One Hot Summer (18 page)

‘
But it is a very nice donkey,
signorina.
Better than walking. Pedro will wait and bring you back. Or if the Signore does not want the beach-buggy, Dino will come and collect you.’

‘
What? Is Dino in this too?’

‘
But of course. We all are.’

‘
Dino is supposed to have searched the whole island.’

The eyes were merry now.
‘
He did. But he could not search inside the castle, could he?’

Jan put on an expression she hoped was a true copy of Sister Tutor’s.
‘
What is the Signore going to say to you all, when he learns all about the tricks you’ve been up to?’

‘
Signorina
!
You promised
!’

‘
He won’t learn from me. But he is a remarkable man, Francesca. Don’t be too sure he will not find out, some day. I wouldn’t like him to be truly angry with me. Aren’t you scared?’

The girl bit her lip and studied the polished floor.
‘
Yes, I am. He will find out—he always does. He will
tell my father to beat me. But the Signorina Bianca will pay me well, so I shan’t mind the beating. The money will go towards my marriage.’

‘
Who shall you marry? Do you have someone?’

‘
My father hasn’t decided yet.’

‘
Is there someone special you’d like your father to choose?’

‘
Oh, yes, yes, there is. His name is Filiberto, but his parents own a
ristorante
down on the harbour side, so he would need a good dowry, and my father has so many children. It is difficult,
signorina,
for a girl like me. My money is needed at home.’

‘
Surely Signor Cellini would help with a dowry?’ Jan thought how little the money would mean to Marco, how vast the amount must seem to plump little Francesca.
‘
Why don’t you speak to the Signora about it?’ The girl blushed crimson.
‘
But I dare not. Besides, he will be so angry when he finds out what I have done that he may send me away and I shall have no work and no wages for a long time. There is much unemployment on the island.’

‘
But why do you allow all this to happen? You’re too old to be beaten, and there must be plenty of employment on Capri or in Naples.’

‘Naples? That nest of robbers! I wouldn’t go there for a million lire. But Capri—I never thought of going to Capri. What could I do?’

‘
What you do here. Or you could come to England. Do you know, people in England would pay almost anything you cared to ask, for the sort of help you give here in the villa? In a year, you’d save enough for a good dowry.’

The girl drew in a deep, excited breath.
‘You
would take me?’

‘
No. You must think about it first. Don’t do anything in a hurry. But if you decide to come, I will help all I can. See, I’ll leave you my address. Now,
where’s this famous donkey of yours?’

‘Wait!
No one must see you go. I’ll look round the terrace to see where the Signore is.’

In the few moments the girl was gone, Jan had time to regret her impulsive invitation to England. Francesca would be happier here, unspoilt and with her own people around her. She was too young, too innocent of life, to survive the rough and tumble of a big city. If she found work, it would have to be in some quiet country place, or by the sea. There are flowers which will not transplant happily.

Was it true that Marco would tell her father to beat her? Perhaps it was part of the feudal way of life which seemed to obtain in Barini. And if so, did that not also include providing a dowry for the girl too?

If only I could see her happy with her Filiberto, Jan thought regretfully. It was so easy to put aside a pretty nightdress and the Indian slippers Francesca admired. But someone ought to see about her future, or she’d be at the mercy of that work-shy father of hers.

The girl reported that Marco Cellini was working in his study, and led Jan towards the kitchen quarters of the villa, where she had never set foot before. Here, things were very different. The kitchen was dark, untidy, and seemed to be full of people all talking at once. Strings of onions hung from hooks in the plastered walls; the huge kitchen table was piled high with food—chickens, baskets of tomatoes, aubergines gleaming purple. A generous red enamel coffee pot stood among all this richness, from which Maria-Teresa, the cook, dispensed hospitality to all and sundry. It looked, Jan decided, like an enormous oil-painting by one of those old masters, and ought to be hanging on the walls of a gallery, garlic smells and all.

Maria-Teresa was rolling pasta on a cleared space—for ravioli, she called out to Jan in a dialect so strong that Jan could hardly understand. Who on earth were
all these people? Surely the villa did not have so many on the staff?

Francesca pulled out little Pietro from the crowd. He was up to his ears in melon, and grinned up at Jan with sticky lips. His eyes twinkled like bright buttons.

‘
My nephew,’ Maria-Teresa introduced with a flourish of her rolling-pin.
‘
And that is my aunt, in the corner. She brings the lemons, and oranges. She needs coffee, poor soul, after the long walk.’

Jan understood. The villa staff were feeding most of their friends and relations at Marco’s expense. Tramonti had long lacked a real mistress, Bianca being too young and untrained, and the Signora so vague and unaware.

