‘I warned you but you took no notice. Don’t think you can come here and live among decent people, lording it over us, after what your country did to ours. You have to pay the price and I’ll make sure that you do.’
He sighed and picked up the phone, he had no choice. This letter was menacing, and not to report it would be negligent. Two letters within a month were too much to ignore. He would deal with it himself and leave Ursula out of it for now, for as long as he could, and if the police could help, then maybe she would never need to know. Perhaps there was an unstable old man in the village afflicted with a phobia for Germans. Perhaps he had done it before, was well-known, and could be discretely defused.
When he put the phone down he didn’t feel any happier. There was an air of tension in the house like an intangible miasma. It couldn’t be attributed to any one thing, rather to the sum of several. The arrival of Tebaldo and family a few days earlier had brought things to a head. Isabella was causing as much trouble as she could, grumbling about the food for the children, expecting Marta to look after them while she went to have pedicures, manicures and the like, and generally stretching Marta’s patience to the limit. It was not a good moment for the family. Marianna had more or less withdrawn to her bedroom in a deep depression after Roberto’s accident the previous week. He had been taken to hospital with a fractured skull as well as internal injuries and a fracture of the femur. He was still on the danger list. Marianna had come home from the hospital on the day of the accident perhaps expecting some kind of sympathy, but there had been none. The next morning there’d been the row, a monumental disgusting row when Ursula had told her daughter what she thought about her liaison with Roberto and had forbidden her to see him again. Her Aunt Felicity had already been called in for duty to escort her to New Zealand, a month’s tour. They were due to leave the following week so that she would be back well in time for the start of the school term and her last year there. He had made the travel arrangements for her. Marianna was throwing scenes and refusing to go. Not that she had much choice in the matter. She was not yet eighteen, and totally dependent. The family was mustering its soldiers and making its battle plans despite the fact that Roberto’s accident and his subsequent injuries made it all superfluous. Piero remembered the screaming match between Ursula and Marianna. Words had been hurled into the air, threats of injury and desperation. Young people were always so prey to violent emotions, he thought. They saw things in a very black and white way, used words like freedom as though they had a meaning, and they were generally so pitiful that one wondered whether crossing the magic line of the eighteenth birthday was going to make any difference at all. In some cases it made things more difficult, because as adults they could be held responsible for their actions and their crimes, whereas as minors they were treated quite differently. And they were always so dramatic about things. It was all life and death. They didn’t understand that time heals all wounds, no matter how terrible, as he knew himself. For a moment the memory of his own son, who had lived such a short time, flashed into his mind. He shut his eyes and willed the vision to go away.
Ursula’s plans had subsequently been backed by Tebaldo, who had been apprised of the situation as soon as he arrived. Her emphasis on the cocaine use had been a determining factor. Since his rehab from what had been a very heavy drug dependency, he had become extremely self-righteous, ultra respectable, and like so many of the redeemed, totally intolerant of other people’s weaknesses, perhaps because he was more aware of the dangers than others. Whatever the reason he was solidly behind his mother on this and Marianna had retreated to her room defeated, at least for the moment.
After fixing a meeting with the local Chief of Police, Maresciallo Spadaccia, Piero had finished the rest of the morning’s chores. He could hear Isabella’s strident voice in the garden. It was pretty obvious that Tebaldo was getting tired of her. She was not a Signora, a lady, and never would be. Piero had very strong feelings about class and blood. Tebaldo’s blood was old blood. He came from good stock. Isabella was a peasant with the manners and breeding of a pig, the language of a fish wife and the most appalling taste. Whatever Guido was, at least he had the charm of a gentleman and exquisite taste. The problem with Guido was his insistent pushing to take over some of Piero’s duties. The way he had he had actually snatched the post from his hand on more than one occasion and checked it all, before grudgingly handing it back, still rankled. Something would have to be done about it and soon.
He ruminated on Ursula’s forthcoming marriage, her fourth. This was a strange liaison, but perhaps no stranger than her affair with the awful Carletto and others like him: her first unfortunate marriage to a neo-Nazi, her second to a spoilt pasta king and her third to a racing driver, who had sadly died in a spectacular crash at Monaco during the trials. She seemed doomed to make unfortunate liaisons.
Guido had cleverly managed to make himself indispensable to Ursula who had been once again at a loose end and desperately needing a man. She could never seem to get along without one for very long, which was why she had formed so many disastrous relationships. At least now there was no chance of further pregnancies. Three children by three different fathers and one of them probably a cuckoo in the marital nest was more than enough. Why she felt she needed to marry Guido was something no-one could understand. He must be satisfying her on all levels for her to give in and say yes, because that was what it amounted to. It would be interesting to find out exactly what Guido was going to get out of this marriage, on a material level.
Piero contemplated the changes that might come about with Guido’s change in status, something which Guido had already hinted at. There was no way he was ever relinquishing his control. Apart from anything else, he’d earned it. It was his right and Ursula would never take it away. As indeed she’d be well-advised not to. He’d always put her welfare first and he doubted that Guido would, at least not in quite the same way. He’d have to make things clear before the wedding. There would have to be a discussion, without Guido’s presence. He would pick the time with care, soon.
