Song Above the Clouds (13 page)

“Well, I will not leave you again.” He smiled back at her with paternal benevolence, and lightly put an arm about her shoulders. “Come and have some supper.” The buffet supper, set out on long tables in the
palazz
o’s
sumptuous
sala da pranzo,
was bewilderingly lavish and colourful. If Candy had been feeling hungry she might have been able to do reasonable justice to the bewildering array of cold meats and pastry confections, and the mountains of gleaming fruit, but as it was all she could face was a microscopic portion of chicken, followed by fruit salad and black coffee. She had already had a glass of sherry, and she fi
rm
ly refused anything further in the nature of alcoholic refreshment.

Nothing her companion could say had any power to alter her decision, but he himself seemed to place no
such limitations on his intake.

It was some time before Candy began to realize that Marco was drinking too much, and even then she didn’t think nearly as much of it as she might have done in different circumstances. In this strange, glittering, bewildering world of Roman ‘high society’ people obviously didn’t behave at any time as they might have been expected to behave back in her mother-in-law’s village of Great Mincham, and even in that model English parish itself a certain amount of over-indulgence was by no means uncommon on Christmas Eve. For some time she had been becoming convinced that Marco di Lucca was anything but a happy man, and she supposed any
excuse to drown
his sorrows would be too big a temptation to resist. In any case, it didn’t see
m
to her that the effects showed particularly, and after supper she was still grateful for his protection against the bewildering overtures of his fellow-countrymen. In one of the long rooms a few couples were dancing, rather lethargically, to music provided by a pianist and a couple of violinists, and after a time Marco asked Candy if she would like to join them. She didn’t really want to dance—in fact, she had the beginnings of a violent headache, and was thinking longingly of the moment when she would be able to get away—but her host’s uncle seemed to feel strongly that she ought to, and rather than argue with him she allowed herself to be led out to join the twenty or thirty young Italians moving in a desultory fashion round the floor.

As
it turned out, Marco di Lucca was not by any means a brilliant dancer, and as he was also becoming increasingly abstracted she didn’t find the exercise very entertaining.
When the music stopped he passed a hand across his forehead as if he was feeling the effects of unaccustomed exertion, and to Candy’s profound relief he suggested that they should sit down.

“I am not a good companion, little one.” His voice had just a suspicion of unsteadiness about it. “I shall bore you.”

“You don’t bore me at all.” She sat down beside him, smiling. “You’ve been terribly nice to me.
.
. But I do think perhaps I’m boring you. Shall I go and find Caterina?”

He shook his head. “Stay with me
...
stay with me.
Michele asked me to keep—keep an eye on you, as you say in England, and,
ecco,
I am doing so.” He looked across the room, and Candy saw that he was watching Michele’s mother, still moving among the guests like a graceful, slender flame.

“Michele asked you to keep an eye on me?” She felt a burning curiosity to know what Michele had said.

“Yes.” He turned to stare at her—a strange, penetrating, appraising stare that seemed to explore her soul. “My nephew’s instructions were precise. You are a rare prize, and are to be guarded.”

“Why am I to be guarded?” She tried to speak lightly, but her heart was beating fast.

Marco di Lucca’s expression changed. He looked away from her, and shrugged. “I told you
... you are a great hope of the musical world, a
prima donna
of the future.” His eyes were once again on the brilliant figure of his sister-in-law,
and
Candy could tell that she herself had only half his attention, but something made her go on probing. With a faint flush in her cheeks she asked
:

“Does—does Michele
...
does the Conte really think
I’m good
?
”

The Italian turned to look at her again. Quite suddenly his good-humoured face had become old and world-weary. “You want very much to know?”

The colour deepened a little, but she said, calmly: “Yes, of course.”

“For Michele you are a miracle. A beautiful talent
... a beautiful talent that he can work upon, and then present to the world as a gift
.
”

“Oh!” She swallowed.

“You don’t wish to be a gift to the world?”

“I’m just not a beautiful talent.”

“My nephew thinks you are. You can give his life a meaning. In later years, when you remember that, it will be a good feeling.”

“I can—what do you mean?” Feeling oddly shaken, she stared at the man beside her as if he had temporarily taken leave of his senses. “There’s so much in
his life. He has everything
..
.” Caterina Marchetti to
begin with, she wanted to add.

