The Breadth of Heaven

by Rosemary Pollock

  A week ago, it would have meant practically nothing to her. Today, it was vitally important, because it would almost certainly alter the whole lives of people like Natalia and Leonid ... Leonid! Suddenly the cold, sick feeling increased. Would Leonid be safe? She swallowed. After all, she had been talking to him only last night—or had it been this morning?—and she didn’t—naturally she didn’t want to think that anything could have happened ... not to Leonid. He had been angry with her at one time, but he had also been kind. Surely ... surely he wouldn’t fly on to Tirhania despite reports of the coup?

  The Princess broke into her thoughts. “Leonid will be coming back here. He did get as far as Rome, but apparently he was not able to travel farther. All the airfields in Tirhania have been closed.”

  Kathy drew a long, sighing breath of relief. “I’m glad,” she said. “Then the Prince will be safe?”

  “Yes, he will be safe.” The Princess’s face was smooth and curiously untroubled, and very beautiful, like a face carved in ivory. “Anton, he is safe also. With his wife, he escaped yesterday, I understand.”

  “Then all your family is safe madame?”

  “Yes, I am fortunate.”

  There was a light rap on the door, and Signora Albinhieri came into the room. She looked anxious, but at sight of Natalia’s unusually controlled features an expression of unmistakable relief passed across her own.

  “Child,” she said, looking at Natalia, “go back to bed, and rest. There is nothing more to be said or done until Leonid returns from Rome.”

  Rather to Kathy’s surprise, Natalia meekly allowed herself to be assisted back into bed, and agreed that if a cup of coffee were to be sent for she would drink it. She looked very small and frail when she was propped up against the enormous lace-edged pillows which seemed common to most of the bedrooms in the villa, but there was no doubt about it: she was calm. At least, she did not appear to be in the grip of any particularly violent distress.

  Signora Albinhieri nodded at Kathy. “Come, Miss Grant.”

  The Princess did not raise any objections to Kathy’s leaving the room, so she obeyed, but outside the door, in the softly carpeted corridor, she hesitated, and the signora looked at her piercingly.

  “You are young,” she remarked, “and I do not think you are used to being involved in such situations as this. But then I am old, and for many years I have led a life so peaceful that I had forgotten what it is like to be close to a royal household. We shall both have to be courageous, Miss Grant. The next few days will be a strain upon all of us in this house.”

  “Yes, I realize that, signora,” said Kathy quietly.

  “Well, go to your room, and get what rest you can. If you are needed I will send for you. Otherwise I would suggest that at eight o’clock you join me for breakfast in the sala da pranzo.”

  “Yes, signora.”

  The old lady began to walk away, but at the last moment she hesitated, and turned back.

  “By the way, signorina, I am told that you are not a governess. Forgive me. This morning you will not trouble with the bambini. The maids will attend to them.”

  “Oh, but I don’t mind, really ...”

  “Nevertheless, your other duties will be quite sufficiently burdensome. The Princess will need you, signorina ... all the time. There will be letters to be answered—practical work to be done. You will have little time for the children, believe me.”

  Back in her own room, Kathy went across to one of the windows, and flung the heavy shutters wide, as she had done in Natalia’s room. Then she pushed the window open.

  The darkness was just beginning to lift, and she realized that she could see the Mediterranean, pearl grey and luminous in the first glimmer of morning light. She could see that the villa was very high—as she had known it must be—and the slopes beneath it seemed clothed with a dark and impenetrable jungle of trees. Here and there a tall, narrow cypress stood out like a shadowy pencil against the pale shimmer of the quiet sea, and a little way away, to the right, she glimpsed the top of a tower—perhaps a bell-tower. And even as she listened, she caught the faint, clear beckoning notes of the bell itself. Six o’clock ... The Angelus. Far away in the distance there was a sound of roaring, hurrying traffic, and she guessed that it must come from the great coast road along which she had travelled the night before—the road which, she supposed, probably followed the entire length of the Italian Riviera.

  It was strange and exciting and wonderful, to be here in Italy, but this morning Kathy’s heart felt heavy with sympathy for the Karanska family, and her mind was in a turmoil which even the hazy, silver-grey beauty of the Italian winter dawn could not smooth. Determinedly, she closed the windows, and went back to lie down on her bed. She was still very tired after the previous day, and she owed it to her employer to be as fresh as possible during the trying time that presumably lay ahead of them all.

  At eight o’clock, Kathy breakfasted with the signora, in the sala da pranzo. There was nobody else present, and the room was big and impressive, and rather cold—possibly because in the general excitement the central heating system had not been receiving sufficient attention.

  The breakfast consisted of coffee and rolls ... a type of breakfast which Kathy could not remember ever having sampled in her life before, but which she found to be completely delectable. The coffee was very hot, and served with jugs of steaming milk, and the rolls, which were eaten with butter and a selection of excellent preserves, were fresh and delicious. She found herself enjoying the meal a good deal more than she could remember having enjoyed the dinner which had been served to her on the plane the night before, and by the time she had consumed three rolls, and refused a fourth cup of coffee, she felt considerably better.

