A Dream of her Own (37 page)
Such a beautiful human being, Frank thought. To look at his features you could have no idea of the sad and scrambled state of his poor mind. Frank covered the muscular shoulders with the bedclothes and stepped back. He turned the oil-lamp low but left it burning. Valentino Alvini still could not sleep soundly without a nightlight.
Jimmy Nelson moved quietly in the shadows as he tidied and folded Valentino’s clothes. When he had finished he stood still and waited for Frank’s nod before they both slipped quietly from the room. Noise from the dining room drifted up from two floors below, along with the odours of rich food, wine and tobacco. Frank realized that he had lived all his life surrounded by the ambience of the restaurant. He exchanged it daily for that of the medical school with its mixture of floor polish and antiseptic. How good it would be to go home at night to a normal sweet-smelling house.
Jimmy Nelson had paused at the top of the stairs and was looking at him hesitantly. Frank pulled his thoughts together and smiled at the lad. ‘Here’s your tram fare.’ He dropped some coins into the lad’s hands. ‘Straight home, I think.’
‘Won’t Mr McCormack want me to wait on? They’re still busy down there and every one of the private dining rooms is taken. Sounds like it’s going to be a late night.’
‘You’re excused. I’ll help out if needs be. I’ll tell Mr McCormack. But, Jimmy?’
‘Yes, Mr Alvini?’
‘Do you miss it? Being a waiter, I mean. You don’t mind having to ... having to go about with my brother?’
‘Bless you, I don’t mind. Getting out and about, going to the theatre, having more money to spend. It’s a great life. Except that . . .’
‘Yes?’
‘Well, I’m missing me training, aren’t I? Some other young lad might come along and get promotion ahead of me.’
‘Would you be sorry?’
‘Well, me ma was pleased when I got taken on here. She thinks it’s a good trade.’
‘Better than being a manservant? A kind of valet?’
‘Come again?’
‘My mother and I have been talking about it. You handle
... look after Valentino so well. He likes you.’
‘And I like him!’
‘Well, then. He’s probably always going to have to have someone to help him... to keep an eye on him, because—’
‘Don’t worry, Mr Alvini, you don’t have to spell it out. And, if you’re offering me the job, I’ll take it. But there’s one thing.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Does a manservant, a valet, get paid more than a waiter? I mean a waiter gets tips, doesn’t he?’
Frank smiled. ‘Don’t worry, Jimmy. You’ll be well rewarded. Just go on looking after my brother as well as you do now.’
‘That’s all right then.’ Then the lad’s ready grin suddenly faded. ‘But what happens if... ?’
‘If?’
‘If Mr Valentino was to get married. I mean, that’s the way it’s heading, isn’t it? This morning’s meeting with the family and all?’
Frank sighed and rubbed his eyes. He was dog-tired and he was being forced to face unforeseen problems. Problems that he just wasn’t ready for. ‘You may be right,’ he said. ‘We may not be able to prevent it.’ He saw Jimmy raise his eyebrows and wished he hadn’t said that. ‘But, if he does get married he will still need a manservant. He will still need you.’
‘All right then. Good night, Mr Alvini.’
‘Good night, Jimmy.’
Frank walked down as far as the restaurant floor with him and, after Jimmy had gone, he had a word with Patrick McCormack as he had promised. They stood in an alcove out of the way of the hurrying waiters.
‘I’ll miss him. He’s bright,’ the head waiter said. ‘But I can see why you want him to look after Valentino. Your mother’s getting on in years and you have your medical career to think of.’ He paused and looked serious suddenly. ‘You don’t mind my talking to you like this?’
‘Of course not, Patrick. We couldn’t manage without you. Even my mother has to admit that. And you’re right about Jimmy. He’s very bright. I want to take him on and train him now before it all becomes too much for my mother.’
‘And before Valentino decides to leave home.’
‘Leave home?’
‘If he marries the little singer she’ll want a home of their own.’ Patrick frowned. ‘And then, if you don’t mind me saying so, they’ll both need looking after.’
Frank stared at Patrick. ‘Do you really think that’s the way it’s going? Do you really think my brother has marriage in mind? I mean, all this following the girl around from theatre to theatre - isn’t that just being starstruck? You were an actor once, Patrick. You know what young men are like when they take a fancy to some actress.’
‘Well, firstly some of them do marry the actress in question. And it works the other way round - sometimes a travelling actor marries a young lady admirer and settles down and changes his profession!’ At the head waiter’s smile Frank remembered that was exactly what had happened to Patrick. And why Alvini’s had such a good employee. ‘But secondly,’ Patrick continued, ‘your brother isn’t like any other young man, is he? The little singer seems to mean the whole world to him. You may find this difficult to accept, Frank, but your brother is in love.’
Frank sighed. ‘I know.’
‘And then there’s your mother.’
‘My mother? What do you mean?’
‘She knows very well that Valentino is always going to need looking after - a woman to care for him.’
‘Yes, but—’
‘And I believe she has accepted already that a mother’s love is no longer what your brother wants. Forgive me, Frank, but Madame Alvini has never been able to deny Valentino what he wanted.’
‘That’s true.’ Frank sometimes wondered if his mother’s actions were spurred by guilt. If somehow she blamed herself for the difficult birth that had resulted in Valentino’s less-than-perfect condition.
‘Luckily, until now, his needs have been reasonable,’ Patrick said. ‘But if he thinks he needs a wife, your mother will not put difficulties in his way. His happiness means everything to her.’
‘But the girl ... the little singer ... she’s ... she ...’ Frank hated himself for what he was thinking. He looked up to see a gentle smile on Patrick’s face.
