The Silent Country (42 page)

‘She’s never forgotten you. And she still has the bracelet. It’s one of her greatest treasures,’ said Veronica.

‘That’s incredible. Is she still at that station? It was quite primitive.’

‘You couldn’t imagine – in your wildest dreams – what has become of Doris,’ said Veronica. ‘It’s good, all good. I have some photos I can show you of Doris, if you’d like. Will you be staying there at Lake Como much longer?’

‘Till the season is over and then I go to London. And I will be in California for Christmas.’

‘I was hoping to talk to you soon. And as I’ll be in Italy …’ Veronica tried to sound as though she was a frequent visitor, even though she hadn’t booked a ticket and was vague about its geography.

‘As you say. Please, call again. In a day or so. I must think about all this.’

The arrangements had fallen into place easily and here she was flying to Milan where she was staying overnight before taking the train to Varenna on Lake Como. Before leaving Australia, Veronica had emailed Jamie to ask him to tell Doris that she was going to see Marta. He rang her to say that his mother was thrilled with the news and passed on Billy’s ‘hello hug’.

‘It would be great if you can keep us all updated,’ he said. ‘Besides we all miss you, especially me.’

In Milan Veronica told the taxi driver, ‘Hotel Straf, Via San Raffaele, please.’

He nodded. ‘I know. Very trendy, nice hotel. Around the corner from the Galleria. You go take espresso there in the morning.’

‘I’ll do that,’ said Veronica.

Her hotel was charming and she quickly gathered it was the haunt of artistic, bohemian-looking guests. She decided to telephone Marta to set up a meeting as soon as possible. The brusque-sounding lady who answered the
phone, seemed surprised when Veronica asked to speak to Mrs Luccosa in order to find out a time that was convenient for her to visit.

Marta came on the line, sounding slightly vague. ‘Oh, you’re here.’

Veronica could hear the pages of a diary being turned. ‘Tomorrow. Is it convenient?’

‘Ah, yes. Of course.’

‘Please come around before lunch. I will tell my staff to expect you.’

Veronica caught the train to the romantic village of Varenna on the lake, with its promenade, tiny harbour, narrow lanes and cafés beside the lakeside walk. The Hotel Olivedo conveniently faced the ferry dock and her room, with its tiny balcony, had a view of the lake and the distant snow-capped Alps. The following morning the businesslike hotel manager explained that Bellagio, where Marta lived, was just a ferry stop away.

From the water the full impact of the luxurious old mansions, now turned into exclusive hotels, the grand villas and busy villages with their squares, piazzas, fountains and boutiques confirmed that this was a place for the mega wealthy, a playground for the rich and famous.

When she arrived at Marta’s summer home, Veronica was awestruck. The house was an imposing old pink stucco villa of three storeys with high windows framed with deep aubergine shutters. It had small turrets and a balustrade with stone eagles. There were gargoyles on each end on the roof and a circular wall on one corner gave the villa the look of a magical castle. Chimney pots dotted the gabled tiled roof. Shrubs and trees scattered flowers onto an emerald lawn. There were Juliet balconies on the windows facing the lake and striped awnings shaded the side windows from the full sun. The lawns swept down to a stone wall at the water’s edge where an
ivy-covered stone cottage sat beside the boat landing. Tall dark pine trees behind the villa screened it from the bald, grey rockfaces of the cliff and protected the grand old building from winter weather.

Veronica walked from the boat landing up a flight of lichen-covered stone steps guarded by stone gargoyles and across a flagstone path that wound past brilliant shrubbery to another flight of stone steps leading to a carved wooden door flanked by matching topiary orange trees in ornate pots. As she walked up the steps, the massive door swung open and a severely dressed woman with a matching expression waited for her with her hands folded.

‘Good morning. I’m Veronica Anderson.’

The woman nodded and turned inside. ‘Please follow me. Signora Luccosa is waiting for you.’

