“Goodbye Paola and may the archangels, or whoever is looking after you, take care of you until we meet again.”
He was gone before Paola could think of an appropriate reply.
She leant back against the pillows and looked at the small package he had given her.
Her first impulse was to open it and see the diamond that had caused so much trouble. Then she thought that it would be a mistake. If it was as enticing and as beautiful as Hugo had said, she would want to keep looking at it.
Then somebody else might see it and the trouble would start.
‘I cannot think why so much fuss is made about jewels,’ she thought. ‘They may look beautiful when they are worn, but people are always worrying about thieves and burglars or then there is Papa fussing over insurance.’
Then she reminded herself that, if she lost the diamond or was robbed, it would cost Hugo twenty thousand pounds which he was greatly in need of.
‘I must be careful very careful,’ she told herself.
She heard the maid open the door and realised that she was coming to call her and quickly she pushed the little parcel under her pillow.
When she was up and dressed, she hid it in the handbag she always carried with her.
She thought as she did so that it was unlikely that anyone would see it there.
All the same as she went down to breakfast she felt a little guilty.
She had never had any secrets from her parents and she thought that perhaps she really should tell her mother what Hugo had asked her to do.
But she had given him her sacred promise and anyway it would be unkind to worry her mother.
This she would undoubtedly do if she told her that she was carrying anything so valuable.
The Contessa arrived later in the morning and Paola thought her charming.
She looked no more than forty-five, Paola thought, and had the same quiet dignified manner that was characteristic of her mother.
“I hope you will not find it dull in Lucca,” she said to Paola. “There are so many things to see there because very little has been changed over the years. It is, in fact, one of the most unspoilt and charming of all our ancient Cities.”
“I am longing to see it,” Paola said, “and I am sure that I will be thrilled by everything and have a great deal to tell Mama when I return to England.”
“I am trying to persuade your mother and father to come and stay while you are still with me,” the Contessa said. “After all your mother has Italian blood in her, which should be calling to her to come home.”
The Countess laughed.
“I have become very anglicised and I think that Paola with her golden-red hair is really more Italian than I am.”
“She will certainly be appreciated by my friends in Lucca,” the Contessa went on, “and I hope she will enjoy their company as much as I do.”
“I am sure I shall,” Paola said, “and thank you very very much for having me. I am very grateful.”
She saw that the Contessa appreciated the way she spoke and there was also a look of pride in her mother’s eyes.
All the same, when she went upstairs to her bedroom to choose which gowns were to be packed, she could not help feeling a little sad.
She did not really want to leave London where she had looked forward to everything being so exciting when she left school.
She had thought so much about the balls she would attend and it now seemed heartbreaking to have to miss them.
Hanging up in her wardrobe were the gowns her mother had bought for her to wear and they were all, Paola thought, very lovely and very becoming.
Yet it was pleasing to know that she would be able to wear white and even pale colours in Lucca.
As she would be incognito there, no one would think that she was being disrespectful to her dead grandmother.
She expected, however, that the Contessa’s friends, however delightful they might be, would all be very much older than herself.
In fact there might be no young men to pay her compliments, as Hugo had suggested.
*
It was not until she was actually in the train to Dover that she remembered that she was not to use her title simply in order to avoid attracting the attention of the Marchese.
She had forgotten that when Hugo had asked her to carry the diamond to him.
Now she was aware that her mother would think that she was walking blindly into the lion’s den.
Paola puzzled over this for some time.
Finally she told herself there was no reason why she should actually see him.
All she had to do was somehow to put the diamond into his hands.
‘But how can I do that?’ she asked herself. ‘If I have to send one of the servants to his house, they will undoubtedly tell the Contessa what I have asked them to do. She will think it very strange, particularly when she warned Mama that I should not meet him.’
It was something that kept recurring to her mind.
She thought of it all the time they were travelling across the Channel, through France and finally into Italy.
It was a long journey, which involved several changes of train, but Paola found it exhilarating to see the countryside through the windows.
When they stopped at Stations, she enjoyed listening to the porters and people speaking first French and then Italian.
She had found Italian easy ever since she had been a child and her grandmother, who had been very beautiful, had insisted that she should speak the language that was in her blood.
Although her father had protested, she had been given Italian lessons almost before she had English ones.
She had, of course, also learnt French. It was obligatory at her school and the French Mistress had been delighted at her progress.
The Contessa was very impressed at how fluent she was in both those languages.
“I have never understood,” she said, “why, when the English go abroad, they merely speak louder instead of troubling to learn the language of the country they are visiting!”
Paola laughed.
“I think the English find it difficult to believe that any language is more important than their own,” she said. “I know the girls at school used to laugh at me because I really tried hard to be proficient at Italian and French.”