Marta was helping Ursula with the preparations for the relatively small wedding reception, just for the family and a few selected friends. The wedding was to be intimate and private, in the local Town Hall which was, fortunately, a fabulous eighteenth century Palazzo in the historical centre of the medieval town. It was essential that nothing should happen to upset Ursula on her happy day and this was why he’d decided to go to the police about the letters. If there was a madman out for vengeance because of an old grievance against the German race, then he must be found and stopped. He might decide the wedding was a suitable moment for some kind of revenge for whatever wrongs he attributed to her and her countrymen.
He listened to the crescendo of voices rising from the garden. Isabella was at it again. She hit a high note with, “Then go and fuck yourself, you bastard!” after which the sound of a car door slamming and the vicious scrunching of the gravel on the drive as it accelerated away, put an end to it. Piero jotted down a note to remind himself to have the gravel raked and replenished again. Impetuous departures tended to make ugly ruts right in front of the house.
When Piero came downstairs, he found Tebaldo alone with the children.
“Ah, Piero, could you ask Marta to look after these two for an hour or so? It seems I have them, after all, this morning and I really need to go and run a few errands.”
“Of course.” He looked at the children. They were pretty, and young enough to have that charming innocence that all children have until it is taken away from them by adults.
“I wonder what you two would like to do?” he asked, taking their hands and leading them out of the room.”
“I want a biscuit,” remarked the younger of the two, Camilla.
“Well, let’s go and see what Marta’s got in the kitchen.” He led them downstairs.
Marta looked up as they came in. Tebaldo’s children had both inherited his good looks. They were like two little clon
es of their father. Arabella was four and Camilla, three.
“We were wondering if there are any of those biscuits left, you know the ones Paola made?”
“Of course. Why don’t you sit down at the table? Who wants a glass of milk?”
“Me, me!” shouted the girls together.
Tebaldo went into the salotto, restrained a grimace at the sight of Guido stretched elegantly on the sofa, flicking through a glossy magazine, as though posing for a celebrity photo, and asked tersely, “Where’s my mother?”
“Dear boy, I am not your mother’s keeper. I have no idea.”
“I want to borrow the car. She knows, but I can’t find the keys.”
“What’s happened? Has your delightful wife taken your car? I thought I heard a car take off rather thoughtlessly fast. It really messes up the gravel, you know.”
Tebaldo felt an unreasonable surge of rage at what seemed to him a declaration of ownership. “Mind your own business, you interfering little prick. It’s not your gravel.”
Guido leapt to his feet and threw down the magazine. “Listen Tebaldo, I want to make something quite clear to you. I expect a little more respect from you. Don’t talk to me as if I’m some kind of servant. I’m not, and whether you like it or not, I’m going to marry your mother.”
“And you listen to me, you jumped up little gigolo. There’s no point in pretending that this marriage is anything but ridiculous. If I could stop you marrying her, I would. I sometimes think she must be off her head. What the hell does she see in you?”
“How dare you! I’ll tell her what you said. How will you like that?”
“I don’t give a damn. Tell her what you like. She knows quite well how I feel about this. If she needs sex, I don’t see why things couldn’t have gone on as they are. I assume you provide that service, though you hardly look up to it. Why is she marrying you? What have you got on her?”
“You disgust me. She’s marrying me because I’ll make a good husband.”
Tebaldo began to laugh quietly, then he threw back his head and roared with laughter, tears streaming from his eyes. “That’s rich, really amazing. I wonder what you think makes a good husband.”
“Well, I’d hardly expect you to know, since you aren’t one yourself.”
“Vicious little bastard, aren’t you.”
“No, I’m merely stating a fact, my dear boy.” Guido gave him a huge smile.
“I’m not your dear boy. Don’t call me that.”
“Alright, if you promise never to call me Papa.”
They glared at each other, then Guido, held out his hand, “Peace.”
Tebaldo gave him a scorching look, turned his back on him and marched towards the door. He fired a parting shot before leaving the room. “It won’t last long you know. You’ll end up like all the others, and you won’t get anything out of it, so don’t think you will.”
Guido grinned as he sat down again. Of course he would get something out of it, and considering how much he was putting into this relationship, that was only right. All he had to do was wait.
CHAPTER SIX
Lunch was late. Guido and Ursula had waited for Teo and Isabella before starting, until it became obvious they were not coming. What little remained of Ursula’s good humour had vanished when she realised that neither her son nor his wife had had the decency to phone. She ate with Guido and the two little girls who, possibly aware of the unexpressed disapproval of their parents’ absence, were remarkably subdued. Marta fussed about in the kitchen with Paola, the cook, and muttered about good manners. She took the food in and pointedly removed the two place settings from the table.
The atmosphere was tense and the meal was quickly over. Ursula was inwardly seething. When Marta came back with the coffee she said, “Marta, I think the children should have a little rest before tea. Could you…?”
