Last Train from Liguria (2010) (20 page)

At this point Edward decides now might be a good time to take his annual leave.

‘But you never take annual leave, other than a weekend or two - at least not since I’ve been here,’ Bella says when he tells her.

‘Well, I’m making up for it now. Six weeks in fact. A walking tour of Germany and Austria.’

’
Six weeks?
Does the Signora know this?’

‘Yes, and she’s all for it. She’s staying here till the end of August anyway, and she’s asked Cesare to move into one of the guest rooms until I come back. Just so there’s a man about - her words, not mine.’

‘Cesare? Is he supposed to protect us from intruders?’

‘He can always breathe on them.’

‘Shut up, Edward, you’re not funny. When do you go?’

‘When do the Americans arrive?’

‘Monday p.m., the telegram said.’

‘I’m leaving Monday, as it happens -
a.m
. Shame.’

‘Oh, very smart, Edward,’ Bella says. ‘Very smart indeed.’

But not smart enough for the American cousins, who, having had their fill of Paris, arrive two days early. Storming in on the company on Saturday evening just at the hour of the
aperitivo
, with their slinky laughs and witty asides, loud as they ever were, all gesture and cosmetics, everyone running around in their wake, until luggage, cigarette lighters, ashtrays, drinks and places at an already over-full table have all been arranged, without either having to lift a finger.

Grace has grown a little plumper and is, Bella decides, consequently dressed in a copious purple kimono, which only draws attention to the matter. Amelia, who has gone in the opposite direction, is skinnier than ever, and has obviously abandoned Katharine Hepburn and taken to styling herself on Wallis Simpson instead. She no longer has her athletic carriage and now seems to be leaning from her feet, rather than standing up on them. Between them they frighten Eugenia into a headache - making one extra place immediately available. A piano stool is brought in by one of the Neapolitans, who volunteers to sit on it himself, while his two brothers squeeze up to make room for Amelia.

The Signora’s pain is written all over her face. She shows no interest in opening the wedding gift they have brought her from Paris, but simply instructs Rosa ‘to put it away somewhere’. Even her new husband, who had initially been fluttering all over the cousins, senses her mood and withdraws his attentions. Edward, apart from a discreet weary roll of the eyes, keeps his dismay to himself. Bella, who tries not to gloat over his botched plans, is surprised at how pleased she is to see the American cousins again.

Not far into dinner, however, it becomes clear that there will be some sort of a scene. Amelia, who has been drinking non-stop and playing up to the Neapolitans on either side of her, has eaten nothing at all, except for some ice cream which one of them has fed her from his spoon. Every now and then her eye flicks towards Edward. The less he seems to notice her, the more agitated she becomes. Grace meanwhile has homed in on the German uncle, laughing her head off at everything he says. This seems to surprise him, as much as it does everyone else.

Throughout the meal Amelia addresses Edward on only one occasion. ‘Is that water you’re drinking, Edward? My God, don’t tell me you
still
don’t drink alcohol?’

‘You know I don’t, Amelia,’ he says. ‘I’ve told you often enough.’

‘Well, so you have. Remind me again - why you’re such a good boy?’ She puts her elbow on the table, rests her chin in her hand and sends a seductive eye down-table.

‘He had jaundice when he was a child,’ Bella says without thinking.

Amelia widens her eyes at her. ‘Oh, and what are you now - his nurse?’

‘I’m only saying,’ Bella mumbles. ‘It damages the liver.’

‘I’m sure Edward can speak up for his own liver,’ Amelia says, turning back to her glass.

A short time later, just before coffee, it comes out that the cousins will have to stay in the Jolanda.

‘Really?’ Grace begins. ‘There’s no room for us here in the house? Oh my goodness. I mean to say, how mortifying - we are such a pair of nuisances. To have presumed on your hospitality - what must you think of us? Do please forgive.’

‘There is nothing to forgive,’ the Signora says, ‘except a house that is not large enough.’

‘Uh-huh. The Jolanda, you say?’ Grace continues. ‘Remind me, isn’t that the one with the yellow sign on the corner of via what-you-call-it? Yes, I think I know it, in fact I’m certain.’