“It is something they will regret as they grow older,” the Contessa prophesied. “You will find it so much easier to appreciate the ancient relics in Lucca when they are explained to you in Italian. There never seems to be the right adjective in English.”
Paola laughed again before she replied,
“Now, ma’am, you are being prejudiced.”
“I suppose I am,” the Contessa said, “but I am very proud of my own country and especially the City I live in.”
When finally they reached Lucca after a long drive that was very tiring, Paola was entranced by the City.
The Contessa had told her that the streets and squares were full of Renaissance and Gothic buildings. She had also said that the ramparts had been built in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.
But Paola had not expected them to be so tall and overwhelming.
There were huge projecting bastions linked to one another by curtain walls and four great gateways.
Paola had never seen anything like them before and they made the City seem mysterious and exciting from the moment she passed by them.
The Contessa’s villa, which was also old, was near the Cathedral and had a beautiful garden.
Paola felt that she wanted to explore everything immediately.
But the Contessa said wisely that they had had a long journey and the first thing they should do was to rest.
“You will find it easier to sleep in a comfortable bed than a rattling train,” she said.
This was true.
Paola slipped into the bed, which was in an attractive room overlooking the garden, and fell asleep and did not wake until noon the following day.
When she went
down to luncheon, having missed breakfast altogether, she was very apologetic.
“Please don’t apologise my dear,” the Contessa said. “It was the most sensible thing you could do. While I admit to having had a very good night’s sleep, I am still feeling tired.”
When luncheon was finished, Paola went out into the garden.
It was filled with flowers and beautifully kept.
She wandered along, thinking how attractive everything seemed to be in the sunshine.
Then the tolling of a Church bell reminded her that she was close to the Cathedral, which she longed to visit.
It was only a short distance away and she had seen when she arrived how spectacular it looked with an imposing green and white marble façade.
She walked back into the villa to look for the Contessa.
When she reached the drawing room, she heard voices.
She paused, wondering who was visiting the Contessa so soon after their arrival.
Then she heard a woman’s voice say in Italian,
“My dear, he arrived yesterday. I thought he had forgotten our existence and would never come back to Lucca!”
“I am sure that he found Florence very amusing,” the Contessa said with a slightly cynical note in her voice.
“We all know that,” her visitor replied. “I hear that the Marchese has been having a wild love affair with Princess Leone who, as you know, has been acclaimed as the most beautiful woman in Florence.”
“Has she come with him?” the Contessa asked.
“No, he is alone and it makes me wonder what has happened. Can he be bored with her, as he has been with so many other beauties? Or do you think that Prince Gustavo, who is known to be very jealous, has thrown him out?”
The Contessa laughed.
“I should think that is very unlikely, but one never knows where the Marchese is concerned.”
“No, indeed!” her friend answered. “And, of course, he will be looking more handsome, more exciting and more raffish than ever!”
Paola was suddenly aware that she was eavesdropping.
They were obviously talking about the Marchese di Lucca.
And that meant he could receive the ring as soon as she could get it to him.
She had, of course, no idea as yet how she could do this, but it would certainly now be much easier than if he was in Florence.
After a little pause she opened the door and entered the room.
She found that there was an attractive woman sitting beside the Contessa, who exclaimed how delighted she was to meet her.
“Now that you are back, Marta,” she said to the Contessa, “we must have a party. My son is returning home in a few days and with him my nephew. I know that they will be thrilled to meet Miss Forde.”
“You are very kind,” the Contessa said, “and, of course, we will be so pleased to come to you and for you and your family to visit us.”
“We will do both,” was the answer.
When she had gone, the Contessa said,
“My friend is a very kind person, but a terrible chatterbox. I am sure that she will now rush all over Lucca, telling everybody that you have arrived. A new face is always welcome here.”
“What I want to do first,” Paola said, “is some sight-seeing. In fact I came in from the garden to ask if we might visit the Cathedral.”
“Yes, of course,” the Contessa agreed, “and, as it is very near, we just have to walk across the road. It is only right that you should see it first, as I think that it is far the most impressive building in the whole City.”
They put on their hats and walked across the road.
They admired first the three great doors of the West Front of the Cathedral and the enormously tall Campanile.
Inside Paola was immediately conscious of an atmosphere that seemed to her to be vibrant with faith.
She had been brought up as a Catholic because her mother was one.
Her grandmother had, when she married the fifth Earl, made a somewhat unusual arrangement. It was that all their female children should be brought up as Catholics and the boys as Protestants.
Paola always thought it very sad for her father that she had no brothers.
Therefore she had often accompanied him to his Church, which was in the grounds of their house in the country.
