by Lucy Gordon
It was horrible. Bernardo had never made tea before and it showed.
‘What did I do wrong?’ he asked, seeing her face.
‘I don’t think the water boiled.’
‘I’ll make it again.’
Despite her protests he insisted on doing so, scowling until he got it right. She surveyed him tenderly, feeling a little ache in her heart. He was so inexpressibly dear, so close, so distant.
‘That’s good,’ she said at last, smiling as she sipped the tea.
‘Like the English make it?’ he demanded suspiciously.
‘Like I make it. Well-almost.’
They both smiled. For a brief instant the barriers were down.
‘Angie-’
The scream of the doorbell made him drop the hand he’d reached out to her. Cursing under his breath he strode to the door.
‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded of Nico Sartone.
‘A small matter of a prescription the doctor promised me,’ Sartone said, smiling horribly and oiling his way into the room. ‘Signore Farani needs his ointment tonight, doctor, and you were going to send the prescription down to me-’
‘Oh, yes, I’m sorry, it slipped my mind,’ Angie said tiredly. ‘Just a moment.’
‘Couldn’t you have reminded her tomorrow?’ Bernardo snapped.
‘But the ointment is needed tonight,’ Sartone said with the same smile. His eyes, like lizard’s, darted around the room.
‘Then you could have given it to him tonight and sorted the paperwork tomorrow,’ Bernardo pointed out, keeping his temper with difficulty.
‘Give a controlled drug without a prescription?’ Sartone echoed in horror.
‘It’s an eczema ointment for a man you’ve known for years,’ Bernardo said with suppressed rage. ‘A few hours wouldn’t have hurt, and don’t tell me you haven’t done this a hundred times before because I know you have.’
‘Only with Dr Fortuno,’ Sartone said, still smiling. ‘Alas, we all got into some very unfortunate habits with him, but the new doctor, as we all know, has much higher standards, to which we all aspire.’
‘Here’s the prescription,’ Angie said, coming back quickly. ‘And please give my apologies to Signor Farani.’
‘Yes, I’m afraid he isn’t too pleased with you,’ Sartone said with poisonous sweetness.
‘Get out,’ Bernardo told him softly. ‘Get out now, while you’re safe.’
Sartone’s reptile eyes flickered between them and his smile grew more sickly. ‘Ah, then perhaps we can soon expect an interesting announce-’
‘Goodnight, signore,’ Angie said firmly before Bernardo could speak.
He knew when he’d pushed his luck to the limit, and slithered out hastily.
‘Perhaps you should go too,’ Angie said.
‘Must I? I thought-’
‘It was nice of you to cook for me, but I’d like to go to bed now.’
He thought of the moment of warmth and laughter when they’d been interrupted, and knew, with a sigh, that it was too late to go back to that. Whatever might have sprung from that moment wouldn’t happen now.
‘Yes, of course, you need your rest.’ He hesitated, then dropped a brief kiss on her cheek. She gave him a half smile, but no other sign of encouragement, and he picked up his coat and left.
As soon as Bernardo entered his shop Sartone became occupied with something that took his whole attention. But nothing budged Bernardo who stood there, silent and implacable, waiting until the shop was empty.
‘Now, look,’ Sartone said at last, ‘I don’t want any trouble.’
‘And I don’t want to see any more exhibitions of your spite to an excellent doctor who’s doing wonders for this community. Don’t pretend that last night was an accident.’
‘Whatever it was, it’s surely between the doctor and myself?’
‘Do you think I’ll stand by and see you persecute her? Are you hoping to run her out? Think again.’
Sartone gave a titter that made Bernardo clench and unclench his hands. ‘I don’t think it’ll be necessary for me to do anything. Unless you do your duty, time is hardly on the lady’s side, is it?’
Bernardo got out of the shop as fast as he could before he committed murder. In the street outside he almost collided with Father Franco and Mayor Donati. He straightened himself, and them, and stood there muttering fiercely.
