Island of Mermaids

by Iris Danbury

  ‘You’re not proposing visits to the mills at home, I hope?’ she warned him.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. I might be able to go. If not, you could do the rounds.’

  ‘I don’t think I’m a good enough judge,’ she objected. ‘Nonsense. You’ve had enough experience to know good cloth from bad and what will sell.’

  But the prospect of a trip or two to England was enlivening.

  At the week-end Cristo reappeared and announced that he was staying for a few days. On the Sunday evening Carla arranged an evening trip to Naples.

  ‘I know of a delightful restaurant with a garden where we can have dinner.’

  ‘Who else is coming?’ asked Althea, scenting the possibility of being left alone with Cristo while Carla went off somewhere else.

  ‘Who? Kent, of course!’ Carla’s tone was one of astonishment that she should be asked such a silly question.

  Althea tried to persuade her father to come on the trip, but he declined. ‘I’ll stay here and keep Emilia company while you young people live it up in Naples.’

  On the steamer Carla disclosed to Althea that she had received permission from her mother for this trip only because she would be in the care of Cristo. ‘But you know, Althea, that I must have Kent for my partner,’ she said emphatically.

  ‘Of course, just as you wish,’ replied Althea indifferently. The restaurant which Carla had selected was in the Via Aniello Falcone and the garden terrace gave a panoramic view over part of the city and the Bay beyond.

  Carla’s appetite was usually a healthy one, but Althea noticed that the girl ate most sparingly. Belatedly she realised that this indication should have given her the clue to what happened afterwards.

  During the meal a young man came towards Carla and greeted her effusively. She introduced him as Gregorio, invited him to sit down and take a glass of wine.

  Then before the meal ended, Carla and Gregorio excused themselves. ‘We are preparing for you all a great surprise,’ Carla explained over her shoulder.

  Kent and Althea glanced at each other for enlightenment, than at Cristo, who declared he knew nothing. It was not Carla’s birthday, nor even his.

  The small orchestra had played during dinner without anyone taking much notice, but now the leader called for silence. The crowd turned their chairs expectantly as Gregorio walked on to the small platform and addressed the microphone. The restaurant had acquired a charming new singer, he said, and appealed to the audience to welcome this talented young lady. A moment later Carla came forward. ‘Signorina Carlotta Marchetti,’ announced Gregorio, and led the welcoming applause.

  ‘Hm, this is a new venture,’ remarked Kent softly. ‘So this is why she dragged us all here.’

  ‘My cousin has a magnificent voice,’ put in Cristo indignantly.

  ‘Yes, but what will her mother, the Signora, say?’ queried Althea in an apprehensive whisper.

  Carla sang well, choosing several well-known songs, including the famous ‘Ritomo a Sorrento’ and finishing with a couple of gay Neapolitan songs in which she invited the audience to join in the chorus.

  Althea, in spite of her qualms about the consequences of this crazy departure, had to admit that the girl not only had a very pleasing voice, but poise, too. In her apricot dress contrasting so well with her shoulder-length black hair and faintly tanned skin, she projected herself and her personality. The audience warmed to her and at the end gave her a tremendous and enthusiastic ovation.

  Carla, flushed with triumph, eventually rejoined her companions and waited for their congratulations, but only Cristo complimented her.

  Kent said, ‘So this is your debut?’

  Carla agreed. ‘Who knows? Someone might hear me sing here and discover me.’

  ‘How did you meet this man Gregorio?’ asked Althea.

  ‘Oh, he comes sometimes to Professor Scarpelli’s house and listens while we sing. Then, if he is interested, he will offer the engagement. He is in touch with many cafes and cabarets here and in Rome and other places.’

  ‘An inexpensive way of acquiring young talented people,’ said Kent. ‘What did he pay you? Five pounds?’

  ‘Oh, we have not discussed the money yet,’ Carla’s tone held disdain that so sordid a subject as money should enter the blissful situation. ‘But he has promised that after tonight I shall earn much money. Money entirely of my own!’

  ‘But what d’you think your mother is going to say?’ Althea asked.