‘The Jolanda is convenient at least,’ the Signora says, ‘and we will be taking care of the bill, naturally. You can return here on Monday. Rosa should have your old rooms ready by the afternoon.’

‘Well, that’s kind,’ Grace says, taking a spoonful of ice cream, and playing it around her mouth, then: ‘What about that interesting hotel back along the road? Hotel Angst - I’ve always liked the look of that, I must say. Despite its unfortunate name!’

‘The Angst is booked out,’ Bella tells her. ‘Everywhere is except the Jolanda.’

‘Oh, I think you’ll find, Miss Stuart - if you forgive my saying so - that the better hotels, they often keep a V.I.P. suite in reserve in case anyone important turns up unexpectedly. Of course, I don’t mean to imply that my sister and I, we are in anyway important - good heavens, no. But, given the late hour, it is quite possible that it still is available, in which case—’

‘Actually,’ Bella says, ‘I’ve already booked you into the Jolanda, your luggage is in your rooms and everything.’

‘But how? I mean when?’ Amelia then asks her.

‘Before dessert, I went out.’

‘You did? Were you gone long?’

‘About half an hour.’

‘How extraordinary - I didn’t even notice you were gone! But then I didn’t even notice you were here!’ Amelia bursts out laughing.

The Signora glares at Amelia. ‘Is that intended as an insult to Miss Stuart?’ she coldly asks.

‘Why, of course not!’ Amelia cries. ‘As if I would insult our dear Miss Stuart.’ She lifts her glass in Bella’s direction. ‘She knows I have nothing but the utmost for her.’

‘If you mean respect, then I’m very glad to hear it,’ the Signora returns.

Later on the terrace Amelia takes a final swipe at Bella. Edward has just announced that he’ll be absent for the rest of their visit and shouldn’t be included in their plans.

‘Good heavens, Edward,’ Amelia says, her speech, by now, beginning to thicken, ‘we’ve only just arrived. Are you trying to avoid us? Where are you going anyhow?’

‘On holiday.’

‘Well, yes, you’ve said as much. But where?’

‘You know - here and there, see a bit of Europe.’

‘Ah, I understand now, you don’t want to say where. Is it a secret? Are you afraid we might follow you or something? Is that it?’

‘Not at all.’

‘So where will you be going first?’

‘Paris.’

‘Paris? Where we’ve just come from in fact?’

‘Ah yes - so it is.’

‘And then?’

‘I’ll be touring around, you know.’

‘Will you be alone?’

‘Of course.’

‘Oh sure. We believe that! Maybe you’re meeting someone there. An illicit rendezvous? A chorus girl? A married woman? No? Am I wrong? Well, maybe you’re taking someone along then. Oh, I bet you are. Someone we know? Miss Stuart? Is it? Is it Miss Stuart?’ Amelia throws out a hard false laugh. When nobody joins in she looks surprised. ‘Oh, come on,’ she says. ‘I’m kidding - it’s obvious I am.’

Without looking to see who is on the other end of the bottle, she holds her glass out to be refilled. Then she turns to Bella. ‘It’s a joke. You know - a joke? Honestly, you Britishers - such stiffs.’

‘Actually, I’m not British,’ Bella says.

‘You’re not?’

‘No. We only moved to London permanently when I was fourteen. I was born in Dublin. I’m Irish actually.’

‘Well,’ Amelia laughs. ‘I wouldn’t go bragging about
that
- if I were you.’

The Signora stands up. ‘Miss Stuart,’ she begins, ‘why don’t you take Alec back to the hotel now? He is looking tired. And I’m sure Edward will want to go too. It’s been a long day for all. Alec, will you go to the kitchen and see if Elida is ready to leave? Oh and Miss Stuart, don’t bother to come back for the American ladies. I’m sure they would like to walk. I’m sure in fact they will find the fresh air useful. Go. You too, Edward. Goodnight.’

Bella follows Edward out to the garden to wait for Elida and Alec. ‘What the hell’s the matter with
you
?’ she asks when she sees the expression on his face. ‘Anyone would think she was having a go at you all night, and not me.’

‘What a vintage bitch,’ he says.

