Island of Mermaids

by Iris Danbury

  For an hour or so there was a winding-up party at the villa, with Carla acting as a most efficient hostess. When she was asked to sing, she complied in a natural way, although asking for indulgence because she had eaten so much during the day.

  ‘And the champagne too, don’t forget!’ someone teased her.

  Her young voice floated out of the open windows of the salon, and Althea felt a lump of rising tears in her throat. Eventually Brian and the others left to go home and those who were staying in the house shuffled off to their rooms. Carla still had enough energy to see that the guests were properly looked after, that Aunt Catalina had her bedtime drink of hot chocolate, Enrico his mineral water and someone else half a dozen illustrated magazines.

  Althea sighed when everyone had gone. ‘Me, I’m dead to the world. But it was a lovely day to remember, wasn’t it, Carla?’

  Carla wound both arms round her own shoulders and hugged herself ecstatically. ‘Oh, marvellous day! No day could be so happy for me.’ She kissed Althea goodnight.

  Although there had been so much to enjoy, Althea was aware of the clouds on her own horizon, but she was too tired to analyse whether it was entirely her own fault that some parts of the day had gone wrong.

  Instead of going outside into the garden and along to the ‘gingerbread house’ as usual, she walked along the narrow corridor which led from the main part of the villa to the annexe. She switched on the light in the sitting-room and then gasped with terrified surprise.

  ‘Cristo!’ she exclaimed sharply. ‘What are you doing here?’

  He shrugged his elegant shoulders. ‘Cara mia, I have spent all my day trying to see you, to have a few words alone with you. Every time, there was some Englishman at your side, pushing me out of the way. First, it was that musician, as he believes he is. Then your new friend, the artist in the village. So I had to come here and wait for you.’

  ‘But, Cristo, it’s late. It’s nearly two in the morning. You know you can’t stay here.’

  He smiled, but his eyes glittered unpleasantly. ‘Why not? You would not be so cruel as to turn me out?’

  ‘Certainly I shall turn you out,’ she told him angrily. ‘That means now.’

  ‘If it were the Englishman, Kent, you would not be so quick. You would ask him to stay with you a little while. Then you would sit down and lean your head on his shoulder.’

  He had grabbed her around the waist, thrust her down on to the settee and pulled her towards him in a close embrace. His kisses were distasteful and she quickly freed herself.

  ‘Cristo!’ she said coldly. ‘I’m willing to overlook this because it’s after a wedding and lots of champagne and excitement and so on, but you really must go this minute. You wouldn’t have dared to come here like this if my father were here.’

  ‘D’you take me for a fool?’ he asked indignantly. ‘What would be the use of that?’

  She was becoming desperate. Tor the last time, will you please go?’

  ‘Last time?’ he repeated. ‘You mean then you will let me stay if I don’t go now?’

  ‘Of course not.’ Impatience sharpened her voice. ‘If you don’t go, I shall go back into the villa and ask someone to throw you out.’

  He laughed nastily. ‘You will not do that. I shall say that you invited me to come here.’

  Knowing Cristo by now, she had no doubt that he would say anything that suited his purpose. She saw, too, that it might not look well if he were seen by anyone else in the house coming from the corridor that connected the annexe.

  ‘You’d better go out of the front door,’ she suggested. ‘Then it will look as though you’ve merely been walking in the garden.’

  ‘I don’t want to walk in the garden. I want to stay here with you,’ he muttered, maudlin now, and slouched on the settee.

  She yanked him up by the arm and marched him towards the hall, opening the outer door and thrust him through it.

  ‘Goodnight, Cristo!’ she said decisively.

  ‘Kiss me goodnight, Althea.’

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, go! You’ve been here long enough.’ She gave him a further push that sent him stumbling along the paved path. She watched him for a moment or two in case he fell; there was enough moonlight for him to see his way. Then she turned to enter her front door and caught sight of the glowing red tip of a cigar. Before she could cry out or ask who was there, the dark shadow moved towards her into the glare of the moonlight and when she saw the figure was Kent her blood froze.

