Summer at the Lake (25 page)

She was still deeply ashamed of her earlier behaviour with Angelo, but her overriding concern now was to readdress the balance of her feelings for Marco. Yes, she had fallen in love with him – she could admit that now, at least to herself – but since nothing would, or could, ever come of it, she wanted to enjoy his company as she always had, before Angelo had made everything sound so sordid.

To her profound relief there was no sign of Angelo that evening – as Marco had just explained, he was meeting a client in Como.

‘He has a lot of clients here at the lake, doesn’t he?’ Esme said.

‘Yes,’ Marco said simply.

‘What kind of clients are they?’

‘The usual kind.’

‘Are they Mafia people?’

Marco looked at her startled. ‘Why do you say that?’

She shrugged. ‘I saw him being given what appeared to be a lot of money when we were in Bellagio some weeks ago. The men who gave it to him didn’t look very nice.’

Marco leant forward, his expression serious. ‘You must not ever talk of this with anyone. You have not done so already, have you?’

‘No. So is it the Mafia?’

He shook his head. ‘The men would have been
spalloni
. You have heard of them maybe. They are smugglers.’

Esme had vaguely heard about the smuggling that went on and had even spotted the occasional Guardia Finanza boat patrolling the lake. ‘Is Angelo involved?’

Marco nodded. ‘Many are involved. It is a way of life.’

‘But it’s illegal. Angelo could go to prison, surely?’

He put a finger to his lips, urging her to lower her voice. ‘What is illegal, Esme?’ he said quietly. ‘Is it not more illegal that there is so much poverty in our country that men and women are forced to find such ways to survive? The true crime is that ordinary people have to put up with the way our beloved country is ruled so badly. It is the bureaucracy that is the biggest crime, not hungry people seeking ways only to feed their families. Have you not thought before of the unfairness that Alberto’s grandson, Cesare, had to leave school at age eleven to help provide money for the family? Does this happen in England? No! But here, too many children are denied their education at too young an age. It is wrong!’

She had never heard Marco speak this way before, so ardently. ‘There doesn’t seem to be much poverty here, none that I’ve noticed,’ she said.

‘I could take you to places only a short walk from here where you will see all the evidence you need to be convinced of its existence. Here at Hotel Margherita much is done to protect the guests from seeing it. We need guests to be happy so they will keep returning to the lake, bringing with them their prosperity.’

Mulling over what he’d said and experiencing a wave of guilt at the privileged life she led, Esme said, ‘What does Angelo actually do?’

‘He is what you call a go-between. He helps with the transactions, he makes sure the money ends up where it should.’

‘Does his mother know?’

‘Probably.’

‘But nobody talks about it?’

Marco nodded. ‘And now I see you are shocked. But please, do not judge those who do such things, not unless you are prepared to walk in another man’s shoes and encounter his struggle.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of judging anyone,’ she said.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said quickly, ‘I can see from your face that I have insulted you. Forgive me, please.’

‘Nothing to forgive,’ she said. ‘But why does Angelo do it when he has a perfectly good job as a lawyer in Milan? Why take the risk?’

‘It’s the adventure he seeks. The excitement. He wants to be part of something bigger than he is. He has a rebellious nature; this is his way of satisfying it. He hates to sit in his office all day, he would rather be a true
spallone
hiding out in the mountains and risking his life by carrying the heavy packs of whisky and cigarettes on his back.’

‘Is it dangerous what they do?’

Marco nodded. ‘Very dangerous. But remember, you must not speak of this to anyone. Do you promise?’

‘I promise.’

Staring out at the inky night sky, the stars shining brightly like the purest of diamonds, Esme thought what a lot she was learning this summer. But mostly she thought how at peace she felt sitting here with Marco.

If only it could go on for ever and ever.

It was supposed to be a surprise, but Elena had let the cat out of the bag yesterday afternoon when Marco had been in the kitchen helping himself to a glass of water. She had begged him, so he later confided in Esme, not to let on to anyone, especially not his aunt, that he knew there was to be a party for him this evening.

