(1941) Up at the Villa (8 page)

`By God, I believe they're drunk. I hope to God they see
us. Christ, it would be bad luck if they hit us. Quick, now, kiss me.’

She put her lips to his and they appeared to kiss as
though so absorbed in one another they were unconscious of the approaching car.
It seemed to be full of people and they were shouting loud enough to wake the
dead. Perhaps there had been a wedding at the village on the top of the hill
and these were wedding guests who had been making merry till this late hour and
now, much the worse for liquor, were returning to their own home in some other
village. They appeared to be coming down the middle of the road and it looked
as though they must infallibly crash into the other car. There was nothing to
do. Suddenly there was a yell. The headlights had disclosed the stationary car.
There was a great screeching of brakes and the oncoming car slackened down. It
might be that the recognition of the danger he had just escaped somewhat
sobered the driver, for he now drove at a snail's pace. Then someone noticed
that there were people in the darkened car and when they all saw that it was a
couple linked together in a passionate embrace a great laugh arose; one man
shouted out a ribald joke and two or three others made rude noises. Rowley held
Mary tight in his arms; you would have thought that in an ecstasy of love they
were unconscious of all else. One bright spirit conceived an idea: in a rich
baritone he broke out into Verdi's song from Rigoletto, 'La Donna è mobile',
whereupon the rest, not knowing the words apparently, but anxious to join in,
bellowed the tune after him. They passed the car very slowly; there was but an
inch to spare.

`Throw your arms round my neck,' whispered Rowley, and as
the other car came abreast of them, his lips still against Mary's, he gaily
waved his hand at the drunkards.

`Bravo! Bravo!' they shouted.

`Boon divertimento.’

And then, as they went by, the baritone began once more
to chant: 'La Donna è mobile . . . .’

They staggered dangerously down the hill, still lustily
singing, and when they were lost to view their shouting could still be heard in
the, distance. Rowley released his hold on Mary and she sank back, exhausted,
into the corner of the car.

`It's a good thing for us all the world loves a lover,'
said Rowley.

`Now we'd better get on with the job.’

`Is it safe? If he were found just
here
.
.

`If he's found anywhere on this road they might think our
being in the neighbourhood was fishy. But we might go a long way and not find a
better place and we haven't time to scour the country. They were drunk. There
are hundreds of Fiats like this and what is there to connect us?
Anyway.
it
would be obvious the man
committed suicide. Get out of the car.’

`I'm not sure if I can stand.’

`Well, you'll damned well have to help me out with him.
After that you can sit around.’

He got out and pulled her after him. Suddenly, flopping
down on the running board, she burst into a passion of hysterical tears. He
swung his arm and gave her a sharp, stinging slap on the face; she was so
startled that she sprang to her feet with a gasp and stopped crying as quickly
as she had begun. She did not even cry out `
Now
help
me.’

Without a word more they set about what they had to do
and together got the body out Rowley picked it up under the arms.

`Now put the legs over my other arm. He's as heavy as
hell. Try to pull those bushes aside so that I can get in without breaking them
down.’

She did as he told her and he plunged heavily into the
undergrowth. To her terrified ears the noise he made was so great that you
would have thought it could be heard for miles. It seemed an interminable time
that he was away. At last she saw him walking up the road.

`I thought I'd better not come out the same way as I went
in.’

`Is it all right?' she asked anxiously.

`I think so. By God, I'm all in. I could do with a drink.’

He gave her a look in which was the flicker of a smile.

`Now you can cry if you want to.’

She did not answer and they got back into the car. He
drove on.

`Where are you going?’ she asked.

`I can't turn here. Besides, it's just as well to drive
on a bit so that there shouldn't be any trace of a car having stopped and
turned here. Do you know if there's a road further on that will get us back on
the main road?’

`I'm sure there isn't. The road just leads up to the
village.’

`All right.
We'll go on a bit
and turn where we can.’

They drove for a while in silence.

`The towel is still in the car.

`I'll take that. I'll chuck it away somewhere.’

`It's got the Leonards' initials on it’

`Don't bother about that. I'll manage. If I can do
nothing else III tie it round a stone and chuck it into the Arno on my way home.’

After they had gone another couple of miles they came to
a place where there was a bit of flat ground by the side of the road and here
Rowley made up his mind to turn.

