by Isobel Chace
“I won’t allow it!” she cried out. “You have no right—”
He eyed her with a haughty dislike that chilled her to the marrow.
“As your husband,” he reminded her brutally, “I have any rights that I choose to take!”
CHAPTER SIX
IT was every bit as bad as Ruth had feared it might be. From the instant that Mario had informed his aunt and Giulia that he was going to Naples, their sympathy had been poured out over her.
“I had never thought it of a nephew of mine!” Lucia snapped, her eye kindling. “I shall speak to his mother about it!”
Ruth was amused despite herself at the thought of Mario paying the faintest attention to any female in his life. “I—I’m worried about my sister,” she tried to explain.
Lucia’s eyes grew large with disbelief. “That one?”
“She is a trifle feckless,” Ruth admitted carefully, “but I did promise my parents that I would look after her—”
“And so you did!” Lucia reminded her with deliberate spite. “Would you be here now if it were not for her? No, of course not! If I had known that Mario would behave like this, that he would be so unfeeling, I should have helped you on to the first boat back to Naples myself!” She prowled angrily up and down the salotta, working herself into a fine fury.
“If I don’t mind,” Ruth said gently, “I don’t see why you should!”
The Signora looked at her shrewdly. “And I suppose you don’t mind so much as a flick of your fingers!” she sneered. “It is an insult! And so I shall tell him!”
Ruth sighed. It was ironic, she supposed, that she should feel obliged to defend Mario’s decision, but for some reason she did.
“Please don’t!” she said with a hint of authority. “Mario is going to Naples for me, not for Pearl, because I asked him to.”
The Signora gave her a look that managed to be both pained and pitying. “You are mad, of course!” she exclaimed, lifting her hands in a helpless gesture. “There can be no other explanation! Do you think a hair-do by Luigi and a pair of fine eyes will be enough to protect you from that one?”
Ruth’s eyes flashed. “Pearl is my sister,” she reminded the older woman.
“Huh!” the Signora retorted.
“Nor is it kind,” Ruth went on, warming to her theme, “to keep reminding me that I am so plain and uninteresting that no man would take a second look at me if there was any other—any other female around!”
“Female is the right word!” Lucia agreed harshly. She stopped walking up and down and laughed suddenly. “Chi si marita in fretta, stenta adagio! You are a fool!” she added.
Ruth’s Italian might not have been very good, but she recognised the proverb easily enough. Marry in haste, repent at leisure! Well, so she probably would, but she wasn’t going to lay bare her wounds for everyone’s inspection if she could help it!
“I may be a fool,” she said with dignity, “but I am not such a fool that I don’t know that Pearl tires of anything in time.”
“And you are prepared to wait?” Lucia shot at her.
Ruth lifted her chin. “I have to wait,” she answered.
The Signora was considerably shaken by this exchange. She fidgeted with the ornaments on the bookcase, her rather fine face flooded with the concern she was feeling.
“I was quite wrong to help to put you in this position!” she burst out at last. “I thought it was a fine thing for the family, not that my nephew would see fit to insult you on your wedding night!”
Ruth gave a chuckle. “Would it be better on any other night?” she asked innocently.
The Signora gaped at her. “You can laugh about it?” she demanded.
“Why not?” Ruth returned placidly.
Lucia could easily have struck her. Much excited, she wrung her hands together with increasing energy. “It is no laughing matter! I shall speak to Mario myself before he goes!”
“No,” Ruth said quickly. “No, please don’t do that!”
Lucia looked at her suspiciously. “Why not? I suppose you helped him pack his bag?”
Ruth blushed. She preferred not to think about the exchange she had with Mario while he had been finding a pair of pyjamas to put in the briefcase that was all he was taking with him. It had been she, she remembered, who had flung open the door between their two rooms, and it had been he who had closed it again with a gentle finality that had reduced her to tears.
“Not exactly,” she said.
“Then you do mind?” Lucia insisted.
Ruth rose to her feet. “I never said I didn’t,” she reminded the Italian woman quietly.
“Where are you going?” Lucia demanded, highly put out at the prospect of losing her audience.
Ruth smiled slowly. “To say goodbye to Mario!”
Lucia glared at her. Her eyes began to twinkle in response to the decidedly humorous look in Ruth’s. “What ever happened to your fine ideas of equality?” she sighed.
Ruth shrugged. “We’ll see,” she said. “I may have lost the battle, but the war is only just beginning!”
Lucia looked at her with a dawning respect. “I believe you mean it!” she gasped.
“Certainly I mean it,” Ruth assured her. “I may be plain, but nobody has ever accused me of being poor-spirited!”
She whisked out of the door before Lucia could think of any suitable retort, well pleased with herself for showing Signora Verdecchio that she was not the poor little dab of a thing that she thought her. But if her conversation with Mario’s aunt did wonders for her self-respect, her memory of what had passed between herself and Mario made her thoroughly miserable again.
There was nothing for it, though, she decided, but to put as good a face as possible on it and hope for the best when she said goodbye to him. She couldn’t prevent the hot colour flooding into her cheeks when she heard him coming down the stairs, but she forced herself to stand quite stall as she waited for him.