  ‘Mamma? Oh, she will be persuaded that there is no harm in it. She will understand,’ replied Carla comfortably.

  ‘I doubt it,’ snapped Althea. ‘She was not very willing to allow you to come to Naples for the lessons. When she finds out that ‘

  ‘Oh, but please, Althea—and you, Kent, no one must tell Mamma. You must swear that you will keep silent. Also Cristo, although naturally you would not betray me, your cousin.’

  Evidently it was understood that such secrets were kept between relatives of the family, thought Althea, although she would scarcely have trusted Cristo if he could turn a situation to his own advantage.

  ‘What does Cristo think about it?’ Althea asked.

  He leaned back in his chair, held his wineglass at arm’s length. ‘Young people are more modern now. We’re not so caged in as our mothers were. Why shouldn’t Carla sing where she wants to?’

  ‘Why indeed?’ echoed Kent. ‘Why shouldn’t she ruin her voice so that when she’s twenty-five all that she’ll be fit for is croaking in some smoke-filled night-club?’

  Althea glanced at him in surprise. So he really cared about Carla and her voice!

  ‘Do not be angry with me,’ pleaded Carla softly. ‘You do not know how important Gregorio is. He’s a great impresario.’

  ‘Of course he told you so himself!’ was Kent’s sardonic comment.

  ‘Does your professor know that he offers engagements to the pupils?’ asked Althea.

  ‘But naturally,’ replied Carla. ‘Gregorio is a friend.’

  ‘So even the professor is probably not above pocketing a handsome commission on these transactions,’ put in Kent angrily. ‘Really, if I’d known about these shady dealings, I’d have thought twice about encouraging you to come over here for lessons. You should have stuck to your visiting teacher, Carla.’

  ‘Oh, you are both against me,’ she complained, her face drooping. ‘I have to learn to sing to many people, not just stand by a piano. When I do that, you say it is wrong.’

  ‘Opera-house audiences and people eating and drinking at an open-air cafe are quite different types,’ said Kent.

  Carla began to smile. ‘I think you are becoming quite jealous, Kent. You don’t like me to be noticed by someone important like Gregorio.’

  ‘I don’t like it when someone exploits you, Carla,’ he declared.

  ‘What is the word? “Exploit”—what does it mean?’

  ‘Making money out of you because you’re ambitious,’ he told her.

  Althea noticed that he did not refute the suggestion that personal jealousy might enter into the present situation.

  ‘Now you have spoilt my evening,’ Carla protested. ‘But you will promise not to tell Mamma yet? Later on, perhaps, when I’m a success, she will not mind.’

  ‘I don’t know that I’m going to encourage you in this escapade.’ His face was dark with anger.

  Carla turned to Althea. ‘But you will swear not to tell, won’t you?’

  Althea hesitated. Then she said, ‘Well, I suppose it’s not really my business. I’ve no authority to tell you what you should or shouldn’t do.’

  ‘Of course,’ agreed Carla. ‘So you will swear?’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Althea. She promised because she guessed that Carla would find it very difficult to maintain the deception for long. Sooner, rather than later, her mother would become suspicious about dinners in Naples, and demand an explanation.

  On the late-night launch run specially for home-goers to Capri, Althea was pleased to find
Brian Telford, who had spent the evening in Naples.

  She introduced him to the others in her party. Carla’s comment was, ‘So you are the artist? Oh, I’ve heard much about you.’

  Kent gave the young man a sharply appraising glance and merely grunted an acknowledgment, while Cristo sighed heavily and grumbled, ‘Another Englishman! All Italy is full of the English.’

  Whatever their relations, Althea was grateful for Brian’s unexpected appearance, for it meant that Cristo could not monopolise her during the sea crossing. While Carla and Cristo chatted in their own language, and Althea sat with Brian, it was Kent who isolated himself and stood in the stern of the launch.

  At the Marina Grande Brian was invited to share the taxi to take the five up to Anacapri, although he protested that he didn’t want to make a nuisance of himself.