“Of course. Will it be alright to leave them up there alone, or perhaps Franca could…?”
Ursula looked at the two children, as though weighing the question up. “Of course. They’re both big girls now.” The last thing she wanted was to babysit them and Marta had far too many other things to see to, as did Franca.
Arabella looked pleased at the compliment. “We’re quite big now. We always stay alone when we have a rest.”
“Well, then, that’s settled.”
Marta led the two children out while Ursula poured the coffee.
“Those two really are the limit. It’s so rude, and Marta has quite enough to do without looking after the children,” she pointed out.
Guido sipped his coffee and kept his counsel. He wasn’t going to openly criticise Teo; that sort of thing was never advisable. Isabella was another kettle of fish.
“I’m surprised Isabella didn’t come back. She usually takes them up for their rest herself,” he said in a bland tone.
“Obviously, her children come last in this matter. She’s angry with Teo so she’s forgotten all about them. What kind of a mother is she?”
Guido had to restrain laughter. Criticism of other people’s parenting was quite out of order when you had been such an abysmal parent yourself.
“I wonder where she can be?” he asked a little facetiously.
“Shopping, though God knows where. There’s nowhere decent in the area, but with her appalling taste that hardly matters. I expect she’ll find something ghastly to buy.” Ursula’s tone was clipped.
“You should take her in hand.”
“A lost cause, I’m afraid,” Ursula’s tone was scathing.
“Perhaps she’s gone to the hairdresser.”
“Well, she’s crazy if she has. There’s no one round here knows what they’re doing. Mind you, that isn’t important because she’s got no idea. I can’t think who advised her to have that dreadful yellow hair.”
“Yes, it is rather yellow. I wonder what she’d look like with dark hair,” he mused. “It would go better with her skin colour.”
“Well, that’s because she’s a brunette. She has very dark skin and tans too much and it makes her hair look even more like straw.”
“Seriously, though, can’t you advise her, Ursula?”
“Me! Do you honestly think she’d listen to me? She can’t stand me.”
Guido looked at her carefully. “Yes, I think you’re right, but to be honest, it’s hardly surprising is it? I mean she’s never had much from you. You thought Teo should never have married her and she knows it.”
“Of course he shouldn’t. He must have been mad.”
“Well, there was the question of Arabella.”
“I know, but since when does having a child mean you have to marry its mother?”
“Teo’s quite a conformist.”
“God save us from the redeemed. He might even feel he’s got to keep this farce of a marriage going, for the sake of the children or something.”
“Perhaps he’s learned by your mistakes.”
“Guido, that is an unforgivable thing to say.”
“Sorry, I was joking, actually.”
“Well, don’t. I don’t have a guilt complex about what I’ve done. I’ve lived my life to the full and it really annoys me to see one of my children behaving like some middle-class, small-minded idiot. When there’s no love, no spark, why keep fanning the fire?”
“Actually, I rather think Isabella does love him,” observed Guido thoughtfully.
“That, my dear Guido, is quite irrelevant.”
The children slept in their darkened room. Marta made herself yet another coffee in the cool kitchen. Piero had gone out and now the house was quiet. Ursula had gone down to the pool and Guido had driven off to a business appointment. It was the only restful moment of the day. She sipped her coffee and put her feet up.
Ursula swam up and down the pool with slow lazy strokes. The pool was set away from the house, hidden from it by massive oleanders, and away from prying eyes. The only thorn in her side was the fact that to walk to it she had to intersect the path that led to
the farmhouse. That too was invisible from the pool but she knew it was there and it rankled. It was the only flaw in the perfection of her beautiful villa and its lovely grounds. It was about five hundred metres away from the house, thankfully out of sight, because it was an appalling eyesore. The farmhouse itself could have been charming. Totally unpretentious, it had been built at the turn of the century to house the then ‘fattore’, the overseer, and his large family. At that time the extensive farmland, a large part of which had been sold off over the years for development, had required a considerable workforce. The vineyards and olive groves, the livestock and horses had all been taken care of by the overseer, his family and hired labourers. Now, there was only the large park with the olive trees. The vineyards had gone, along with the livestock, many years ago, to pay off an ancestor’s gambling debts. The descendants of the last overseer, a family of increasing lack of worth, still lived in the house and nothing that Ursula could do would make them budge. Her aunt had been too old and feeble to deal with the problem and had allowed them to rule the roost. Besides, the old man used to do small chores around the house, set the fires and look after her aunt’s numerous cats. The cats had been removed by Ursula shortly after her aunt’s death and the old man had been told to keep away. She knew that he was furious about the cats but it was none of his business. She wanted him out of the farmhouse but he wouldn’t go and the question, now in the hands of her lawyer, was destined to be an on-going misery for years. Thinking about it now, she added it to the sum of the things that were preventing her from enjoying life: Marianna’s ridiculous love-affair and subsequent moodiness, Teo’s marriage and this.
She got out of the water swiftly, threw on a towelling robe and marched back towards the house. At least she could try and do something about this matter. It was worth a try.
Broken Chord Page 6