his wife, and she couldn’t understand how his wife could possibly love him. She had never met anyone so disagreeable, nor anyone who so shamelessly used and abused people.

  He had hidden himself away for the remainder of the afternoon, catching up on business matters, he said, until dinner was served, when he complained about the food being too salty and cold. The only person who seemed to escape his ill humour was his daughter. She indulged him nauseatingly and was indulged in return.

  Mrs Luca had spent the afternoon slowly showing Rose around the house and gardens, saying, ‘We’ll take it very steadily, and you must let me know if it’s too tiring for you. We can’t have you overdoing things the minute you arrive.’

  Rose was flabbergasted that one family could live all alone in such an abundance of wealth and space, and wondered why they needed so many rooms for themselves. When she was shown to her own room, she could only stand in the doorway and stare. The bed was big enough for six people! There was a dressing table with three mirrors, and several brushes and combs were laid out on its ornate top. There was an armchair that looked far too decorative to sit on, and a huge wardrobe and chest of drawers for her to keep her clothes in.

  ‘We’ll go shopping as soon as you feel strong enough and fill them up for you,’ Mrs Luca suggested. ‘I’m sure you’d like that, wouldn’t you? And Victoria can come with us to help choose. Victoria knows what young people are wearing at the moment. We don’t want you to look out of place, do we?’

  She patted the bed and indicated that Rose should sit down with her. Rose did as she was asked, perching uncomfortably on the edge.

  ‘We want you to be happy here, Anna,’ Mrs Luca said. ‘We want you to think of us as your family. I know it will be hard for you at first, but I hope that in time . . . We can’t replace your real family, of course, but we’ll do our best to make you feel at home.’ She gazed at Rose. ‘Can you say something, Anna? Can you tell me how you feel?’

  Rose was shocked. The direct question took her aback, plunging her into turmoil. She got up from the bed and stood helplessly in the middle of the room, pushing her fist against her mouth. Mrs Luca came up to her and tried to hug her.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘That was foolish of me. I won’t ask you again. You don’t have to talk until you’re ready.’

  A noise behind them made them both turn.

  Victoria was hovering in the doorway. She cleared her throat and said, ‘Is it my turn to have some time with you now, Mummy?’ She looked Rose up and down. ‘You’ll be all right on your own for a bit, won’t you?’

  Rose nodded, more than grateful for the suggestion.

  ‘Of course, darling. I’m coming now,’ Mrs Luca gushed. ‘Why don’t you put your things away and have a rest before dinner, Anna?’

  Rose nodded again and watched them leave. As they did, she heard Victoria say to her mother, ‘She’s not another of your projects, is she, Mummy? She looks like a Gypsy to me.’

  Chapter 11

  The one thing that excited Rose about her tour of the Lucas’ estate was the stable yard and horses. She had grown up with horses and had learnt to ride at a very young age, cradled at first between Nicu’s powerful arms, then taking off on her own as soon as she was strong enough to grip with her legs. Philippos was a gentle giant of a horse, who had been with the family since Rose was three and could only manage to call him Peepops.

  One day, Esme told her that ‘Philippos’ meant ‘friend of horses’. Rose thought this was hilarious.

  ‘He’s a horse!’ she cried. ‘Of course he’s a friend of horses!’

  She loved to ride him bareback across fields, galloping through the high grass, and along empty country lanes, lulled by the clip-clop of his hooves. There was no feeling like the sense of freedom it gave her, and she knew Philippos loved it too. His head bobbed up and down, his ears were alert and he whinnied softly over and over again.

  When he pulled the wagon, he obeyed Nicu’s every instruction, tuning in to the sound of his master’s voice, happy to be tethered to his family’s home. At night, he stood quietly by the side of the wagon, like a sentry on guard, while his family slept.

  Philippos was dead. Rose caught a glimpse of his long white mane as he reared and screamed. She blanked her mind.

  Mr and Mrs Luca owned ten horses! There were hunters and hacks and cobs of all sizes and colours. Rose was instantly drawn to a chestnut cob and walked over to stroke its flank.

  ‘Do you like to ride?’ Mrs Luca asked her.

  Rose nodded.

  ‘Then you shall.’ Mrs Luca smiled. ‘But that horse, Snooty, belongs to Victoria, together with Griffin, the grey she’s taken out. What about this one here? He’s called Kosta. He’s not too big and has a sweet temperament.’