`Christ!' he cried, as he was about to do so.
`The revolver.’

`What? It's in my room.’

`I forgot all about it till now. If the man's found and
they don't find the gun he killed himself with, it'll start them guessing. We
ought to have left it by his side.’

`What's to be done?’

`Nothing.
Trust to luck. It's
been with us so far. If the
body's
found and no gun,
the police will probably think that some boy had come upon the body by chance,
sneaked the revolver and said nothing to anybody.’

They drove back as quickly as they had come. Now and then
Rowley gave an anxious glance at the sky. It was night still.
but
the darkness had no longer quite the intensity it had
had when they set out. It was not yet day, but you had a sensation that day was
at hand. The Italian peasant goes to work early and Rowley wanted to get Mary
back to the villa before anyone was stirring. At length they reached the bottom
of the hill on which the villa stood and he stopped. Dawn was about to break.

`You'd better drive up by yourself. This is where I left
my bike.’

He could just see the wan smile she gave him. He saw that
she tried to speak. He patted her shoulder.

`That's all right. Don't bother. And look here, take a
couple of sleeping tablets; it's no good lying awake and grousing. You'll feel
better after a good sleep.’

`I feel as if I'd never sleep again.’

`I know. That's why I say take something to make sure you
do. I'll come round sometime tomorrow.’

`I shall be in all day.’

`I thought you were lunching with the Atkinsons. I was
asked to meet you.’

`I shall call up and say I'm not well enough.’

`No. You mustn't do that. You must go, and you must act
as though you hadn't a care in the world. That's only common prudence.
Supposing by a remote chance suspicion fell on you, there must have been
nothing in your behaviour to indicate a guilty conscience. See?’

`Yes.’

Mary got into the driver's seat and waited a moment to
see Rowley get his bicycle from where he had hidden it and ride away. Then she
made her way up the hill. She left the car in the garage, which was just within
the gates, and then walked along the drive. She crept noiselessly into the
house. She went up to her room and at the door hesitated. She hated to go in
and for a moment was seized with a superstitious fear that when she opened the
door she would see Karl in his shabby black coat standing there before her. She
was distraught with woe, but she couldn't give way to it; she pulled herself
together, but it was with a trembling hand that she turned the handle. She
switched on the light quickly and gave a gasp of relief when she saw the room
was empty. It looked exactly as it always did. She glanced at her bedside
clock. It was not five. What fearful things had happened in so short a while!
She would have given everything she had in the world to put time back and be
once more the carefree woman she had been so few hours ago. Tears began to
trickle down her face. She was terrify tired, her head was throbbing and
confusedly she recollected, in one rush of memory as it were, everything
happening simultaneously, all the incidents of that unhappy night. She
undressed slowly. She didn't want to get into that bed again and yet there was
no help for it. She would have to stay in the villa at least a few days more;
Rowley would tell her when it would be safe to go: if she announced her
engagement to Edgar it would seem very reasonable that she should leave
Florence a few weeks sooner than she had planned. She forgot if he had said
when he would have to sail for India. It must be quickly. Once there she would
be safe; once there she could forget. But as she was getting into bed she
remembered the supper things that Rowley had taken into the kitchen.
Notwithstanding what he had said she was uneasy and felt she must see for
herself that everything was in order. She slipped on her dressing gown and went
down into the dining room and so to the kitchen. If by any chance one of the
servants heard her she could -say that she had awakened hungry and had gone
down to see if she could find something to eat. The house seemed fearfully
empty and the kitchen a great gloomy cavern. She found the bacon on the table
and put it back in the larder. She threw the broken eggshells into a pail under
the sink, washed the two glasses and the plates she and Karl had used, and put
them in their proper places. She put the frying-pan on its hook. There was
nothing now to excite suspicions and she crept back to the bedroom. She took a
sleeping draught and turned out the light. She hoped the tablets would not take
long to act, but she was utterly exhausted, and while she was saying to herself
that if she didn't sleep soon she would go mad, she fell asleep.

6

WHEN Mary opened her eyes she saw Nina standing by her
side.

`What is 0' she asked
sleepily.

`It's very late, Signora. The Signora has to be in the
Villa Bolognese at one and its twelve already.’