‘Oh well, I suppose it’s my own fault really. I shouldn’t have said anything. But I felt she was going to start something, you know? She’s so possessive about you - are you sure nothing ever went on there?’

‘Don’t be so bloody stupid.’

‘All right - no need to snarl. Look, she just likes a bit of target practice when she’s had a few, that’s all. If it hadn’t been me someone else would have got it. The trick is to duck, isn’t it? Get out of the firing range, like clever little Eugenia.’

‘Mmm,’ he says, pulling his cigarettes out of his pocket and lighting one. ‘I never knew you were Irish by the way,’ he continues.

‘Don’t really think about it much. It’s so long since I’ve been in Dublin. Why?’

‘You just never told me. That’s all.’

‘Why should I? It’s not as if
you
ever talk about your background,’ she snaps.

He shrugs. ‘I just didn’t know. That’s all I’m saying.’

‘You make it sound as if I’ve been keeping some sordid secret.’

‘That’s ridiculous. I just thought—’

‘Don’t tell me you’re anti-Irish too!’

‘Of course not,’ he protests.

‘Actually it would be quite funny if you were.’

‘Why?’

‘Well, once or twice it crossed my mind that you
might
be Irish.’

’
Really?
’

‘Yes, you’d say something and I’d think—’

‘Say something?’

‘Oh, I don’t know, once I heard you call Alec a messer. I don’t think I ever heard anyone English use that expression. Other things too, from time to time, can’t remember now. Oh, there was that time I found you in the old town. Now you
really
sounded Irish then.’ She laughs.

‘Oh, that time.’

‘Well, we won’t get into all that.’

‘Yes, thank you, it might be nice if we didn’t.’

‘Maybe everyone sounds Irish when they’re drunk?’

‘Ah and who’s being anti-Irish now?’

‘It’s a joke, sorry.’

‘No need to apologize to me.’

‘Oh Edward, why do you always have to be so…’

‘What?’

‘Oh, never mind. Go back inside your shell, I don’t care.’

*

At the tail end of all the confusion, just after lunch on Monday, Bella’s father turns up on the doorstep.

She nearly dies when she sees him. He is strange and familiar all at once, like somebody famous spotted on the street. He looks a little pale - as most new arrivals to Bordighera tend to - but fit. Younger, somehow. He is standing at the open front door, as if he is trying to decide if he should ring the bell or step into a hallway full of suitcases and shout ‘
hellooo
‘. Or maybe follow the sound of voices and the fuss of coffee cups around to the terrace at the side of the house. Bella and Alec have just come in by the front gate, the car parked firmly on the street outside, all doors open and ready for the removal of the first lot of visitors and their luggage to the station.

He says the word ‘well’ about half a dozen times as he comes down the steps. ‘Well. Well now. Well indeed. Well, here we are now. Well, well - and how is my little girl?’

When he says this she bursts into tears.

‘No need for that. Good gracious, no need at all,’ he says, taking a final step to her and giving a pat to her arm.

Alec, shocked by her tears, puts his hand into hers and scowls at her father. ‘It’s all right, Alec,’ she says. ‘This is my papa.’

‘Hello, little man.’ Her father leans down to shake Alec’s hand, which springs behind his back and out of reach in a second.

‘Will you please tell him—’ her father begins.

‘Oh, Alec speaks English very well. He’s just a little shy.’

‘No harm in that,’ her father bellows. ‘I used to be a little shy myself, Alec. Hard to believe, I know. In a day or so, I’m sure we’ll be the best of old pals. For years to come people will talk of it, they’ll say, “Remember that August back in thirty-six, eh? That Alec and Harry, what they got up to? By God, what a pair of scoundrels!”’

Behind her back she feels Alec tighten.

‘You look different,’ her father says to her then. ‘You’ve had your hair cut for a start. And the suntan. Different, but my God, how well!’ He looks over at Mrs Jenkins, who has been standing to one side, a few feet away. Bella has forgotten for a moment all about her father’s new wife. ‘Doesn’t she, my dear? Doesn’t she look very well indeed - no, marvellous in fact! Let’s make no bones about it. Continental - is that the word I’m looking for?’