The brown donkey was so small, its legs so thin, that Jan hesitated to mount. But Pietro slung a scarlet cushion over the wooden saddle and patted it invitingly. So Jan hoisted herself up, and Pietro dragged the animal into movement by a rope.

It was a steep path down to sea-level, but not as dangerous as Francesca had at first pretended. Jan was content to jog down in a leisurely way, under the shade of shrubby trees whose names she did not know; through tangles of herb-scented weeds that sometimes scratched her dangling legs. Far below the brilliant sea appeared and disappeared between the twisted trees like a mosaic bright with diamond patches of sunlight. Green lizards flicked into crevices as they passed, and iridescent insects came and went like winged jewels.

It was not easy to keep one’s seat with the donkey picking its way down the broken path, stumbling sometimes and always with its hind legs well above the level of its forelegs. When, in addition, it put its head down unexpectedly to crop some favourite plant, Jan was in imminent danger of sliding forward over the creature’s pretty head. She was thankful when at last they
reached the road, reasonably near the castle entrance.

‘
I’ll walk now, Pietro.’ She slid off, and stamped a few paces to ease aching muscles.
‘
Why don’t you ride?’ She gestured to the saddle, not sure whether it was lack of understanding or shyness which had kept the boy so quiet this far. But Pietro shook his head, preferring to walk and haul the donkey along behind him. His bare brown feet had suffered no damage on the rocky, thistle-strewn descent.

Jan now became concerned about how she was going to get into the castle. Castles, she had often noticed, did not seem to have front doors, and bells which a visitor could ring for admittance. They had moats, and a portcullis; or huge grey-weathered doors big enough to admit an army and studded with iron bolts; chains, and metal spikes. Admittance, in her experience so far, was gained by paying at the entrance. But thi
s
was a private castle, lived in by an elderly owner who might not welcome visitors at any time.

She was worried, too, about her appearance. She was hot, dusty, and untidy after the ride. To pay such a call as she intended, one should arrive cool, soignee, and dignified.
Looking like somebody,
her mother would have called it. Jan was only too well aware she was going to arrive at the castle looking like nobody at all.

On the way they passed two women, balancing flat bundles on their heads, and swaying gracefully as they walked. Both had a word for the little boy, who was vocal enough in reply. Then, to Jan’s enormous delight, came a wooden cart laden with oranges, drawn by a yoke of two white oxen.

And then the castle.

‘
Wait for me,’ she impressed on the boy. To make sure of her return transport, she showed him a five-hundred-lire note, promising him it when she returned. She guessed the amount, small as it was, to be larger
than anything Pietro had had for himself in his whole short life. By the brightness of his chocolate eyes, she knew he would wait for it.

Now for the castle. It dated from the Crusades, so she had been told, and staring up now at the high stone walls, the narrow barred windows, the cruel battlements, she could well imagine it occupied by armed men, caparisoned horses, and all the panoply and glitter of mediaeval warfare. How many prisoners had died in its dungeons, or eaten their hearts out in long imprisonment behind its ramparts?

Entry was not, after all, difficult. The low archway cut through the walls, which were at that point ten feet thick—maybe more, she thought—led into a sunny courtyard round which the inhabited portions of the castle formed a hollow square. There was a well in the middle, in the shadow of which a great white dog slept. A few hens picked about the cobblestones, and a man crossing the yard glanced across, put down a bucket he was carrying, and came to greet her.

‘
Per favore
,
I should like to speak with the Signorina Bianca Cellini,’ Jan said in her best Italian, and with less confidence than she displayed outwardly. The fingers of her right hand were crossed. What if the man said no such person was in the castle? Well, what? A wasted journey, no more. He couldn’t eat her. The dog had stirred and now came towards her, but sank into a sitting position at a word from the man, who invited Jan to follow him.

He led her into what she knew must be the great hall, a high chamber the full height of the castle, with a splendid roof of king-post trusses, gilded and painted. The walls were whitewashed and decorated with coats of arms in heraldic colours; scarlet and gold, royal blue and white. Above each escutcheon hung faded and tattered banners, centuries old. The flagged floor was covered with rush matting, such as Jan had seen in the
markets; and down the middle of the vast room stretched a long table whose top was of many coloured marbles arranged in squares and circles. The dim light was filtered through tall, narrow windows of a greenish glass. Like living at the bottom of the sea, Jan decided, staring about her as she shifted from one foot to the other waiting for someone to come.

It seemed a long time. Were they busy inventing some story about Bianca not being there; or hiding the girl? Or had she made a mistake, and someone would presently appear to send her away because the Conte was too old, or too disinclined, to receive untidy girls with long blowing hair, and bare scratched feet in scruffy sandals? Perhaps they thought she was a stray tourist intruder.