  When the two girls and Cristo alighted at the gates of the Villa Stefano, Althea wondered what Kent and Brian would find to say to each other on the remaining part of the journey. Kent had been strangely silent, even surly, since Carla’s debut at the restaurant.

  As Carla and Althea approached the main entrance of the villa accompanied by Cristo, Carla squeezed Althea’s arm and whispered delightedly, ‘I am very happy. I have made Kent jealous. I told you I would learn from you.’

  Before Althea could reply, Cristo said, ‘I wonder if I could interest that man Gregorio in a new car. Is he well off, Carla?’

  ‘Very rich,’ answered Carla. ‘He does not have to buy an old ruin of a villa and rebuild it himself with his own hands. He told me he has a lovely house near Rome and also a villa on Ischia.’

  Althea smiled in the darkness. ‘Goodnight,’ she called to both the others, and walked towards the ‘gingerbread house’.

  The evening had provided her with a tremendous amount to ponder on, most of all, Kent’s curious displeasure over Carla’s appearance as a cafe singer. She wondered now if Kent really loved Carla, but was hesitant about declaring his affection, partly because her mother was still fairly antagonistic, partly, perhaps, because Carla was so young and he was reluctant to force a decision on her too soon. Or was his resentment caused purely on account of the girl taking an ill-chosen opportunity to appear in public at an immature state of her training?

  Carla had boasted that one day she would sing in Kent’s operas. Althea wondered if, for one reason or another, he shared those ambitious hopes.

  In any case she had found the events of the evening unsettling, but was too tired to analyse the real reasons. Matters would have to sort themselves out tomorrow or some other time.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Althea gave her father a brief account of the cafe episode. ‘Carla has sworn us all to silence, so you’d better know something about it and then button up your mouth,’ she warned him.

  Lawrence laughed quietly. ‘I doubt if she’ll be able to pull wool over Emilia’s eyes like that for long.’

  ‘Her mother’s going to be furious when she finds out. Even apart from that, Kent thinks apparently that Carla may damage her voice. I suppose he means by singing in the open air, although personally I shouldn’t have thought that would have any effect.’

  ‘I think it’s unlikely that Carla will ever be in the position where she has to depend on her operatic voice for a living,’ was her father’s sage comment.

  On the following Sunday, Carla boldly asked Lawrence if he would escort her to Naples for the evening. ‘Cristo is not here this week-end, you see.’ She turned towards Althea. ‘You may also come if you wish,’ she added graciously.

  ‘Oh, thank you,’ returned Althea with a smile of mock gratitude.

  ‘Perhaps your mother would also accompany us?’ Lawrence suggested.

  ‘Oh no, indeed!’ exclaimed Carla hastily, and her face betrayed a comic display. ‘She would not care to do so. Besides, she has a headache.’

  ‘Then I’d better stay at home and keep her company.’ Lawrence gave Carla a kindly smile, but Althea knew that he was playing cat-and-mouse with the girl, while appearing innocent of the real object of the Naples trip.

  ‘Oh, Mamma likes to be alone when she has a headache,’ declared Carla.

  He agreed without further argument, but the plan almost became unhinged when he spoke to Emilia of Carla’s intention to show him one or two of the sights in Naples.

  ‘The Castelnuovo and perhaps the Capodimonte Park,’ he explained. We shall take the afternoon boat and then stay for dinner.’

  ‘Perhaps I will come with you,’ said Emilia, with a vivacity that belied the imaginary headache.

  Consternation kept Althea silent, but her father seemed to agree to the inevitable. Perhaps he thought he could spirit Emilia away for that critical half-hour of Carla’s singing at the cafe.

  ‘As you wish, Emilia,’ he said quietly.

  It was Carla who deflected this imminent danger. ‘Oh no, Mamma, not this time. You will become tired with the afternoon and you will say to Lorenzo that you must rest in the shade. So he will stay with you and never see the beauties of Naples.’

  Although it was all in a bad cause, Althea admired the girl’s quick wit.