“You think a man has everything when he wakes every morning to face an almost intolerable burden?”

There was silence for a moment. As she repeated the words, Candy’s voice sounded rather strange. “An intolerable burden
?
”

“You didn’t know?” Several seconds ticked away while the Italian stu
di
e
d her face. Then his lips twisted wryly. “No, you didn’t know.”

“I don’t understand.”

“There is no need for you to understand. Forget what I said. It doesn’t concern you.”

Candy’s eyes searched his face. Her own looked small and pale and troubled. “Please
... I’d like to know what you meant.”

He leant towards her. “Listen to me, Candy.” On his lips, her name sounded as if it were spelt ‘Kendy’. “I’m a funny person. Sometimes I don’t talk at all. You have noticed, uh? And sometimes I talk too much. I say things that don’t mean anything—anything at all. What I said just now meant nothing.”

She was silent, her eyes still
troubled, and he reached out and patted her hand. “Come,
cara
.
..
smile! It’s Christmas Eve.”

She knew she couldn’t press him any further. If he hadn’t intended to say what he had said then it would be very wrong of her to try and insist that he should enlarge upon it. But for the rest of the evening the extraordinary words nagged at her like a dull toothache.
‘
He wakes every morning to face an intolerable burden. An intolerable burden
.’

In s
o
me countries a party such as the one that filled the Palazzo di Lucca with colour and movement that evening would have been expected to go on into the early hours of Christmas morning. But this was Italy, and punctually at a quarter to eleven everyone started to disperse in order to make their way to midnight Mass. Once again the marble staircase leading down to the courtyard glowed with the vivid hues of multi-coloured evening dresses, and from the street outside came the sound of ringing laughter and the slamming of car doors.

Candy stood on the stairs under the bright, cool, distant stars and looked around for Caterina. She hadn
’
t seen her for some time, and for that matter she hadn
’
t seen Michele, either. Apart from Marco di Lucca and his dazzling sister-in-law—who had paused once, in passing, to pat
her cheek and express the hope that she was having a wonderful time—she hadn’t seen anyone she really knew for hours, and she felt tired and a little lost. She had said good-night to Marco, thanking him for his kindness and telling him she was going to look for Caterina, but now she was beginning to wonder whether she ought to try and find him again, for the building was emptying quite rapidly, and she could see no sign
of the Italian girl anywhere.

And then, all at once, she did see her, Caterina was descending the stairs very slowly, and
her dark head was thrown back so that she could look up into the face of the man beside her. The man was Michele, and they were deep in a conversation so absorbing that they didn’t notice Candy until they had very nearly walked past her.

And then she saw Michele’s dark eyes suddenly come to rest upon her, and he said something to the girl at his side. Caterina looked round, and then she moved quickly over to the English girl.

“I was looking for you,
cara
.”
Her eyes were faintly conscience-stricken. “I am going to church with Michele. Signor Marco will drive you home—or to Mass first, if you would like that.”

“Oh!” Candy had an awful feeling that she sounded
as flat as she felt, and she made a desperate effort to alter the impression. “It’s been a wonderful evening, hasn’t it
?
”

“Yes, wonderful.” The other girl looked at her seriously. “You are all right, Candida?”

“Of course. I’ve been having a marvellous time. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Yes. Well
... Good-night,
cara
.”

Just for a moment, over Caterina’s head, Candy’s eyes met the dark, inscrutable eyes of Michele. He didn’t smile, or say a word, and a second later he and Caterina were moving on down the stairway into the haunted shadows of the courtyard.

For about a minute after they had disappeared from sight Candy stood exactly where they had left her, one hand on the broad marble balustrade, the other hanging a little limply by her side. Then, behind her, she heard the voice of Marco di Luc
c
a.

“Don’t look so sad, Candy.”

Startled, she swung round, and with a barely noticeable gesture brushed something bright from the corner of one eye.

“Do I look sad? I’m not.” And she smiled brightly up at him.

“
Bene.
Now, do I take yo
u
home, or do I take you to church? I know you are not Catholic, but it is Christmas. And it might be interesting for you to see the Mass. Especially as everyone else is going.”