  She wanted to dash inside and slam the door, but the expression on his face held her there, bereft of will-power to move.

  He stood there looking at her and she began, ‘Cristo came—’ in a voice that was no more than a croak.

  ‘Oh yes, I saw Cristo. There was no mistaking him,’ he mocked. ‘Perhaps I’m glad I saw him.’

  ‘He was here when I came back from the house,’ she said defensively.

  He tipped the ash off his cigar, and the tiny action seemed to put her on the same contemptuous level. ‘You don’t have to justify to me whom you choose to entertain in your apartment.’

  His tone cut like a whiplash and she was goaded to fight back. ‘No, I suppose it’s no concern of yours. Then why were you spying? I’m just as much aware as you are that it’s past two o’clock.’

  SI think you’re entitled to know that. I guessed that the tail-end of the party would go on for quite a while when Carla and the others arrived. Italians are reluctant to cut such things short. So when I arrived back at Anacapri I came to the villa.’ He paused for a moment and looked away at the shadowed garden. ‘I came to see you, Althea,’ he continued in a softer tone. ‘You’d been giving me the cold shoulder all day, you deliberately tucked yourself into Brian’s pocket, and I wanted to see just where I stood. Thanks to a—lucky accident, I know now.’

  ‘You call it a “lucky accident” to be standing outside my annexe?’

  ‘Actually your house-party had broken up rather earlier than I thought it would. The villa was in darkness.’

  Her attention clung to those words of his ‘I wanted to see just where I stood.’ So her coolness at the wedding and afterwards on Vesuvius had needled him. How much had he really been concerned? Was it mere wounded vanity because one girl was not ever ready to dance to his time? Or could it be that something deeper was at stake?

  When she was silent he went on, ‘You must admit that having called at the villa, this was my usual route home. The last thing I intended was to spy on you—you must believe that. I’d no reason to imagine that anyone was with you in your father’s absence.’

  He made the fact that this was the first night her father had been away sound extremely discreditable.

  ‘A few minutes earlier or later and I would have been unaware of your visitor, but your voice when you opened the door made me stop. Perhaps for that moment or two when you said goodnight to Cristo, I could be said to be a deliberate witness. I stood under the trees.’

  ‘You could have slunk away without my seeing you,’ she accused him in a low, angry voice. ‘That might have been better for both of us.’

  ‘I agree. The impulse to talk to you was stronger than my common sense. My chief regret is that you chose Cristo. Possibly I could have put up with Brian, but Cristo—’

  ‘I’ve told you why he was here. He means nothing to me.’

  He laughed softly. ‘Don’t deceive yourself, Althea. You’ve a right to select the man you want, but why be so dishonest about it? Pretending always that you couldn’t stand the sight of him. You even foxed your father there. He believes that you think Cristo a pest.’

  Now she faced him decisively. ‘If you’re determined not to believe a word I say, there’s nothing more. Goodnight, Kent.’

  ‘Goodbye, Althea,’ he returned. He swung round and was lost in the shadows that led to the path towards his home.

  Althea stood for a few moments, holding the door frame. What had she lost today, yesterday to be precise, by behaving in suc
h an adolescent fashion? Even then, her own foolishness would not have damaged her but for Cristo’s intrusion and her ill-timed ejection of him.

  She shut the door quietly, hoping that no one in the rest of the house had heard any of this conversation in the garden, but the annexe was some distance from the other rooms. She moved automatically, straightening the cushions in the sitting-room, then walked into her bedroom like a dazed creature uncertain of direction.

  She was still wearing the dress of the outfit that had delighted her so much. She unzipped the back and stepped out of the lovely silken folds. She felt that she would never want to wear the dress again.

