‘What is the prognosis?’ he asked.
He knew he sounded curt, even though he did not wish to.
The consultant oncologist looked at him. He was used to giving bad news, but practice never made it easier.
‘The primary tumour has been surgically removed, but the cancer has spread to other organs. That means, unfortunately, that it is terminal. I am sorry to have to tell you this.’
His eyes rested on Luca.
Luca’s face and voice remained expressionless. ‘Is there any treatment possible?’
The consultant nodded. ‘Once he has recovered sufficiently from surgery there are drugs he can take which will, if effective, prolong his life.’
Luca’s hands clenched at his sides. ‘How long?’ he asked bluntly.
‘It is impossible to say with certainty. The drugs are not successful with all patients.’ He paused. ‘We are talking months of holding the cancer at bay. Perhaps six. More should not be hoped for. After that, it will be a question of palliative care to make him comfortable.’
‘I see.’ It was Luca who paused now. Then, ‘Thank you for telling me. I needed to understand the situation. When will he be fit enough to leave hospital?’
‘He will need nursing care at home,’ the oncologist warned him.
Luca nodded. ‘That will be taken care of. He will be well looked after. He will be glad to be home again,’ he said, finding it suddenly difficult to speak. He got to his feet. ‘Thank you for all you are doing for him. It is appreciated.’
He turned, taking his leave. He felt cold in the pit of his stomach. Facing the grim, unwelcome truth.
Matteo was dying.
* * *
With relief, Bianca sank back into the taxi taking them to the station.
‘There,’ said Andrew, her boss, getting in beside her. ‘That wasn’t too bad, was it?’ He smiled at her. ‘You handled it fine—well done. It’s never easy giving your first presentation.’
‘I hope I didn’t sound too nervous.’
‘You settled into it,’ Andrew said reassuringly. ‘You’re doing well, Bianca.’
He bestowed an approving smile upon her.
She answered it with a grateful one. She’d worked hard—only she knew how hard it had been—but she’d achieved what once she would have thought impossible…out of the question for someone like her.
But I’m not that person any longer.
She’d left that person behind—and everything else that she had once wanted so, so much. This was her life now, made out of the ashes of her old one, and Luca D’Alabruschi, with all his fancy ancestry and oh-so-aristocratic blue blood, who’d once amused himself by slumming it with her, could go screw himself…
Her old crudity went with the thought. Giving her a stab of satisfaction. Casting Luca into the oblivion he deserved. Where he could stay and rot.
* * *
Luca’s sleek, low-slung supercar crunched over the gravelled carriage sweep, coming to a halt outside the Villa Fiarante. The house was surrounded by pointed cedars, with sunlight glancing off the rows of pedimented windows all along its imposing frontage. It was a familiar sight to him—almost a second home.His father had been in the Diplomatic Service, mostly posted abroad, and in his parents’ absence their good friend and Luca’s godfather, Matteo, and his late wife, Luisa, had been their surrogates—a relationship that had intensified when Luca’s parents had been tragically killed in an air crash three years ago.
Now Matteo Fiarante was the closest person in the world to him. Luca would do anything for him—anything and everything—out of long, long loyalty. Today was the first time he had visited since Matteo had been discharged after his surgery ten days ago. How would he find him?
He felt concern bite—a concern he expressed to Matteo’s long-serving butler, Giuseppe, who opened the door to him.
‘How is he?’ Luca asked, without preamble.
‘Bearing up, I would venture to say,’ replied Giuseppe carefully. ‘He will be cheered by your visit, if you will permit me to say so.’