One Hot Summer (15 page)

‘
Marco! How lovely
!
I was feeling desperate for company. And bless you for bringing Bianca. Darling, we’ll have such a talk. You’ll let her stay for lunch, Marco? Say you will. You can’t be in a hurry—not today
!’

Marco bent over her hand, touched his lips to it.

‘
My delightful Gina, you look more beautiful than ever as a wife. Cesare has robbed all the, bachelors of Italy
!
Look, I’ve brought you an English girl instead of Bianca. May I present Signorina Jan Lynton, who is my mother’s guest?’

‘
I’m sorry. As you came in through the doors, you
l
ooked so like Bianca. I’m very happy to meet you, Miss Lynton. But what have you done with my dear little bridesmaid?’

‘
Visiting her aunts in Florence,’ said Marco, with a slight downturn of the corners of his mouth. Gina laughed.

‘
Oh, those aunts! The one with the liver? And the other with her dreadful old spaniel? Poor Bianca
!
’

She looked at Jan curiously, as if wishing to ask a question but not quite asking it.

‘
I am taking care of Signora Cellini in Bianca’s absence,’ Jan told her.
‘
I have some nursing experience, and am combining a
little
work with a great deal of holiday.’

Their hostess nodded understandingly.
‘What
a splendid ideal How is your mamma, Marco? Better, I hope.’

He shrugged expressively.
‘
Not good, not bad. Today Jan has a day off, and the convent has sent two sisters over to sit with Mamma. So I thought our guest should see something of Capri—and, of course, the best thing in it, your lovely garden and your view.’

‘Cesare’s grandfather made the garden and God
made
the view. Will you take coffee first?’ Gina’s hand hovered over a silver bell.
‘
Or wine?’

When they refused refreshment, she led them into the garden.
‘
Not as well cared for as your mother’s, Marco. But nobody ever looks at it, poor thing. They look at the view and see no more.’

Jan walked to the low white balcony and stood without speaking. Words were impossible. The whole of the Bay of Naples stretched out before her—the islands, the white boats, the great curve of the peninsula. And Vesuvius, clear for once of heat haze.

‘
The trouble with Barini,’ she heard Marco saying,
‘
is that we are too far out to see so much. We see the
volcano only on the clearest days of winter, and from one point only. Are you sure we are not in your way, Gina? I thought you might have guests.’

‘
Cesare adores guests. But our last batch left yesterday, and the next lot—my cousins from Milan—are not due till the end of the week. So I have a breathing space to think my own thoughts and talk to you. Tell me, whe
n
is the wedding? Bianca will be such a lovely bride. Shall you be here, Miss Lynton, for this famous Cellini wedding?’

She was speaking in fairly good English, so Jan replied in her own language.
‘
I’m afraid not,
signora.
I shall be back in England long before that.’

The time till lunch passed pleasantly. Gina was only too ready to show the English girl round the villa, of which she was obviously proud. Marco begged permission to stay on the terrace and smoke a cigar, as no doubt there would be dresses to look at, and curtains and carpets to admire. Such feminine
things
were beyond him.

Bianca isn’t here, Jan decided, but all the same he’s playing safe. If I go round the house, and he stays in the garden, there’ll be no escape route.

‘I
saw the photograph of your wedding,’ she told Gina, following through the long
salone
and
admiring
the cool white marble floor.
‘
I thought it the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen.’

But useless, once the wedding is over. I have an idea. Would you like to wear it, for your wedding? No one in England has seen it, but I can’t lend it to my friends here, as everyone—but everyone—in Italy saw it in the newspapers.’

Jan flushed deeply.
‘
I’d love to. But my wedding is a long way away. First one needs a bridegroom.’

‘
And you haven’t one? Oh, my dear, I was so sure you were going to marry our Marco. He has such a proud and possessing look. We’ve all been waiting
years for him to choose, and when I saw him look at you, I said to myself
This is the one
!’

‘
No
,’
Jan said in a choked voice. ‘Oh no! I’m unsuitable. I mean—not the sort of girl a Cellini would marry. He would never even think of me in that way
.’

Gina gave her a penetrating look.
‘
Have I said something I shouldn’t? Are you in love with him?’

‘
I have a career, madame.’

‘I see.’ Gina closed the vast wardrobe carefully.
‘
A career. That is a pity, when you are so attractive and young. You and Marco would make such a fine couple. Well, we shall have to wait a little longer, but when he does marry, all the daughters and mothers we know will sigh with relief. The strain is terrible, believe me
!’
She laughed lightly and changed the subject.
‘
Marco says his mother is not bad, not good. What does that mean, exactly?’

‘
It means she needs her daughter. She misses Bianca terribly. You will know how forgetful the poor soul is? Well, I think sometimes she is afraid Bianca is gone for ever, like her husband.’

‘
But she believes her husband is alive, in another room.’

‘
She pretends she believes. Sometimes she knows quite well he is dead. But she is terribly and secretly afraid about Bianca.’

‘
Doesn’t Bianca write, or telephone? Marco must tell her she must.’

Jan shrugged.
‘
The young are careless about writing. They don’t know how the older generation wait and watch and worry, if letters do not come.’

‘
You speak as if you are old yourself. You shouldn’t do that.’

‘
I’ve nursed old people. I’ve had to tell them, morning after morning, the letter hasn’t come. I’ve seen the tears wiped away secretly, the hopeful smile fade.
Believe me, I
know
what
I’m talking about.
I’m
young
too, but I take good care
to write
to my parents every week, wherever
I
am. I couldn’t bear to see that look on their faces.’

