by Iris Danbury
The first of the floats was approaching and now she gave the present moment her undivided attention. Headed by the band from Naples, there came a succession of handsomely-decorated floats and tableaux. Every aspect of Capri’s culture seemed to be represented; the fishermen with their nets, the vineyards with men balancing huge baskets of grapes on their shoulders. There were the tourists, gently mocked by being hung about with cameras, or sunbathing in brief bikinis. A collection of sea-horses represented Marina Piccola, two pseudo-Greek maidens blowing gilded pipes for the Grotto di Matromania. A Roman slave held an amphora high in the act of pouring imaginary water over his master and someone swung his telescope in all directions, peering for alleged enemies as he stood on the top of a small castle.
Then came the most important float, Tiberius seated indolently on his couch, while slaves proffered food and wine, and young boys danced around him to amuse and entertain him.
‘They tell dreadful tales of old Tiberius,’ said Althea, ‘but I’m sure half of them aren’t true. Throwing his boy slaves over the cliffs when he tired of them or they offended him.’
‘Legends are usually concerned with wicked men,’ returned Brian with a laugh. ‘Saints are all right in their niche, but not quite so interesting.’
Tiberius was followed now by a cargo of mermaids gathered around a rock and beckoning to a boatful of sailors following behind them. The sight of the mermaids caused Althea a sharp pang of memory. She could not help wondering what would pass through Kent’s mind when he saw them combing their long hair, gazing in their mirrors and crooning their mournful music.
Later in the evening when the processions had all dispersed there was dancing in the piazza and then when darkness fell, thousands of lire worth of rockets and stars, showers of coloured fire and fountains of flowers exploded into the sky and over the darkened blue sea.
In due course Althea and the rest of the party arrived in Anacapri and still the dancing and music continued in the streets.
Tm for bed,’ said Brian. ‘I can’t stand the pace. These gay young things in their fifties and sixties make me feel an old man. See you tomorrow, Althea, if I can survive the night and its din.’
Next day there were more processions, dancing and bands, as well as a regatta with decorated boats and, late in the evening when it was dark, a mock battle with realistic flames and smoke and explosions.
‘I need at least four days’ rest to recover from two days’ carnival,’ Althea said to her father when the festivities were all over.
‘From what I saw of the wine-drinking abilities of some of the men, I think they’ll need a fortnight to sober up,’ he returned. ‘Well, now all the gaieties are over, we can concentrate on our winter’s work. When would you like to go to England?’
‘Any time you like,’ she agreed. ‘We’d better arrange a programme of sons, I suppose, so that I have appointments already fixed before I arrive.’
It took a week to fix arrangements and Althea made her preparations to fly from Naples. Her father had set up a fairly complicated work schedule for her; visits to buyers of silks, the fashion houses who had been her father’s customers, to whom she would take samples from Italy, for Lawrence believed he could still do a certain amount of selling in this way. Then Althea was to visit the mills for tweeds and woollens to export to Italy and possibly elsewhere.
‘I’m not anxious to do business particularly on the grand scale,’ Lawrence pointed out. ‘It’s the fashion houses I’m after. Then the rest follows if you can persuade the designers to use this or that cloth.’
‘Sometimes you do the pioneering, but other people make the big profits,’ she pointed out. ‘I saw this happen quite a few times in England.’
‘That doesn’t worry me. I make the initial profits.’ He cast a twinkling glance at his daughter. ‘Perhaps now that you’re my elegant representative, you’ll squeeze a commission out of the manufacturers on both sides.’
‘I shall certainly try,’ she answered.
Then there was the business of the Bucklands’ house. Althea had considered this matter in the light of her own future needs, as her father had suggested. He did not wish to sell if she might have a use for it as a home.
‘You’d get a good price for it now, Father,’ she told him. ‘I suggest selling. If I need a home in England, then no doubt I can have a small flat, now that you’re settled here permanently. Or, at least, I hope you’re permanently installed in Capri. Even if eventually I live in England, I shall want to make trips here and stay with you. Think what status it will give me. “Oh yes,” I shall say to my friends, “I’m off to Capri for a spell. My father has a villa there.” Oh, an enormous amount of prestige!’
Her father and Carla came down to the steamer to see her off, wish her bon voyage and give her last-minute injunctions.
‘Do not forget my Woodidges,’ Carla counselled. ‘Wedgwood!’ Althea corrected her, laughing. She had promised Carla some pieces of Wedgwood china on her return. ‘And you, Carla, behave respectably while I’m away, and no cafes chantants.’
Carla thrust her arm through Lawrence’s. ‘While I have Lorenzo to keep his eyes on me, I shall behave like a saint.’ Althea made a grimace at that, but it was time to follow her porter with the baggage.
As the ship left the shore she had an odd feeling that a link had been snapped, just as those paper streamers broke and fluttered in coloured fragments when liners left harbour on long voyages. She had made the trip to Naples numerous times, but never with this depressed sensation of closing a chapter. She was coming back to Capri, she told herself, in a short time, six weeks, two months, perhaps, but she knew without uncertainty that Capri would never be the same in the future. Here she had met and loved Kent; here, too, she had lost him, even though he had never been hers to lose. Now she knew the bitterness of having given her love unasked, for Kent’s affections obviously lay elsewhere with the girl Jennifer who wore the sparkling engagement ring.