Now, on what had been the hottest day of the summer, and with everyone gathered on the terrace after dinner – friends, family and hotel guests had been invited – Elena had the honour of presenting Marco with his birthday cake. After she had carefully set it down on the table, Marco kissed her and thanked her for being such a good
nonna
to him. Calling her his grandmother could not have pleased her more, and dashing tears away from her eyes, she straightened her apron and looked at him adoringly while patting him on the cheek. Turning then to his aunt Giulia, Marco thanked her for arranging the party.

‘
É un piacere
,’ she said kissing him, her face soft with affection for him.

While Elena cut the cake into slices to be distributed to the guests, Elizabeth leant in close to Esme. ‘I swear, if I were thirty years younger, I would do my damnedest to persuade that divine young man not to become a priest.’ She laughed. ‘Yes, I know what you’re thinking, just the mere thought of that would have him running to the nearest monastery double quick!’

Esme smiled. ‘I was thinking no such thing.’

‘So what were you thinking, may I ask? That it’s a tragic waste for a man as attractive as he is to become a man of the cloth?’

‘I think it’s a fine and noble thing he’s doing,’ Esme said firmly, hoping Elizabeth wouldn’t pursue any further this particular line of conversation. Many times the woman had tried to lure her in to discussing Marco, but Esme had always found a way to deflect or distract her, usually by mentioning Angelo, who Elizabeth considered excellent company, but a spoilt mamma’s boy who should have been spanked more as a young child. In this instance, distraction was conveniently at hand in the form of Maria appearing with plates of birthday cake. Esme thanked the girl, but receiving not so much as a nod of acknowledgement, she was once again left with the growing impression that Maria didn’t like her. At a guess, she would say it was something to do with Angelo.

When Maria had returned to Elena to fetch more cake for guests, Elizabeth said, ‘Do you think your father will ever marry again?’

As relieved as she was by the rapid change of subject, Esme was nonetheless taken aback by the question. ‘I should imagine only he could answer that,’ she said. ‘But he’s been a widower for so short a time, I doubt he’s given the matter any thought.’

‘It wasn’t a happy marriage, was it?’ Elizabeth continued. ‘Not from the little he’s discussed with me.’

‘No,’ Esme said warily. Since coming to the lake rarely did she think of the life she and her father had left behind. They had arrived at the end of May and it was now August and the thought of leaving this idyllic paradise – even if it was only surface deep, as Marco had pointed out to her – and returning to England filled her with dismay. But they would have to leave, she knew that, just as the Kelly-Webbs had reluctantly left for Baltimore several weeks ago.

‘Ah, William!’ exclaimed Elizabeth. ‘There you are, we were just talking about you, weren’t we, Esme?’

‘All complimentary, I hope?’ her father said with a ready smile. He was looking exceptionally suave this evening in his cream linen suit that was neatly pressed and a new silk cravat at the open neck of his white shirt.

‘Sadly not,’ Elizabeth said. ‘We were being disgracefully rude about you.’

He laughed. ‘I expect I deserved it.’

‘Where were you?’ Esme asked. ‘You missed Elena presenting Marco with his birthday cake.’

‘I was inside having a word with Angelo.’

‘Is he here? I didn’t think he was coming home until tomorrow.’

‘He arrived a few minutes ago.’

‘What were you talking about?’

‘Oh, nothing special.’

Esme could tell from the exaggerated casualness of his voice that her father was lying. But why? What could he possibly have to say to Angelo that he couldn’t share with her? Unless it was to do with her?

Two weeks had passed since Esme had last seen Angelo and still that angry and humiliating scene on the raft was etched on her memory as though it was yesterday. How she wished she had never gone swimming that day, that Angelo had never had the chance to be alone with her. She wished too that she had reacted differently to his accusation. As it was, her anger would have only convinced him he was right. Now she dreaded seeing him again in case he decided it would be fun to goad her some more. Would he really be so petty? He was a grown man turned down by a silly young girl; surely he wouldn’t have given it another thought?

‘
Signora
and
signorina
, how is the cake? Do you like it?’

It was Marco and dressed in a pair of smart grey trousers and a shirt that matched perfectly the blue of his eyes, Esme thought he’d never looked more handsome. He now looked as well as he had when she’d first met him in Venice, if not better. There was a vitality to him now that shone out of his eyes.