‘I know better curses than that,’ Father Marco said wisely.
‘True Sicilian curses for all situations,’ the mayor confirmed.
‘There are no Sicilian curses for this situation,’ Bernardo growled.
‘Why?’ they demanded with one voice.
Before he could answer Sartone came out of the shop, driven by hate, and moving too fast to check himself at the last minute.
‘You ought to think of my words,’ he shrilled. ‘She can’t afford to drive customers away, because soon she won’t have any. Prostituta.’
There was a scream from a woman nearby. The next moment Sartone was lying on the cobbles with three men standing over him.
Nobody had seen which one of them had knocked him down.
Baptista was enjoying a late night cup of tea with Heather and Renato when her unexpected visitor was announced, but one glance at Bernardo’s face was enough to make her shoo the other two kindly away. He looked, as she afterwards told the others, like a man ascending the scaffold.
But when they were alone he seemed unable to come to the point. After refusing offers of refreshment he paced the room uneasily, making polite enquiries after her health. At last he said abruptly,
‘I’d better go. I shouldn’t have intruded on you at this hour. I came too late.’
‘You certainly left it very late to come to me,’ Baptista said, subtly altering his words, ‘but as for whether you came too late-why don’t we find out? It may not really be too late at all.’
He paced some more.
‘I had a visitor yesterday,’ he said at last. ‘A young girl called Ginetta. She used to work for Angie, but her mother forced her to leave when the “scandal” developed. She admires Angie, wants to be like her, maybe even be a doctor. She’s hoping for our marriage, to change her mother’s mind. I had to tell her it was unlikely. When I told her why, she couldn’t believe me. She says no woman would refuse to marry the father of her child.
‘She made it very clear that it was my duty to persuade Angie into marriage, “for everyone’s sake”.’ He gave a grunt of laughter. ‘They love her. They disapprove of her, but they admire her and they want her to stay.’
‘You’re reading a lot into the words of one young girl.’
‘That was just yesterday. Today I had a full scale deputation, the priest, the mayor, the Reverend Mother, all wanting to tell me my duty. When I pointed out that the refusal came from her, Olivero Donati had the nerve to tell me to look into my heart and ask what I’d done to make “this fine woman” refuse me. Father Franco backed him up, which I’ll swear is the only time in history those two have agreed on anything.
‘The whole town is looking to me to put matters right, and I can’t convince them that it doesn’t lie with me.’
‘Perhaps it does,’ Baptista said thoughtfully. ‘Maybe you just haven’t found the right way.’
‘There isn’t a right way,’ Bernardo said at once. ‘I know I was wrong to leave like that, but I thought she’d be better off without me.’
‘Well, now she seems to agree with you,’ Baptista observed dryly.
Bernardo checked himself in his pacing.
‘I’m lying,’ he said with an effort. ‘I was thinking of myself when I left. I told her such things-I let her come so close-I was afraid-’
Baptista nodded. ‘The closeness of love can be terrifying,’ she said. ‘That’s why it takes so much courage. Some people feel safer at a distance, but Angie will never let you keep that distance. She’s warm and open-hearted, and very brave. She’ll give everything and want everything in return, and
if you can’t give it-well, perhaps it’s best to discover these things now.’
Bernardo looked at her, aghast. ‘What are you saying?’ he demanded hoarsely.
‘That perhaps she really would be better off without you.’
‘Even if I love her-if she loves me-?’
Baptista spoke thoughtfully. ‘Sometimes love-even great love-isn’t enough.’
‘I don’t-believe that,’ he said with difficulty. He looked at Baptista with desperate eyes. ‘I don’t know what to do. For pity’s sake, help me.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
S PRING was turning into summer, and tourists were converging on Montedoro, although few of them found their way into the side street where Angie lived, and at night it was so quiet that every footstep was noticeable.
They were strange days when she seemed to be living in limbo and several times she looked out onto the valley to see the golden eagle wheeling and swooping eerily close to her. And then one memorable day the bird turned his head, seeming to look straight into her eyes, and gave a wild scream that echoed through the mountains. Then it was gone.
