Love Never Dies

At last someone asks who Giacomo is! Well…now you're going to find out!


Act VI: Giacomo

Christabelle

I leant back in the hansom cab as I trundled through the streets of Florence. It was deep night by now, and the streets were still alive with activity, as ladies of the night plied their trade, and drunken men stumbled home.

I grimaced, and pulled my hood further over my face.

Finally we passed out of the slums and out into the smaller houses on the outskirts of the city, in the open air of the countryside.

We pulled up in front of a small villa, tiled with red terracotta and whitewashed. It was a small building, not extravagant but comfortable at least, surrounded by cypress trees and flowering bushes. I stepped down from the cab, and quickly strode to the door after making sure the driver would wait for me.

"Algaria? It's me," I whispered, knocking on the wooden doors. A small hatch opened, and I stared into the wise old eyes of my oldest and most trusted friend.

"Belle? Is that you?" she mumbled tremulously, before there came the sound of rusted hinges scraping in their setting, as she hauled the door open. "Come in then, before you freeze out there! Reckless child!"

She was dressed in her usual dark widow's weeds, with her iron grey hair pinned up, and out of her face. Her blue eyes were piercing and sharp, despite her age, and she still walked with the vigour of a much younger woman.

I smiled and ducked inside, stepping into a cool, rustic courtyard with a small well, and several chickens clucking amidst the green bushes.

"I had to come. I don't know how long I shall be gone," I replied, as she huffed then led me inside, into the kitchen. This too was rustic, but well-supplied and beautiful in its own way, and I had to duck my head to avoid several strings of dried garlic and wheat, as she led me to the table.

"Leaving your old friend so soon, eh?" she chuckled, as I blushed.

"You know I would not be doing this if it didn't mean a better life for you and Giacomo…" the words tumbled out before I could stop them, in my haste but Algaria turned to me with a motherly smile.

"Belle, stop worrying. I did not say it to distress you, mia cara," she said, cupping my face with her gnarled old hands.

Algaria had been an old teacher of mine at the boarding school in France my father sent me to when Mamma died. She had been my only solace and my strength when I came close to giving up. She would scold me mercilessly, until I would succeed in whatever task I struggled with, simply to sooth my own pride and please her. She knew every button to push. She also called me 'Belle', rather than my full name, but I did not mind.

After I had left the school, to travel to Italy, she had returned to her mother country with me. She'd said someone had needed to look after me.

Until Giacomo.

At the thought, I looked at my old mentor, and she returned my gaze with piercing eyes.

"Can I see him?" I breathed, as she paused. "Please, it might be my last chance for awhile."

"Alright, mia cara. He'll be sleepy and you know how grumpy he gets when he's sleepy," she replied, walking past me as I smiled.

"I know," I whispered.

I sighed, as memories I would rather forget came hurtling back.

Long before I had joined the opera house in Florence, when I was still in France, there had been a man. A young, handsome man by the name Vicomte Edward de Alvarade, and he'd lived close by the school I had attended. All the young women liked him, but most were too awed and frightened to even say hello when he rode through the grounds of the estate.

Not me, to my great misfortune.

I had been walking one morning, when he had happened upon me atop his expensive grey, and we had talked amicably. He'd been somewhat arrogant, a little presumptuous but ultimately pleasant. I met him again at many balls and dances and I, in my youth and foolishness, believed myself to be in love.

He had courted me, and when he asked me, I gave myself to him, despite every social precept I had ever learned. I had always been wild, untamed, bemoaned by my teachers as incorrigible and unconventional, so it would have been little surprise to them; if they had known, that I had crossed that line of society. I was young and stupid, I was in first love with Edward, and I believed he would marry me and take me away from the dreary boarding school.

He did not.

He'd left for America a few days afterward, with no word, and I realised it had all been a game to him, that he would never have taken me away from that place I hated.

It was then I vowed to find my own way in the world, and never surrender my heart again to any man, to dedicate myself wholly to music.

Except one month later I, innocent and naïve, went to Mistress Raymonde, or Algaria, and discovered I was pregnant.

The rest is history.

"Mamma!"

I was jerked out of my thoughts as my little boy of ten ran into the room, accompanied by Algaria. Contrary to her assertions, he was not grumpy at all.

