Authors: Norrey Ford
When he rejoined her and handed over the pink paper bag containing her kaftan, she teased him gently,
‘
You look like a cat which has eaten the cream. I suppose you robbed that poor man of the bread from his children’s mouths?’
‘
So he assured me. What next?’
‘
Presents for my parents, and some of my friends. If you don’t care to be seen shopping on my price level, I’ll pretend I’m not with you.’
‘
On the contrary! I shall enjoy it. I shall see you are not cheated, and help you drive a hard bargain. You will never know the real joy of shopping until you learn to haggle.’
‘
Isn’t it dreadfully time-wasting?’
He shrugged.
‘
What is time? We have all the time there is. It is as interesting to be concerned over a hundred lire as over a million.’
‘Take care of the pence and the pounds will take care of themselves?’
‘
A wise observation,
signorina.
I must remember it. My English has improved, I think.’
‘
It’s a proverb, but long ago fallen into oblivion, I fancy. Look—if I could buy my mother one of those pretty shopping baskets, we could put everything else into it. The one embroidered with shells?’
Marco examined the basket she chose, and dismissed it. ‘We must find a handmade one, with leather handles. It will cost a little more but last for years and look more elegant. Follow me
!
’
He was now the dedicated shopper. Jan followed him, laughing, in and out of shops; mulled over stalls, rejected, accepted, and haggled, at his direction. Eventually she decided she had bought enough, and he carried her off to the flower-decked restaurant terrace where
English Tea and, Toast
was advertised as a speciality.
‘
Satisfied?’ he smiled.
‘Very satisfied indeed. You’d make a good housewife.’
‘
The trick is,’ he said, buttering toast liberally,
‘
to pick out the locally made stuff from the imported tourist rubbish. Jan, I believe you know where Bianca is.’
She could not believe her ears.
‘
What
did you say?’
‘
You do, don’t you? This morning I wasn’t sure, but I’ve been watching you all day. I’m a pretty shrewd businessman, my dear, and one learns to know faces. The flick of an eyelash, the twist of a lip— sometimes one’s survival in business depends on knowing the significance of such things. Like a sailor’s survival depends on the feel of the weather. Yesterday you knew nothing. Today you are different. You have learned something. Was it from Gina, when you were alone with her?’
‘No. We hardly mentioned her name. We spoke of the house, the furniture, Gina’s wedding dress, Signora Cellini.’
His eyebrows rose.
‘
Then why are you blushing crimson? You are not the blushing kind, are you? What else did you talk of?’
She said furiously,
‘
You have no right to question me like that. This is not the Inquisition. We’ve been so happy together all day, I thought we were friends. And now it seems you have been suspecting me, watching me down to the flick of an eyelash. It’s horrible
!
’ Guilt made her angry, but with herself, not him. Now she was really in a trap, compelled to lie to Marco who had been so good to her; or to break her promise to a stranger who might or might not be genuine.
‘
Suspecting isn’t the word I’d have used. I don’t suspect—I know. You are keeping a secret from me; possibly a secret you don’t even know you possess. All day I’ve hoped you would tell me. Now I am compelled to ask.’
‘
But I am not compelled to answer. I don’t know where Bianca is, and I learned nothing from Gina about her. In fact, she spoke mostly of you. She said you were an eligible bachelor, that when you finally married it would be a great occasion, and that speculation among the young unmarried and their mothers was a strain.’
He laughed at that. ‘Is that all? Poor Gina
!
Have you noticed how newly-married people always try to marry off all their friends? Nothing more?’
‘
If you are asking if I’m keeping a secret from you, I am. But you will learn it all in good time. Not from me. It is not mine to tell.’
The magic of the day was gone. She was suddenly aware of the garishness of the colours, the overcrowded piazza, the thrusting coach-parties, the peeling paint and shabbiness behind the advertisements. A moment
of disenchantment, the fairy gold turning into a handful of dried leaves.
‘
You are entitled to keep your own counsel, naturally. But I still think you may have learned something without realising that it is important. Couldn’t we explore the possibility of that?’ He was keeping a tight control of his voice; his manner remained as charming as before, yet the easy atmosphere was gone. He was the head of his house again, the head of a vast business empire and no longer in holiday mood. He had waited and pounced, and had her in his trap.
‘One thing,’ she remembered suddenly, ‘which puzzled me, and I may have had it in the back of my mind all day. A trouser suit of Bianca’s has vanished from her wardrobe.’
‘
Stolen? One of the maids? Francesca is honest, but her family are lazy good-for-nothings. She supports them, I believe. A dozen or more mouths t
o
feed, poor child. I won’t have thieves in my house. We shall have to investigate.’
She put her hand on his, as it lay on the table.
‘
No, Marco, say nothing. Wait and see what happens. Bianca took very little when she went. She’ll be in need of fresh clothes by this time.’
‘
She came home and took it? And no one saw?’
‘
I’ve been wondering. Suppose she’s on the island still?’
He frowned.
‘
Who would dare shelter her?’
She had used those very words herself, when speaking to Paolo. In Marco’s mouth they sounded impossibly feudal, and her hackles rose
.
‘
Stop talking as if you owned the island and everybody on it, body and soul
!
You don’t. And if you did you’d need to be ashamed of yourself, for the poverty, the dirt, and bad housing. You’re not lord of all you survey, so some people might hide her for the sake of reminding the Cellinis that they are not all-powerful. You can’t be popular with everyone, Marco, if you hold mediaeval ideas. You may have succeeded in keeping prosperity out of the island in order to preserve your own Shangri-la, but you can’t keep ideas out.’