  Lying on her bed, wide awake, yet weary with so many mixed emotions, she tried to piece together those various clues to Kent’s intentions, if that was the right word. Call it the general drift then. If only she knew the question he had been going to ask her that night in the piazza when Brian and his friend had interrupted. All right then, she told her tortured self, supposing he was going to ask me to marry him, what then?

  She knew that despite any consideration of pride, she’d have said ‘yes’ straightaway.

  But assuming that the question was something entirely mundane, she was left with only the phrase—’I wanted to see just where I stood.’ Was that enough on which to base hopes of a love that would remain steadfast through much greater tribulation than anything that happened tonight?

  Now on his way to his own villa, Kent was no doubt congratulating himself on some kind of lucky escape from an entanglement that threatened his peace of mind. Why could not she also view these same incidents in the light of an escape?

  How could she ever be sure that out of all the girls he had known she, Althea Buckland, would be the one to share his life to the full? She now came to the conclusion that she had been extremely arrogant and vain in ever believing in such a dream. Kent was piqued by those he assumed to be rivals; the experience was one that did not often come his way, so perhaps he was unable to gauge when his rivals were merely sawdust.

  It was opportune that their ways would part, Kent to his business concerns in England, she to the preparation of her father’s shop. By the time he returned to Capri next summer, she would be involved in other matters; she might not even be here, but permanently in England conducting her father’s interests at that end. She knew now that her future did not lie with Kent and for that she ought to be grateful to the incidents of the last hour or so. Perversely she could summon no gratitude, only an intolerable ache because her vague but cherished dream had been shattered to dust.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  How long Kent was staying at his villa Althea did not know. She hoped with all her heart that the flying trip he had spoken of for her father’s wedding would be extremely brief. She could not bear to see him again until last night’s events had receded and she could see the situation in perspective.

  Some of Emilia’s family and friends including Cristo were leaving today, but others were staying on until the return of Lawrence and Emilia.

  Not long before dinner Althea passed along the terrace of the Villa Stefano close to the salon windows. Carla was singing but someone else was playing the accompaniment. Kent’s voice came unmistakably, scolding or giving instructions to Carla. Of all songs, he was teaching her ‘Dashing away with the smoothing iron.’

  ‘Try again,’ his voice floated out while Althea stood still only a few yards away. “ ’Twas on a Monday mo-orning, when I beheld my da-arling...” ’

  Carla’s voice dutifully followed until he broke off to say, ‘Smoothing iron, not smooting iron.’

  Carla laughed and giggled and his deeper note joined in. Althea moved away, for she would rather go a long route round than pass that window, but the phrase ‘She stole my heart away’ pursued her across the garden.

  Of course, she thought bitterly and with undisguised envy, there was always Carla. Carla was never tired of his company, would always be amused. It was probable that until Kent actually married someone else she would never convince herself that she would not be his wife. Again, that vague query insinuated into her thoughts—unless he were already married?

  Afraid that Kent might be staying to dinner, Althea went to Domenico’s cafe in the village. She was halfway through a meal when Brian joined her. He sat down with an outsize sigh.

  ‘Tired?’ she asked.

  ‘Exhausted,’ he returned. ‘These Italian weddings take too much out of me, I’m afraid. I’m not the young man I was. I can’t stand the pace.’

  She laughed mockingly. ‘Anyone would think you were ninety!’

  ‘I felt ninety-five today. D’you know I went clean off to sleep in the middle of the studio today. Dimly, I felt someone shaking my arm and a voice saying, “A real fine lad to leave in the shop.” I woke up with a start to find a large American face glaring at me. “Where’s the artist himself?” ’ Brian grimaced when Althea asked, ‘Did you tell him?’

  ‘Not likely. I apologised, bustled around showing the man pictures and said I hoped he wouldn’t tell my employer that he found me asleep.’

  ‘Did he buy anything?’

  ‘A little one of the Faraglioni rocks, not one of my best views, I think, but he says he’ll come back tomorrow and have a good nose round and see if there’s anything else he fancies.’

