Authors: Norrey Ford
One Hot Summer (3 page)
‘
And you’d find out your mistake. With you, the sun is a rare friend. Here he can be an enemy. The sea is all around us, and we spend much of our time outside, where we get all the light and warmth we can take. Then we have a retreat into shade and coolness.’
‘
Yes, I see. Another difference in outlook.’
A tall slim lady came towards them, drifting over the white floor like a ghost. She was dressed entirely in black, her skirt touching the floor and a black lace
mantilla on her white hair. A peasant dress, made by a master hand in superb material, Jan guessed.
‘
Marco! Oh, my dear boy, how lovely to see you. Your father will be delighted. He was saying only this morning how long you’d been away. Is this your dear wife? Bless you, dear. My daughter will be pleased to have a sister.’
‘
This is Jan Lynton, Mother. She is English. You must speak English to her, dear.’
‘
That’s charming. I never thought you’d marry an English girl, my son.’
The Signora’s Italian was so pure, her speech so clear and correct, that Jan had been able to follow the conversation fairly well. It did not embarrass her in the least to be thought Marco’s wife. Hospital life quickly cured one of any nonsense like that. But she thought it had embarrassed the man.
She whispered quickly,
‘
It’s all right, I understand. Please don’t mind on my account.’
He flashed her a grateful look.
‘
But we must make her understand.’ He turned to his mother again.
‘
Jan is a guest, Mother: Not my wife.’
‘
Of course not. I know very well you’re not married. She has come to visit Bianca.’ Then she said to Jan in perfect English, ‘You are most welcome, child. My daughter gets lonely, up on this great rock. Run along and talk to her. You’ll find her in the swimming pool.’
Marco tensed.
‘
Mother, think.
Is Bianca here
?’
‘
Where else? This is her home.’
‘Excuse me, Jan.’ He raced across the room and out through a porticoed door at the end. In a moment he was back. Catching Jan’s eye, he spread his expressive hands and shrugged, mouthing
Not there.
‘
Bianca is on holiday, Mother,’ he explained carefully. ‘You remember, she has gone to visit Aunt Giulia-Maria in Florence. Jan is to use her rooms, and
she’s very tired after her journey. Will you show her where to go?’
Signora Cellini gave Jan a serene smile and led the way.
‘
I’ll come too,’ Marco murmured,
‘
or who knows where you may be led? You see what I mean? She’s safe and happy here, and needs no nursing or anything like that. It is companionship she lacks, and normally Bianca is with her.’
‘
Signor Marco, I’ll be truly happy to be with her. I see my Italian will improve, listening to her. This is a perfectly heavenly place and I think I am lucky to be here. Thank you for such a kind thought. Few people would have had the imagination to realise that that sordid little incident would spoil the taste of the rest of my holiday. I’m afraid I haven’t thanked you properly for your thoughtfulness.’
‘
If you do so, you'll embarrass me. I was at my wits’ end to know where I should find exactly the right person. When I first set eyes on you, it was like a miracle.’
She frowned, remembering.
‘
But that was before my purse was stolen. You ran towards me as if you knew me, then suddenly checked yourself. As a matter of fact, I thought you’d taken me for—for a friend.’ He did not answer for a moment. The route lay across the garden, skirting an oblong swimming pool lined with blue tiles and edged with marble.
‘
I’m sorry about that,’ he said at last.
‘
You would think me rude. The fact is, I was worrying away to myself and then suddenly I thought I saw Bianca herself walking towards me. You’re the same height and—shape. Your colouring, too. Now I see you more closely, the resemblance is only slight, but at a distance it was remarkable. So naturally I hurried to meet my sister—till I was near enough to see I’d been mistaken.
’
So
—
that was it. And I had thought, from the blazing joy on his face, that he’d been running to meet a girl he loved.
‘
I see. I thought perhaps you’d taken me for your girl-friend. You must be awfully fond of Bianca.’
‘
We all are,’ he said gravely.
‘
These are Bianca’s rooms.’ Her hostess turned to Jan, and had not forgotten to speak in English.
‘
Please feel at home here. She’ll be back in a minute. Do you play the guitar?’
Jan smiled.
‘
Who doesn’t? I’m not particularly good, but I keep practising.’
‘
Bianca isn’t very good either. You must practise together. I’ll go and tell my husband you are
here.’
Marco led her farther inside.
‘
This is her sitting-room. Please feel free to use anything you find here. I’d be delighted if you’d continue your guitar practice. We’re all so used to it now, the Villa wouldn’t be the same without it. Her bedroom is through there, bathroom and all you’ll need.’
‘
Thank you. I hope she won’t mind my using all her things. Some girls wouldn’t like to have a stranger doing that.’
‘
Bianca is the soul of hospitality, I assure you. Now I want you to behave exactly as if this were your home. Ring for a servant if you want anything—anything at all. Perhaps you’d like a
spremuta
now?’
‘
What's that?’
‘
Oranges freshly squeezed into a tall glass, and topped up with ice.’
‘
I
’
d adore one.’
‘Ring the bell and order. And Jan—there’s one special thing I would like you to do while you are our guest. It’s very simple.’
‘
Then of course I’ll do it.’
‘Wear Bianca’s clothes. Everything is Italian or French and is sure to fit you. She has a hoard of swim suits too.’
She stared in astonishment.
‘
Oh no! I couldn’t do that!’
‘
You promised. And why not? Don’t pretty girls like dressing up? And you are a remarkably pretty girl, Jan. You’d look marvellous in the sort of things Bianca wears.’
‘
She may be the soul of hospitality, but you’re a man. You must be crazy to think her sense of hospitality would extend to having me rummage in her wardrobe and dress in her clothes.’
The cold voice spoke. The must-be-obeyed voice of the master of this house.
