He shook his head and scowled. 'Grapes . . . bruised . . . Thirty-five.'
'Forty-five.'
'Forty.'
Despite herself, Charlotte-Anne was intrigued. 'Enough, enough,' the vendor finally mumbled. She shrugged. 'So the bambinos starve . . . you drive a hard bargain, signor.' And then the haggling old crone beamed broadly, her gold teeth flashing.
Charlotte-Anne counted out the forty lire and started popping grapes in her mouth as they continued to walk on. 'That poor woman,' she scolded, shaking her head. 'How could you do that to her?'
'She expects it,' Luigi said. 'Anything else would be to rob her of the joy of her trade. Watch.'
They halted and looked back. An old man was buying an even bigger bunch of grapes, fiercely haggling with the vendor. He got them for thirty lire. 'You see?' Luigi said, smiling. 'Things are not always what they seem.'
Charlotte-Anne kept her ears and eyes open, and she learned.
But Luigi didn't just show her the tourist sights for which the city was so famous. He took her to the Rome tourists never saw at all. They dined in a ridiculously cheap restaurant he loved which was frequented only by the working classes and was located underground in the two thousand year old ruins of the catacombs. He was convinced the chicken cacciatore there was the best in all Italy.
'This is the best-kept secret in all Rome,' he told her. 'I make it a point never to tell anyone about it. If society were to discover this place, it would be ruined.'
Her discoveries of Rome did not cease while Luigi was at work at the Ministry of Defense. She delighted in taking walks through the gardens of the Villa Borghese, whose rambling ancient stone wall comprised the wall of their own backyard. These walks, though without him, were put to good use; she had hired a tutor to teach her Italian, and while she and the tutor walked, she learned her new language. She spent hours on this secret project, which she had begun at the Palazzo di Cristallo to while away her empty hours.
Finally, when she felt she was ready, she met Luigi at the door when he came home one evening and spoke to him in fluent, flawless Italian.
'I'm so proud of you,' he whispered back in his native language. And he proved it by showing her off to all his friends.
There were little irritants, too, which she discovered gradually. In the beginning, whenever he came home, he had changed out of his colonel's uniform and brash regalia. But slowly, he started to wear his precisely tailored suits and silk shirts less and less until finally it occurred to her that he had stopped wearing them altogether. It disturbed her, and when she mentioned it to him, he said, 'Il Duce wants all his officers in uniform all the time.'
'But you're at home now. Surely his orders don't reach into our house.'
'So? I'm comfortable.'
She didn't go on to point out that when he wore his uniform out their evenings were different than they had been before. People were always so carefully civil and polite, their stony faces giving nothing away.
It hadn't been like that in the beginning. Due to his title and his military position, Luigi moved in lofty circles, but he had always been equally at home with common people.
She had been both surprised and pleased when she found that he treated everyone equally well, with a total disregard for class or wealth. What amazed her was that everyone seemed to genuinely like him. His easy, contagious laughter, familiarity, and sincerity transcended all social barriers. She had to remind herself constantly that to her he was a husband, but to everyone else he was a national hero of sorts: he had won countless car races, and though his aviation records were not comparable to those of Lindbergh or Earhart, he was, after all, Italy's premier flying ace. But whether he was prince, or sportsman, or the common man's friend, everyone liked him. Until he was in uniform.
In those heady, first few years together, several things occurred which marred the otherwise perfect scheme of things and which, looking back upon them much later, Charlotte-Anne realized should have warned her about troubles to come. But those were such happy and carefree times, and troubles seemed so far away. They were together, invincible, and she believed that nothing could ever come between them. The incidents were spread so far apart that they seemed disparate, and she didn't make the connection until it was much too late.
On one sunny spring Sunday, the first thing occurred which caused her to feel anxious, and told her that everything was not quite as perfect as it seemed.
Luigi drove her to the outskirts of town for a picnic, stopping to point out in the distance behind them, a low-cost housing project which he explained Il Duce had recently erected.
