(1941) Up at the Villa (4 page)

`I'm sorry to have got so emotional.’

`When did your husband die?’

`A year ago.
And now I'm
thankful he died. I know now that my life was wretched with him and he had
nothing to look forward to but hopeless misery.’

`He was young to die, wasn't he?'

'He was smashed up in a motor accident. He was drunk. He
was driving at sixty miles an hour and skidded on a slippery road. He died in a
few hours. Mercifully I was able to get to him. His last words were: "I've
always loved you, Mary."' She sighed.

`His death has given us both
freedom
.’

For a little while they sat and smoked in silence. Rowley
lit another cigarette on the stub of the first.

`Are you sure you're not committing yourself to a slavery
just as great when you marry a man who means nothing to you?' he asked, as
though their conversation had gone on without interruption.

`How well do you know Edgar?’

`I've met him fairly often during the five or six weeks
he's been here dangling at your skirts. He's the Empire builder; it's not a
type that has ever very much appealed to me.’

Mary giggled.

`No, I should hardly think it would. He's-strong, he's
clever,
he's
trustworthy.’

`Everything I'm not, in short.’

`Can't we leave you out of it for the minute?’

`All right.
Go on with his
virtues.’

`He's kind and considerate. He's ambitious. He's a man
who has done great things and he'll do still greater in future. It may be I can
help him. I can't hope that you'll think it anything but idiotic when I tell
you that I should like to be of some use in the world.’

`You haven't got a very good opinion of me, have you?’

`No, I haven't' chuckled Mary.

`I wonder why?’

`If you'd like to know I'll tell you, she answered coolly.

`Because you're a waster and a rotter.
Because you think of nothing but having a good time and as many women as are
fools enough to fall for you.’

`I look upon that as a very accurate description. I was lucky
enough to inherit an income which made it unnecessary for me to earn my living.
Do you think I should have got some job that would have taken the bread out of
the mouth of a poor devil
who
needed it? So far as I
know I've only got this one life to dispose of. I like it awfully. I'm in the
fortunate position of being able to live for living's sake. What a fool I
should be if I didn't make the most of my opportunities! I like women, and
strangely enough they like me. I'm young and I know youth doesn't last
for ever
. Why shouldn't I have as good a time as I can
while I have the chance?’

`It would be hard to find a greater contrast to Edgar.’

`I agree. It may be that I'd be easier to live with. I
should certainly be more fun.’

`You forget that Edgar wishes to marry me. You are
suggesting a much more temporary arrangement.’

`What makes you think that?’

`Well, for one thing, you happen to be married already.’

`That's where you're mistaken. I was divorced a couple of
months ago.’

`You kept very quiet about it’

`Naturally.
Women have funny
ideas about marriage. It makes things easier all round if there's never any
question of that. We all know where we are then.’

`I see your point,' smiled Mary.

`Why should you divulge this guilty secret to me?
With the idea that if I behaved myself and gave satisfaction you
might in due course reward me with a wedding ring?’

`Darling, I'm quite intelligent enough to know you're no
fool.’

`You need not call me darling.’

`Damn it all, I'm in process of making you a proposal of
marriage.’

`Are you? Why?’

`I don't think it's a bad idea. Do you?’

`Rotten. What on earth put it in your head?’

`It just occurred to me. You see, when you told me about
your husband I suddenly realized that I was terribly fond of you. That's
different from being in love, you know, but I'm in love too. I feel a great
tenderness towards you.’

`I'd rather you didn't say things like that. You are a
devil,
you seem to know instinctively what to say to melt a
woman.’

`I couldn't say them if I didn't feel them.’

`Oh, shut up. It's lucky for you that I have a cool head
and a sense of humour. Let's go back to Florence. I'll drop you at your hotel.’

`Does that mean the answer is no?’

`It does.’

`Why?’

`I'm sure it'll surprise you; I'm not in the least in
love with you.’

`It doesn't surprise me. I knew it; but you would be if
you gave yourself half a chance!’

`Modest fellow, aren't you? But I don't want to give
myself half a chance!’

`Are you determined to marry Edgar Swift?’

`Now I am, yes. Thank you for letting me
talk
to you. It was hard having no one I could talk to.
You've helped me to make up my mind.’

`I'm damned if I see how.’

`Women don't reason in the same way
that
men
do. All you've said, all I've said, the recollection of the life
with my husband, the misery, the mortification - well, against that Edgar
stands like a great rock; he's so strong and so staunch. I know I can rely on
him; he'd never let me down, because he couldn't. He offers me security. I have
so great
an affection
for him at this moment that it's
almost love’

`It's rather a narrow road,' said Rowley; `would you like
me to turn the car for you?’

`I'm perfectly capable of turning my own car, thank you,'
she answered. His remark had given her a moment's irritation, not because it
reflected on her driving, but because for some reason it made what she had just
said seem a trifle high-flown. He chuckled.

`There's a ditch on one side and a ditch on the other. I
shall be vexed if you pitch me into either one or the other.’

`Hold your bloody tongue,' she said. He lit a cigarette
and watched her as she advanced, turned the wheel with an effort of all her
strength, stopped the engine and started it again, put the clutch in reverse
and gingerly backed, grew very hot, and eventually got the car round and set
off on the homeward journey. They drove in silence till they reached the hotel.
It was late now and the door was shut. Rowley made no attempt to get out.

`Here we are,' said Mary.

`I know.’

He sat silent for a moment or two staring straight in
front of him. She gave him a questioning look and with a smile he turned to her.