To others it might have been just a scream, but to Angie, in her state of heightened sensitivity, it sounded like a shout of greeting. She had made it. She had proved herself an eagle.
And there was nobody to know or care.
She couldn’t have said what awoke her in the early hours one morning, and made her go to her front door. There was nobody there, but a few lights were still on in the houses opposite. For a moment she saw a head in silhouette, turned in her direction, but it vanished at once. Then the light went off. The silence was total. It was just like any other night. Except that it wasn’t. Something was very different. She stood there for a moment, listening, wondering what was happening. At last she closed the door.
The feeling of strangeness continued next day. She awoke early, feeling queasy, as she often did now, and when that passed she had a quick breakfast alone, then opened her morning surgery. But nobody came. She checked the waiting room, but it was empty. Angie was used to having fewer patients these days, but there was still a fair number who valued her skills more than her reputation, and total silence was rare. After a while she checked the waiting room again, but still there was nobody there.
Of course the weather was fine now, she told herself. Nobody was feeling poorly. But the brave words couldn’t still the unease within her heart. Or the ache. She had stuck her neck out for these people, and they were abandoning her.
She looked out, but there wasn’t a soul to be seen in the sunlit street. Somewhere overhead, she heard a window open, a voice went, ‘Pssst!’ And the window closed again.
A rumbling sound made her glance quickly to the far end of the street, just in time to see Benito and his son, both driving their painted carts across the road, before vanishing between two buildings. Which was strange, because this wasn’t part of their route.
She began to wonder if she were hallucinating. At any moment she half expected someone to jump out of a trap-door.
Giving herself a little shake Angie retreated back into her house, trying not to feel isolated. There was a pile of things to do, she told herself firmly. And she would be strong-minded, and get on with them.
But she did none of them. She stood in the middle of the floor, wondering what was happening to her.
She must be going dotty. That was it. Because otherwise, why would she imagine that she could hear a trumpet?
Back to the front door. Look out again. And this time there was no mistake. She could hear the trumpet loud and clear, and the sound of a drum, accompanying a procession that was making its way up from the bottom of the street.
She was definitely hallucinating because no way was that Baptista riding on Benito’s cart at the head of the procession. But when she had closed her eyes, shaken her head and opened her eyes again the cart was still there, rumbling towards her. So was Baptista. And now Heather was sitting beside her.
Nearer they came, and now she could discern individuals walking beside the colourful cart. There was Father Marco, and beside him the mayor. On the other side of the cart walked Sister Ignatia and the Mother Superior. As everyone realised that she had seen them they all waved and smiled. They were carrying garlands and flowers, as if for a festive day, and behind them came the town band playing with huge enthusiasm and small accuracy.
As last they stopped before her house, and now she could see that the procession stretched far back down the street, encompassing so many people that she wondered if there was anyone left to run the shops.
‘What-what’s going on?’ she asked helplessly.
Nobody spoke, but Father Marco, grinning broadly, stepped aside and revealed someone Angie hadn’t noticed before.
‘Dad!’ she exclaimed. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I’ve come to your wedding, my dear,’ he said, embracing her. ‘Your brothers send their love. Unfortunately they couldn’t get the time off at such short notice-’
‘Short notice?’ she squealed. ‘You announced that I’m getting married-which nobody’s told me-and you talk about short notice? Well, I’m not getting married.’
‘Signorina, you must,’ the mayor said earnestly. ‘Every one of us is here today to tell you that you must.’
‘Must?’ she echoed. ‘What do you mean-“must”?’
There was a small commotion from the top of the street. Three men were striding towards them, Bernardo in the centre, flanked by his brothers, each dressed in their best clothes. Angie strained her eyes trying to read Bernardo’s expression, but all she could see was how calm he looked, not at all like a man who’d been kidnapped.
