by Iris Danbury
‘There’ll be many others there instead,’ Althea reminded her. ‘But I thought Kent would be there. When he asked me about the date, I told him it was not yet fixed.’
Why had he gone so suddenly? Althea asked herself. She remembered his varying moods of yesterday, silent and conversational by turns. Had his decision been influenced by yesterday’s events? Supposing she had not called on him in the afternoon and then spent the rest of the day with him, would he have travelled back to England without a word to anyone except his own people who worked for him? She was at a complete loss to understand his action, but there was nothing to be gained by mourning his absence.
She managed to console Carla to some extent by emphasising that she had been treated exactly the same, but when she mentioned Kent’s disappearance to her father, he said casually, ‘Oh, yes. Urgent business affairs, he said. He went on the morning steamer to Naples.’
‘When did you see him? How did you know?’
‘His man Rinaldo brought me a note earlier this morning.’
‘You didn’t tell me,’ she said, more indignantly than she intended.
‘I couldn’t then. You’d gone off with Carla somewhere.’
‘Why on earth couldn’t he have said something last night?’ Althea grumbled.
‘Perhaps he hadn’t decided then,’ her father pointed out. ‘Or he received a cable in the middle of the night, packed his bags, paid his staff and fled!’ she said sarcastically.
Lawrence’s eyes twinkled with amusement. ‘Hadn’t you better ask yourself what you did to him yesterday that caused his sudden flight? After all, you were with him most of the afternoon and evening.’
‘I? Well, I can’t remember every single word we said, but we weren’t quarrelsome, and when we were at the piazza, Brian and a friend joined us and we all came home together.’ After a pause, she asked in a calm, controlled voice, ‘Has he gone for good? I mean he won’t return until next summer?’
‘Ah, now that I don’t know.’
‘But your wedding? He was invited.’
‘Well, he doesn’t have to attend that when he has important business matters to occupy him. He has a living to earn.’ Somehow she had expected her father to side with her and agree that Kent was rude, that he should have indicated to
Althea direct that he would have to leave Capri. Yet Lawrence was plainly defending Kent in every detail.
Perhaps, Althea thought, it was lucky that she and Carla had the forthcoming wedding to occupy their time. Yet even this happy festivity did not quite compensate for the aching emptiness caused by Kent’s absence. Then it occurred to her that perhaps his departure was not sudden or in a panic. He had deliberately avoided any kind of farewell scene. Now she became angry both with herself and him. What did he take her for? Did he really believe that she would throw her arms around his neck and tearfully beg him to return soon?
That might have happened with Carla, but not with Althea. Somehow this aspect of the situation comforted her and strengthened her resolve to forget Kent Sanderby or to remember him only as a pleasant, if unpredictable, companion on a few jaunts one summer when she had stayed with her father in Capri.
Even Cristo’s presence was more supportable, especially as he was returning to Rome next day.
During the next fortnight the Villa Stefano seethed with excitement. The telephone shrilled endlessly, there were visits to Naples for shopping, for the formalities connected with the wedding of an Englishman to an Italian woman.
Lawrence and Emilia had mutually agreed that the actual wedding ceremonies, the civil and the religious, should be quiet, as befitted a second marriage for each of them, but the reception would be at a hotel in Naples and a large number of guests had been invited.
The day before the wedding Lawrence and Emilia, with their respective daughters, stayed at the Naples hotel, so that they would have more leisure to prepare. Emilia, especially, was not fond of sea travel and had declared that she could not face a steamer trip and a wedding on the same day.
The four had a quiet little dinner-party in the evening followed by a game of cards, at which Emilia was delighted to beat her future husband.
‘It is a forecast—an omen,’ she said happily. ‘After tomorrow I shall always win.’
Lawrence pulled a mock mournful face. ‘I suppose you will. What have I let myself in for with three demanding women to pull me all ways at once?’
‘You’ll enjoy it, Father,’ said Althea, laughing.
Emilia dropped a light kiss on his cheek and Carla linked her arm in his.
When she was finally dressed next morning, Althea was well pleased with her appearance. Barbarina, the dressmaker, had made an excellent two-piece, simply cut and beautifully finished as befitted good quality material. The matching coat was lined with parchment moiré silk to give it substance and line, as well as contrast with the patterned silk. She had chosen a pale biscuit-straw hat with a large curving brim that made her eyes sparkle.
She went to Carla’s room to show herself off. ‘Am I presentable?’ she asked the girl.
Carla’s smile as she looked Althea up and down was satisfaction enough. ‘You look almost like a very smart bride yourself. And me?’
‘Wonderful. You’re dramatic without being too showy.’ When choosing hats, Carla had been tempted by a beautiful cartwheel of transparently woven straw in a deep rose-pink that picked up one of the colours in her outfit. But Althea had tactfully persuaded her to select instead a perky little confection of shell-pink tulle that contrasted so well with her dark cloudy hair. ‘This one does wonders for your eyes,’ Althea had commented.
Lawrence expressed his appreciation. ‘You look a charming pair,’ he said, as he eyed them up and down when they paraded for his benefit. ‘Oh, I can see that I shan’t have to put up with either of you for long. Handsome young men will come from miles around just to hold your hands.’