She turned away from the view of the mainland and the Sorrento peninsula and walked along the deck. She stopped dead in her tracks, for only a yard away was Kent.
‘Good morning,’ he greeted her calmly. She noticed he was dressed in a dark business suit.
‘Good morning,’ she returned coldly. ‘I didn’t know you were travelling to Naples.’
‘Not forbidden, I hope, to be on the same steamer?’ His blue eyes mocked her.
‘Not at all. I thought you’d already left Capri some days ago—with your friends,’ she added.
‘Oh, they went back to Ischia some days earlier, but I’m going to London.’
‘London?’ she echoed, unaware that her face betrayed an expression of mixed surprise and distaste.
‘Yes, why not? I’ve dallied in Capri far too long. All my business matters are falling on top of me.’
She was quick to note that word ‘dallied’. Well, really he had not spent much time dallying with her. Carla had perhaps taken some of it, but where or with whom he had dallied the rest was entirely his own concern. She resented his easy assurance that in the absence of the girl she supposed was his fiancée, she, Althea, might while away a dull plane journey to London.
‘I take it you’ll be travelling on the morning plane?’ he queried, leaning on the taffrail, his nearness even now a challenge to her senses.
‘Yes.’ She wanted to add that if it were possible to change her flight, she would willingly do so.
‘How long d’you expect to stay in England?’
‘Quite indefinitely,’ she snapped. ‘I’ve no idea how long all the business matters for my father will take. I’ve a lot to occupy me.’
‘Sorry. I hope I haven’t taken your mind off these important matters. Personally, I never start concentrating on such worries until I’ve left Italy far behind. That’s the last I shall see of Vesuvius for quite a while.’ He pointed to the pale grey cone with its faint wisp of smoke. ‘So I’m storing it away in my memory.’
Vesuvius! she thought
. That was where she had elbowed him out of her companionship so blatantly, but she could never forget his harshness that same evening when he had believed her to be entertaining Cristo in the ‘gingerbread house’. Far from giving her any chance to explain, he had condemned her. She recollected his words, that he wanted to know where he stood. Had it been that particular incident which had made up his wavering mind between Althea on the one hand and this girl Jennifer on the other? What value then had his professed love? Possibly he would even make Jennifer as unhappy as Althea was now. There was no integrity in him.
When she turned to look at him he had disappeared. So much the better, she thought savagely. She hoped she would be able to keep out of his way for the rest of the journey.
On landing at Naples, however, he was at her side, beckoned to a taxi, made sure that she had all her baggage, then watched her drive away. Perhaps he thought he would be compromised if he shared a taxi with her! A faint smile crossed her face, but not because her thoughts gave her any pleasure.
She did not see him again at the airport until they were crossing the tarmac to board the plane. The seats were backward-facing and she chose one in the tail. Kent made no attempt to sit beside her. After a short delay, however, the pilot announced over the inter-com. that there would be a short delay owing to engine trouble and would passengers kindly return to the waiting lounge.
Althea collected her hand-luggage and obeyed instructions. Kent shrugged his shoulders and half-smiled.
‘Unfortunate delay,’ he muttered. ‘Can I get you a cup of coffee or something?’
Thank you,’ she replied. It would have been childish to refuse this simple request. Besides, he would have made something quite significant out of her churlishness.
When the plane was ready and the passengers climbed in, he sat next to her. ‘In case we have to get out a second time, I might be able to help.’ His words sounded cordial, but his tone was cold.
During the journey he even reinforced his indifferent attitude by concentrating on an architectural journal, leaving her to divide her time between her own magazine and gazing out of the window. She had not flown many times and there was always something interesting to see, unless the plane was flying in cloud.
Now and again she and Kent made polite conversation, and this was an aspect of this entirely ludicrous situation that perhaps Althea felt the more keenly. Not to have met him or else for them to ignore each other would have been bearable, but to talk like strangers at a dance left a sad, bitter taste in the mouth.
At Heathrow airport her customs clearance took a little extra time, as she had her various samples to declare, so she was a little surprised to find that Kent was still outside in the concourse.
‘No trouble with the Customs, I hope?’ he enquired.
‘None at all. Just the formality of the samples.’
His smile nearly broke her determination to keep everything on the most formal level. ‘You sound like a sales representative. One must never use the term “commercial traveller” nowadays, I understand.’
‘That’s just what I am, though,’ she replied steadily. ‘My father’s sales rep.’
‘Then I wish you success,’ he said. He handed her his business card. ‘My telephone number is on that. If you sweep the board and make colossal sales, I’ll celebrate with you.’
She smiled politely, ‘Thank you, Kent. I’ll let you know.’ In the taxi taking her home to her father’s house, she knew that she would never use that number for any purpose whatever. If she needed help, she had many friends ready and willing to come to her assistance. She had said her final goodbye to Kent. Even if she ever met him again in Capri at some future date, he wouldn’t be quite the same man, merely a neighbour at the Villa Castagna.