‘It’s
buonissimo
,’ Elizabeth answered for the two of them. ‘Happy birthday to you, Marco. May all your birthdays be as jolly!’

Smiling, he handed Esme’s father a plate of cake. ‘Signor Silcox, for you, I noticed you had not been given any.’

William took the plate, wishing him a happy birthday.

‘I hear there is to be music and dancing,’ Elizabeth said.

Marco nodded. ‘
Sì
, this is true, I hope to have the pleasure of dancing with you,
signora
.’

‘You may certainly dance with me, young man, and the pleasure shall be all mine. I shall dine out on the memory for the rest of my life!’

He laughed and turned to Esme. ‘And you, Signorina Esme, will you dance with me on my birthday?’

‘Of course she will,’ Elizabeth piped up.

But it wasn’t Marco who approached Esme first when the music started and the dancing began: it was Angelo.

‘How pretty you look this evening,’ he said, after giving her no opportunity to refuse his request. Grasping her firmly around the waist with one hand and gripping her right hand tightly in his left, he twirled her forcefully round the terrace which had now been cleared of tables and chairs. Remembering how she had wanted to dance with him across the lake at Hotel Grand Bretagne, it was ironic that now she was, she wished wholeheartedly she wasn’t.
Careful what you wish for
– how true that was.

‘Are you not talking to me, Esme?’ he asked when she made no effort to respond to his compliment.

‘I’m concentrating on the music,’ she said.

‘No, no, that is not the right thing to do. You must relax and let me guide you. That is how you learn. You follow the man.’

Suspecting he wasn’t only talking about dancing, she said, ‘You’re assuming I want to learn.’

He laughed and squeezed her waist. ‘How sad you will be when Marco, your
innamorato
, leaves the lake next week. It is why my mother is giving him such a good party tonight. It is a great kindness that she does, no?’

This was news to Esme and as distressing as it was, she kept her voice calm. ‘Marco is not my
innamorato
and I’d prefer it if you didn’t speak that way about him.’

‘I give you permission to fool yourself, Esme, but please, do not try to make the fool of me. Not when I know that Marco desires you just as much as you desire him.’ He winked at her. ‘Forbidden love is the sweetest of fruit, is it not?’

Livid with loathing for him, she tried to wriggle free from his strong grasp. But he held her even more firmly, pressing her against his body that was hot and clammy with the sultry heat of the night. ‘No,’ he laughed, ‘the dance has not yet finished. And why do you want to run away from me like a silly schoolgirl when I am only speaking the truth? Are you so scared of the truth?’

‘You’re hurting me,’ she said, ‘let go of me, please.’

He loosened his grip, but there was no way for her to escape. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘enjoy the music. Was it not you who wanted to dance with me when we went to Bellagio together? Oh, how I remember the disappointment on your face when I said no. Now you look like you would rather dance with a snake. Have I become so very disagreeable to you?’

‘Right now, yes,’ she said through gritted teeth.

‘And this is because I tell you that Marco feels the same way you feel for him? Why is that so bad? Why does that not make you happy?’

‘Because you’re playing a cruel game and all because you didn’t get your way with me on the raft. You’re nothing but an arrogant and narcissistic bad loser.’

He threw his head back with a disdainful laugh and spun her round and round until she was dizzy and the lights on the terrace were a blur. When he brought her to a stop and caught her in his arms and the terrace had stopped spinning, she saw that Maria was watching them. Never did Esme think she had witnessed such hatred in a person’s face as she did in that moment.

‘I am the bad loser, am I?’ Angelo said, jamming her against his chest, his breath hot on her face. ‘Where as you, my little Esme, are a shameful liar because you will not admit your love for my cousin, instead you teased me with your kisses. It was not I playing the cruel game; it was you! You could not have Marco, so you flirted with me. I was just a poor substitute for what you really wanted. Is that not the unkindest thing you ever heard?’

‘That’s not true!’ she cried. ‘I didn’t flirt with you. You kissed me and—’

‘And what?’ he interrupted her. ‘What did you do? You kissed me back. You cannot deny that.’

‘I was curious,’ she said. ‘Was that so very wrong?’

‘It is if you were imagining it was my cousin you were kissing!’