Then suddenly Bianca Cellini walked in and stood a moment in silence, studying her visitor.

She was exactly as Jan had pictured her. At first sight, not unlike herself. But when one looked again, the Cellini girl was seen to be more delicate. A hothouse flower, Jan thought quickly, cherished and protected from every cold wind. She had the confidence of fine breeding and great wealth, a kind of sheen on her even though she was, at this moment, almost as untidy as her visitor.

Jan returned her curious stare with a quick feeling of dismay. This child would never survive in Paolo’s world. She needed the sort of life her
fianc
é
could give her, the rarified atmosphere which surrounded cherished women of fortune and position. Poor Bianca, poor Paolo
!
Marco was right, after all.

‘
You’re the English girl,’ Bianca announced.
‘
How did you know I was here? Did Francesca tell you?’

‘
No. I guessed. I tried to think myself into your mind, and I knew you must be on the island a long time before I knew where you were. How was it Marco didn’t find you here?’

‘
He never asked.’ Bianca laughed, a silvery peal full of gaiety.
‘
He wouldn’t dare, in case my godfather discovered I was missing. He came, of course, to pay a formal visit; but I told my godfather I was in disgrace for some peccadillo and that it would be wiser for me to keep out of Marco’s way that day. He is a gallant gen
tl
eman, old as he is, so he protected me and said not a word of my being here.’

‘
You don’t feel ashamed of deceiving that old man?’

‘Why should I? I’ve made him happy. He loves having me here. And I did visit Mamma, quite often, when Marco was away. So don’t scold me, because you look about my age and I hardly ever meet anyone who is, except some of the island girls, and I can’t talk to them. Your name is Jan, isn’t it? Haven’t you ever been in love, Jan?’

‘I’m in love now. And it is not a happy love, Bianca, so don’t give me that you-don’t-know-what-it-feels-like routine, because I do know. I love a man I can never marry.’

‘
Poor you! But you are stronger than I am. You look stronger. You can look after yourself, can’t you? I can’t. I’ve been brought up to be fed, clothed, and taken care of by some man, the richer the better. I don’t know any other kind of life. It isn’t easy to be me, Jan.’

‘
It isn’t easy to be anybody. We have to do the best we can. What’s wrong with this man you’re supposed to marry? Can you tell me? I’m sympathetic, really I am. I think an arranged marriage is dreadful.’

Bianca giggled.
‘
Tell my brother that
!
’

‘
I have. Several times.’

The Italian girl whistled, clear as a blackbird.
‘
And you’re still alive I You’re lucky not to be his sister. A great sense of family discipline, Marco has. It’s because I was so young when our father was drowned, and he became a solemn, serious big brother, taking care of us
all and of the business. Before that, he was so sweet. You can’t imagine how sweet he can be, when he’s not worried and anxious.’

‘
I’ve only known him worried and anxious. About you. Are you going to tell me about Rafaello? You can, you know.’

‘
Not here. Come up to my sitting-room. Would you like some wine or anything?’

‘
I’d like a drink, after the hot ride. I don’t think I’m the right size and shape for a donkey. Could it be orange juice?’

Bianca’s room was in a circular turret overlooking the sea. ‘Like being in a ship,’ she explained, ‘because one cannot see any land at all. See? It juts out right over the water. I like it because the windows are bigger. There was no fear of attack from this side, you see, and they made larger spaces because this was the look-out for enemies.’

‘
Who were the enemies?’

‘Saracens, I expect. Spaniards, Venetians, Normans, French, everybody was busy attacking everybody else all through the Middle Ages, and most of it happened around Italian shores. The Crusaders built this place, but whether they were coming or going I don’t know. Why can’t people live and let live?’

‘
Why, indeed? Rafaello?’

‘
Oh yes.’ Bianca settled comfortably in the padded windowseat, with the orange juice she had collected on the way up.
‘
He’s one of Them. The rulers, the fighters, the men who built
this
.
Not those who put the stones one on top of the other, I mean the men who wanted to build it. Wouldn’t you think there was something wrong with people who actually wanted to create a horrible place like this? You should see the dungeons!
’
She shuddered delicately.

‘
Does Rafaello have dungeons?’

‘
Not dungeons exactly. But he belongs to Them
. I
can’t talk to him. My mouth goes dry and I just can’t find any words at all. Imagine living all one’s life with a man one cannot talk to
!
’

‘
Does he talk to you?’

