by Anne Mather
‘It’s nine-thirty,’ she said, at last, glancing at her watch. ‘Your class will be waiting for you.’
Adrian sighed impatiently. ‘Oh, very well. We’ll have to talk later.’
Madeline did not look up as he left the room. She determined that there would be no more talks today. She had had as much of that as she could take.
* * *
That evening Diana was home before Madeline and had laid the table before her mother entered the flat. She looked amiable enough and seemed to have forgotten about the previous evening’s unsettled ending. Madeline hoped that when she told her she was going out that Diana would remain amiable.
‘Had a good day?’ asked Diana, watching her mother light a cigarette.
‘Reasonably so,’ replied Madeline awkwardly. ‘Diana, would you mind if I went out this evening?’ It came out with a rush and left Diana looking troubled.
‘Went out? You mean with Uncle Adrian?’
‘Well…no. Not exactly. With Mr. Vitale.’
Diana was nonplussed. ‘Mr. Vitale?’ she echoed.
Madeline nodded. Watching the expression on Diana’s face her heart sank. Diana was not going to concede gracefully. She wondered then whether she had been too mindful of her daughter in the past. After all, she was still young. Other women went out with men at her age; some of them widows, others not even married and still others who were married and went out with other men. When Diana grew up and got married, she would not wish to feel obliged to consider her mother and then perhaps she would understand Madeline’s position.
‘But, Mother,’ exclaimed Diana now, ‘you hardly know him! And he’s not even English. Besides, the girls at college say there’s only one Vitale and he’s the man who owns the factory.’
‘That’s right.’ Madeline drew on her cigarette.
Diana swallowed hard. Her face was considerably redder and she looked very upset.
‘But why?’ she cried childishly. ‘Why? Uncle Adrian won’t approve, I’m sure.’
Madeline shrugged. ‘Darling, don’t fuss so. Uncle Adrian had nothing to do with it. He’s only a friend. He’s not my keeper.’
‘He wants to marry you.’
‘And I don’t want to marry him,’ said Madeline patiently. ‘Diana, he’s too old, too set in his ways.’
‘He’s no older than Daddy was.’
Madeline sighed. ‘Maybe so, but that doesn’t alter the facts.’
‘And this Mr. Vitale. Is he like Daddy?’
‘No. Not at all.’
‘Then tell me what he is like. I have a right to know,’ exclaimed Diana petulantly.
‘Well, he’s very nice,’ said Madeline slowly. It was difficult to describe Nicholas Vitale without sounding as though it was being overdone. He was so dynamic, so confidently assured, so arrogant.
‘Is he young or old?’
‘Well, I suppose he’s older than me,’ said Madeline thoughtfully.
‘Pretty old, then,’ remarked Diana, rather spitefully.
Madeline did not reply. She supposed that to Diana she did seem old. It was no use arguing with her. She didn’t want her to fly into a tantrum as she had done occasionally in the past.
‘Well, I’m sure you’re going to like him,’ she said, trying to sound convincing.
‘I’m equally sure I shan’t,’ retorted Diana, and stalked away into the kitchen.
Madeline ate very little of the casserole she had prepared that morning. She wasn’t hungry, and besides, Nicholas Vitale would probably expect her to eat a meal. She wished she had not agreed to go out with him. Diana was in a black mood and had hardly spoken since their conversation before the meal. If there was to be this upheaval every time she suggested going out, she would rather take the line of least resistance and stay in.
But when it was time to get ready she found she was determined to look her best. She wore a black lace cocktail dress which she had had for several years. Originally it had been an expensive model and its sheath line and low round neckline did not age. Her only string of pearls was around her throat. Joe had bought them ten years ago for an anniversary present and although they were only imitation they looked real enough.
She wore the cream wool coat again and was almost ready to go down to meet him at seven-twenty-five when the door-bell rang.
