by Anne Mather
He parked the Porsche in the shade of a clump of citrus trees that had been planted to shelter the villa from the northern winds that blew down from the Alps in winter. Then, leaving his briefcase and the overnight bag he had brought with him in the back of the car, he opened his door and got out.
The view was magnificent. Beyond the cliffs, the deep blue waters of the Ligurian Sea stretched smoothly towards the horizon, dotted here and there with the masts of ocean-going vessels, and the smaller, less spectacular, sails of dinghies. Immediately below the cliffs was the sandy inlet he had glimpsed earlier, while curving round on either side were the lushly vegetated promontories enclosing the Bay of Porto Camagio. He could even see the walls of the Benedictine abbey that stood in splendid seclusion above the town of Porto Camagio itself, and he took a deep, almost reassuring, breath, relishing these moments of personal isolation.
'Benvenuto!'
The sound of his mother's voice—only she ever called him Benvenuto—destroyed his pleasant mood of introspection. For a moment, he almost resented having to abandon the tranquillity of his thoughts to face the argument which he was sure was to come. But then common sense and his own innate sense of decency triumphed over the brief feeling of irritation that had gripped him, and he went to greet his mother with a smile of real affection.
'Mamma,' he murmured gently, as her eager arms enfolded him. 'Come stai, cara? Tu stai bene?'
Sophia acknowledged his greeting in few words, framing his face in her hands and staring at him as if she expected to see some significant change in his appearance; Ben found himself growing tense. It was ridiculous, he knew, but it was almost as if she knew there was more to this visit than a reunion after his trip abroad. Yet what could she know? Was he so transparent?
'You look tired,' she said at last, speaking in the Tuscan dialect, which she had always maintained was the purest Italian of all. 'I think this lecture tour you made in Australia and New Zealand has been more arduous than you expected.' Her dark eyes, so like his own, narrowed. 'Or is some woman to blame for this weariness I sense in you?'
Ben released his breath, not without some relief. 'The tour was—exhausting,' he agreed, drawing back from her clinging fingers, and adopting what he hoped was a rueful expression. 'It's good to be back home. I'm looking forward to the rest.'
Sophia's eyes widened. 'You are going to stay?'
Ben cursed his careless tongue. 'I—didn't say that, exactly,' he temporised quickly, glancing back towards the car and then deciding to leave the cases until later. 'Um—I could do with a long, cool drink right now. I didn't stop for lunch, and I'm feeling rather thirsty.'
'Of course.'
Sophia gave him a last considering look before leading the way into the villa. For the moment she was diverted, but Ben knew better than to think his mother would forget his clumsy denial.
The villa, which Guido had bought for her, was much larger than had been needed for one woman and a boy. The spacious rooms, with their cool tiled floors, were elegantly furnished—more elegantly furnished than the house Ben remembered living in in Genoa—and he had often wondered whether Sophia's plan had been to compete in some way with Guido's new home in London. Certainly, the four bedroom suites, each with its own dressing-room and luxurious bathroom, were not what she had been used to before her marriage. The village she had come from in Tuscany, and where Ben's grandmother still lived, was a simple place, where life continued as it had done for generations. In many ways, Ben envied his so-called 'poor' relations, despite his mother's contempt for them. His cousins might have no ambition, as Sophia frequently declared, but at least they were happy. They had no doubts about their future, and there had never been any conflict of loyalties, such as Ben had lived with all his life.
Now Ben paused in the side hallway, looking about him with genuine appreciation. Whatever reason Sophia had had for demanding such luxurious surroundings for herself and her son, she certainly kept the place in immaculate order. The dark red tiles beneath his feet reflected the polished wood of the balcony above his head, and beyond an arched doorway the wide expanse of the living-room gleamed with a similar lustre. Of course, his mother did not live here entirely alone. She employed a married couple of her own age to do the housekeeping and keep the garden in good order. But Sophia did most of the cooking—even if Maria was expected to clear up afterwards—and when Ben was home she invariably looked after him herself. She maintained that she enjoyed keeping his room tidy and ironing his shirts, and if Ben had any objections he was wise enough to keep them to himself.
