Cosimo heard his sister vomiting in the bathroom next door to his bedroom, and heard her weeping. He was very upset after his discussion with Madre, and didn’t feel up to asking Ambra if she was alright. He was fuming; he hadn’t realised he could feel such rage. He’d always been her favourite, according to the others, and it was true that she had indulged him, but he’d worked; he’d given everything. It was unfair of her to do this to him, just when he’d finally felt he was getting somewhere, had given a few well received concerts, and was composing. He’d been sure she would back him up, always. She’d been delighted with his success and had encouraged him, and was enough of a musician to criticise and help him. Now, there was this whim of hers, this ridiculous idea that she was hanging onto like grim death. As if he could stop the slide into mediocrity! Mario was the obvious choice, or one of these bright young men with innovative ideas that she talked about.
He felt betrayed and, what was worse, although he might have bravely walked out on his mother and declared his intention of going it alone, he didn’t know if he could make it. Until now he’d never had to worry about money, his choices had been free, unconditioned, his own. Now, unless she climbed down from the stupid position she’d put herself in, he could see his whole future crumbling away. It was true that often talent wasn’t enough, but at least he had his father’s name. He could cash in on that. If he had to, he would do it, and by God he’d never forgive her. If she really abandoned him, he would cut all ties. He raged inwardly, and felt the most violent emotions take him over as he realised his dependence and his impotence. Hatred coursed through his mind, as he reasoned that she had never loved him, merely gloried in him, as her son.
Apparently unaffected by her discussion with her son, Diana went to the pergola at the side of the house, which was cool and enclosed her in its shadowy privacy. She had a very comfortable sun-bed there, and used it for reading after lunch, and sometimes slept there a while, as she loathed being indoors in the summer. The hours after lunch were private and no one ever disturbed her, though they all knew she was there. All decisions waited, all telephone calls were deferred until she returned to the drawing room at four fifteen, after a shower and change of clothes, for tea.
She was more upset than she cared to admit by Cosimo’s reaction to her request. She regretted bringing pressure to bear on him, but what alternative had she? It was obvious to her that if he chose to, he could change the school in many ways, and it would enhance his standing. His name would become associated with the school, and with his father, and that was all to the good. Why couldn’t he see that? Well, she would let him stew for a while, say no more for a day or two, and see if he calmed down and became more reasonable. It was particularly distressing to her, that her son, her favourite son she had to admit, should thwart her in this way.
She expected little or nothing of Orlando, except that he keep out of debt. Francesca, well, she was a disaster, and her mother was going to suggest a rehab clinic, if for nothing else, then for the wretched child’s sake. Chiara was incomprehensible to her. Like all the children she’d taken riding lessons and they had always kept a couple of ponies, but this childhood pastime had grown into an all absorbing passion. Chiara thought of nothing else, and Diana had thought she should consider becoming a vet, even though her scholastic abilities were limited. It had occurred to her that perhaps more specific studies would be more to her daughter’s liking, but her proposal had met with incredulous refusal. Her daughter had looked at her in amazement and said, “Come on Madre, we all know I’m hopeless. It’s amazing I ever got through the five years at the Lyceum, and let’s face it, I wasn’t brilliant. No, I want to work with horses, be with them, and ride them. I’d like to open a riding school. There must be loads of kids who’d want to take lessons, and I could breed horses. It’s something I know about, and I’d be good at. There’s loads of room on the estate, and I could start with just a few horses and build up.”
Diana had asked if she was serious, because if she was she could think again. “This estate is not going to become a horse farm, or a riding school. I use it for the summer school, I need to keep it as it is, not have the stink of horse manure wafting through the house, and horse flies stinging our guests.”
Chiara had shrugged her shoulders and said, “Well anyway, I’m not going to become a vet,” and had walked off.
Ambra, something was wrong with Ambra lately. She must speak to her.
Finally she allowed herself to think of Angelo, her baby. She had been forty-three when he was born, and she had experienced an incredible upsurge of maternal love for this little baby. The twins were only a year old when he was born and already seemed to relate more to each other than to her. He’d been premature and as she had watched by his incubator, willing him to live, praying for him, she fell in love with him. She had breastfed him for eighteen months, and cosseted and babied by the whole family, he’d always been a good tempered, smiling baby, who slept angelically through every night. His father had died when he was seven, and then the nightmares had started. He’d gradually become more difficult, and he wasn’t doing well at school. Diana, who was grieving for the loss of her husband, a man whose presence had dominated her thinking and her living, found that dealing with Angelo became harder and harder for her. Somehow she abandoned him emotionally, and he knew it. Now their rapport was non-existent. He’d pushed her further and further away, and was living a very rebellious life. He kept whatever hours he pleased, went wherever he wished, and what he was doing, she dared not think. He was seventeen years old and had left school two years previously. It would have been pointless for him to stay there any longer, because his behaviour had been so disruptive in class. The final straw had been when he’d got drunk at school and shown his bare behind to the headmistress. Diana was totally incapable of dealing with him. His appearance was disgusting to her. He wore ripped trousers, shoes without laces, rings in his ears and face, dyed his hair outrageous colours and never seemed to comb it. He drank, was often drunk, and ostentatiously hand-rolled cigarettes, which probably contained substances other than tobacco. His presence in the house was disrupting, and a bad example to the girls. How things had got to this stage, she couldn’t understand. He was impervious to her threats and, because of her guilt for having left him unloved for so long, she never carried them out.
