Song Above the Clouds (17 page)

The Contessa was leani
ng
back in her chair. Slowly she turned her elegant dark head and looked at Candy ... thoughtfully and a little anxiously.

“I thought you would have guessed,” she said gently. “She has gone with him.”

“Oh!” said Candy. “Of course
...
” Somehow, until
just now, she had almost forgotten Caterina. But naturally she would be with Michele. He would want her more than anyone—more than anything on earth just now. Her own sole excuse for going was the fact that Michele’s mother needed her. He would never know how much she, Candy, needed to be near him.

Their plane left just before midnight. With a handful of other passengers they walked out across the tarmac through a thin, cold drizzle, and by the time they got on board Candy’s hair was damp, and she was grateful for the steady, comforting warmth of the cabin. She
w
as not nervous of flying, and as the stewardesses temporarily stopped fussing round them, and the aircraft rose like a huge, throbbing bird into the distant, cloudy night sky she felt, for the first time that evening, as if some of the tension that filled her eased a little.
Whatever happened, she was on her way to Michele now. Every second that passed brought him nearer.

In her exhausted state the fantasy crept into her mind that if only she could reach him he would be all right. He
must
be all right. He must
... She struggled to keep awake, and for a time she managed it. But in the end her complete and utter emotional and physical weariness was something she could struggle against no longer.

By the time one of the stewardesses brought her the cup of coffee she had asked for she was fast asleep.
She awoke about two hours later to find that they were still airborne, and outside the windows the blackness of the February night was intense. Most of her fellow-passengers were fast asleep, but when she glanced sideways at Anna Landi’s elegant profile she saw the long eyelashes quiver, and realized that although those spectacular dark eyes were completely hidden behind their carefully tinted lids their owner was definitely not asleep. A few seconds later, as if she had sensed that she was being watched, the Contessa opened her eyes and looked round.

“You’re awake,” she remarked..

“Yes,” said Candy. She was beginning to wish she hadn’t awakened so soon. The feeling of peace and relaxation that she had experienced just before she dropped off had vanished as if it had never been, and she felt cold and uneasy.

“Where is the clinic?” she asked. “Where Michele
is?”

“Just over ten miles from Geneva. By the lake shore.”

“Shall we be going straight there?”

“Yes. The operation is the day after to-morrow, so there isn’t very much time.”

Candy noticed that the older woman had lost all her tendency to be hysterical, and in its place a kind of cold, heavy sadness had dropped over her like a mantle.

On impulse, C
a
ndy said something that she had no real reason to believe was strictly true. “You know, I think he admires you a lot.”

“Who? Michele?”

“Yes.”

“No, my dear, he doesn’t admire me. He despises me. For everything I have been, and for everything I have done, both to him and to his father.”

“I don’t understand.”

“No? Well, I will explain it to you. At times like this one can tell things that
... that normally one would never mention.” She made herself more comfortable in her seat, and lifted one of her hands to study the blaze of rings that weighed it down. “I was married when I was very young
... just seventeen. I was already becoming a successful film actress—in Italy,” a little wryly, “we sometimes begin our careers very early in life. But then the rich Conte di Lucca wanted to marry me, and I thought ‘I shall be a great lady. I shall have a
palazzo
in Rome, and a
villino
near Genoa, and everyone will respect me.’ So I married him ... and two years later I had Michele.” Her voice grew rather harsh. “But I never loved my husband, and for a long time I didn’t think I even loved his child.”

“Did you ... love anyone?” Candy asked gently.

“Yes. I loved Marco, my husband’s brother. And he loved me. He never forgave me for marrying Giovanni—that was my husband’s name. And later, too, he came to hate me for
what I became—a self-centred woman without a thought for either my husband or my child. As you know, he has never married, and when I feel a need to comfort myself I say that it is because he could not love anyone but me. But really—really I know it is because I showed him what a woman could become.
”

Candy said nothing. So that was the truth about Marco di Lucca! That was the story behind his restless, unhappy life! The Contessa was speaking again.

“Even when he came to me, yesterday, to break the news to me that Michele was ill, I knew he had not forgiven me. I don’t suppose he ever will. I
—
” She broke off, her voice unsteady.

Candy looked at her, and understood something. The fabulous Anna Landi, the Contessa di Lucca the famous beauty who surrounded herself with more admiring men than almost any other woman in the glittering international set in which she moved—was after all these years still in love with her brother-in-law ... the jaded, disillusioned Marco di Lucca.

She understood, now, that men like John Ryland were, as far as the Contessa was concerned, only the merest passing whim. She didn’t think the Contessa knew that there had ever been anything serious between herself and John, and it didn’t matter now.