But she had also attended Catholic Services with her mother and these took place in a small Church in a nearby village.
Immediately she entered the Cathedral, which was dedicated to St. Martin, she felt as if the whole building enveloped her with a feeling of protection.
She was acutely aware of spirituality and devotion.
Because she had read so much about Italy’s Saints, she was delighted to see to her left as she entered through the main door that there was a Chapel to St. Francis of Assisi.
She bought a candle and lit it.
Then kneeling in front of the altar she sent up a special prayer to St. Francis.
She asked him to help her pass the diamond to the Marchese without there being any difficulty about it.
‘Please, help me, St. Francis,’ she whispered silently and felt as if he responded to her prayer.
There was far too much to see in the Cathedral on one visit.
The Contessa showed her the Volto Santo, which means, ‘Holy Visage’. It was a miraculous Crucifix, which it was said Nicodemus took possession of after Calvary. And on it he had carved a likeness of Christ.
There were a great many legends about the Volto Santo and, when they returned to her villa, the Contessa related them to Paola.
“I tell you what I will do,” Paola said. “I will write down an account of all the lovely things, like the legends you have just told me, as I know that Mama will enjoy hearing about them.”
“In other words you are going to write a book,” the Contessa said with a smile.
“Why not?” Paola said. “I have often thought it is something I would love to do. But first I must travel all over the world to find material for it.”
“That is certainly very ambitious,” the Contessa laughed. “I am sure that there are dozens of ancient artefacts in Lucca, each one of which could make a book on its own!”
“I will start anyway with one, but, of course, you must help me,” Paola said.
“I will certainly try,” the Contessa promised.
When she went up to bed that night, Paola lay thinking about the Cathedral and she was also planning what she would write down for her mother to read.
Suddenly she had an idea.
It came to her so forcefully that she felt it must be St. Francis who was telling her what to do.
She had been wondering how she could get the diamond to the Marchese without anybody being aware of it.
Also, because it would appease her conscience as regards her mother, how she could give him the diamond without actually meeting him.
She was so excited by the idea that had come to her that she jumped out of bed.
Lighting a candle she sat down at the small writing desk that stood in a corner of her bedroom.
It took her some time to consider what she should say.
Finally she wrote in English, having made two or three attempts at what she wanted to say.
Then she read carefully,
“I have something that you have been promised and are expecting. If you will go to the Chapel of St. Francis in the Cathedral on Friday morning at nine o’clock, you will receive it.”
Paola read it through several times to be sure that it was clear enough for the Marchese to understand and it must not, she knew, convey to anybody else any particular information.
She chose Friday because that was two days ahead.
She thought nine o’clock was a time when there would not be many people in the Cathedral and it should not be too early for the Marchese.
She had noted when she visited the Cathedral that Communion Service was at seven o’clock and there were no Services after that until much later in
the day.
‘I hope I have done the right thing,’ she worried.
She looked again at the plain piece of paper she had written her message on.
She folded it, put it into an envelope and addressed it to,
“MARCHESE VITTORIO DI LUCCA.”
There was still the difficulty, she knew, of how to have it delivered to the Villa Lucca where he lived.
She had passed it as they drove to the Contessa’s villa on the afternoon of their arrival.
Seen through large grand gates the villa looked exceedingly beautiful and she would have loved to stop and look at it.
But they had flashed past. All she had was an impression of white marble, two statues on either side of the front door and two more on the floor above it.
‘I will see everything in Lucca – except for that!’ she had told herself.
She knew it was impossible not to be a little curious.
Not only about the villa, which was so outstanding, but also about the man to whom it belonged.
‘I must behave in a circumspect manner, as Mama would expect me to,’ Paola told herself.
At the same time she was wondering how she could get the letter she had written to the Marchese.
She put it into her handbag.
*
The next morning the Contessa announced that they were going sight-seeing.
Paola felt in some inexplicable way that either her Guardian Angel or St. Francis would help her to get the note to the Marchese.
It was easier to walk than to drive and they went down the narrow streets and alleys with Paola finding everything fascinating.
The Old Town had some of its Roman buildings still intact and the Palazzo Mansi housed fascinating pictures that Paola had read about, but never expected to see.
It was on the way back that they stopped at a shop. It had the most delightful pottery, which was one of the great arts of Tuscany.
The Contessa had already given an order for some new crockery, which had not yet been delivered.
While she was talking to the shopkeeper, Paola realised that the Villa Lucca was only a short distance away and she could see the gates quite clearly.
The Contessa was now being shown some more heavily decorated pottery at the back of the shop.
Moving swiftly, Paola ran as fast as she could down the street to the gates of the villa.
In Love In Lucca Page 4