Time was passing, if she wanted to help him she must act now. Was he on drugs? This was the question she had been avoiding asking herself for some time, but now she looked calmly at the evidence. She thought he was. He had mood swings, often slept for prolonged periods, was uninterested in anything, had no drive, no goals, and was just drifting along in time with no thought to the future. Then there were his friends, a disgusting little group of rebellious, nihilistic, drop-outs, at least one of whom had been arrested for drug possession, and had been sent by his parents to a drug rehabilitation centre. So this was further proof, because she very much doubted that the arrested boy was the only bad apple in the basket. She had to have proof that Angelo was taking drugs, and then get him onto a drug rehabilitation programme, preferably as far away from the area as possible, but without scandal. She had heard of a group of mothers in Naples who had had their sons arrested in order to save them, and she turned the idea over in her mind. Well, perhaps she would even do that, after all the scandal would die down, and everybody probably already knew he was on drugs anyway. She would try to talk to him this evening and if, as she expected, she failed to get him to talk sense, then maybe, she would do it. Perhaps she would have a little chat with the Maresciallo, the local head of police, first.
CHAPTER FOUR
Orlando entered the bar and calling good humoured greetings to everyone, joined Antonio at his table in the corner.
“Well, did you ask her? What did she say?” asked Antonio hopefully.
“Calm down. She wasn’t very keen, but I’ll work on her.”
“Do you think she’ll come round? I mean the idea is brilliant. Perhaps I
should come round and explain it to her,”
“No way. This is strictly between Madre and me. Got it. If she says ‘yes’, then you can come and see her, not at this stage.”
“O.K but what do you think; did she seem at all interested?”
“Not very, but give me time, I’ll get round her, I always have. Besides she wants me to have an occupation.”
“You’d better convince her. We’ve got commitments.”
“Shut up. I told you I will, don’t worry.”
“What about tonight, are you on for the races?”
“Well there’s a tiny problem. I haven’t any money at the moment, and to tell you the truth, I owe some money to Ronnie and that other bloke I play cards with. We had an all night session last week, and I lost everything I had on me, and then some more, so I’m in trouble till my allowance comes in.”
“Well when’s that?”
“In two weeks time.”
“What! What are you going to do till then? They won’t wait, you know.”
“Yes, I know, so I’m going to have to lie low for a bit, no races. No cards.”
“I’ll believe that when I see it.”
“No choice. Come on, let’s have a game of snooker, I’ll play you for the coffee.”
The afternoon wore on, the heat shimmered on the tarmac roads, people slept in darkened rooms, or whiled away the afternoon in air-conditioned rooms, or in cheap bars, where ventilators sliced the air and gave the illusion of relief. Stalwarts sunbathed at the public swimming pool, waiting for the magical hour when they could be certain that digestion had at least passed the danger point, allowing them to plunge into the water and cool off, without the risk of certain death from a ‘congestione’. English tourists, evidently blessed with more rapid digestive processes, were already in the water, their reddened skins foretelling painful nights.
At last Ambra slept, and Cosimo did too, both exhausted by their mental anguish. Diana did not. She left her sun-bed and went into the house for a shower.
Emily had gone to the hairdresser and would wake the girls on her return, which would give them ample time to prepare for riding with Chiara at four thirty.
Francesca slept, but Zoë was reading and wondering how she could persuade her mother not to make her go riding with her cousins.
Angelo had made a half hearted attempt to give a hand in the theatre but had now disappeared.
At four fifteen on the dot, Emily backed into the drawing room with a large tea tray. She set it on the table with a crash. Her mother, who was sitting gazing pensively out of the window, turned and looked at her.
“Really Emily, do try to be more careful, those cups are very delicate.”
“Sorry Madre. It was heavier than I thought.”
“Have you cracked that cup there? Yes, I believe you have. That is very vexing. They were a wedding present from your father’s great Aunt.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know how I came to do it. It’s only a tiny crack, Madre. I’ll use that cup.”
“Well that’s not the point, is it? You are so clumsy. Please make an effort and be more careful with my things.”
Emily was rather pink in the face and obviously upset, so Diana added,
“Come on, it’s only a cup. Pour the tea, I don’t know who’s coming, but we can have ours, and the others can see to themselves.” Her tone was conciliating. “I know, let’s give ourselves a little treat and have some of those wonderful wafer biscuits from Montecatini that Mario brought us.”
“Right, I’ll go and get them.” Emily rushed out anxious to please, happy that Madre had got over her displeasure.
Francesca came in at four thirty. “Any tea left? I see you greedy people are eating. Hey, those biscuits look good. Sorry I’m late, but I had a bit of trouble with Zoë.”
Emily and Diana looked at each other. Francesca caught them at it and asked belligerently, “What does that mean? I love your complicity, it’s so exclusive. Am I to be told the meaning of those knowing looks, or shall I guess?”