Veronica followed the taut-shouldered woman who gave the impression that Veronica was tardy when in fact she was early. Veronica wished the woman would walk more slowly as she wanted to absorb the beautiful interior of the house. The pale terracotta stone floor of the ground-floor entrance hall was covered in antique rugs. Tapestries hung along the walls. She followed the woman through the main foyer and up a curved staircase to the first floor. The thick, deeply burnished wooden floor-boards were scattered with Persian rugs and portraits of dour-looking relatives in dark oils hung in ornate gold frames along the walls.

The woman opened a tall white door and gestured to Veronica to go in, announcing, ‘Signorina Anderson.’

‘Grazie, Allegra. Café e torta, per favore.’

Veronica stepped into the room and blinked at the burst of sunlight after the dim hallways. Floor to ceiling windows looked towards the lake. The room was pale lemon and white, feminine and elegant and this seemed to reflect its occupant.

Marta rose from a gold brocade wing-back chair and came towards Veronica. She was petite and dainty. Her curvy figure was neatly outlined by a fitted cashmere top. Her hair was bright auburn, curling fashionably round a face that belied her years although Veronica noticed that her jaw line was a little too sharp and her face a little too smooth. But for a woman eighty years of age, she looked twenty, even thirty, years younger and she radiated wealth and good taste.

Veronica shook her soft white hand and wished she knew the name of the alluring perfume that drifted around Marta.

Marta gave her a dazzling smile. ‘How charming, such a pretty woman you are. And to come all this way. Surely not just to see me? Take a seat. Allegra will bring coffee and a sweet cake.’ Marta sat and crossed her ankles, her feet shod in soft grey leather ballet flats with the Chanel double C silver buckle on top. Her heavily made-up blue eyes studied Veronica.

‘This is a stunning home and you don’t live here all the time?’ asked Veronica.

‘No, only in the season. Our other home is in Brent-wood in Los Angeles. We have a townhouse in London as my husband goes there on business but I tend to go there less these days. I like the sun and warmth.’

‘You had a lot of sun in Australia,’ said Veronica.

Marta gave a small musical laugh. ‘We did. I thought I would shrivel like an old prune. I hope you look after your skin, it’s a cruel climate. Do you live in the north of Australia?’

‘No. In Sydney. But I fell in love with the outback. The Territory is so special. Kakadu National Park is magic and I was lucky enough to go into Arnhem Land. And to Brolga Springs.’

‘Some of those places I remember but I haven’t
thought about them for a very long time,’ she said softly. ‘You mentioned the little Aboriginal girl, Doris?’

‘She is an impressive woman now. She has a wonderful family.’

‘Of course, she would be all grown up now. It was a long time ago, but I remember her beautiful eyes, that wild curly hair and a smile to break your heart. She was shy but wild like a horse. What do you call the wild horses …?’

‘Brumbies.’

‘Yes. That time in Australia was really very short, yet I have some very vivid memories.’ Marta looked out the window and was saved from further comment by Allegra entering with a silver tray that held two glasses of steaming coffee in silver holders and a plate of sweet pastries.

‘Grazie, Allegra.’ Marta gestured to Veronica. ‘Please help yourself.’

Allegra gave Marta a questioning glance and when Marta shook her head, the woman quietly left the room. Veronica glanced at the angular woman as she closed the door behind her.

‘Allegra has been with this villa since she was a child. Her mother worked here also.’

‘How interesting. Is your husband Italian?’ asked Veronica.

‘Paolo is from an old Milanese family. We met in Hollywood. But he has nothing to do with the film business.’ She gave Veronica a smile. ‘I had just done a small role in a film and was being promised big things. But I fell in love.’

‘Did you work again?’ asked Veronica.

‘I chose not to. We have such a full life. Paolo is an industrialist. His family own factories and with three homes and a very busy social life, my little acting career seemed rather self-indulgent and unimportant.’

‘I heard you were a very good actress,’ said Veronica.
‘I saw the write-up of the one-woman show you put on in Darwin.’

‘You did! Yes, Colin helped me so much with that. It was the only way I could think of to make some money, as we were stranded there.’ She lifted the tiny glass of espresso. ‘That man Topov caused a lot of problems and angst,’ she said mildly. ‘On reflection I wonder about him. I wish we’d known more. He was a secretive fellow, loose with the real facts, but he lived life to the full. I also have been privileged to live a full life.’