It was still quite dark when they arrived in Geneva, and as they left the aircraft and made their way down the gangway the sharp, bitter cold of Switzerland in February came to meet them. They passed without difficulty through Customs and Immigration control, and then they waited just inside the airport’s main doors while their luggage was carried out to a taxi.

But they hadn’t been waiting for long before a voice hailed them; a sleepy, familiar Italian voice. And Anna started and swung round with an eagerness that was entirely revealing.

“Marco!” He had just come in through the glass doors, and she went forward a little to meet
him.
“Marco, how did you get here?”

“By aeroplane, Anna, just as you did—only a few hours earlier.” He looked at
Candy
. “Good morning, little one.” Then his face grew grave. “You sang last night? You did not cancel the performance?”

“No. She sang,” Anna answered for her. “She sang like an angel. But she left immediately afterwards, to come here with me.”

“I tried to get to Florence ahead of you last night,” he admitted ruefully. “I wanted to speak to Candy before you did—to make sure that she went ahead as Michele wished her to.”

“Then why did you not arrive?” Anna demanded, just a little sharply.

“My car broke down less than twenty kilometres north of Rome. So I decided to fly on to Switzerland, in order to be here ahead of you.”

His voice was cold and unemotional, almost flippant. But, although it was only visible for a moment, Candy didn
’
t miss the look that hovered in his eyes as they rested on the lovely face of his sister-in-law.

As it was still only four o’clock in the morning, and also they did have quite a bit of luggage with them, they didn
’
t go straight to the clinic after all, but instead
instructed their taxi-driver to convey them to a well-known lakeside hotel a
sh
ort distance away from it. There they refreshed themselves after their journey by
washing and changing, and both Marco and the Contessa did everything in their power to persuade Candy
to go to bed.

“I will see that you are awakened,
carina,
if there is anything to hear—anything at all,” Anna assured her gently. “You are exhausted, and must have rest.”

“But I don’t want to sleep,” Candy protested. “I—I’m not tired.” And then it occurred to her that perhaps, after all, they would be glad to have her out of the way for a while. It was true that Anna had asked for her company, but this whole thing was, after all, an essentially private family concern, and she was an outsider. “I won’t worry you” she promised anxiously.
“I’ll go for a walk, or something...”

The Contessa shook her head at her. “Oh, Candy,
don’t be silly.”

She was alone in her room when the sun came up. Standing by her window, she saw the vast darkness of the lake outside turn slowly to silver, and the tops of the surrounding mountains to gold. She had visited Switzerland once before, during her schooldays, and its beauty had amazed her then, as it did now. But this morning it seemed to her
that
it was a cold, curiously empty beauty, and it gave her no comfort.

Immediately after an early breakfast, they all set off by taxi for the clinic. The drive along by the lakeshore was spectacular, and under any other circumstances Candy would have appreciated it to the full, but since her arrival in Switzerland the whole terrible reality of
what was happening had descended on her with the force of a physical weight, and her heart felt like stone. She couldn’t feel hope or confidence, n
o
w—she couldn’t feel anything except a despair as grey and unfathomable as those wide areas of the lake in front of her that had not yet been touched by the sun.

The clinic was a spreading, white-walled building surrounded by neat, English-style lawns and thickets of silver birch trees. For a medical institution it was certainly outstandingly attractive, and Candy had to admit to herself that at sight of it her heart did lift a little. Perhaps in this lovely setting
... Swiss doctors were supposed to be very clever, after all. Perhaps...
?
She didn’t dare to carry her thinking to its logical conclusion.

They were received by the staff with interest, and a certain amount of respect. The Conte di Lucca had had a good night, and was quite well this morning. The operation was planned for to-morrow. In the meantime
...

Very soon Anna and her brother-in-law had been whisked upstairs for consultations with a senior specialist, and Candy, left alone, wandered through the gardens. At first she wondered why it was that there were absolutely no flowers, and then she remembered that it was February. Of course there were no flowers. She thought of her white roses, now reposing in a vase in her hotel bedroom, and her eyes filled with tears.

Oh, Michele
...

It seemed a very long time later
that the others rejoined her, and when they did it was obvious that Anna
had been crying. But she smiled at Candy.

“Go up and see him,
cara.
He is asking for you. They will take you up.”

Inside the quiet, sun-filled building, with a tranquil, uniformed nursing Sister in a starched coif escorting her up in a lift and then along what seemed like miles of corridor to a distant wing, she felt as if her nerves were about to give out completely. She had never expected him to send for her—she didn’t know why, but it hadn’t at any time occurred to her that he could want to see an outsider like herself.