‘
You love people,
signorina.
You have great sympathy and warmth. One day you’ll give all that to one man, and he will be fortunate. I am sad that it is not my dear Marco, after all. Well, let us go back to him, or he’ll think we’ve forgotten him.’ She gave Jan a long penetrating look.
‘
As if anyone could forget Marco, eh? He is not easily forgotten, that one.’

Jan followed Gina back to the terrace, where Marco had settled himself for a long wait. Chair tilted back, his feet one on another, his white panama hat tipped over his eyes, he looked the picture of a man relaxed, content, and patiently waiting till the womenfolk should choose to come back.

‘
Up, lazybones,’ cried Gina.
‘
You said you’d promised to take this girl to Anacapri to look at the shops. And you must buy her an expensive, lovely present there, for a memorial of her visit.’

‘
Memento,’ Jan corrected, laughing. ‘A memorial is for when you’re dead. We have a prettier, older word which is rarely used now. A keepsake.’

Gina tilted her head, eyebrows drawn together in query.
‘
Ah—I know. Keep it for
my
sake? That’s a good word and I shall remember to use it. Thank you. Do you hear, Marco? Buy her a keepsake.’

‘
I intend to. She must choose something she likes.’

‘
That’s no good. Politeness will make her choose something cheap, and you ought to buy her something splendid. Walk along to the villa of San Michele—Jan must see all the little shops there. I may say Jan? On the right there is a shop where they have beautiful kaftans—and shoes. We are famous for our shoes if you buy them from the man who makes them. Not the tourist stuff, but the real thing.’

Marco kissed her hand.
‘
I’ll remember. Thank you for lunch, and for your kindness, Gina. Give my regards to Cesare. I’m sorry to have missed him, but no doubt we’ll meet in Rome before long.’

On the rest of the short journey to Anacapri, Jan’s mind was in turmoil. Gina’s words about Marco had come right out of the blue, left her shaken and incredulous. She felt desperately empty inside, drained of emotion. If only she had had a moment to prepare herself for the shock of hearing those lightly spoken words! As it was, she was terribly afraid she had betrayed herself, and went hot and cold with embarrassment and shame.

Would there come a time when Gina’s laughing voice would say
Of course that little nurse person adored you, Marco. Didn’t you know? I hope you bought her a nice present to console her for losing the love of her life
.
Marco, too, was silent, his eyes on the twisting road rising so steeply to the summit of
the island which itself was no more than a rock flung into the sea by some giant of legend.

‘
Bianca hadn’t been there,’ he said when the hairpin straightened for a short stretch.
‘
Gina was genuine, don’t you agree? No artifice about her. She always says what she thinks, straight out. You didn’t see any trace?’

‘
No. I told her how much your mother missed Bianca. If they are in touch, that message will get back. Apart from that, we talked of—other things. She offered to lend me her wedding dress.’

What did our cool career girl say to that?’

‘
That I was a career girl, of course.’

He made an impatient exclamation.
‘
Some day, my dear Jan, one man will light a fire in you that will consume without destroying you. No woman is as cool as you make believe you are.’

The fire was already alight, burning, consuming. It was false that it would not destroy her. What could have been a glory like the sun might shrivel her into a bitter old maid if she was not terribly careful to keep bitterness out of the loss. She did not answer but sat stiff, her mouth dry, her heart sick. Her love for Marco possessed her completely. Gina’s careless words had torn her protective skin aside, left bare the throbbing pain.

She was thankful when they reached Anacapri. It was a relief to get out of the taxi, walk among the bright crowd of holidaymakers, admire the endless selection of shoes and scarves, smart dresses and elegant leatherware offered for sale—the pottery, the mosaics, marquetry, fine silks and delicate cottons. Up here, they catered for the more affluent visitor. A tea-room offered
English Tea and Toast.
Toast, Marco said, was a legacy from the travelling English of Edwardian days, like tea. Nowhere in Europe do they make it so well.

He took her to a shoemaker and made her choose style and colour.
‘
Your shoes will arrive all in good time, and will fit as perfec
tl
y as your skin. Now we’ll find that kaftan.’

By the side of the big
modern
store crammed with luxury goods, he showed her a narrow lane, lined with tiny shops displaying everything from straw sandals to silken tunics, exquisite marquetry, statuettes, wood-carvings. The lane was rarely wider than six feet, the wares flowed out of the shops on to tables and stools. When they came to the dealer in rainbow-coloured silks, Marco stopped and studied the display intently.

‘
That one,’ he said at last, pointing to a full-length robe with long sleeves in sea-green silk edged with silver.
‘
It’s the colour of your eyes when you look at the sea. I’d like to think of you wearing it.’

‘
Bellissima
!’
exclaimed the stout salesman, kissing the tips of his podgy fingers. His wife, drawn into the conference by his raptures, nodded vigorously. The woman had, Jan reflected, probably never worn anything more exciting than her present black skirt and high-necked cotton blouse, but there was a shrewd approval in her chocolate-brown eyes. She waddled back into the tiny shop and brought out a long looking-glass.

‘
No need even for that,’ Marco declared.
‘
I approve and that is enough. Jan, have the goodness to walk away and let me haggle with this daylight robber. Not that I begrudge you the price he is asking, but he shouldn’t be allowed to get away with it.’

Obediently she slipped her arms out of the lovely thing, picked up her bag and walked away to the next display. The sounds of the harangue rose and fell. What a true Italian Marto was, she thought with an amused smile. He could most likely buy out the man and all his stock and shop too, but could
not
resist the chance of a friendly haggle in which both sides would finally emerge completely satisfied.