She was glad that he had not issued one of those false invitations on the lines of ‘We must meet and have dinner somewhere—some time.’ That would have been too patently insincere, even wounding, for their lives could never again converge towards a state of mutual contentment.
CHAPTER NINE
During the next month Althea found herself fully occupied. There was no time to dream over past failures and the crisp autumn air in England helped to blow away those distant hazy visions that a lazy summer in Capri had engendered.
The business transactions entrusted to her by her father were also a definite challenge. She had formerly worked in his office, taking an interest in all he did, of course, but never having the sole responsibility of buying or selling.
Introductions from her father secured her places at some of the fashion shows were the models displayed next summer’s designs. She found it more difficult than she had expected to interest some of the manufacturers of ready-to-wear clothes and respect for her father increased, for he had been most successful in this line.
At one show, however, a silver-haired man approached her.
‘That dress you’re wearing,’ he began, ‘forgive my rudeness, but did you buy that here in England?’
‘No. It’s one I had made for me in Italy. Capri, to be exact. Silk from Milan.’ Althea had taken the opportunity of having several dresses and outfits made by Barbarina in the village and today she was wearing a dress and jacket of aquamarine blue, flecked with yellow and green, with here and there a hint of indigo.
‘It’s an extraordinary range of colour,’ murmured the man who now gave her his card and introduced himself as the fabric buyer for an important firm of manufacturers. ‘Very subtle combination.’
The opening was one that Althea had been looking for. She lost no time in giving him details of what the various Italian suppliers could offer. ‘My father is most experienced in this particular branch of the trade.’ Then she told him of the plans for opening a shop in Capri.
‘For selling Italian silks?’ he queried. ‘Isn’t that coals to Newcastle?’
She smiled. ‘Not entirely. We also plan to import into Capri some of the more suitable tweeds and cloths. Why shouldn’t Italian women have the chance to wear the best tweeds in the world?’
She left the fashion salon with an invitation to dine with Mr. Sloane and his assistant that evening, when she would bring some of her samples to show them.
The evening seemed to go well, especially as Althea wore another of her outfits in Italian silk, this time a striking blend of chestnut brown and hot pink with swirls of lavender.
The two men wanted to know if the fabrics could be exclusive to their company.
‘For one season, yes,’ she promised. ‘That’s how my father usually works. After that, he expects the bulk orders.’
The men nodded agreement. At the end of the evening she had consented to give Mr. Sloane three days’ option on half a dozen of her best designs. He would take small samples, show them to his chief style designers and order promptly if he decided to buy. The prices, he said, were a little on the high side and perhaps better terms could be arranged.
She was prepared for this and her experience in previous years had given her an insight into the minds of men who always tried to drive a hard bargain.
‘Shall we discuss the terms when you have decided on the numbers you want?’ she asked smoothly.
The two men exchanged glances and smiled. ‘Miss Buckland, you have a considerable flair for business—as well as an excellent choice in dress fabrics,’ said Mr. Sloane.
The evening with Mr. Sloane and his assistant seemed to initiate a run of good luck for Althea, for during the following week, she booked a number of definite orders and some of the firms to whom her father had given her introductions, people to whom he had sold in previous years, suddenly decided to take lengths of yardage or whole pieces. She wrote to her father that she had met with some success and hoped to do even better in a week or two. ‘Some of your old friends in the trade,’ she wrote, ‘evidently don’t believe that I know anything about silk, but I’ve adopted your rather smart-alec method of putting the screw on them if they won’t take tip the options on the exclusives quickly enough.
I tell them that I have another buyer just waiting to snap them up and then flood the market with ready-to-wear outfits.’
She told him news about the house. ‘I’ve put it into the hands of three estate agents. One wanted sole rights, but I wouldn’t agree as the house will be unoccupied. I told him you needed a quick sale and never mind the reduced commission. No prospective buyers so far, but it’s too early to despair or drop the price. All the agents think you ought to get a substantial figure.’
Althea had made arrangements on a temporary basis with the daily woman who had formerly come to the house to clean and cook. Mrs. Harvard was very willing to accept.
‘I’ve missed you both,’ she told Althea, ‘but there, I expect you’ve both had such a lovely time that you didn’t miss London at all. I was surprised to hear your father had married again—and an Italian lady, too.’
‘She’s very charming,’ Althea broke in quickly. ‘Just right for him. She has one daughter who adores him, too.’
‘Will you be staying in London permanently, d’you think?’
‘Oh no,’ Althea answered. We have this shop to open in the spring and I shall have plenty to do.’
Usually by the time Althea arrived home from her various business appointments during the day Mrs. Harvard had gone home, leaving a meal ready, unless Althea was likely to be out. Except for business dinners, that did not happen very often. Althea thought it remarkable how even a comparatively short spell abroad deprived one of one’s place in the texture of neighbourhood life. She had telephoned a number of her friends, telling them that she was back for a month or so. They had been cordial enough, inviting her to a party or two or a dance, but she soon realised that she was a stranger. They rushed up to her, saying how marvellous it was to see her again and had she heard that Tom was engaged to Marilyn, John and Pamela were married, while someone else had broken off her engagement?