‘
I know my sister,
signorina.
Please do as I say.’ He turned and strode away across the garden without another word.
A young maid arrived, and at the second try Jan made her understand what she wanted. Like her mistress, the girl wore an ankle-length black skirt, made youthful and pretty by the addition of a white lace-edged apron, a full-sleeved white blouse with a narrow black velvet ribbon bow. On her smooth black hair she had a white lace headdress with red ribbons down to her shoulders.
The girl smiled, nodded, and ran off. Jan continued her thoughtful tour of Bianca’s apartments. What sort of girl was it, who didn’t mind a stranger wearing her clothes?
A shiver ran down Jan’s spine. Did Bianca really exist? Or was she a figment of the Signora’s imagination—a sort of ghost?
A very
modern
ghost, then. Bianca kept herself up to date. The inevitable pile of pop records. Hi-fi equipment—very,
very
lush. A pile of subtly coloured sandals, tumbled as if the owner were in the habit of rummaging through for what she fancied; those were this year’s style or well ahead of it. Fine Italian work.
On a marble table, carelessly put down, wing-sided sunglasses.
In the bedroom, it was the same. Jan opened a long row of fitted wardrobes and handled the exquisite garments hung there. Your brother is both rich and generous, Bianca, she thought. I’d love to see myself in some of these creations, and if you really mind about it, have your quarrel with him, not me. He made me promise.
Here, there really was a sea-view. Long windows opened on to a balcony with a sheer drop below. Leaning over made Jan clutch the rail and close her eyes. So far down there, so emerald the water!
Between the two tall windows, there stood a gilt table topped with glass. On the table, a small, exquisite white kid beauty box, fully fitted. After her own loss of the morning, not yet replaced, Jan was truly tempted. Everything was here. Powders, lipsticks in a dozen colours, eye-liners and shadows, mascara. Thoughtfully, her gaze still on the lavish array, Jan reached for the tiny perfume bottle and sniffed. Um, lovely
!
A famous name adorned the jewel-like bottle.
Something wrong here. What was it?
Remembering how bereft she’d felt earlier in the day, when all her make-up, modest as it was, disappeared with her money, Jan knew—and shivered.
What sort of girl goes on a long visit and leaves her beauty box at home?
CHAPTER II
Jan sank down on to a low white leather stool, her eyes fixed on the beauty box. It was possible that Bianca had a smaller version she used for travelling and had taken a few of her favourite cosmetics with her. Yet these had such an air of being used and loved. Only a girl could know how another girl would sit over such a well-filled box, choosing among her treasures as lovingly as if they had been diamonds, rubies, emeralds.
If Bianca had been feminine enough to spend time and money choosing such a collection, she was feminine enough to want it with her.
A cold shiver touched Jan’s spine. Had Marco Cellini’s young sister died recently and suddenly? Did she now inhabit that dream world of her mother’s? It was not possible to forget that casual
You’ll find, her in the swimming pool
—nor Marco’s strange amazement. Yet he had hurried to see if she really was in the pool. He wouldn’t have done so, if he’d known her to be dead.
I’m making mountains out of molehills, she decided at last. How do I know how the very rich live, or how they regard their possessions? This Bianca may have a dozen beauty cases, a hundred lipsticks, for all I know. And why should she care who wears her clothes? I’ll bet she has more new dresses in a month than any of us in the Nurses’ Hostel gets in five years. What I need is a shower, a cloud of that heavenly scented talc, and something new to wear.
The bathroom was floored in black marble. Jan threw off her clothes and ran across it, seeing the dim shape of her body deeply reflected. A warm shower rinsed away the stress and heat of her day; then, as she cautiously turned it to cold, the water came through
more strongly, stinging like needles till she tingled with energy.
Then there was the delightful business of choosing a new dress. Or, she thought, riffling through the vast wardrobe, trouser suit; for Bianca had an elegant line in those.
Finally she chose a cornflower blue fitted cotton blouse with deeply cuffed sleeves, and wide flaring trousers to match. From a drawerful of carelessly tangled costume jewellery she took a pale blue beaded choker, and three broad white bangles.
The result pleased her, as she peacocked before the long mirrors. Say what you like, she grimaced at her own image, expensive clothes do something for a girl. Her feet were bare, but a pair of sugar-pink and white high-heeled sandals took care of that. After some experimentation with Bianca’s make-up, she produced the gentle, translucent effect she had admired in others but so far rarely managed to produce for herself. A delicate shading of eye-shadow completed the picture.
H’m, dreamy, Jan thought, scrutinizing her face critically in a hand-mirror. No wonder she uses that most; it must be just her colour, as it is mine.
Now she was ready to face the Villa Tramonti and whatever it might contain. She hesitated only a second or two, with the jewelled perfume flask in her hand, then put it down. Not that. I may drift around here looking like Bianca Cellini, but I’m dashed if I’m going to
smell
like her. The cold shiver touched her spine again.
The maid returned, with the orange drink on a tiny silver tray. When she saw Jan she uttered an exclamation of pleasure. Then, recognising the visitor wearing her mistress’s clothes, the girl’s face darkened with anger. Her eyes darted from the wardrobe to Jan, and back to the wardrobe. If she had not been so well trained, Jan knew, she would have protested
strongly. As it was, she tossed her head and marched out of the room, expressing in every line of her plump little body the indignation she so clearly felt.
She’ll tell the others and they’ll hate me. Cool glass in hand, Jan wandered through to the sitting-room. Did an invitation to play the guitar extend to an invitation to use the record player? Hesitation disappeared when the sulky, handsome face of her favourite singer glowered at her from the sleeve at the top of the pile. She put the record on, lowered the volume discreetly, stretched herself upon an elegant chaise-longue and crossed her ankles.