Suddenly Mary remembered and a pang of anguish pierced
her heart. Wide awake now, she looked at the maid. She was as usual smiling and
friendly. Mary gathered her wits together.

`I couldn't get to sleep again after you woke me. I
didn't want to lie awake the rest of the night, so I took a couple of my little
tablets.’

`I'm very sorry, Signora. I heard a sound and I thought
I'd better come and see if anything was wrong.’

`What sort of a sound?'

`Well, like a shot. I remembered the revolver that the
Signore had left with you, and I was frightened.’

`It must have been a car on the road. At night sound
travels so far. Get me a cup of coffee and then I'll have my bath. I shall have
to hurry.’

As soon as Nina left the room Mary jumped up and went to
the drawer in which she had hidden the revolver. For one moment she had been
afraid that Nina had found it while she lay fast asleep and taken it away. Her
husband Ciro could have told her at once that a chamber had been discharged.
But the revolver was still there. While she waited for her coffee she reflected
intently. She saw why Rowley had insisted that she should go to that luncheon
party. There must be nothing in her behaviour that was not quite natural; for his
sake now as well as for her own she trust be careful. She felt infinitely
grateful to him. He had kept cool, be had thought of everything; who would have
thought that that idle waster had so much grit in him! What would have happened
to her if he hadn't kept his head when the drunken Italians in the car had come
upon them at the most dangerous moment? She sighed. Perhaps he wasn't a very
useful member of society, but he was a good friend; no one could deny that.
When Mary had had a cup of coffee and her bath, when she sat at her dressing
table and arranged her face, she began to feel much more herself. It was
astonishing to see that notwithstanding what she had gone through, she looked
no different. All that terror, all those tears had left no trace. She looked
alert and well. Her honey-coloured skin showed no sign of fatigue; her hair
shone and her eyes were bright. She felt a certain excitement steal over her;
it gave her a kick to look forward to that luncheon where she would have to
give a performance of high spirits and careless gaiety which would lead them
all to say when she left: Mary was in wonderful form today. She had forgotten
to ask Rowley if he had accepted the invitation he had said he had got; she
hoped he would be there, it would give her confidence. At last she was ready to
go. She took a last glance at herself in the mirror. Nina gave her a fond smile.

`The Signora is looking more beautiful than I've ever
seen her.’

`You mustn't flatter me so much, Nina.’

`But it's true. A good sleep has done you good. You look
like a girl' The Atkinsons were middle-aged Americans who owned a large and
sumptuous villa which had once belonged to the Medici, and they had spent
twenty years collecting the furniture, pictures and statues which made it one
of the show places of Florence. They were hospitable and they gave large
parties. When Mary was shown into the drawing room, with its Renaissance
cabinets,
its
Virgins by Desiderio de Settignano and
Sansovino, and its Perugino and Filippino Lippi, most of the guests were
already there. Two footmen in livery were walking about, one with a tray of
cocktails and one with a tray of things to eat. The women were pretty in the
summer dresses they had been to Paris to buy, and the men, in light suits,
looked cool and easy. The tall windows were open on a formal garden of clipped
box, with great stone vases of flowers symmetrically placed and weather-beaten
statues of the Baroque period. On that warm day of early June there was an
animation in the air which put everyone in a good humour. You had a sensation
that no one there was affected by anxiety; everyone seemed to have plenty of
money, everyone seemed ready to enjoy himself. It was impossible to believe
that anywhere in the world there could be people who hadn't enough to eat. On
such a day it was very good to be alive. Coming into the room Mary was acutely
sensitive to the general spirit of cheerful goodwill that greeted her, but just
that, that heedless pleasure in the moment, shocking her like the sudden furnace
heat when you came out of the cool shade of a narrow Florentine street on to a
sun-baked square, gave her a sharp, cruel pang of dismay. That poor boy was
even now lying under the open sky on a hillside over the Arno with a bullet in
his heart. But she caught sight of Rowley at the other end of the room, his
eyes upon her, and she remembered what he had said. He was making his way
towards her. Harold Atkinson, her host, was a fine, handsome, grey-haired man,
plethoric and somewhat corpulent, with an eye for a pretty woman, and he was
fond of flirting in a heavy, fatherly way with Mary. He was holding her hand
now longer than was necessary. Rowley came up.