‘Holding our hands won’t get us off yours, my dear Pa,’ Althea told him. ‘The men will have to show more willing than that if you’re to be relieved of us both.’
As Carla did not quite grasp these allusions, Althea had to explain. Then Emilia entered the room, beautifully turned out in a deep sapphire-blue suit with a matching feather hat, which added a little to her height.
‘Mammal’ exclaimed Carla. ‘Never so smart—and so pretty.’ She gave her mother a delicate kiss and embrace.
‘You look beautiful, cara matrigna,’ said Althea softly. It was the first time she had used the Italian for ‘stepmother’ to Emilia; it was a word with a loving sound and Althea meant it.
She caught her father’s eye for a moment and when Emilia and Carla were moving towards the door, he said quietly to his daughter, ‘Thank you, Althea, for being so understanding.’
‘With Emilia it’s not difficult. Even if I didn’t like her, I’d still hope you’d be happy with her, but she’s not only charming but most practical.’
She smiled at him, realising that every father must feel qualms of trepidation when he marries again and that the slightest tinge of hostility on the part of a son or daughter is enough to crumble the foundations of his new marriage before it has even become established.
After the two brief ceremonies at which only the close relatives of Emilia were present, her brother and one of her sisters, the party drove to the hotel where dozens of guests already awaited them.
Lawrence and Emilia were given a tremendous welcome, then the guests settled to the real business of greeting each other, drinking champagne, nibbling food or ladling out bowls of fruit and ice-cream for themselves. Althea had been introduced to strings of people, some of whom she believed she had met at least once. All of them greeted her enthusiastically, then went off to join other acquaintances.
Now with a glass of champagne in her hand she stood on the fringe of the gesticulating, chattering crowd and wondered if her father realised what kind of gatherings he was plunging himself into or whether, as he had said about the family visi
ts, this was only an occasional high spot in a lifetime.
‘You are enjoying the wedding?’ A voice spoke in her ear and she did not need to turn to recognise Cristo at her side.
‘Thank you. Very much indeed,’ she said quickly as her gaze roamed about the room. She hoped to find someone she knew slightly, for she did not want to be saddled with Cristo.
‘You are not used to such noisy Italian weddings, perhaps?’ he was saying. ‘But we are all gay for a few hours. Tomorrow the men will be at their office desks or driving their cars along the autostradas. The ladies will be sitting soberly telephoning their friends or at the milliner’s trying on hats.’
‘You sound philosophical, but the same thing happens in England. Weddings are supposed to be gatherings where everyone can be happy for a few hours. Excuse me, Cristo, but I think I can see someone I know.’
‘Someone you know is also here.’ She turned sharply at the sound of Kent’s voice.
‘Kent! I didn’t know you were able to come.’ Since early this morning he had been foremost in her thoughts and when she arrived at the reception, she had looked about eagerly for him. She would not admit to herself the sharp disappointment that lowered her spirits when she saw no sign of him.
‘Cristo!’ Kent said crisply. ‘D’you think you might find a girl who’d be delighted to talk to you? Out of all this mob, there must be plenty.’
Cristo showed no signs of moving away. ‘I’d rather talk to Althea,’ he said stubbornly.
Althea almost admired him for his obstinate honesty.
‘In that case,’ snapped Kent, ‘please excuse us and we’ll find another corner of this crowded room.’
With his hand gripping her elbow, he guided her through the crush, picking up a couple of glasses of champagne on the way, until it was possible to stand near an open window.
‘Cristo has some of the qualities of a limpet,’ he said testily.
Althea schooled herself to a coolness she was far from feeling. ‘I’m glad you were able to come,’ she said politely. ‘My father would have been disappointed if your business affairs had prevented you.’
She was gazing out of the window, but she knew he was staring at her. ‘You look quite enchanting in that outfit,’ he said softly, and colour flooded into her face.
‘Thank you. My father supplied the material and the village dressmaker ran it up for me.’ She was determined to keep the conversation on a casual level. He should have no further chance of imagining that she was ready to fall into his arms at the drop of a hat or the hint of a compliment.
‘I don’t believe it. It all looks very Paris to me.’
Althea smiled under the concealing brim of her hat. ‘Oh, Barbarina, the dressmaker, once worked in a fashion house in Rome.’
‘I—look, Althea, I—there’s something I must explain.’
She looked up at him from under the hat. ‘Forgive me, but I can see my father signalling to me. He probably wants to be rescued from someone.’
Without giving time for Kent to make any reply, she threaded her way between knots of people and reached her father.
‘I saw you talking to Kent,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m glad he was able to make it after all. How long is he staying at Capri?’
‘I don’t know. I didn’t ask him.’
Her father gave her a curious glance. Then he turned to a man close beside him. ‘Allow me to present my daughter Althea.’
For a few moments the three chatted, half in Italian, half in English. Then came the speeches, all very short indeed, the good wishes, the cake-cutting. Lawrence and Emilia slipped away quietly, for they were off to Rome for a few days’ holiday.
There was dancing in an adjacent room, mostly for the younger members of the huge party. Some of the older ones were patently glad to subside on chairs and take the weight off their feet.