“I hope you will tell Pearl that the invitation to stay here comes from us both?” she said as calmly as she could.
Mario glanced at her, noting the courageous lift to her head and the fright in her eyes as if she were afraid he would slap her.
“Does it come from us both?” he countered.
She winced. “Yes,” she said violently.
His arms went round her and he held her close. “She has to come here, piccina,” he whispered. “I wouldn’t leave you otherwise!”
Ruth hoped that she wasn’t going to cry again. She thought she might if he kissed her, but he didn’t. He patted her cheek, his mind already on other things. “I’ll tell Pearl she’s welcome!” he said.
It wasn’t quite how she would have put it, Ruth thought wryly, but it was better than his leaving on the terrible note they had struck upstairs. Ruth wished she hadn’t argued with him at all! It had been bad enough in the car, when he had told her exactly what her future role as his wife would be. It had added up to a pretty dismal picture of a sterile relationship that would lead precisely nowhere. She was hardly at fault, she thought, if she had decided that it was not enough for her!
Only she hadn’t contented herself with telling him that if he had rights, it meant he had duties too! She had had to involve Pearl too, making him angry all over again.
“I have the right and the duty to protect my sister-in-law and to invite her to stay in my house!” he had shouted at her.
“But you can’t do that to me!” she had sobbed.
“Why not? She’s your sister! You shouldn’t have left her stranded in Naples,” he had told her.
“Nor should you have seduced her!”
He had laughed unkindly at that. “I didn’t seduce her—”
“No, but you would have done!” she had observed unwisely.
“I fancy that is my business!” he had retorted. “And perhaps hers,” he had added with a touch of amusement.
“But not mine?” she had asked him painfully.
“No,” he had said b
aldly, “not yours!”
“And I suppose it won’t be my business when you bring her here?” she had gone on, knowing by his face that she was treading on dangerous ground.
“I imagine that you don’t want me to answer that?” he had inquired coldly.
She had known that it was a mistake to say anything more, but she was too angry to care.
“You don’t have to!” she had challenged him.
He had stood in the open doorway and had looked at her. “Don’t try me too far,” he had advised her. “I haven’t previously believed in wife-beating, but you are fast converting me!”
“You wouldn’t dare!” she had gasped.
“Try me and see!” he had retorted coolly. And he had shut the door, effectively ending the argument.
Ruth hadn’t dared to open the door again. Instead, she had sat on the edge of her bed and had allowed the tears to stream unchecked down her cheeks. It had been all of half an hour before she had moved again and then she had come to a painful decision. She was Mario’s wife, not from his choice or from hers, and it was up to her to make the fact as pleasant for both of them as she could. And if that meant accepting Pearl in her husband’s house, then she would, and it was with this intention in mind that she had gone into the hall to bid Mario goodbye.
When Mario had gone, Ruth went back into the salotto to find Lucia. She felt weak and more than a little exhausted after the events of the day, but it was far too early yet to retire to her bed.
“Has Mario gone?” Lucia asked her, obviously trying to introduce a note of normality into the evening.
Ruth followed her lead with gratitude. “I think so.” She smiled at her aunt-by-marriage. “When will you have to go back to Tunis?
Lucia jumped. “I ought to be there now!” she wailed. “My husband will be going up in smoke! But today, how could I go? And tomorrow evening the village will hold a festa for you and Mario.” She looked down at her black dress with distaste. “I know I am in mourning and can’t dance, but I can’t bear to miss it! Roberto will understand.”
It was the first Ruth had heard about it, but, when she thought about it, she supposed that she might have known that the whole place would celebrate Mario’s wedding when they got to know about it.
“I suppose Mario knew all along!” she said sharply.
Lucia looked surprised. “But of course! Didn’t he mention it to you? He must have done!” She giggled to herself. “He knew better than to be away tomorrow night!” she said.
So that was why he had gone to Naples on their wedding night, Ruth thought. But why, oh, why hadn’t he told her?
Saro was already camped out on her bed when she went upstairs. He flapped his tail idly from one side to the other by way of greeting, sure of his own welcome.
“It’s a good thing Mario isn’t here to see you!” Ruth told him severely, but the small dog was unimpressed. He licked her fingers, scratched, and curled up for the night in a businesslike manner.
“Just as well!” Ruth reiterated.
But what she couldn’t understand was why the dog’s presence did nothing to dispel the immense feeling of loneliness that had engulfed her.
Giulia’s morose expression as she served the lunch was enough to try anyone’s patience. Lucia watched her with an increasing annoyance which she vainly tried to hide.
“Aren’t you looking forward to the festa?” she asked her at last.
“No,” Giulia grunted.
“But it will be a great occasion—”
Giulia sniffed. “The Signor is not even here,” she pointed out. “And what will the new Signora wear? Tell me that! She has nothing in that small suitcase of hers for such an evening! It will be a disgrace to our house!”
Lucia was appalled. She turned impulsively to Ruth. “Oh, my dear, I hadn’t thought! What will you wear?”
“I don’t know,” Ruth returned lightly. “I haven’t got a wedding dress, or anything like it! What sort of thing should I wear?”
