One Hot Summer (22 page)

‘
Very well. Come to me in six months, Signor Ricardi, and ask me again. If you are both of the same mind then, I shall give my consent to the marriage.’

Bianca flung her arms round his neck and kissed him.
‘
You darling! I knew you would agree, when you had spoken to Paolo. Six months is a dreadfully long time, but we can wait. Thank you, oh, thank you
!
’

Marco held her away from him.
‘
Not so fast, Bianca! You must not see each other, or correspond, for the whole of that time.’

The girl pouted, but Paolo said,
‘
I agree. This is his test, Bianca. We can do it. I shall think of you every day and every night, and I shall work like a horse. Don’t cry, my little love. The time will pass. You will be getting ready for your wedding, and I will find an apartment for us. We shall both be busy and happy.’

‘
One other thing,’ Marco added.
‘
Bianca will have her dowry, of course. But understand there will be nothing else. You will get no benefit from marrying into the Cellini family, not a single
lira
.
Now, or at any other time.’

‘
I am satisfied,
signore
.
All I have asked from you is Bianca. I can look after her. Do I keep my job, or must I spend the six months looking for another?’

‘
Stay with the firm if you want to. It is your choice. That ends our interview. Say goodbye to Bianca. You will not see her, speak to her, or write to her for
six months.’

‘
I may see him to the gate?’

Marco looked at his watch.
‘
You have ten minutes.’

When Paolo and Bianca had gone, Jan slipped away to her room. She guessed Bianca would return there, rather than join her family so soon. And she, Jan, felt she had had as muc
h
as she could stand of the Cellinis. Even that nice old Bernini had not been as helpful and sympathetic as he had at first appeared. He had actually nodded his great noble-looking head in pleased approval several times as Marco lashed out his cruel sentence.

Surely, too, Bianca’s mother could have softened her son more than she had done? She hadn’t even tried. Not a word of protest about that long separation; not even a protest against Bianca being cut off from all benefit in the family fortune after she was married.

Would Paolo come back to claim his bride? Bianca, of course, would not doubt him for a single moment during the six months.

What of Paolo? It was a long time to wait without a glimpse of the gi
r
l he loved. And what would Marco do to him, while he waited? Send him around Europe, on missions to Paris, London, Amsterdam? Anywhere where there were bright lights and beautiful women to be found, where life moved quickly and temptations fell into the way of good-looking men with Paolo’s assurance and promise. Oh yes, without doubt Marco would make the test a fierce one. Pray God, for little Bianca’s sake, he survived it.

The room, she realised now, was no longer hers. Its owner had returned. For her last night on the island, Jan would have to move. Luckily, most of her simple packing was already done. She had left out a clean dress for dinner, and the workmanlike navy and white spotted suit she intended to wear for the journey. Oh well, in the Villa Tramonti one did not worry. One
rang the bell and gave orders. The thought amused her wryly. Like a private patient, without the trouble of having an operation!

Curiosity consumed her. What were the Cellinis talking about now? To stifle it, she took Bianca’s guitar, curled herself into her favourite position on the chaise-longue, and played to herself softly, some of the plaintive, heartbreaking songs that were so popular among the youngest student nurses. The mood suited her own.
Good-bye, Marco. We shall never meet again. Good-bye to the Villa Tramonti, the azure Bay of Naples, the scent of orange blossom and lilies. To the whispering sea, the silver moon-path across the water, the vast canopy of stars. Good-bye, the Marco I thought I loved.

I shall think of you often. Of your kisses, the presents you bought me, that horse-and-carriage drive across Rome, the lunch in the elegant restaurant
-
terrace of the Via Veneto. But I shan’t cry for you, Marco, because I don’t go on loving a man so hardhearted, so iron-willed, so lacking in love. For a time, but not for ever. I shan’t forget you asked me to marry you, but I shall, in time, be glad I refused.

When the sad little tune had finished,, Jan looked up and saw Bianca leaning against the doorpost. Tears ran down her face, but she seemed unaware of them.