The villa itself sprawled over half an acre, with most of its rooms on the ground floor. However, two of the bedrooms were upstairs, and Ben reflected that Cass could have one of those, as she had done before, should his mother agree to let her stay. His own suite of rooms, like Sophia's, was on the ground floor, while attached to the main building by a walkway was a small apartment where Maria and Carlo Alvaro lived.
Maria Alvaro was in the kitchen with his mother when Ben decided to join them. A small, grey-haired woman in her middle fifties, she looked much older than Sophia, who was tall, like her son, and whose long black hair was only lightly touched with age. She was bustling about, setting a tray to Sophia's directions, but she looked up when Ben appeared, and her smile was warmly welcoming.
'It is good to have you back, signore,' she greeted him timidly, always slightly in awe of her employer. 'You look well. The Australian air must have agreed with you.'
Ben grinned, but Sophia tutted impatiently. 'He does not look well, he looks weary,' she contradicted the housekeeper sharply. 'But do not worry, Maria. I intend to see that he rests for at least a part of the summer.'
Ben's mouth turned down at the corners, but rather than enter into an argument there and then he went forward and helped himself to a beer from the tray. Eschewing the glass his mother would have pressed on him, he pulled the tab and released a bubbling froth of icy liquid. 'Nectar!' he groaned, raising the can to his lips, and Sophia watched impotently as he quickly drained its contents.
'You should have waited on the terrace,' she declared at last, as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 'Are these the habits you have learned while you are away? To drink beer from a can and use your hand as a napkin?'
Ben grimaced, and ignored the comment. 'Did you cook this ham?' he asked instead, filching a thin slice before she could prevent him, though she slapped his wrist. 'Hmm, it's delicious! Forget I asked the question.'
'Do you think I would buy ham already cooked?' His mother snorted. 'No, please, I insist you go and sit down. A kitchen is not the place for a man, and you are getting under Maria's feet.'
The startled look the housekeeper gave him was eloquent with her surprise at this remark, but Ben decided to leave them to it. It had always been a source of some irritation to Sophia that he could look after himself as well as he did. In her opinion, instead of acquiring an apartment in Florence, he ought to have bought a house; that way, she could have divided her time between there and Calvado, making herself the mistress of both dwellings instead of only the one.
Leaving the singularly modern environs of the kitchen, Ben crossed the hall again and entered the main salone, or the living-room. Here the colour scheme was light and restful, with soft velvet sofas, patterned in cream and lime green, and colour-washed walls framing delicately textured paintings. Sophia never professed to being an expert, but she did enjoy having works of art around her, and as well as the paintings there were several pieces of sculpture, some of them clearly unique, and others—in Ben's opinion—quite repulsive.
Long windows opened on to a railed terrace that provided a magnificent view of the bay. At this hour of the afternoon it was bathed in sunlight, and Ben sought the shelter offered by a shady hammock and, propping his arms behind his head, determinedly tried to relax. But it wasn't easy. His mind persisted in dwelling on the reasons that had brought him to Calvado, and
no matter how he tried, Cass's image as he had last seen her would not be dislodged.
When Sophia eventually appeared, she was carrying the tray herself, and Ben quickly stirred himself to draw a white-painted wrought-iron table towards him. 'Hmm, thanks,' he murmured dutifully, as she set the meal in front of him, surveying the generous slices of cured ham with fresh melon, the bowl of tossed salad, and the dish of fresh strawberries, with the required air of enthusiasm. There was a bottle of wine, too, a white Chianti, cooled to perfection, a subtle reminder that his mother preferred her drinks out of a glass.
'Go ahead,' she said, when he gave her a questioning glance. 'I have already eaten. If you had had the presence of mind to forewarn me of your arrival, naturally I would have waited. But as you did not…'
Sophia spread an expressive hand as the sentence tailed away, and Ben knew it was yet another pointer to his own shortcomings. Not exactly the most auspicious beginning to his mission, he thought ruefully. But how could he have rung his mother without mentioning the reasons for his visit? No, he had needed to see Sophia, to gauge her reactions for himself.