His face became a polite mask, tight-lipped, cold of eye.
‘
I have searched the island,’ he said distantly.
‘
As you know. So has Dino, and he knows more hiding places than I ever could. You don’t think—’
She saw the question written on his face and answered it before he could ask.
‘
No, I don’t think Dino has hidden her. He’s probably one of the people who wouldn’t dare. Besides, he likes you.’
He pushed back his chair.
‘
Speaking of Dino, we should be making for the harbour. He will come early, as always, so if you’ve finished your shopping we could be on our way. He’ll have to take the nuns back to Sorrento later, and the Mother Superior does not like them to be late.’
She collected her things and stood up. The treat was over. She had offended, and was to be taken home early like a naughty child.
Signora Cellini had had a happy day, she said. She was well, and had slept during the siesta hour. The nuns sat side by side placidly, hands folded in their laps, waiting till it should please someone to take them home to their convent. Gently, with polite smiles, they refused an invitation to remain for dinner.
Marco himself drove them down to the harbour. Jan unwrapped the kaftan for Signora Cellini to see, then went to change. It would not do to add to her crimes by keeping the master of the house waiting for his evening meal.
The blue trouser suit was back.
Jan rang for Francesca.
‘
Si, si, signorina.
You made a mistake.
See, it was
hanging at the other end of the wardrobe, next to the bridesmaid’s dress. Look how the folds of the long skirt hid it.’
‘When did the Signorina Bianca bring it back, Francesca? Today, when we were out?’
The girl paled. Her hands, outstretched in protest, trembled.
‘
I have not seen her—I swear it.’
Jan looked at the terrified girl in exasperated silence. Suddenly she felt sick to death of the whole Cellini set-up. What did it matter to her where Bianca had chosen to hide herself? Why should she bully this poor child, so easily scared out of her wits, in order to pull the Cellini irons out of the fire? How much more peaceful life would have been, now and in the future, if she had never set eyes on Marco, the villa, everything.
‘
Go away,’ she told Francesca.
‘
It doesn’t matter.
I
made a mistake. I’m sorry. Please don’t cry any more.’
‘
You believe me, that I have not seen Signorina Bianca?’
Oddly enough, Jan discovered, she did believe the girl. If Bianca had slipped in during the day, Francesca had not seen her. Three years’ hospital training helped one to hear the ring of truth in a desperate voice. She nodded, and the girl scurried off.
Three years’ training also taught one to observe accurately. Not to miss the smallest detail. How could she have missed that trouser suit on the rail, when she had searched for it so carefully?
Dinner was easy, after all. Signora Cellini had had a happy day. She was animated, full of chatter about her friends the nuns and eager to hear news of Gina and Cesare. Jan was made to describe the house, the furniture, Gina’s clothes, in detail.
Marco put in a word occasionally, but his mood was remote and calm. Far different from Jan’s own chaotic emotions, which she found difficult to analyse.
Impatience to be done with the villa and all its devious ways; a longing to be safe within the walls of the hospital, secure in the familiar routine, part of the vast throbbing life within the great glass walls. A bitter longing to remain here, within sight and sound of Marco Cellini, whom she hated and loved in equal measure.
If time would stand still—here and now!
Tomorrow her promise to Paolo ended. She would tell Marco all she knew. And the next day she would go home and it would all be
o
ver. A dream—fading with the coming of day, as dreams do.
The Signora lingered long after her usual time for retiring, talking happily. Then she begged Jan to bring out her guitar and sing. Jan glanced enquiringly at Marco, who nodded.
She plucked the strings experimentally, then began with some modern folk music, singing softly. The Mediterranean night deepened from violet to purple, the stars came out one by one; the flower scent which would be her longest-lasting memory of the Villa Tramonti hung heavy about them, mingled with the smell of Marco’s cigar. After a while he left the two women, and stood at a distance staring down over the terrace to the sea and the headland far below. Was he listening? She thought not. He seemed lost in thought. Lost to me for ever, she thought as she sang.
Her mouth curved into a wry smile. How can one lose what one has never possessed?
At last the Signora said she was tired. Jan put the instrument away and gave the elderly woman her arm. Marco came back to them and kissed his mama goodnight.
‘
Goodnight, my son. You are kind to your old mother, God bless you. It has been a happy, happy day. You, and my dear Jan, and Bianca.’
Jan’s heart turned over. So the girl had been here
!
But Marco took the words coolly.
‘
Did she stay for tea—Bianca?’
‘
Why, of course, dear. This is her home, why shouldn’t she? You know Bianca loves her English tea as much as I do.’
‘
Did the nuns have tea too?’
A frown drew the elegant, delicate brows together.
‘
Nuns, dear? What nuns?’
Jan caught the man’s light, unhappy sigh. Living on the narrow edge between the real and the unreal, how hard it must be for him.
The Signora took a long time to settle. She fussed gently over this and that, but at last her sleeping tablet took effect and she drifted into light sleep.
Jan had been with her a whole hour. Marco must have gone long ago, to his own rooms somewhere in the heart of the villa.
CHAPTER VII
‘
Come here, Jan.’
Marco spoke out of the darkness. At first, coming out of the lamplight of the house, Jan could not see him.
‘
I'm here, on the terrace wall. I want to talk to
you.’
As she moved towards him, he held out his hand for hers, drew her towards him. Side by side, they looked out across the water. He pointed to moving lights at sea. ‘Fishing boats. Jan, can you really leave us? Leave all this? I have been thinking that in little more than thirty-six hours, you will be gone. Please stay
,
cara mia
!
We need you here.’