‘
You’re unhappy too, Jan? Somehow I thought you were.’ Bianca crossed the lovely white floor and flung herself down on her bed, flat on her back and staring up at the ceiling.
‘
Six months
!
This morning, before you came, it was for ever. So if Marco thinks six months is going to end our love, he’s mistaken. We can wait.’

‘
You’re not angry with Marco?’

I could kill him—the horrible things he said to Paolo! I didn’t mean I don’t hate waiting, because I
do. Every day will seem like a year. I meant Marco hasn’t won. We shall play the waiting game, and we shall win in the end. I
have
won, already. I am free of Rafaello, and I can marry Paolo. We shall have Christmas in our own apartment.’

Jan plucked a few strings, making an ugly sound.
‘
You’re lucky, then. For me, it is for ever, I think. I recovered from my first eternal love, quite suddenly. One day it was there, and the next—gone. How can that happen, I wonder?’

‘
Someone else comes along.’ Bianca sat up suddenly, eyes wide with fear.
‘
You mean, someone else for Paolo? He travels, he meets people—they have lovely girls in those offices, you know. He meets them all the time. You don’t think he’ll fall out of love with me?’

‘
Trust him, Bianca. What’s love, if you can’t trust? My problem is, where am I to sleep tonight? I’ve been using your bed.’

Bianca wiped her tears away on a corner of the sheet.

‘
There’s a guest room always ready. Francesca will move your things. Why are you packed, so soon?’

‘
I told you—tomorrow I go back to England. Already I feel sort of apart from all of you. I love your mamma, she’s so sweet and gentle.’

‘
I know. She’s mad, isn’t she? I mean, all that about my father still being in the house, and forgetting everything one tells her. It’s awfully weird to live with all the time. And what will Marco do about her, when I’m gone? I hadn’t thought of that.’

‘
Marco thought of it.’

‘
He would. That man forgets nothing. He could get those nun friends of hers to come and live here, perhaps. But he’d hate having them around. They just sit there, with small smiles and their hands folded, and are so obviously terrified of him, he says. Or why don’t you stay? She likes you, and you’re good for
her. She’s been so much better since you came. Oh, please do, Jan.’

‘
That was Marco’s solution, but it won’t work. The Signora doesn’t need a qualified nurse, only an understanding companion. All my training would be wasted, if I didn’t use it to nurse people who are really ill. I explained all that to your brother.’

‘
But he would pay you far more than you could earn anywhere else.’

Jan sighed. How wealth-orientated these Cellinis were
!
‘Bianca, does it ever enter your head that there are things which are more important than money? Things which can’t be bought?’

‘
It is entering my head that money is trouble. Trouble when you haven’t any, and trouble when you have too much. And one can never be sure whether one’s friends are truly friends and like you for yourself. I wish I knew more people like you, but I never get a chance to meet them. I will, when I’m married to Paolo. He and his friends belong to the real world, like you. And I shall belong, too, when I don’t have the Cellini money round my neck like a millstone. Jan, what do you suppose Marco meant when he told Mamma there was a girl who could have made a human being out of him again, as he used to be? Is he in love?’

‘
I believe so. I think there is a woman he loves who won’t marry him; and that he intends never to marry anybody else—that is, not for love. He might—he might ask a girl to marry him for convenience’s sake, and if it suited him.’

Bianca shook her head violently, making the silken hair swing out.
‘
He would never do that. Never. Why should he? What sort of convenience?’

‘
Someone suitable, to look after his mother, for example?’

‘
He wouldn’t be that crazy. He can afford the best nurses in Italy, or, as you say, a suitable companion to live with her. No, if my brother says he’s in love, he’s in love. And he’ll marry for that, or not at all.’

Jan’s heart beat painfully. Why had she raised this subject, except for the eternal need of the lover to talk about the loved one, however much it hurt? Bianc
a
had a naive confidence in her brother, and it would be wrong to upset it by betraying him. Let her keep her romantic notions while she was so young and inexperienced. Time enough, in the future, for her to discover her brother to be a much more hard-headed and less idealistic character than she’d thought.