Despite the fact that he had only had a cup of coffee for breakfast, Ben found his appetite dwindling. It had been different, snatching a slice of ham in the kitchen, drinking beer because he was thirsty. Now, with the most immediate of his hungers appeased, food had become of little importance, and with Sophia watching his every move he was eventually forced to put his fork aside.
'I'm sorry,' he said, aware of her disapproval. 'I think I must be too hot to eat.'
'Too hot? Or too much on edge?' suggested Sophia shrewdly, and Ben pushed the table to one side and sprawled resignedly on the cushions.
'Why should you think I'm on edge?' he responded obliquely. 'I have just driven over two hundred kilometres. Is it so unreasonable that I should feel hot—and tired?'
'No.' His mother, who had seated herself on one of the wrought-iron chairs, crossed her legs and shook her head. 'But you forget, Benvenuto, I have known you for almost thirty-seven years! Credit me with knowing when something is on your mind.'
Ben reached forward and poured himself another glass of Chianti. At least he had no trouble in swallowing the wine, he reflected. And perhaps it would help to loosen his tongue. Right now, he hadn't the faintest idea how he was going to broach the subject of Cass.
'It is a woman, is it not?' Sophia was evidently growing tired of his reticence. 'Who is she? Some Australian woman you met in Melbourne or Sydney? Or is she from New Zealand? What is she? A Protestant?' The way she said the word made this supposition intolerable. From Sophia's point of view there could hardly be a worse possibility, except perhaps a married woman. And Cass was both.
Ben emptied his glass and decided there was no virtue in procrastination. Whenever he said it—and sooner or later he had to—his mother was going to feel betrayed. She would see Cass's plea for help as a sign of weakness, and she was not likely to agree to his request without a struggle. Of course, he held the ultimate weapon, he knew that, and if all else failed he would use it. But he didn't want to put that kind of pressure on her, though his hopes of doing otherwise were fading fast.
'As a matter of fact, it's Cass,' he said abruptly, and he saw his mother's face suffuse with colour. 'She's here, in Italy.' He paused. 'She's left Roger.'
As if she couldn't sit still under the weight of such news, Sophia got to her feet then, stepping across to the rail of the balcony and gripping the iron with white-knuckled hands. For a moment she just stared at the view, keeping whatever thoughts she had to herself. And then she gave him a sideways glance. 'She has left her husband?'
Ben sighed. 'That's what I said.'
'Why?'
He lifted his broad shoulders. 'That's their business, I suppose.'
'But she told you,' declared his mother harshly. 'Oh, yes, she told you.' Her lips twisted. 'What has happened? Is there some other man? Has her husband found her out in some indiscretion—'
'It's not Cass's fault,' retorted Ben tersely, not prepared to listen to Sophia's distortions of the truth. 'In any case, why she left Roger isn't important. What is important is that she came to us—'
'To you, you mean!'
'—and I've agreed to help her.'
Sophia turned then. 'Help her?' she echoed. 'How can you help her?' Her hands clenched. 'You have no money!'
'I'm not exactly destitute,' said Ben quietly, getting to his feet and pushing his hands into the pockets of his dark trousers. 'In any case, it's not money she needs. It's practical assistance.'
'And what form does this practical assistance take?' demanded Sophia contemptuously. 'Does she need a knight in shining armour? A champion to fight her cause?'
'Don't be ridiculous!' Ben was impatient.
'Ah! So I am ridiculous now!' Sophia's eyes flashed. 'But not so ridiculous that I do not see how easily she wraps you round her little finger.'
'That's not true—'
'It is true!' Sophia seethed. 'I do not forget that but for her, you would not have chosen to reject the inheritance that would surely have been yours—'
'How I choose to live my life is not in question here,' Ben broke in wearily, trying to keep his temper and not totally succeeding. 'For heaven's sake, Mother, have some pity! The girl's hurt, confused; she needs time and space to come to terms with her feelings.'