Diana was staying in for the evening and was in the lounge at the time. She went to open the door, wondering who it could be. A tall, broad-shouldered man confronted her. He was very dark-skinned and was dressed in a sheepskin jacket over a dark suit, He had the bluest eyes of anyone she had ever met and they looked bluer than ever against his tanned skin. His shirt was white and he wore a tie which was obviously that of some well-known educational establishment. His hair was blue-black and curly and his eyelashes were long and curled too. He was quite unique in a town like Otterbury where money and good looks never went together and Diana was absolutely astonished. Could this be the man her mother was going out with?
‘Yes?’ she said, in a small, cold voice. She was still hoping against hope that he would turn out to be somebody else entirely.
The man smiled and said: ‘Are you Madeline’s daughter? I guess you must be, at that.’
‘That’s right. I’m Diana. Are you Mr. Vitale?’
Before he could reply, Madeline’s voice called, ‘Who is it, darling?’ and she emerged from the bedroom in her stockinged feet, her hair curling delicately about her face. When she saw Nicholas her face changed, and she felt her stomach lurch dizzily. ‘Hello,’ she murmured. ‘Won’t you come in?’
Diana stood aside, still feeling rather dazed. Nicholas Vitale was so unlike anything she had even imagined. In her wildest dreams she had never contemplated anyone like him being interested in her mother, and he was far from being old. She felt a kind of sick panic when she considered them together. This man was not like Uncle Adrian, who treated her mother exactly like an old acquaintance. This man would very likely demand a much more intimate relationship. The idea horrified and frightened her and she wished desperately that something could happen to prevent their date.
Nicholas stepped into the flat, immediately dwarfing it. He looked about him with interest, approving the blue and white decor. It was bright and modem and uncluttered.
‘You’ve met Diana, I see,’ said Madeline, hastily slipping her feet into her court shoes. ‘Diana darling, this is Mr. Vitale.’
‘I know.’ Diana was guarded.
Madeline looked appealingly at Nicholas and he said:
‘Are you still at school, Diana?’
Diana shrugged. ‘I’m at commercial college,’ she replied indifferently.
‘Do you like it?’
‘Sometimes.’ Diana swung round and flopped on to an armchair.
Nicholas looked thoughtful. Diana did not intimidate him and nor did her attitude appeal to him. In his opinion, Diana needed a lesson in manners and he felt like being the one to give it to her. Madeline was looking anxious and upset and he felt like giving Diana a piece of his mind. After all, whatever his reputation might be, Diana knew none of it, and she ought to know that her mother was a decent, honest woman. Woman; he half-smiled. Madeline was little more than a girl herself. He had felt the same immediate reaction at the sight of her and he inwardly chided himself for allowing his feelings to run away with his thoughts.
‘Are you ready?’ Nicholas looked at Madeline, his eyes warm and tender, and she felt the colour flame into her cheeks.
‘Yes, I’m ready,’ she murmured. She turned to Diana. ‘Are you sure you’ll be all right? I shan’t be late.’
‘I’ll be all right.’ Diana scarcely looked up from the magazine she was glancing through. ‘Don’t bother to hurry back. I can put myself to bed.’
Madeline bit her lip. Diana was genuinely trying to hurt her, and she was succeeding. The evening was being spoilt before it had begun.
They went downstairs to his car. It was warm and comfortable and as he drove expertly down Evenwoo
d Gardens and out on to the main road, Madeline tried to relax and forget Diana’s harsh words. But her silence infuriated Nicholas and he said angrily:
‘I gather I’m not very popular with your daughter. Why?’
Madeline shrugged. ‘Diana doesn’t understand why I don’t marry Adrian Sinclair. As far as she’s concerned, anyone over the age of twenty-five is in their dotage and any man would do, providing she approved of him.’
‘But not me,’ he muttered. ‘Why?’
‘I…oh…I don’t know. I’m her mother….’
He smiled. ‘You don’t look old enough to be anybody’s mother.’
‘Maybe not, but I am. Perhaps that’s part of the trouble.’
