In the Name of Gucci by Patricia Gucci

Author:Patricia Gucci
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Crown/Archetype
Published: 2016-05-09T16:00:00+00:00

I never once felt that I couldn’t trust my father. I knew intuitively that he could be relied upon to look after my mother and me and that—when he was around—he would give us his undivided attention.

In a relationship between two people, trust is essential; otherwise one risks living in a constant state of anxiety. I know that feeling all too well and it caused me great unhappiness for many years. Only a trusting relationship can bring peace and lasting romance.

I imagine Olwen must have given up the idea of trust years earlier and so, to a point, did Mamma. She had long since accepted my father’s duplicity when it came to other women but she also knew deep down that she was “the one” and that he’d never forsake her. Or so she thought.

During my first few years in Rome, a dark cloud settled over our apartment that had nothing to do with me. Something much more serious was afoot, although I wouldn’t discover exactly what it was for a while. All I knew was that things weren’t right and my mother was floundering in misery once more. Papà visited less even when he was in the city and she feared he might have met someone else.

Her fears weren’t entirely unfounded. The man who once claimed he’d seduced a nun was, after all, incorrigible, and—unbeknownst to me—she knew there had been dalliances in the past. One night, she’d picked up the telephone to overhear him tell a disappointed lover that he couldn’t see her. “Bruna’s arrived,” she heard him whisper. At a dinner party some time later, she’d spotted another woman rubbing her foot up and down his leg under the table.

Each time her suspicions were aroused, she bit her lip and said nothing. Mainly, she was afraid that if she raised the issue their relationship might collapse. Like most of her girlfriends whose husbands were serially unfaithful, she also accepted that Italian men—especially those of my father’s generation—believed it was perfectly acceptable to take a mistress or two. I was well aware of that custom from hearing stories about some of the fathers of my friends who seemed incapable of monogamy. As in France and across much of Europe, wives were expected to put up with the infidelity as long as they were otherwise well treated and their husbands eventually returned home.

Having witnessed my mother at her lowest ebb in the past, Papà could be in no doubt of her fragile, sensitive nature. He was keen to protect her from knowing that kind of pain again, even though he ended up being the cause of much of it. His logic was that no matter what he got up to, she was the only woman who truly meant something to him.

To lift her spirits and reassure her of his undying affection, he’d take her away with him every now and again. He loved to show her off and always reveled in the admiring glances she attracted. My mother was a beauty and, even now, looks younger than most women her age.

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