'Her feelings?' Sophia snorted. 'And what about my feelings? How am I supposed to feel when you tell me that this woman—this bastard of Guido's—deserves your sympathy but I do not?'
'I didn't say that.'
'But you give little thought to my feelings, none the less,' retorted his mother emotively. 'So—what are you saying? Are you telling me you are going to allow that woman—that Jezebel—to stay at your apartment? Are you warning me to keep away? Away from my own son's home?'
This was proving harder than even Ben had anticipated. For heaven's sake, he thought frustratedly, was she being deliberately obtuse?
'No,' he said now, watching a tiny lizard make its way up the wall of the villa. 'No, Cass can't stay at my apartment.'
'At last, you see sense!' Sophia raised expressive eyes to the heavens.
'I want you to let her stay at the villa,' continued Ben flatly, realising there was no other way of saying it. Ignoring his mother's horrified face, he went on, 'You have plenty of room, and she won't need to worry about her father coming bullying her here.'
'You cannot mean this!' As soon as he had finished speaking, Sophia made her outburst. 'Benvenuto, you cannot expect me to take that girl into my house again. I did it once, and look what happened!'
Ben met her gaze steadily. 'That was a long time ago, Mother. Things have changed. Cass has changed. She's been married for almost four years, remember? She's not a girl any more.'
'There is bad blood in that family,' retorted Sophia bitterly. 'How can you even think of getting involved in this affair? The woman has left her husband; that is what you said, is it not? How do you know she is not lying when she claims it is not her fault that their marriage is not working?'
Ben wondered what his mother would say if he told her he knew because Cass was incapable of lying to him? That he was so closely attuned to her subconscious self, he had known immediately that she had been hurt. But thinking of Cass brought her image vividly to mind, and he averted his eyes so that Sophia should not perceive the anguish it evoked. He had not liked leaving her in Florence, but he had really had no alternative, and he could only hope Roger did not have the nerve to appeal to her father for his address. The idea of Cass's husband turning up at the apartment in his absence filled him with a bitter sense of fury, and the inclination to turn the Porsche around and drive back to Florence tonight was almost an overwhelming temptation.
Now, determinedly putting such thoughts aside, he said quietly, 'Whatever you think about Cass, believe me when I say she would not have come to—me—for help, if she hadn't been desperate.'
'Desper
ate?' His mother was scathing.
'Yes, desperate,' repeated Ben evenly, refusing to be drawn. 'There was no one else she could turn to.'
'What about her mother?'
Ben sighed. 'You know what Diana is like.'
'Do I?'
'All right. Point taken.' Ben endeavoured to remain cool. 'Well, how shall I put it? Diana doesn't like— problems.'
'Who does?'
'No one, but—oh!' Ben raked long fingers through his dark hair. 'Suffice it to say, she would not be sympathetic'
Sophia regarded him broodingly. 'And this does not arouse your suspicions? That both Guido and her mother refuse to help her?'
Ben groaned. 'They haven't refused to help her. For the simple reason that she hasn't asked them.'
'Why not?'
'Oh, hell!'
'Benvenuto!'
'Well!' He paced grimly across the terrace. Then, turning to look at her again, he scowled. 'Did you turn to your parents when you were in trouble?' he demanded angrily. 'Did you go to Nonna and tell her what had happened?'
Now his mother looked away. 'That has nothing to do with it,' she declared stiffly. 'And we said we would not speak of that again.'
'Maybe we have to,' Ben retorted, taking a steadying breath. 'If it's the only way—'
'Cassandra,' said Sophia slowly, evidently loath to use her name, but compelled to do so anyway, 'she is not pregnant, is she?'
Ben felt as though someone had thumped him in the stomach. Pregnant? he thought bleakly. He hadn't thought of that! Was that why she had needed this time alone? Because she knew that she was pregnant, and there was no way she could hide that?
Shaking his head, as much to clear his brain as anything, he hid his consternation behind an air of impatience. 'Of course not,' he exclaimed, as if he knew for certain there was no truth in the statement. 'She just needs a breathing space, that's all.'