‘
One of us ought to go to the Signora,’ she reminded Bianca.
‘
This has been a difficult day for her. She doesn’t always sleep during her siesta, and likes someone to read to her. Will you go?’

The girl pulled herself up, with a groan.
‘
We can’t unload our burdens on you any longer, can we?
This
six months is going to be deadly dull, but at least I have something to look forward to, now. Do you think me wicked, to hate this place so much? It’s beautiful, but it can be a prison, Jan. Be thankful you’re free, like the birds, to leave it when you want to go.’

Jan rang for Francesca, and supervised the moving of her things into a guest room. This was very different from the bright
modern
suite Bianca occupied. Cool, austere, furnished in dark woods exquisitely carved. The long curtains were of rose-coloured embossed velvet, the pelmets gathered together in swags supported by gilded cherubim. The four-poster bed had a heavy canopy, the headboard was carved in high relief with a scene of horsemen and chariots. The lamps were of wrought iron.

‘
You like it?' Francesca asked anxiously.
‘
It is only for one night. I wish you were not leaving us,
signorina
.’

‘
Thank you, Francesca. You’ve been kind and helpful, and I shan’t forget you, or any of all this. The Villa Tramonti will be often in my mind. Not that I like this room particularly. It will be rather like sleeping in a church, don’t you think?’

‘
It is old and they say all this is valuable. The carvings are by a fifteenth-century artist—people come to look at them. But you should see the Signore’s suite, that’s truly beautiful. Not like this, old and cold. He loves the light, and warm colours. It’s a pity I can’t show it to you.’

‘
Perhaps I’ll come again.’ One says these things, when one’s heart is aching. They mean nothing. But Jan wanted to be alone in this strange, silent room, and examine her thoughts.

Suppose—just suppose—she had been wrong about Marco?

Dinner was late because the Signora slept a long time and Marco gave orders that she was not to be disturbed. Then it was too chilly to eat on the terrace. A cool breeze blew off the sea, and with the sun gone, an outdoor meal was uninviting. So, after all, Jan’s last dinner at the Villa was in the long formal dining room, under the crystal-cut chandeliers and under the eyes of the portraits lining the walls.

Marco was the perfect host tonight. With formal charm, he took Jan on a conducted tour of the pictures.
‘
Not the best artists, but not bad. This was my grandmother. As you see, a beauty. In her day, Italy had a
king
and a court. This is the dress she wore at the wedding of one of the princesses.’

‘
Interesting,’ Jan murmured politely. A chapter was closing in her
life. A short chapter, but full of importance; one which might have changed her entire future, had she been able to make any other decision but the one she had made two nights ago. In time, all
this would fade into a past
as
remote as the world of the painted men and women on the walls. But there was the time between to be dreaded. The struggle for a personal peace, which could only be born within herself.

Until the talk with Bianca, she could have won through to that peace, given time. But now there was that tormenting, never-to-be-answered question—had she been wrong about Marco? What if she had been the woman he loved? What if, through lack of understanding, she had refused to marry him for the wrong reason?

She watched him discreetly during the long meal. He gave no sign. Never did he allow his eyes to meet hers. He seemed happy, released from the worries of Bianca’s disappearance. With laughter, he described to his sister his efforts to find her; his exploratory visits to their relatives which had led him into so many evasive conversations.

Bianca, too, seemed happy to be reconciled to her family, and laughed aloud at Marco’s descriptions. The Signora smiled from one to the other, serene now and remembering names and places as she could on her good days.

The waters will close over my head, Jan thought, and tomorrow evening it will be as if I had never entered the Villa Tramonti. For them—but not for me. I love him and I hate him—and I shall never know which is which.

After coffee, Marco disappeared as usual, to smoke a cigar on the terrace. Bianca sat by her mother, and presently embarked on a long monologue about Paolo’s merits and charm. Jan listened lazily, her attention only half engaged, and was startled when Marco touched her shoulder. She had not heard him come in.

‘
Too cold outside for you tonight, but find a wrap
and come into my sitting-room. We need to talk about this preposterous journey of yours. We shall have to make an early start in the morning.’