`You're a fool, Mary, my dear. Oh, I know, you've turned
me down. That's all right. Though I dare say I'd have made a better husband
than you think. But you're a fool to marry a man twenty-five years older than
yourself. How old are you?
Thirty at the outside.
You're not a fish. One only has to look at your mouth and the warmth of your
eyes, and at the lines of your body, to know that you're a passionate and
sensual woman. Oh, I know you had a rotten break. But at your age one recovers
from those things; you'll fall in love again. D'you
think
you can ignore your sexual instincts? That beautiful body of yours is made for
love; it won't allow you to deny it. You're too young to shut the door on life.’

`You disgust me, Rowley. You talk as though bed were its
aim and end.’

`Have you never had a lover?’

`Never.’

`Many men besides your husband must have loved you.’

`I don't know. Some have said they did. You can't think
how little they meant to me. I can't say I've resisted temptation; I've never
been tempted.’

`Oh, how can you waste your youth and beauty? They last
so short a time. What's the good of riches if one does nothing with them?
You're a kind woman and a generous one. Haven't you ever the desire to give of
your riches?' Mary was silent for an instant.

`Shall I tell you something? I’m afraid you'll think me
even more foolish than you do.’

`Very possibly.
But tell me all
the same.’

`I should be a fool if I didn't know I was prettier than
most women. It's true that sometimes I felt that I had something to give that
might mean a great deal to the person I gave it to. Does that sound frightfully
conceited?’

`No. It's the plain truth.’

`I've had a lot of time to myself lately and I dare say
I've wasted too much of it on idle thoughts. If ever I'd taken a lover it
wouldn't have been a man like you. My poor Rowley, you're the last man I would
ever have had an affair with. But I've sometimes thought that if I ever ran
across someone who was poor, alone and unhappy, who'd never had any pleasure in
life, who'd never known any of the good things money can buy - and if I could
give him a unique experience, an hour of absolute happiness, something that
he'd never dreamt of and that would never be repeated, then I'd give him gladly
everything I had to give.’

`I never heard such a crazy idea in my life!’

`
cried
Rowley.

`Well, now you know,' she answered brightly.

`So get out and let me drive home.’

`Will you be all right alone?’

`Of course.’

`Then good night.
Many your
Empire-builder and be damned to you.’

4

M A R Y drove through the streets of Florence, along the
road by which she had come, and then up the hill on the top of which was the
villa. The hill was steep and wound sharply with horse-shoe turns. About
half-way up was a little semicircular terrace, with a tall, very old cypress
and a parapet in front, from which one got a view of the cathedral and the
towers of Florence. Tempted by the beauty of the night Mary stopped the car and
got out. She walked to the edge and looked over. The sight that met her eyes,
the valley flooded with the full moon under the vastness of the cloudless sky,
was so lovely that it wrung her heart with a throb of pain. Suddenly she was
aware that a man was standing in the shadow of the cypress. She saw the gleam
of his cigarette. He came towards her. She was a trifle startled, but had no
intention of showing it. He took off his hat.

`Excuse me, are you not the lady who was so generous in
the restaurant?' he said.

`I should like to thank you.’

She recognized him.

`You are the violinist.’

He no longer wore that absurd Neapolitan costume, but
nondescript clothes which looked threadbare and dingy. He spoke English well
enough but with a foreign accent.

`I owed my landlady for my board and lodging. The people
I live with are very good to me, but they are poor and they aced the money. Now
I shall be able to pay them.’

`What are you doing here?’ asked Mary.

`It is on my way home. I stopped to look at the view.’

`Do you live near here, then?’

`I live in one of the cottages just before you come to
your villa.’

`Flow do you know where I live?’

`I've seen you passing in your car. I know that you have
a beautiful garden and there are frescoes in the villa.’

`Have you been in it?’

`No. How should I? The contadini have told me about it.’

Mary had lost the slight nervousness which she had had
for a moment. He was a pleasant-spoken, rather shy young man; she remembered
how ill at ease he had looked in the restaurant `Would you like to come and see
the garden and the frescoes?' she said.

`It would give me much pleasure. When would it be
convenient?' Rowley and his unexpected proposal of marriage had amused and
excited her. She had no wish to go to bed.

`Why not now?’ she said on an impulse.

`Now?' he repeated, surprised.

`Why not?
The garden is never
so
beautiful as under the full moon.’

`I should be very pleased,' he said primly.

`Jump into the car. I'll drive you up.’

He took his seat by her side. She continued on her way
and they came to a group of cottages huddled together.

`That is where I live,' he told her. She slowed down and
looked reflectively at the poverty-stricken little houses. They were horribly
sordid. She drove on and presently they came to the gates of her villa. They
stood open and she drove in. She parked the car and they walked up the narrow
drive. The principal rooms and Mary's bedroom were on the second floor, to
which you ascended by a fine flight of steps. She opened the door and turned on
the lights. There was nothing much to see in the hall and she took the young
man straight into the drawing-room with the painted walls. It was a noble
apartment and the owners of the villa had furnished it with period pieces of
fine quality. Flowers arranged in great vases mitigated its stately severity.
The frescoes were somewhat damaged and had been none too well restored, but
with all those figures in their sixteenth century clothes they gave an
impression of a multifarious and magnificent vitality.

`Wonderful, wonderful!' he cried.

`I didn't think one ever saw such things except in a
museum. I never realized that people could possess them.’

It gave her a thrill to see his delight. She did not
think it necessary to tell him that there was not a chair in which you could
sit with comfort or that, with those marble floors and that vaulted ceiling,
except in the warmest of warm weather you shivered with cold.

`And is it all yours?' he asked.

`Oh no.
It belongs to friends of
mine. They've lent it to me while they're away.’

`I'm sorry. You are beautiful and it's right that you
should possess beautiful things.’

`Come along,' she said, `and I'll get you a glass of wine
and then well go and look at the garden.’