‘She’s the girl that your brother loves.’
‘But my mother - do you think she realizes? I mean, the cloak the girl was wearing, it could have deceived her.’
‘Frank, listen. Your mother would not be deceived. She knows that no ... no normal girl could be expected to take on Valentino. I’m sorry, but that’s true.’
‘And the girl herself?’
‘Bright as a button, I would say. No, you needn’t worry that she would be under any illusions. She’s a survivor. She’ll take what she wants and if that’s Valentino, she’ll take very good care of him. Believe me.’
Frank stared at Patrick. He was more than just head waiter: he had become a friend and confidant. Without ever having been asked to, he had helped Frank and Madame Alvini cope with Valentino. ‘So what do I do?’
‘You get back upstairs to your studies and you allow me to send you up a tray. And look ...’
Patrick stepped out of the alcove and drew Frank forward until he could see into the restaurant. The atmosphere in the room was livelier than usual and at one table a group of young men were being particularly boisterous. Frank recognized them as regular customers: Warren Carmichael, Leonard Russell nd Gerald Sowerby. Often their behaviour caused Patrick trouble but they were big spenders and he was reluctant to ban them. Frank bowed to Patrick’s judgement but, in truth, he despised them. Gerald was a fellow student at the Medical School but he was no friend. Indeed, he never missed an opportunity to mock Frank about his background.
There was a sudden burst of laughter from their table and an expletive that made heads turn. ‘Don’t worry,’ Patrick said, ‘I’ll deal with them. But the reason I pointed them out was to remind you that your brother is no longer interested in their company. That’s good, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, Patrick. That’s good.’ But Frank still sighed before he turned and made his way upstairs.
His mother had already gone to bed and he would be able to devote an hour or two to his books before he went down to oversee the clearing up in the early hours of the morning. Patrick was as good as his word and he sent up a substantial meal of oxtail soup, cold meats and salad, bread rolls, cheese and fruit; also a large pot of coffee. Frank resisted the temptation to pour himself a glass of brandy; he needed to keep his head clear for his studies. He had to catch up with the work he should have done this morning.
For a while he was able to concentrate, but a page of diagrams showing the effects of malnutrition on the human skeleton sent his thoughts tumbling back to that morning ...
It had been sunny and Patrick’s wife, Belle, who managed the coffee house on the ground floor, had ordered the waiters to put tables and chairs on the pavement under the striped green and white awning. Valentino was delighted and he told Belle to move two of the tables together and reserve them for his party.
Frank should have been working in the library at the Medical School but his mother asked him to stay and escort her down to meet Valentino’s guest. Patrick came up to tell them when it was time to go. He seemed not to mind that Valentino had requested that he, and only he, should wait on his table. As head waiter of the restaurant he normally had nothing to do with the running of the coffee house but he made an exception that morning.
‘I’ve served the coffee and the cakes and what a selection!’ he said. ‘But you know, my Belle can’t refuse Valentino anything when he flashes those dark eyes of his.’
Frank watched as his mother reacted with pleasure to Patrick’s words. She likes to pretend, whenever possible, that Valentino is normal, he thought sadly. But he blessed Patrick for his imagination and compassion.
Jimmy Nelson was holding sway and keeping them entertained. As Frank escorted his mother through the coffee house, past the tables full of morning customers with their newspapers and their shopping, past the gleaming counter and the hissing coffee machine, towards the bright sunshine streaming in through the windows and the open door, he could hear Jimmy dominating the conversation with reminiscences of the shows they had seen. Valentino was laughing with delight.
He’s a godsend, that boy, Frank thought, intelligent and adaptable. He’s just what we need.
Then they stepped out on to the pavement and Valentino and Jimmy rose to greet them and busied themselves settling Madame Alvini at a table. Frank stared at the girl sitting opposite. She was as lovely as his brother had told him she was. Her face was heart-shaped, her complexion fair with just a hint of golden tan as though she spent time, unfashionably, walking out of doors. Her eyes were a deep, dark blue; perhaps they were violet. She was wearing a hat - a ridiculous confection of feathers perched in amongst her piled-up golden curls.
Golden curls ... He smiled to himself: what am I thinking of? And then he realized with a pang that not only was she lovely but that he was jealous.
He had never been jealous of his brother’s looks before. He would never match Valentino’s height, his enormous strength, his perfect classical features; Frank was small, sinewy rather than muscular, and plain verging on downright ugly, or so he thought of himself. But thankfully nothing had gone wrong when he was born and he had the brain that God had intended.
As the brothers had grown up Frank had watched how women reacted to Valentino and yet he had known it would be more difficult for him to find a woman of his own. A normal woman, that is. So when he had learned of Valentino’s passion he had made discreet enquiries and it hadn’t been too hard to discover that Nella Nicholson was probably a cripple. But a cripple with the voice and the face of an angel. That’s what they said.
And as he looked at her now, God forgive him, he couldn’t believe that she would want anything further to do with his brother once she truly understood the truth about him.
‘Mamma,’ he heard Valentino saying, ‘this is Miss Nicholson.’
Other books
The Truth Hurts by Nancy Pickard
All Honourable Men by Gavin Lyall
Sharpe's Fury - 11 by Bernard Cornwell
La Luxure: Discover Your Blood Lust by CD Hussey
Shadowed by Kariss Lynch
Married by Morning by Hays-Gibbs, Linda
Genie and Other Weird Tales by Killip, Alan
Island Madness by Tim Binding
Shooting Butterflies by T.M. Clark