As there was no answer she continued, “Well let me think, could it be that you are both agreeing, that whilst Emily’s lovely little girls are so obedient and charming, my daughter, fruit of my unfortunate loins, is not.”
She glared at them both, with the unpleasantly aggressive look that alcoholics always acquire when voicing that which is not normally said.
“Don’t be ridiculous Francesca. Sit down and I’ll pour you some tea.”
“No, I bloody well won’t, and no you bloody well won’t. Let’s air this little thing shall we, let’s bring it out into the light. Why is my daughter always treated like a second class citizen, while those two simpering bitches are considered such little paragons of virtue?”
Emily broke in, “Really how can you talk about children like that. Are you drunk again?”
“Who cares? Listen to me; you must think I’m blind and deaf. I’ve been watching you shove the little princesses under her nose ever since I got here, and listening to your snide remarks about poor little Zoë, always said with such a commiserating tone of kindly concern. You may think you’re very subtle Emily, but I can see what you’re doing, and she’s fallen for it. Haven’t you?” this last question was directed at her mother. As there was no answer she continued, “Don’t you think that a grandmother shouldn’t have favourites? How do you think Zoë must feel? She’s not stupid; she can feel it too. But you always have had favourites haven’t you Madre? Even as a mother. Some of us didn’t quite meet up to your expectations, did we? Well you have quite an achievement as a mother. You have produced a drug addict, a gambler, me and this whining bitch. Every time I listen to her talking to you, I want to throw up. Enjoy your private little tea party, I apologise for the interruption.” She made a dignified exit.
Diana closed her eyes for a moment, as though to blot out the memory of Francesca’s unpleasantness. Emily, fussed with the tea things and said
“I think she’s very unfair, I mean it’s hardly my fault if she’s not capable of bringing up her child properly. It’s sad for poor little Zoë, she’s such an unfortunate child. It’s not my fault if I managed to do so much better, because I did, and that’s the truth and Francesca doesn’t like it. Anyway, it's no wonder Zoë’s such a miserable child with a mother like that. Any child would be.” As her mother made no reply, she muttered “I’ll just take the tea things out,” and left the room.
Diana thought for a moment, then got up and walked out of the room and downstairs to Francesca’s flat. She knocked on the door and going in, found her daughter weeping into a handkerchief. There was a large glass of whisky at her elbow on a small table.
“Francesca, listen to me. I won’t ask you to apologise, because I know that you won’t, but what you have said is unforgivable. That isn’t what I’ve come to say though. I want to talk to you about you, and about alcohol. I want you to listen very carefully and let me finish what I have to say, without interrupting. You can curse me afterwards.” Francesca looked at her.
“I think that the time has come for you to face this problem and make a decision for your daughter’s sake, if not for your own. I’ll help you in any way I can.”
“You mean you’ll pay, is that what you’re saying, because that’s the only kind of help you know how to give.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way, because I do try to help, even if I obviously don’t know how. Yes I’ll pay, and I’ll tell you for what. I’ll pay for you to go to a de-tox place, oh, not one of those government run places; I’m talking about a private place in Switzerland. They get people off anything in the most painless way possible, but you have to say yes. You have to want to go.”
“What about Zoë?”
“Well that’s the other thing I wanted to discuss with you. I was wondering if it mightn’t be better for her to go to a boarding school, in England, if you like. No, don’t look at me like that, it doesn’t have to be somewhere grim, there are progressive schools. It’s just that
she seems so forlorn, and has no friends, and she might find school would give her a sense of security.”
“You mean, of course, that I don’t.”
“Well an alcoholic mother, with mood fluctuations, doesn’t make for a happy, secure child.”
“No, I suppose not. But isn’t that the easy way out, for you I mean. The others all live here and you get rid of her, because she’s a problem? She’s a problem for you, not me. I love her, you don’t. You just want to get rid of her, and me come to that.”
“Francesca, my dear, if you can pull yourself out of this situation, I’ve no doubt that you will want to start a new life of your own, for you and Zoë, but until then, while you’re recovering, it would be best for Zoë to be away from here.”
“What about if I don’t want to go and get dried out? Perhaps I’m happy like this. You may not like it, but I do. What I would have liked from you is just a little more kindness. You could have made an effort not to make us feel so unwanted, such a burden. You never gave Zoë a chance.”
“That’s not the way it was, or is. That is what you choose to believe. Don’t you think I have your best interests at heart when I talk to you like this, when I show you that I have been concerned about you and Zoë? Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
“Yes, it means you have found a wonderful way to get rid of us. Let me tell you Signora Madre,” she spat the name out venomously, “that I’m not taken in by your apparent concern, your only concern is for yourself. Well I’m sorry, but I am not going to go and get dried out just to please you, and Zoë is staying right here with me, where day after day, she will take note of what a bitch you are, with your preferences and your favourites. Why don’t you send the little angels off to boarding school in England so that they aren’t exposed to unpleasant scenes, of which, I can assure there will be many?” She took a large swig of her drink.
The Tuscan Mystery Trilogy Page 26