She was startled by the sudden change in his voice. As he spoke about the dictator's work, she realized just how much Luigi was coming to admire his leader.
Inwardly, she cringed. He should never have brought her here, at least not on such an otherwise perfect day. The mention of Il Duce seemed a cloud obscuring the lemon sun.
She was silent for so long that he knew something was wrong. 'What is the matter?' he asked her.
'Please, Luigi. Let's go back.'
'But why? You look so upset.'
She shook her head. 'I'm not upset,' she corrected him tightly. 'I'm confused, that's all.'
'Confused?' He looked at her with a perplexed frown. 'What about?'
'Please, let's forget it,' she pleaded.
'No,' he said, and she saw the hurt, mingled with anger, which shone in his eyes. 'If it concerns the way we feel about each other, I am entitled to know about it.' He paused. 'Well?'
She waved a hand at the sterile, poured-concrete apartment blocks behind them. 'I'm confused about those.' She gazed at him. 'And about you.'
'I do not understand.'
'You seem to . . . ' She tightened her lips, wishing that she'd never started to explain. 'Your voice . . . well, it just sounded as though you're starting to like Il Duce.' She gazed up at him.
He laughed. 'And that worries you?'
'Yes.'
'Why should it?'
'Because . . . because he is bad, Luigi. He frightens people. Even your own mother let me know how terrified she is of him.'
'When was this?'
'That first night at the palazzo.'
'She might have been then, but not anymore, she isn't. The more Il Duce trusts me, the safer she feels.'
She shivered. 'And Il Duce . . . he trusts you?'
'More and more, yes.' He nodded.
'And you?' She looked at him with a curious kind of defiance. 'Do you trust him?'
'I'm beginning to understand him,' he said carefully. 'He wants what is best for Italy. I see that now. At first I did not believe it, but now I do. Certainly, there are things he does which I do not like at all. But he wants a new Italy, Charlotte-Anne. A stronger Italy. An Italy as strong as it was in the times of the Caesars.'
She shivered again. There was a conviction in his voice she had never seen before, and she found it frightening.
'And you, Luigi?' she asked softly. 'What do you want?'
'Me? I want what is best for you. For my family. For all Italy.' He smiled. 'In precisely that order.'
But, somehow, she wasn't sure that was the order of his priorities. He was changing, she realized, changing before her eyes.
He seemed to sense her fears, and took her hand. 'Come, let us not be so serious. It is a weekend afternoon, the sun is shining, and I am off from work. It is time for amore, not for worries.'
She looked at him, her eyes sweeping over his hated, elegant uniform. She couldn't help thinking: yes, you are off from work, but why can't I shake the feeling that your work is with you always, that you bring it home in your head? What happened to the dashing Luigi I met? The prince who loved the sport of flying and racing? Now, planes were only weaponry. And cars no longer mattered. There was no more talk of racing.
She pasted a weak smile on her face. 'You're right. It's silly to spoil a lovely afternoon. Let's forget it.'
And soon she had forgotten about it alt
ogether.
13
It was some months before the next incident occurred which aroused her anxiety.
'We're invited to a formal reception at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs the day after tomorrow,' Luigi said casually one evening at dinner.
She had been about to take a bite of veal off her fork; now she put the fork down on her plate. 'The Ministry of Foreign Affairs?'
He nodded.
She let out a low whistle. At this point she was used to their burgeoning social life, and although it had intimidated her at first, she had quickly discovered that she was well-liked and admired. But previously their social life had revolved around internal affairs and the military, along with the old-line nobility. That they should be receiving invitations to a reception at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs was an indication that they were being swept into yet another social sphere.
Usually, Charlotte-Anne did not like the stiffly formal receptions and dinners with the self-important, uniformed officers strutting around on the arms of their gossiping wives, but this time she looked forward to going. She was just recovering from her second miscarriage and, as with the first, she had locked herself away in the villa until she came out of the ensuing depression. While she had been recovering, Luigi had not even mentioned any functions where she was expected to accompany him, and for that she had been extremely grateful. She knew he had waited until now because he sensed that she was finally ready to get out.