  ‘You’d better not be asleep a second time, then,’ she warned him. ‘Supposing he asks to see the boss?’

  Brian grinned. ‘I’ll have to tell him that the boss is out painting the Blue Grotto!’

  Althea found it relaxing to sit with Brian and talk of general topics that did not tax the emotions. Then, because they spoke of her father’s wedding, the guests and the little incidents that amused them, Brian became suddenly quiet.

  ‘I was glad you invited me, Althea, but I probably shouldn’t have gone. Weddings always make me miserable.’ She remained silent, not even asking a trivial ‘Why?’, for she knew that either he would give her his confidences or airily change the subject.

  ‘My marriage has crashed,’ he said after a long pause. ‘We were too young, too immature, I suppose, but we were so frantically in love. Even our parents hadn’t the heart to put obstacles in the way, although my mother tried to persuade me to wait a while.’

  ‘You were happy, though?’ she queried when he paused.

  ‘For quite a time. Two years, in fact. Then Margot found our life boring. I was teaching part-time at the local art school and painted in the holidays and any spare time I could manage. We hadn’t enough money to entertain much. We lived in a not very smart flat in an old house which had an attic. That was useful as a studio, but Margot often complained that I spent all my time up there. She wanted pretty clothes and the opportunities to wear them.’

  It was on the tip of Althea’s tongue to ask why this bored girl didn’t get herself a job, but Brian continued, ‘She hadn’t been trained for any kind of job. When she left school I think she’d had some vague idea of modelling or something in the fashion world, but that came to nothing when we met and started going about together. She was only nineteen when we were married.’

  Althea sighed, thinking of so many young people who rushed into marriage before they were ready for it.

  ‘It’s a mistake for a girl not to have been trained for a job to occupy her,’ was all she said sympathetically.

  ‘Then of course I suppose it was inevitable,’ Brian went on,’ Margot found other men to take her out and about when I couldn’t. She was quite honest about it, nothing underhand, but that didn’t make me any happier. In fact, I began to spend less time at my painting and more with Margot but the future looked bleaker than ever. I could see myself being tied to the treadmill of teaching more and more just to make a living and keep out of debt and never having time or opportunity to develop as a painter. Margot became involved with a smart set, parties, expensive holidays and all that and I just couldn’t keep up.’ Brian sighed. ‘So we had one good explosive row and said we’d call it a day. For a tim
e she went back to her parents and I gave up the flat and shared a small place with a pal.’

  ‘And what of the future?’ Althea asked.

  He half smiled helplessly. ‘I don’t know. We’ve never talked about divorce. We’re not even legally separated. Margot has a small flat in a better class neighbourhood and I pay the rent and give her a small allowance. We don’t write, but indirectly I heard that she had taken up fashion-drawing and was doing quite well.’

  Althea experienced a touch of exasperation. Why couldn’t the wretched Margot have used her talents to occupy herself sooner?

  ‘If the time comes when she wants her freedom, if she meets someone else she wants to marry,’ Brian shrugged as he spoke, ‘I’ll have to agree, but I’ve never wanted that to happen. I still love her very much.’

  ‘Then why d’you put yourself at such an enormous distance from her?’ she asked.

  ‘A thousand or so miles doesn’t make any difference. We’re no farther apart than when we were living in the same flat. If she ever wants me back, it’s only a matter of a plane journey, a few hours, that’s all.’

  Althea smiled at him across the table. ‘Then I hope that one day you’ll be taking that plane home.’

  Brian nodded. ‘Let’s talk about something more cheerful.’ He signalled to Domenico, the cafe owner, who was passing. ‘Bring us some more wine, Domenico, please.’

  ‘Si, signore.’

  ‘Sorry, Althea. I didn’t mean to bore you with all my troubles,’ Brian apologised.

  ‘I wasn’t bored. I’m very sympathetic.’

  With another man, she might have assumed that Brian had given her his confidence in order to warn her off any possible romantic notions, but Brian was too honest to have such motives.