  Her mother pouted a little and shrugged. ‘Then, of course, I will not accompany you, but you must not persuade Lorenzo to be too athletic. He also would be better to rest here with me in the shade.’

  ‘The steamer trip is not good for you, Mamma,’ Carla warned her, adding those extra touches of discouragement which might put the entire project in peril.

  The trio managed to escape by the afternoon boat, and none of them was solicitous enough to hope that Signora Emilia’s ‘headache’ would soon be better. On the steamer, Carla was in high spirits and Althea suggested she ought to relax before the evening.

  ‘Oh, I shall calm down soon, but you, Lorenzo, nearly made a terrible mistake.’

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘Most of our museums and historic places are open only in the mornings and my mother would soon have known that we were not serious in our sightseeing.’ Carla laughed delightedly. ‘But you were most wise. You mentioned those places which are open.’

  ‘That was lucky.’ Althea joined in the laughter, yet she was apprehensive about these contrived excursions. It was like living on the top of Mount Vesuvius; the eruption could come at any moment without warning.

  In fact the tumult broke out the next day. One moment all was calm, with Althea strolling through the villa garden sympathising with the gardeners about the damage done during the night to the orange and lemon trees, the peaches and figs. The sirocco, the fierce south wind from Africa, had stripped many of the immature fruits and the grass below was littered with windfalls. The sirocco was still blowing hard now, but her father was in a sheltered, sunny corner, when Emilia bore down on him like a human sirocco herself.

  At the sound of her angry voice, Althea hurried towards her father.

  ‘You make the tricks on me!’ Emilia accused him. ‘You say you are going to Naples for the sights and then you sit and watch my daughter singing in a low place!’

  ‘Oh no, Emilia,’ he protested. ‘The place is most respectable.’

  ‘But it is my daughter who will not be respectable!’ Emilia declared angrily. ‘Perhaps you do not care if your daughter sings in the streets or anywhere, but Carla comes of good family, my own and my husband’s. She must always be protected, and I will not allow her to show herself in these public cafes!’

  ‘But, Emilia, there seems to be little harm done.’ Lawrence spoke mildly. ‘Young girls want to spread their wings a little.’

  ‘My Carla will spread her wings and fly off with some evil man if I am not careful,’ snapped Emilia. But to continue the outburst in a foreign language was now too much for her and she reverted to her own, roundly abusing Lawrence for his part in the deception, turning on Althea with a torrent of phrases which the girl could not completely grasp, but which left no doubt as to their censure.

  Then it was Kent’s turn to come in for much of the
blame. But for him, Carla would have continued happily taking singing lessons from the professor who visited Capri. He had insisted on lessons in Naples from a professor of no doubt shady reputation and had led Carla completely astray.

  In English Emilia addressed Althea. ‘That man is a bad one. Indeed, I saw that was so from the beginning, when he was here last year. He is a danger, especially to girls like my Carla. So you can please tell him that he is not to visit my villa at any time in the future.’

  ‘Oh come, Emilia I’ broke in Lawrence. ‘That’s surely a little hard. Why blame Kent?’

  ‘I know who to blame,’ insisted Emilia. ‘I put the blame where it belongs.’

  By now Carla had abandoned her singing practice and come out to the garden to discover the cause of these angry voices. In less than two minutes she was probably regretting that she had not kept out of the way for a little longer.

  Althea had once heard or read that Italian was the best language in which to make love. On today’s showing it was certainly an excellent medium for a battle of tongues! On both sides the words poured out. Carla defending herself from her mother’s recriminations, but Signora Emilia suddenly remembered her lost dignity. She ordered her daughter to the villa, promising to finish what she had to say in more privacy.

  ‘And you, Lorenzo,’ she said, turning towards him, ‘we must talk together later.’

  Althea watched the plump figure of Emilia disappear into the house, exchanged a glance with her father and motioned to the two gardeners who stood leaning on their rakes, enjoying the spectacle, to resume their work.

  ‘I wonder who told her,’ mused Lawrence. ‘Certainly not I.’

  ‘Nor I,’ added Althea.