Veronica could see Marta must have lived a life of great wealth. She reached into her handbag and took out several photographs. ‘Please, let me show you the photos I have of Doris and her family.’ She handed them to Marta, explaining, ‘This is Doris, her son, two daughters and their husbands and her grandchildren. This is Doris and her husband Alistair, he’s a Scottish academic. Well, he was. He’s retired now. And this is Jamie, her son, with Billy, her grandson.’

Marta lifted the photos and studied them closely. Veronica suspected she might need glasses but was too proud to put them on. ‘Oh, my. This lady, this is little Doris. And what handsome children!’ She glanced at Veronica. ‘Where is the wife of this beautiful young man?’

‘Jamie’s wife was killed when Billy was a baby. Very sad. Doris and her husband help to look after the little boy.’ Veronica quickly sketched a potted history of Doris’s life.

Marta shook her head. ‘How different our lives have been. But Doris, she has done well for herself, especially when one considers where she started.’ She glanced again at the photos. ‘May I keep one of these?’

‘They’re for you. Doris has very fond memories of you because of the silver bracelet you gave her. She always felt a lucky star was watching over her.’

‘I remember that. It was a spontaneous gesture. I thought she would have lost it or given it away within a day. She was such a tomboy. That’s very touching.’ She straightened up in her chair, coming to a decision. ‘So, Miss Anderson, what exactly do you want to know?’

Veronica felt a surge of relief. Marta would talk.

‘I want to ask you some questions so you can tell me the sequence of events after you left Brolga Springs. But I’d like you to tell me on camera. That way it’s spontaneous.’

Marta gave a half smile. ‘You forget I was an actress. I can reproduce spontaneity. But I understand the line of questioning. So we do not need to rehearse. Now, have you a cameraman who knows what he’s doing, who can light me properly? I don’t want to sound vain at my age, but there’s no point in looking worse and older than I need to,’ she said firmly. ‘And I’ll need my hairdresser to come over. Where would you suggest filming this? There’s a sheltered corner of the terrace with the garden and lake behind it which might look pretty. It’s quiet so there won’t be any sound problems.’

The way she took control made Veronica smile to herself.

‘Perhaps early tomorrow morning, when the light is soft. Say nine?’

‘That would be wonderful. And I can assure you Geoff is a terrific cameraman. He’s out of London and has shot a lot of celebrity interviews and is very particular about keeping women subjects happy.’

‘I appreciate that.’ Marta glanced at the small diamond watch on her wrist. ‘Miss Anderson …’

‘Please, Veronica.’

‘Then you may call me Marta. I have a table waiting at Villa d’Este. I was going to take a light lunch there. I go there several days a week. Would you care to join me? Perhaps we can talk about Australia.’

Veronica was so relieved that Marta had agreed to do the interview that she didn’t want anything to go wrong and the lure of dining at the fabulous hotel was too good an opportunity to pass up. ‘I’d adore that. But please, you must let me treat you, as a guest of our show.’

Marta airily waved a hand. ‘Nonsense, your employer will not be happy with such an extravagance. I have an account, it is my pleasure.’ She lifted the small bell next to the coffee tray and within moments of its tinkle, Allegra appeared and Marta asked her to call the boatman.

Veronica followed Allegra who pointed to the guest bathroom and added, ‘Augustus will meet you at the front steps.’

Veronica was expecting Augustus to be an aged retainer, but the man who waited for her was in his late thirties and handsome in a boyish Dustin Hoffman kind of way. He was dressed in crisp linen slacks and a white golfing T-shirt.

‘Buongiorno.’ His accent was soft, sounding more French than Italian. Augustus sprinted up the steps as Marta appeared at the front door wearing dark glasses and a silk scarf tied over her hair. Taking her arm he escorted her to the dock, settling her in the small, sleek motor launch.

As they travelled across the lake, Marta pointed out some of the more spectacular villas and mentioned the names of the people who owned them. The list included European royals, American movie stars and world-famous businessmen.