They drove through Otterbury to the Stag Hotel. As they did so, Madeline recalled that his daughter had arrived from Italy today. She wondered whether she would be having dinner with them.
They parked the car and then walked into the hotel. Nicholas took her to the residents’ bar and ordered a Martini cocktail for her and a bourbon for himself.
They sat on stools at the bar and after he had lit their cigarettes he said:
‘You look very beautiful, Mrs. Scott.’
‘Thank you, Mr. Vitale.’ She felt herself relax more fully. She was enjoying herself. Only the memory of Diana marred her complete enjoyment.
He smiled rather wryly. ‘I’m very glad you came.’
She frowned. ‘Did you think I might not?’
‘Well, I guessed there might be some pressure on somebody’s part to stop you. This Sinclair chap, for example, I’m surprised he didn’t get in your hair.’
Madeline laughed softly. ‘Oh, Adrian had his say all right. He advised me not to see you again.’
‘I see. Has he the right to advise you?’
‘Not really.’
‘Well, that only leaves us with Diana. I guess her feelings are understandable when I think about it.’
‘Why?’ Madeline looked at him.
‘Diana is at the age to understand sufficient about the physical needs of a man and woman to know that we are attracted to one another. She was surprised to find you going out with a man who she imagines will make love to you.’ Madeline bent her head to hide her embarrassment. He went on softly: ‘It frightens her a little. She’s never had anything like this to contend with before. If Adrian is a sample of your previous men friends, this problem will never have arisen.’
‘Adrian is the only man I’ve been out with since Joe died,’ put in Madeline slowly.
‘Okay. So that’s the picture. It’s rather unsettling for her. You won’t find Maria at all like that. She’s not a bit like Diana.’
‘I see. And what exactly are my needs, my physical needs?’ She said it lightly, but his eyes grew warm and caressing.
‘I’ll explain later,’ he murmured lazily, and was amused at her shocked countenance.
Their conversation veered into less personal channels after that. Nicholas was an amusing companion and he told her about his home in Rome and about the business which he had inherited from his late father. He had visited many countries and Madeline was intrigued.
After they had finished their second drinks they left the bar and walked across the residents’ hall to the lifts. The private dining-room was on the left and Madeline looked puzzled.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked.
‘To my suite,’ he said imperturbably. ‘Relax. We’re having dinner up there. It’s much nicer.’
‘Oh!’ Madeline was speechless for a moment. Then she said: ‘But I’m not sure that I….’
He sighed and shook his head. ‘Don’t be prudish. God, I’m not going to attack you, you know.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Madeline looked subdued, and Nicholas looked rather angrily at her.
The lift arrived and going up Madeline suddenly remembered Maria. Of course, his daughter would be dining with them. That was why they were going up to his suite.
The corridor was carpeted, and led past several doors before they reached Nicholas’s suite of rooms. Inside it was magnificent and Madeline gasped in amazement. The ceilings were high and vaulted, elaborately carved. Marble pillars supported the alcoves and tall vases of glorious red hothouse roses were everywhere. The walls were hung with gold and silver damask while the furniture was satin-covered and luxurious. The carpet was a creamy golden colour while the curtains at the tall windows were of silver embossed velvet. Madeline had never been in a room like it before and it was some minutes before she realized that it was empty.
Nicholas had removed his coat after closing the doors and stood behind her, amused at her gasping wonderment.
‘I gather it meets with your approval,’ he remarked dryly, and she spun round to face him.
‘It’s like a film set,’ she murmured, spreading wide her hands. ‘I can hardly believe I’m actually here. Am I dreaming?’
‘No.’ He smiled. ‘Take off your coat.’
Madeline ran a tongue over her lips. ‘I thought your daughter was due to arrive today.’
‘That’s right. She did. Why?’
‘Where is she?’
‘In her room, I should think,’ he replied, frowning a little. ‘What do you want to drink?’