  Rose was disappointed when she saw that Mrs Luca was pointing to a piebald pony, and wanted to tell her that she was perfectly capable of riding a much larger horse. She pulled a face, which Mrs Luca took to mean that she thought the pony was too big.

  ‘Or this one, then,’ said Mrs Luca, moving to the next box, where another, smaller pony was shaking its head.

  Rose shrugged, losing interest, and saw a flash of irritation cross her guardian’s face.

  ‘I’m doing my best here, Anna. Try to show some enthusiasm.’ Mrs Luca walked purposefully away from the boxes, before turning to say, ‘I’ll tell you what, you can ride each of the ponies and then make up your mind. Is that all right?’

  Rose nodded and made an effort to look pleased.

  ‘As soon as you’re stronger, we’ll walk you round the yard with them.’

  Satisfied that she and Rose were in agreement, she started to head off in the direction of the gardens. They rounded the corner of the stables just as a tall, dark-haired boy was striding towards them. He was carrying a bucket, which caught Mrs Luca on the shin.

  ‘You fool!’ she cried, bending down to rub her leg. ‘Didn’t you see us coming?’

  ‘I’m very sorry, ma’am,’ he spluttered. ‘No, I didn’t see you.’

  ‘Hurry up and get on with your work, then. The ponies both need mucking out.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. I was about to see to it. It’s good to have you back, ma’am.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure,’ replied Mrs Luca.

  The boy touched his fingers to his forehead in a vague interpretation of a salute, glanced quickly at Rose and hurried past them.

  ‘Nothing but trouble, that one,’ Mrs Luca said to Rose as they proceeded towards the gardens. ‘Unless we nag him, nothing gets done. I don’t know why we keep him on, except that he has nowhere else to go, and I like to provide work for people from our home country. He came over here with his sister, but she found herself a husband and didn’t want him hanging around. I’d rather you didn’t mix with him, though. I don’t want you mixing with the servants.’

  She shot a look at Rose. Rose wasn’t sure whether she was expecting an answer or not, but nodded anyway. She had no intention of mixing with a strange boy. She knew too well that her parents
wouldn’t have approved if she did.

  She trailed along beside Mrs Luca, who led her through an area of formal gardens, telling her about all the work she had had done since they moved in eight years before, and pointing out rare and unusual plants she had had flown in from different parts of the world. The centrepiece was a long, rectangular pond surrounded by a low stone wall, home to numbers of large orange and red-and-white fish.

  ‘The fish are my husband’s,’ Mrs Luca told Rose. ‘They’re koi carp. Ugly things, I think, but he’s passionate about them. The colours make some of them very valuable. Very valuable indeed.’

  Rose peered into the water and was amazed at the size of some of the fish. One came close to the edge, rose to the surface and opened its mouth. Rose smiled. She could see right down its throat.

  ‘It’ll suck your finger if you put it in the water,’ said Mrs Luca.

  Rose didn’t think she’d like having her finger sucked and shook her head.

  They continued through an archway into a walled kitchen garden, where neat rows of vegetables and herbs were growing. At the far end, a man with long black hair tied back in a ponytail was digging up potatoes.

  ‘Ah, there you are, Goran,’ Mrs Luca called. ‘How are things?’

  ‘Good day to you, ma’am. I’m delighted to see you back safe and healthy,’ replied the gardener. ‘The place hasn’t been the same without you. And is this the young lady you’ve rescued?’

  ‘This is Anna. She’s come to live with us as one of the family. Are those for our dinner?’

  ‘They certainly are, ma’am. Straight from earth to pot, just as you like them.’

  Mrs Luca simpered. ‘Goran is an absolute find,’ she said to Rose. ‘What he can’t grow isn’t worth growing. We rarely buy vegetables or herbs from the super­market. Our own are far superior.’

  Rose remembered how her family used to comb woods, fields and hedgerows for their vegetables, fruit and herbs. She and Rani would pounce with glee when they found a mushroom or blackberries or wild garlic. Her family had earned money by picking peas and beans, and the farmers were always generous enough to let them take some away. One of Rose’s favourite jobs was shelling peas, though she would often attract Esme’s wrath for pinging the last one from a pod at Rani. Rani was a hopeless shot and rarely managed to hit her back.