Jan looked around Marco’s own special sitting-room with interest and approval. This was how a man’s room should look, an extension of his personality. She liked the deep white carpet, the comfortable leather chairs, the wall lined with books. There were several pieces of
modern
sculpture, and some modern paintings which were worth a closer look. It was a room for leisure, but for work too. Under a wide window she saw a vast desk covered in scarlet leather, and on it three telephones, black, white, and red. A stainless steel trolley carried suspended files in black leather, and on the wall there hung a large map of Europe, marked with red-topped pins.

‘
You’re giving my room a critical look,’ he smiled.
‘
Are you thinking it is much different from the rest of the villa?’

‘
I’m thinking it must be very like its owner.’ I am printing it on my mind, she admitted to herself, so I can re-create it whenever I want. And I am a fool to do so. I should be planning to forget, not to remember.

He invited her to sit in one of the deep black leather chairs, and himself took a seat at his desk.
‘
The train times are ridiculous. You’ll be travelling all night, with a Channel crossing to face in the morning.’

‘
That’s right. It’s cheaper that way. I don’t waste money. Don’t worry, I shall sleep in the train and I’m never seasick.’

‘
As you wish. That means you leave Rome at—’ his fingers flicked over the timetables, then suddenly he pushed them all away.
‘
It won’t do, Jan. You’ll be
t
ravelling nearly forty hours. I hope you have first
-
class reservations.’

She smiled, with a touch of mischief.
‘
Second. I’m
a working girl, remember?’

‘
At least let me change your tickets. Or better
still,
let me fix you up with a flight from Rome direct to London.’

‘
Thank you, no.’

‘Please, Jan. I owe you that much, for all you’ve done here.’

‘All
I’ve
done? According to you, I have interfered, I’ve been disloyal,
I’ve
kept secrets I should not have kept. I borrowed your car without permission. One way and another, I’ve been a pretty fair nuisance. And let me remind you, you’ve already done a lot for me, apart from the original rescue. I will accept nothing more from you.’

‘
Tell me why?’

‘
Are you sure you mean that?’

‘
Yes. Suddenly I am poison to you. We were good friends, part of the time.’

‘Very well. I won’t accept another lira from you because I now know how you regard anyone who conceivably might be trying to cash in on the Cellini money. After listening to you this afternoon, giving that disgusting performance with poor Bianca and Paolo, I know what you think of people like me. That boy genuinely loves Bianca, he wants to marry her just as if she were an ordinary human being; and she loves him in the same way. But you—you’ve got to treat the whole affair as if it were one enormous confidence trick. And even when you finally agree to their marrying after six months’ probation, you’ve got to make sure he never touches a penny of your hoarded gold; you’re so determined on that, that you even plan to cut Bianca off from it. I don’t happen to think money of your kind makes for happiness, but Bianca has never learnt to live without it, and it will go hard with her at first. But do you care? Oh, no, not Marco. Isn’t there enough to go round, that you’re
so eager to cut her off?’

Her anger had swelled as she gave voice to all the unhappiness of the afternoon, till she ended
what
started as a simple statement as a tirade. Lord, I sound like a fishwife, she thought with shame, but it had to be said.

He was staring at her in amazement.
‘
Is that
what
you think of me? A miser, a grasping animal,
not
caring how I hurt others in my greed for money?’

‘
I didn’t, until I heard you this afternoon.’
Sud
denly her anger collapsed. She said hopelessly,
‘
What
else could I think?’

‘
You could perhaps have decided that girls like Bianca, who have lived a sheltered life, need
some
sort of protection. Look,’ he swept his arm across the wide desk,
‘
tomorrow morning, every detail about
that
young man will be on this desk—his home, family, prospects, character, everything. Yes, even his love life, if he has one. We are nothing if not thorough in our business. He has been selected for special
atten
tion, special promotion. He has brains and ability. But
what else
,
Jan? Marrying the boss’s sister can
be
a good route to the top for an ambitious man. I had to make sure of his true intentions.’