‘
He tells me things. But when I try, I always say something wrong. He corrects me, in front of other people. If I say a distance is three kilometers, he says very loudly, “Oh no, Bianca, you’re wrong! It is three and a half kilometers.” I wouldn’t make anyone I loved look a fool, just for the sake of half a kilometer, would you?’

‘
No. Don’t you think you might get used to him, in time? You would make a lovely Contessa.
’

Bianca stared wistfully into her glass. ‘I’d like a title. I’d like everything he can give me, except the man himself. It’s sad.’

‘
Very sad. And you are also in love with another man?’

The girl’s head shot up. She sat upright, spilling the juice, and stared at Jan. ‘How did you know that?’

‘
First, because I guessed it. No girl would fight so strenuously against marrying a handsome, rich, and splendid
fianc
é
if she didn’t have some other man in mind. I gather you raised no objection to the betrothal in the first place?’

‘
I hadn’t met Paolo then. And I didn’t realise what a disastrous bore Rafaello was going to be. He’s pompous.’

Drily, Jan said,
‘
I guessed he might be.’

‘And secondly?’ Bianca probed. ‘What was the other thing?’

‘
I met Paolo. In fact, he kissed me.’

‘
Paolo
did? The wretch
!
How dare he? Wait till I see him again
!’

‘
It was an accident. He thought I was you.’

The lovely eyes widened.
‘
How could he make such
a mistake? He loves me.’

‘
It was momentary, I assure you. I was walking along your beach, looking down at a shell, and wearing your pink bikini. My hair was hidden. Yours is much lighter, and not as long. He came up out of the water like Neptune.’

‘
He swam round the headland, from his boat?’ Jan nodded. ‘Expecting to see you there. So he
pounced on a girl who looked like you, flung his arms round her and got kicked hard on the shins. But even without the kick he knew at once he’d made a mistake, and was very apologetic.’

‘Ah, I see. He came behind you?’

‘With his eyes full of sea-water. We sat on the sands a long time, talking—about you.’

‘
He adores me,’ smiled Bianca.

‘
I know. He thinks you adore him.’

‘But I do.’ Bianca clasped her hands together earnestly, with an unconsciously dramatic gesture.
‘
If we can’t be married I shall die. When I am with
him
everything seems so right. And when I am with Raf, everything seems just a little wrong. As if someone had given the world a twist out of shape. Not much, but enough to spoil it.’

‘
Have you told your brother all this?’

‘
I’ve tried. But he has never been in love, so he doesn’t know. When I am not with Paolo, I feel as if the soul has gone out of my body. Life doesn’t go on. Time moves, but I am not living it. I’m just—waiting—for time to start again.’

‘
I know. I feel like that all the time.’ Looking out of the high window, Jan saw a white boat, small as a toy, moving at snail’s pace across the vivid blue.
‘
Like a boat which has lost its anchor. Adrift.’

Bianca hugged her knees and stared at Jan with wide eyes.
‘
You’re in love—I can tell. When two people feel like that about each other, anything which keeps
them apart
must
be wrong. I’m
only staying away
from Marco as a sort of demonstration, like the young people do on television. To
make
my point. But
—’
her head drooped forward, the curtains of her hair falling like wings on either side of her small, sad face,
‘
I haven’t much hope of winning. All the big guns are against me.’

‘
But the biggest gun of all is for you—Paolo.’

‘What can he do? Marco owns him.’

‘
Marco owns nobody, not even you. The world is wide, Bianca. There are other jobs. Paolo has brains and clever men will pay well for brains. If you want him, you must let him tell Marco he wants you.’

‘
He would never do that. I begged him not to. I was afraid for him.’

Jan covered the space between them, dropped on her knees and seized the slim shoulders in her strong hands. ‘Bianca! Look at me! Tell me the truth. The honest truth, right from the depths of your heart. Do you really want to marry Paolo? I don’t doubt you love him, but is it the sort of love which climbs mountains and crosses rivers? Would you mind not being really rich, the way you are now? Would you stand by him till he got on his feet again if Marco finished with him? Search your heart, Bianca. Are you playing with Paolo?’

‘
No, no, no, I am not playing. I mean it. Without Paolo, I believe I shall die. I’d rather be a nun for ever than marry Rafaello.’

Jan sat back on her heels.
‘
Very well. Get your things together and come home with me. This afternoon Paolo will come to the villa to ask your brother for you.’

‘
Marco will eat him. He doesn’t know—’

‘
Don’t you have any faith in Paolo? I have, and I’ve only met him once. I don’t profess to love him, but I’m absolutely sure he’ll do as he says. He will be
fighting for the girl he loves. And you must be there, at his side.’

The tender mouth shook.
‘
You mean all this? It’s true?
’

Every word.’