The room that had been allotted to Michele was undoubtedly one of the best the establishment had to offer, and when Candy first hesitantly followed the nurse through the doorway she was almost blinded by the brilliance of the morning light pouring in through the wide picture windows. At first glance it was all much more strongly reminiscent of a luxury hotel than a clinic; but then her eyes took in the neat, narrow, hospital-style bed, with its attendant charts and shining equipment, and something seemed to turn over in the region of her heart.

The bed had been made up, and there was nothing, as far as Candy could see, to indicate the presence of a patient, but the nurse smiled, and gestured towards the balcony.

“He is out there,
mademoiselle
.”
And then she effaced herself, and Candy was left to make her way out on to the balcony alone.

He was sitting in a large basket-work chair, staring out across the magnificent panorama of lake and mountain that was spread in front of him like a theatre backcloth, and when Candy first caught sight of him she was conscious of a little upsurge of relief because he looked so normal—so completely himself. She wasn’t sure what sort of changes she had expected an interval of a few days to have brought about in him, but she knew she had expected something. And yet there he was, looking just as he had looked on that e
v
ening last October, when she had opened the door of the
drawing room
at Great Mincham, and he had been there, playing the piano.

She understood, now, that look in his eyes that had so puzzled her—the melancholy detachment that must have had its roots in despair.

She moved so quietly that for a moment or two he didn’t realize she was there. And then he looked up, and the expression on his face startled her, setting every pulse she possessed throbbing wildly.

“Candida
!”
He stood up.

“How—how are you?” she asked lamely.

He didn’t answer, but simply went on looking at her in a w
ay that almost bewildered her. “
Candida,” he said at last, “I didn’t mean you to come here.”

Desperately uncertain, not knowing what to say, she murmured: “The Contessa asked me to come. To—to keep her company.”

His voice
an
d expression changed a little. “Yes
... Of course.” He indicated a chair close beside his own, and she sat down rather thankfully.

“Well, how was
it ... l
ast night? My mother tells me you had a great success.”

“It’s very kind of her to say so. I think it did go rather well.”

“I wish I could have been there.” His voice was gentle.

She wanted to say: “So do I,” but even if she had had the nerve to do so the words wouldn’t have come.

He was talking about Caterina. “She was sorry, too, that she could not be there
... very sorry. But she came with me because—”

“Yes, of course—I know.” How could he suppose she didn’t understand that Caterina, who was to be his wife, had had to go with him?

“I would have postponed
...
” he was saying slowly.
“But the doctors told me there was no more time. You understand, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she said, and thought the monosyllable had never sounded more hopelessly inadequate. She felt almost like screaming. If only he would stop talking about her own wretched, miserable singing debut as if it were important
... when the only thing that mattered in the whole wide world was that his operation should, be a success, his recovery complete. Desperately, she looked away from him, and as she stared out across the smooth surface of the shining lake she knew that if
:
she were only to be given the chance she would give up every hope for her own future
... if by doing so she could help him. The fact that he didn’t love her made no difference whatsoever. If he came through the operation he would almost certainly marry Caterina, but she didn’t care. At least, she did care
.
.. she cared terribly, but her caring wasn’t important.

The only thing that was important was that he should be all right—that, after to-morrow, his road
ahead should be clear and bright. That after to-morrow there should be a road ahead.

“Candida,” he said suddenly, “look at me!”

She obeyed, her pale cheeks flushing faintly.

“Tell me...” He was watching her so intently that she felt the colour grow deeper. “Last night you had a great success. It has made you very happy?”

“Happy?” Her eyes revealed her bewilderment.

“Yes. It was what you wanted, wasn’t it?”

“I
...
” She turned her head away. “Yes, of course.”

“Then I have achieved what I set out to achieve.”

Her throat contracted; she dared not speak, and in near desperation she stood up.

“Candy...” It was the first time that he had used the shortened form of her name. “You’re not going, Candy?”

“I mustn’t tire you,” she managed stiffly.

“You won’t tire me. I don’t feel ill, and my condition cannot be
made
worse. It’s not that sort of an illness.”

“
Yes, but—”

“I don’t want you to go, Candy. Not yet.”

He had risen to his feet, and was standing behind her. She felt his breath stirring her hair, and her pulses began to race.

“If—if everything goes well you will come and see me again, won’t you? After the operation? You can stay until then
?
”

“If you want me to,” a little unsteadily. “But you’ll have Caterina.”

“Caterina?” He sounded surprised.

“Well, she’ll be staying on, won’t she?
”

“Not for long. She begins her novitiate at the Convent of the Holy Angels on the tenth of this month.”

Candy swung round to face him. “Her
... what did you say?” she asked in a small voice.

“Her novitiate. Hasn’t she told you? She finally made up her mind only two or three days ago, but
the
idea has been with her since she was a child. She is definitely to become a nun.”