As he crossed the room to the elaborate tray of drinks Madeline pressed a hand to her stomach. ‘I don’t think I should have any more. I’m not used to drinking alcohol.’
‘Rubbish. One more won’t hurt you.’ He poured her another Martini and turned round again. He saw she had not removed her coat and stood down the glasses on a nearby tray and crossed to her side. He lifted the coat from her shoulders and laid it over one of the chairs. Then he turned back to her and his eyes were serious.
‘Honey, I can read you like an open book. Maria has her own suite of rooms on the first floor, further along this corridor. If she were in my suite we would be continually on top of one another. She has a maid and a companion, you see.’
‘Oh! Well, aren’t all these doors the entrances to bedrooms?’
‘Four of them are. The others are bathrooms. Would you like to look around?’
Madeline shrugged. She still felt wary and he was conscious of it. ‘All right,’ he said, ‘come on. I have something to show you anyway.’
He flung open the door which led into the master bedroom and gently pushed her into the room. ‘There. How do you like that?’
The master bedroom was a massive size, but was dominated by an enormous double bed which must have been at least six feet wide and seven feet long. The ceiling above the bed was carved with cupids, each sporting a tiny bow-and-arrow, and the heavy white satin draperies over the bed were looped up to the ceiling to be let down for complete privacy if the bed was used.
‘I imagine this is the bridal suite,’ remarked Nicholas, half-laughingly. ‘Can you imagine me sleeping in that?’
Madeline smiled up at him. ‘Not really.’
‘Well…not alone,’ he murmured, her eyes rousing him to awareness of their isolation here. He forced himself to look away from her and said: ‘Come on, I’ll show you my room.’
He opened another door to reveal quite a masculine room, carpeted in dark green with heavy furniture and a green bedspread, not a bit opulent like the room next door.
‘The bed’s comfortable,’ he remarked mockingly. ‘I must admit, I like a comfortable bed.’
Madeline turned away in embarrassment. To picture Nicholas in bed was a disturbing thought and she felt her hands clench involuntarily.
‘And now,’ he said, ‘I’ve a present for you.’
‘For me?’ Madeline looked surprised.
‘Of course.’ He lifted a box from a side table and put it into her hands. ‘I thought it would be better to give you these when we were alone. I don’t think Diana would have appreciated the thought.’
Nestling in its cellophane box was a spray of orchids, the petals creamy and tinged with a tawny red which matched her hair. Madeline had never received such beautiful, or e
xpensive, flowers and her fingers trembled as she lifted the spray out of the box.
‘They’re lovely!’ she exclaimed, looking up at him. ‘Thank you so much.’
He shrugged and said: ‘Pin them on your dress. They should look perfect then.’
‘Thank you again,’ Madeline smiled, and did as he suggested.
A knock at the door heralded the arrival of two waiters with trolleys on which was the dinner Nicholas had ordered. A polished table was laid with table mats and sparkling silver and glassware, which was mirrored in the gleaming surface. The waiters stayed to serve the meal and Madeline felt intensely conscious of their scrutiny. She was sure they would realize she was unused to such deferential treatment and consequently her appetite dissolved and she ate very little. Nicholas was at his ease, tasting the different wines offered with each course, and generally assuming control. The food was superbly cooked and Madeline reflected that the chef here was certainly as adept as the chef at the Crown. She supposed the reason she and Adrian had never tried the Stag before was that it was usually fully booked for evening meals, well in advance.
They had grapefruit as an hors d’oeuvre, followed by a clear consommé which was spiced with sherry. Lemon sole with tartare sauce preceded chicken Marengo, which was chicken fried to a golden brown and served with sliced mushrooms, truffles and pastry crescents, in a delicious sauce. Finally they reached the dessert and Madeline gasped at the confection which was put before her. A strawberry trifle had been topped by whipped cream which in turn had been topped by shredded nuts and cherries. The result was more than Madeline could possibly manage and she finally sat back, replete.