'I want you to look beautiful, as always,' he smiled across the table at her. 'Perhaps you should get yourself a new gown.'
'Another one?' She couldn't help laughing. Men were so vain, and Luigi was more vain than most. He loved an opportunity to show her off, and seemed to take a special pride in dressing her.
'I think something sapphire-blue would look nice,' he mused, nodding. 'Yes, very nice indeed.'
'But you know I prefer pale colors,' she protested. 'And, besides, two days is hardly enough time for Signora Bella to sew a gown.' She lifted her goblet and took a sip of white wine.
'I don't think she'll mind,' he said with a vague smile. 'Besides, you've given her enough business that she'd be a fool not to drop whatever she's working on to knock out a gown for you.'
Charlotte-Anne knew better than to argue with him. The next morning, as she walked into Signora Bella's little shop, the gray-haired seamstress smiled broadly and brought out a bolt of sapphire-blue velvet. 'Your husband had this delivered to me yesterday morning,' she said, fingering it between her thumb and forefinger. 'It is lovely, no?'
'Yes, it is certainly a lovely fabric,' Charlotte-Anne had to agree, despite her anger toward Luigi for disregarding her wishes.
'And do not worry, Principessa,' Signora Bella said. 'You will look absolutely marvelous in it.' She made a circle with her thumb and forefinger, and her massive bosom rose and fell as she sighed appreciatively. 'It will be bellissimo.'
'But it has to be completed the day after tomorrow,' Charlotte-Anne pointed out.
'So it shall be,' the old dressmaker said, her hands tugging at the ends of the yellow cloth tape measure which always hung from around her neck. 'I have, after all, your measurements on file, so I have gone ahead and cut and pinned portions of the gown together. See?' Signora Bella picked up a partially finished bodice from her paper-clad worktable and held it up. 'Now I must see that it fits you to perfection and compliments you. Then, this afternoon at four, I will need you to come in for another fitting, and once again tomorrow morning, when we will see to it that any last minute adjustments are made. It will be delivered to your villa by three tomorrow afternoon at the very latest.'
Signora Bella was even better than her word. At just past noon the following afternoon, the completed gown arrived. As soon as Charlotte-Anne lifted it out of the box, any irritation she had felt toward Luigi seeped out of her. She should have known. Luigi's taste was flawless. The gown was indeed a masterpiece.
He only wants what is best for both of us, she had to remind herself.
She felt strangely exhilarated when her hair was done and she got dressed. Luigi walked circles around her, his hand on his chin as he nodded and smiled his satisfaction. He looked tremendously pleased with himself. 'I have never seen you look quite so beautiful,' he said. 'You are breathtaking. The gown is very becoming.'
Looking at her reflection in the tall, gilt-edged mirror in the bedroom she knew he was right. The richness of the sapphire-blue velvet seemed to change the color of her eyes.
Instead of their usual pale, unsettling color, they glowed like two rich, round sapphires.
'Now for the crowning touch,' Luigi said softly. 'I have a necklace I would like you to wear tonight.'
He reached into a pocket of his dress uniform tunic and took out a long, slender black velvet case and two smaller, square velvet boxes. 'To show you how much I love you,' he whispered.
She stared at him. Then hesitantly, she took them from him. First she opened the long, slim case. She let out a startled gasp. Cushioned against the black velvet was a necklace of seventy-nine finely matched, pear-shaped diamonds. The pendant center was a five carat, flawless round blue sapphire as deep blue as the moonlit sea.
'Luigi,' she gasped.
Without speaking, he took the necklace from her and fastened it around her neck. It felt cool and deliciously heavy against her skin. She turned to face the mirror. The diamonds glittered, and the sapphire illusion of her eyes appeared heightened.
Slowly, she opened the lids of the two smaller boxes and discovered matching diamond-and-sapphire drop earrings. In the other, she found a ten-carat sapphire ring surrounded by marquise-cut diamonds.