Angie’s father was helping Baptista down from the cart, then Heather, who was carrying a parcel.
‘All present and correct,’ Lorenzo called out merrily as the brothers came to a halt.
Angie moved closer, meeting Bernardo’s eyes, her own full of suspicion. ‘Did you know about this?’ she demanded.
Instead of answering he threw an anguished look at Baptista. ‘You promised to do the talking for me,’ he growled.
‘And I will,’ she assured him. ‘Some of the talking. But there are also things a man must say for himself.’
‘It’s a set-up, isn’t it?’ Angie asked her.
‘Yes, my dear, it’s a set-up. And since a lot of people have gone to a lot of trouble to set you up, the least you can do is listen to us.’
She nudged the mayor, bringing him out of the trance in which he’d been rehearsing his words. He cleared his throat and faced Angie with the air of a man determined to get it right.
‘Since the day you came here you’ve worked hard to become one of the community,’ he proclaimed, ‘something which we all appreciate.’
‘And I hope to continue as one of the community but-’
He mopped his brow. ‘Please, signorina, let me get to the end.’
‘Very well,’ she said with an ominous calm that made him gulp.
‘Er-where was I? Since the day you-oh, no-worked hard-er-’
Angie’s lips twitched. ‘You’ve done that bit.’
‘Yes, yes I have, haven’t I?’
‘Would you like me to carry on?’ Father Marco muttered.
‘Certainly not,’ Olivero said, stung. ‘I am the mayor. This is my job.’
‘That was never decided.’
‘Pardon me, but it was decided.’
‘It is I who will be conducting this marriage-’
‘Except that you have no bride,’ the little mayor pointed out with spirit. ‘And if you keep interrupting you will never have a bride. And I must insist-’
Through the ensuing fracas Angie met Bernardo’s eyes and saw that they were full of amusement. She pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh out loud at the antics of the two men, but mostly from sheer joy at the miracle that was happening. What you couldn’t achieve for yourself, your family and friends got together to make happen for you. That was ho
w it should be.
‘Signorina,’ the mayor said, ‘I am here to tell you that if you do not settle this situation, you will be failing in your duty to Montedoro.’
‘What do you mean, “settle the situation”? I’m a good doctor, aren’t I?’
‘The best we’ve ever had, but-there are things-’ He looked as if he wished the earth could swallow him up.
‘You mean because I’m pregnant and unmarried?’
He swallowed. ‘If you insist on being specific about it.’
‘What about his duty?’ she asked, indicating Bernardo.
‘He’s willing to do his duty,’ the priest said. ‘It’s you that’s making difficulties.’
‘Shut up!’ Olivero told him, incensed. ‘Shut up, shut up, shut up!’ Having found his voice, he pulled himself together and said to Angie, ‘We are your friends. We love you and we want you to stay with us. But you do not yet understand this place. You don’t know-as we do-that if you do not marry, sooner or later you will have to leave us, and we will do anything to prevent this catastrophe.’
‘But it’s not that simple,’ Angie said, half laughing, ‘There’s paperwork, bureaucracy-a civil ceremony-’
‘That’s all been taken care of,’ Baptista said with an air of triumph. ‘The civil ceremony was arranged as soon as I received your birth certificate.’
‘Received my birth certificate-from-?’
‘Don’t ask silly questions, darling,’ her father said, giving her cheek a peck. ‘I’ve been working very hard over this, and I want my full share of credit.’
Before everyone’s delighted eyes he and Baptista shook hands.
‘I hate to break up the love-in,’ Angie said, exasperated, ‘but I haven’t said yes.’
‘Then say it,’ Lorenzo urged her, ‘then we can all get on with the party.’
Bernardo came to stand before her. ‘Say yes,’ he begged. ‘Forget my foolishness. Forget that I wasn’t brave or wise enough to trust our love, until you showed me better. I didn’t understand that love must be fought and struggled for, and there is nothing in the world more worth the fight. I know now and I beg you to be my wife.’