"Mia dea!" I held out my arms, conscious of a yearning fulfilled as he rocketed into my arms. I held him close, against my heart, and felt pure, unadulterated joy fill me up.

Despite his origins, I would never regret my little son, nor the constant threat of his discovery. If it were discovered I had an illegitimate son, I would be disgraced and society would ostracise me. My career, and the only means of survival for Giacomo, Algaria and myself would be destroyed.

Giacomo Philippe Renzi, thankfully, was a miniature version of me, with my eyes and fine skin, but he had his father's dark brunette hair and, when he grew up, athletic build.

Unfortunately he was also rather clumsy.

I noticed the little cut on his knee and cooed. "Oh Giacomo, what have you done to your leg?"

My son buried his face in my neck, and I sighed as I held him there. Just to hold him was one of the keenest pleasures I had ever known, along with singing and…

Memories of Aro Volturi's touch sent shivers down my spine, as I blushed.

"He tripped up walking across the courtyard. Where he got this clumsiness from I do not know!" Algaria wrung her hands dramatically, but sent me a conspiratorial wink.

"Mamma, why are you so warm?" Giacomo asked, as he straightened to look at me. I realised I was still blushing as Algaria looked at me piercingly.

"Why yes, you are so red! Are you feeling well, mia cara?" she asked, walking forward to lay a hand against my forehead. I tried to tamp it down, forcing myself to ignore those insidious memories that wanted to rise up and haunt me.

I failed.

Desperately, I cast around for another image, as desire rode me, and found one.

The image of Carmenita singing in the bath was enough, metaphorically dousing the fire beneath my skin in a cold shower of water.

"I'm fine. It is just...fine weather, and I am tired," I murmured awkwardly. I had always been bad at lying.

Algaria humphed, while Giacomo yawned against my neck. I glanced down.

"Come mia dea," I said, picking him up in my arms. "You need to sleep."

"I'm not tired," he muttered, as I smiled again. He was stubborn too.

"Nonsense. It is time for you to dream happy dreams, my little Giacomo," I whispered, taking him into his room and laying him down on the bed. I covered him up, and sat down beside him.

"Giacomo," I began seriously, "I am going away for a little while tomorrow. I want you to be a good boy for Algaria, and I promise I will come home soon, mia cara."

"Do you have to go, Mamma? Why can't you come and live with us?" he asked, as I felt tears prick my eyes.

"One day, my sweet. One day," I sighed. One day, when I was wealthy enough and we could live together in peace and comfort. "This is a very important opportunity for me. If we're lucky, I might be able to come home for a long time."

Especially considering the fee for my performance. It was a ludicrous amount for a barely known soprano.

But it would keep a roof over my son's head for the foreseeable future.

"Stay with me, Mamma," he whispered, and I kissed his soft, downy hair.

I cradled him, and sang him a soft lullaby my Mamma had sung to me, until I felt him grow heavy, and he breathed deeply into my neck. Gently, I laid him back down and kissed his cheek one last time.

"Goodnight, mia cara," I murmured before, wiping the tears from my eyes, I left the room silently.

I wandered back into the kitchen, thinking hard.

Could I leave my son, for such a long period of time? To maintain secrecy, I could only visit him at weekends, and if anyone I asked, I was visiting my little brother.

But Giacomo looked too much like me, and yet not like me to be my brother.

I sent all my wages to Algaria and him, except what I needed to survive, but even that was just enough to get by. Algaria kept chickens and had her own plot of land she used to grow vegetables, some of which she sold at market to supplement our income, and she weaved beautifully for the local farmers and trades people in addition.

This opportunity in Volterra would be enough to ensure we could live as we pleased for the rest of our lives, but was it worth it to leave my son?

If I was honest, I was not just going for the money or the glory. I was going for something else besides that, and that was what troubled me.

Algaria watched me as I came back in, a steaming cup of coffee awaiting me as I sat down heavily.

"Is he asleep?" she asked, and I nodded. Her gaze didn't lift, and I knew she knew something was wrong.

"You weren't just hot because of the fine weather were you?" she started, and I took a large, blisteringly hot gulp of my coffee as I choked.

She muttered, as she stood and pounded on my back to clear the obstruction.

"Silly child," she clucked her tongue, like a mother hen before she sat back down, and I watched through teary eyes.

Eventually I shook my head, once I could breathe again. "No it wasn't."

And so I told her the whole story.


To be continued.