She felt ashamed of herself for feeling irritated by the way he had dictated her choice of clothes and jewels. Of course he had to pick the sapphire gown - so it would match the jewels. How ungrateful she was!
'Luigi, they're . . . they're too much,' she stammered. 'Far too extravagant.'
'When will you ever learn, earn,' he chuckled. 'Nothing is too extravagant when it concerns you.'
'But. . . it's not even my birthday,' she sputtered.
'Does it have to be?' he asked as he clipped the earrings onto her lobes. 'When I saw these, I knew they were meant for you.' He paused and looked suddenly pained. 'I know, these can never make up for the loss you have suffered, but take them as a token of your husband's deep love.'
'But what for?'
'For taking in stride the hardships and loss you have had to endure,' he whispered, turning away. 'I know how much you wanted to have our baby, and how much the miscarriage affected you.'
Her eyes filled with tears. 'Now look what you're making me do!' she said in a choked voice as she dabbed her eyes with a lace-edged handkerchief. 'You're making me ruin my make-up.'
The Ministry of Foreign Affairs was not far away, but they rode there in the chauffeur driven Daimler, circling the Piazza del Popolo with its obelisk in the center, and down the Via del Corso, to the Piazza Colonna. During the short ride there was a nervous energy about Luigi which she found rather peculiar. He was always the very picture of calm, and she wondered what now caused his agitation. She wondered if there were something special about this evening he hadn't told her about. But she knew it was useless to pry. She would have to wait and see.
The reception began very pleasantly. She had expected to meet only strangers, but there were quite a few guests she knew and hadn't seen since before her miscarriage, and they greeted her warmly. She was introduced to the Minister of Defense, a tall, sleek, bald-headed man in a well-cut tuxedo who bowed over her hand, kissed it, and introduced her to his plump, shark-toothed wife. And there were a multitude of people she had never seen before, but who seemed to know who she was.
She made several new friends that evening. Being an American who, it was rumored, came from a very wealthy family and had married into one of Italy's most powerful clans seemed to fill everyone with curiosity, admiration, and respect.
She found herself the ce
nter of attention.
And then came the first unpleasant surprise of the evening. Just after the dancing began in the great marble hall, the Minister of Defense asked her for the first waltz. Then she danced with Luigi, and when he was taken aside for a discussion with the Minister and some generals, Charlotte-Anne went over to the white-clothed buffet tables. They were laden with silver trays of imported caviar and salmon, paper-thin slices of prosciutto, and artful little canapés. Domestic wines and foreign champagne flowed freely.
'Cara,' Luigi said suddenly from behind her. 'I believe you two have already met?'
She turned around slowly and drew a deep, startled breath as she found herself face-to-face with General Kersten. She remembered the German all too well from the crossing on the Ile de France, and he looked exactly as he had then, red-faced and meaty, with pin-prick blue eyes. She was as instinctively revolted by him now as she had been then, and she remembered how he had cruelly goaded Mrs. Reichenbach and talked so horribly about the Jews. She struggled not to show her distaste. He was not in civilian clothes as he had been on the Ile de France. His gray uniform, with its red, white, and black swastika armband, flared riding breeches, and high gleaming boots, was curiously intimidating. It was only then that she realized how many other guests were wearing similar uniforms. The reception was top-heavy with Germans.
As when they had first met, General Kersten clicked his heels together noisily and kissed her hand. 'You look even more charming now than the last time we met,' he said loudly. 'I congratulate you on your marriage.' He turned to Luigi, smiled, and faced Charlotte-Anne again. 'It was a most auspicious crossing, nicht wahr?
'Yes, it was,' Charlotte-Anne agreed politely, warning herself that she had to be very careful not to let her personal feelings show. This party was too important to Luigi's future.
'And to think,' General Kersten continued, 'that I have been transferred to Rome. Such a lovely city! We must see a lot of each other. Perhaps you will be so kind as to show me around every now and then?'
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