Lucia looked grave. “Something a little grand. Giulia, what would you say the Signora should wear?” Ruth was so surprised at being referred to by such a title that she scarcely paid any attention to Giulia’s reply.
“I have an evening dress, if that will do?” she said suddenly.
“Perhaps we could see it,” Lucia said doubtfully. “Tell Giulia where it is and she can fetch it.”
“M-Mario is bringing it with him,” Ruth stuttered. “He’s picking up the rest of my luggage as well as Pearl.”
“Then it will be crushed,” Lucia said, immediately practical. “But that is a small thing. Tell me about this dress? It is modest, yes? Such as a married woman might wear?”
Ruth wasn’t sure how to answer that. “I suppose so,” she compromised. “I wore it once for the school dance—”
Lucia’s horror made her want to laugh. “It is obviously impossible!” the Italian lady snapped. “We must go into Palermo at once and fetch another!”
But Ruth shook her head. “It’s not too bad,” she assured her. “And it is mine. I don’t want Mario to have to pay for anything for me and I haven’t got enough money to buy one for myself.”
Lucia took a deep breath. “I shall buy it!” she announced. “I must give you something for your wedding, why not that?”
“Because,” Ruth explained patiently, “you paid Luigi yesterday, and that must have cost a small fortune!”
“Luigi is not cheap,” Lucia agreed justly. “Nevertheless, it is the honour of the family which is at stake. Roberto, my husband, will give you the dress!”
But Ruth was adamant in her refusal. She would wear her own dress or nothing.
“It’s quite nice really,” she comforted Lucia. “My parents like it,” she added persuasively. “And with my new hair-style it will be an absolute knock-out!”
Lucia was obliged to admit that the new hair-style had given Ruth both style and elegance, but she was worried about the dress and there was no denying the fact. All eyes would be on Ruth that evening. For years, his people had waited for Mario to marry. He was important to them in many ways. His house was the biggest in the village. He owned most of the surrounding land, which meant that most of them worked for him in one capacity or another. And it was he who had brought other work into the area, making a real contribution to their living standards and keeping the worst excesses of the Mafia away from the district. His wife was bound to be important to them too. On her would depend the advances in women’s education, the new clinics for the children, so many, many things that would thrive and prosper if her example was the right one, or wither and die if they saw that she ignored them. Did Ruth understand these things?
“We will speak to Mario about it,” Lucia compromised.
Ruth’s cheeks coloured. “I’ll decide for myself how I dress and what I do!” she said grandly.
Lucia sighed. “But there are so many things you do not know—” she began.
“Then I shall find them out for myself!” Ruth retorted.
She might have expanded her theme of how she could look after and manage by herself, but Giulia came hurrying into the room and began clearing away the plates.
“The Signor’s car has been seen!” she exclaimed excitedly. “He will be here in a few moments!” She gave Ruth an odd look. “They say he has a young woman with him. That would be your sister?”
Ruth met her disapproval face to face. “I expect so,” she said gently. “Pearl is very fair and rather beautiful.”
Giulia made a disparaging face. “They say she is so fair she is almost transparent!” she muttered. “That she has never seen the sun like normal folk!”
‘They’ seemed to have seen a great deal, Ruth reflected ruefully. She gave Lucia a humorous look. “Poor Pearl! Can it be that Sicilians don’t like the very fair look?”
“It is too unusual to be considered pretty by the peasants,” Lucia was forced to agree, “but there are other men!”
Ruth knew that she was refe
rring to Mario, but for once the fact didn’t disturb her. She would love the Sicilians for ever, she thought, just because they didn’t like Pearl’s fair looks! And if that showed how ill-natured she had become, she thought she could quite easily learn to live with it!
“Shall we go out into the drive to meet them?” Lucia suggested.
Ruth agreed with alacrity. She was, she realised, a complete fool, but she was longing to cast her eyes over Mario again, no matter if he was still angry with her, no matter what! She could hardly wait to see his tall figure, his haughty, arrogant expression, and that touch of the devilish that his broken nose supplied.
From the front door, Ruth could see the trail of dust that marked the car’s progress towards them. She envied Lucia who made no secret of the fact that she was impatient with waiting and was in a fidget for them to arrive. She herself forced herself to stand completely still and hoped that the fact that she was trembling would not be visible to anyone else.
Pearl jumped out of the car as soon as the wheels stopped moving. She looked about her with keen satisfaction, completely ignoring her sister.
“Is all this really yours, Mario?” she breathed, very impressed.
“It belongs to my family,” Mario replied. Ruth wondered if she had imagined the note of impatience in his voice and decided she had when, taking Pearl by the hand, he led her up to his impatient aunt.
“This is Ruth’s sister,” he introduced her, adding with a grin! “She’s not much like her, is she?”
Lucia extended her hand with the autocratic courtesy that any Verdecchio seemed able to assume at will. “My niece, Ruth, has spoken of you,” she said distantly.
Pearl found this excessively funny. “I’m surprised she’s had time,” she observed artlessly. “She’s been so busy, hasn’t she? Running away with Mario and getting him to marry her!” Her laughing eyes passed over Mario. “And who would have thought that he would have been so malleable?”