Althea danced with numerous partners, including Brian, who was delighted to be here. ‘How many possible customers you may have lost by shutting your shop today!’ she said to him as they danced.
‘No more than if I’d shut for a saint’s day,’ he replied. ‘Besides, I’ve met all kinds of people who might be interested in the future. You see, if you can sell to one person who lives here in Italy, he might buy more than one picture. Tourists will rarely buy more than one, and small at that. They have to think about getting the stuff home in their luggage.’
‘I’m glad to see that you’ve such a good eye for business. When my father opens his emporium we shall have to come to you for advice.’
She noticed out of the corner of her eye that Kent was lounging at the side of the room. Surely he could have found Carla to dance with him, but then a moment later she saw Carla, an ecstatic expression on her face, dancing with a young man called Ermanno. Whether he was yet another cousin or relative or merely a friend of a friend, Althea had no idea, but evidently Carla liked him.
Althea thought it diplomatic to dance at least once with Cristo. While she disliked his importunate attentions, there was no sense in making an enemy of him.
‘The Englishman again,’ muttered Cristo in Althea’s ear. ‘Always he has to come and interfere. He should remain in England out of the way.’
Althea laughed. ‘You’d better tell him that to his face.’
‘What is it you should tell me to my face?’ Kent calmly took Althea out of Cristo’s arms into his own. ‘No, on second thoughts, it can wait. Ciao.’
‘You seem to have a spite against Cristo,’ she remarked smoothly. Still, she was pleased that he had commandeered her for a partner, although she would not show any gratitude.
‘I thought you might prefer to be relieved from his company.’
She did not reply to that and for a few moments they danced in silence. Then the band paused for a breather and Kent, his arm still around Althea’s waist, planted a couple of kisses in quick succession on her cheek.
It was the first time he had kissed her and her heart gave a great leap, but now she wished he had not bestowed them on her. Not because it was a fairly public place, but because she was convinced that he meant them for no more than a couple of champagne kisses.
At other times in his company, she would have been ready to melt in his tender embraces, but today she hardened her attitude. Unreasonable it might be, but she would make it plain that she was not a girl to be picked up and set down at will. She had not so far pleaded to be part of his personal life, but at the same time she was not willing to fill in his idle, amorous moments whenever he chose to look her way.
Thus it was that when the reception was at last ended and some of the younger people suggested a trip up Mount Vesuvius, Althea chose Brian as her companion. On the way from Naples to Vesuvius in various cars, up in the chair-lift, at the bar at the top, Althea stayed close to the young artist. Once or twice she experienced a pang of remorse when she saw Kent in the company of some older guests. Even Carla was wholly occupied with her new companion, Ermanno.
I’m cutting off my nose to spite my face, Althea reflected, but pride forbade her either to make those easy advances that would have put her on the old casual footing with Kent, or to respond to his efforts to take up where he had left off. It was ridiculous, she told herself, that a small thing like omitting to let her know he was leaving Capri had made this wide gap between them. Something deeper niggled at her consciousness. If her coolness led to his going away from Capri and never seeing her again, then she would accept the position, but if she revealed to him that she was only too grateful for any morsel of affection he might toss in her direction, then she would have no shred of pride or self-respect left. More even than that, she would never know if he loved her or whether she was merely a convenient girl-friend in Capri whenever he put in an appearance there.
Brian insisted on buying her a necklace made of polished, fused volcanic rock. ‘A genuine piece of Mount Vesuvius itself,’ he said. It was an inexpensive trifle and she had no scruples in accepting it. All the same, she wished with all her
heart that the little stones around her neck had been Kent’s gift.
Up here at the top or from the slopes of this volcanic mountain came the sound of the old Neapolitan song, ‘Funiculi, Funicula’ sung in chorus or by a single lusty voice, sometimes faintly caught as an echo on the wind. Althea did not know the Italian words, but she could also join in the well-known time.
‘Don’t they know any other song?’ asked Brian of no one in particular. One of Carla’s cousins explained that the song really belonged to Vesuvius and no other place. Once there had been a funicular up the volcano to the crater, but it was destroyed in an eruption about thirty years ago, so it had been replaced by the present chair-lift.
‘And people sing “Funiculi” to remind them,’ said Althea.
‘It didn’t occur to me,’ mused Brian, ‘that there had been such a recent eruption.’
Althea shivered with apprehension. Suppose the volcano erupted now without warning, as it had nearly two thousand years ago when it covered Pompeii and Herculaneum with thirty-five feet of grey ash? Between them and the most recent occasion, Vesuvius must have flung its flame and debris into the air many times during the centuries, destroying what lay in its path. Who could tell when the mountain became restive?
It was a commonplace to say that you felt you were sitting on top of a volcano that might go up any minute. Now in truth Althea knew what it was like in reality. She was relieved when she was swinging down in the chair-lift.
Since some of Emilia’s family were staying at the Villa Stefano, the party was numerous enough to hire a small motor-boat to take them all back to Capri after the last steamer had left. Kent was not aboard, Althea noticed. Possibly he had gone earlier or he might stay later in Naples.