She hesitated. “Will you be going to Mass? I mean,” a little ruefully, “will you be going even if you have to take me home first?”

“Certainly I shall go. I am a sinner of incredible
blackness, Candy, but I was very nicely brought up, and sti
l
l, sometimes, I go to Mass to be whitened a little.”

“Then, if you don’t mind taking me with you, I’d like to go too.”

The church they were going to was not far away, but there was a lot of traffic in the streets, and their progress was soon reduced to a crawl. Everywhere in Rome people seemed to be leaving parties or closing the doors of their houses behind them and pouring into the churches, and as their vehicles jammed the roads and sometimes even the pavements, and every so often there were bursts of furious honking from drivers who felt they had been held up long enough, but on the
whole there was a kind of tangible good humour in the air, keen, joyous excitement, and Candy was suddenly conscious of a feeling of exhilaration. Once, as they waited, locked in an apparently immovable jam, a man jumped out of his car to run across the road and shake the hand of another driver. He held everyone up for at least two minutes longer than was strictly necessary before he finally hurried back and climbed behind his own
steering-wheel again, but his light-hearted pleasure in the evidently unexpected encounter with a friend was so infectious that nobody seemed to mind in the least.

And then, moving a little faster than the cars in the lane on their left, they drew abreast of a gleaming white Fiat, and it didn’t take Candy more than a second to recognize the occupants. Something of the brightness of the scene around her seemed to become dim, and she turned her eye
s
away from the sports car and its driver to stare into a lighted display window on the other side of the road. Michele was concentrating on the road
ahead, but Caterina had her face turned towards him, and it was easy to see that she was gazing at him with a sort of eager intensity. Without wanting to go too deeply into her own reasons, Candy just didn’t want to watch them.

She didn’t know that Marco had been watching both the white car and her own face, and she was surprised when he suddenly said
:
“In a moment we shall lose them.”

“I should have thought they would have been further ahead of us,” she said lightly.

“Perhaps they have just been unlucky. With the traffic.” He paused, and she had an uncomfortable feeling that he was looking at her. Then he said: “Candy,
I should not like you to feel that you have been unlucky in Rome.”

She turned her head. “Unlucky?” she repeated.

He gestured
towards the sports car, now drawing quite rapidly away from them. “Don’t think about him,” he said briefly.

There was silence for nearly a minute, and when she spoke her voice was husky. “I don’t think about him—really. That is,” truthfully, “I didn’t. Until.
..”

“
Until to-night? I know,
cara.
I saw the moment when it came into your eyes. Only this morning he was merely someone kind
... a friend, yes? And to-night he is so much more.”

She looked away sharply, feeling startled and bewildered. It had all been so sudden. She herself had barely
h
ad time yet to understand what was happening to her. So how could Marco
...
how could he have guessed?

“You must not be upset.” He was speaking gently, staring straight in front of him. “It is not a thing to be ashamed of, falling in love. But one can be badly hurt by it. One can be hurt so badly that one wishes only to
the
. You think that is too dramatic—”

“No,” she said quickly, “I don’t.”

“Then
... Little one, I wish only to warn you. You are just beginning to fall in love with Michele. Put him out of your mind now. Put him out of your heart.” Somewhere inside her a conventional instinct was urging her to utter some sort of denial—to refuse to discuss it, at least. But the words wouldn’t come, and after a long silence all she said was
:

“He’s going to marry Caterina, isn’t
he?”

She knew that Marco di Lucca looked at her and sighed rather heavily. Then he said something beneath his breath, in Italian:

“Perhaps,” he conceded.

“Then—”

“Listen, little one, there is one thing you have to do.
You have to go ahead with your music. You have to sing in this opera, and you have to be successful.”

She swallowed. The idea of going through with it all—of endless rehearsals for
Faust,
with Michele beside her all the time, directing and advising, made her throat feel dry. “I’m really not good enough,” she said flatly
.

“Lorenzo Galleo
knows
you are good enough.” He spoke gently. “You must do this, Candy. You must not give up because of Michele. You must not give up for any reason. If you are
unhappy now then it is now that you should dedicate yourself to work. And you will not always be unhappy.”