  Pale December sunshine slanted through the windows on to the grey marble of the floor, and at sight of it her spirits automatically lifted. She felt suddenly capable of coping with anything that might lie ahead of her.

  At last the old lady consumed the last of her coffee, and stood up briskly. “It is quiet,” she observed. “I have instructed the telephone exchange that they are to put no more calls through to us at the moment. And it has been arranged that all the gates of the villa should be guarded by carabinieri, so that if representatives of the Press should arrive in person, as they certainly will, they will be unable to gain entry.

  Kathy’s eyes grew rather large. “I hadn’t thought ...” she began. “I suppose this ... will be in all the papers, won’t it?”

  “My dear child,” said the signora, walking over to one of the windows, “the entire world is talking of Tirhania this morning. Some, of course, are shocked by the news, other are pleased. It is a question of beliefs. Either one is a monarchist or one is not. Most people, however, feel some sort of interest in the plight of a young and beautiful widow who has been driven from her homeland, and I make no doubt that for the next few days—perhaps even for the next few weeks—we in this house will be under siege. And remember, Miss Grant”—the old eyes bright and penetrating as she swung round to look searchingly at Kathy—“whatever you may be told, by the Princess or anyone else in this house, whatever you may perhaps overhear, it is confidential, and must be repeated to nobody. You understand me?”

  “Of course. I wouldn’t—I couldn’t—repeat anything, signora.”

  “Good.” The eyes still hovered on Kathy’s face. “Good, my child.” And then there was the sound of a car drawing up somewhere close to the windows, and Signora Albinhieri looked out.

  “It is Leonid,” she said, and the note of relief in her voice was quite unmistakable. “Go and rouse Natalia, my dear. The Prince will wish to see his sister-in-law ... and no doubt she will wish to see him.”

  Kathy obeyed, and she was just crossing the entrance hall when Leonid came through the front door, his beautifully cut grey suit a little creased, his face pale and his eyes appallingly haggard. As he caught sight of Kathy the furrow which the last few hours had etched deepened a little between his bro
ws, but all he said was: “Good morning, Miss Grant.”

  Kathy longed to say something—just something—to show him that she realized what a terrible thing it was that had happened, to make him understand what tremendous sympathy she felt for him just then. But the expression on his face frightened her in its grim remoteness, and she suddenly felt very small and insignificant and foolish ... an unimportant little English girl to whom Leonid of Tirhania was and would always be as remote as the planet Mars. How could she understand what a man of his type must be going through at such a time as this ... how could she begin to enter in to his feelings. It was impossible—even to express sympathy would be an intrusion, an impertinence. So she whispered a hasty ‘good morning’ and hurried past him on her way to the Princess’s room.

  The rest of the morning passed uneventfully. Natalia had a short interview with the Prince, and then went on resting in her room, and Leonid vanished into the long library, in which Kathy had fainted the night before, and sent for the male secretary who formed part of his suite. There was nothing of any importance for Kathy to do, so she wandered along to the nursery, to where she found both the children being entertained by the large, beaming housemaid in whose care they had temporarily been placed. Later in the day, some of the staff who had been left in Paris would be arriving, but for the moment the maid Luisa was to be responsible for their creature comforts. Kathy decided that she might as well take them for a short walk, and as soon as the maid understood that the signorina meant to relieve her of her responsibilities for a while she sprang up from the floor, where she had been crawling in evident imitation of a bear, and departed with alacrity in the direction of the kitchens, where a large cup of coffee and a comfortable gossip would no doubt be awaiting her.

  Kathy took the children out on to the terrace. She supposed it would not be wise for them to wander too far into the grounds, in case they should be set upon by a marauding reporter—though it still seemed rather ridiculous to suppose that any reporter might be lying in wait for the opportunity of questioning her—so they stayed close to the white walls of the house, and Joachim found a rather grubby tennis ball, which someone had probably dropped by accident, and amused himself by bouncing it up and down on the white, scrubbed flags of the terrace. Nina ran around in circles, admiring the flowers, and the wonderful tree covered in oranges that stood just below the terrace. And then she tired, and had to be picked up. Joachim soon grew tired too, and Kathy thought he looked pale and dispirited—almost as if he realized that something was wrong. She wondered what sort of things he thought about, and how soon somebody would decide to tell him that he might not, after all, grow up to be a king.

  She took them back indoors, saw that they washed their hands in readiness for lunch, then sat on the floor and leafed through Italian picture-books with them until Luisa returned to serve and supervise their lunch. Then she left them, and went back to her own room.

  Considerably to her relief she found that lunch was not being served in the sala da pranzo that day, but in the guests’ own apartments, and when she had eaten as much as she could manage of the pleasant, light meal which was brought to her on a tray by Rosa, she lay down on her bed and attempted to enjoy a siesta.

  Far off in the house she could hear continuous quiet, unobtrusive sounds, but they were mainly muted by distance and lavish carpeting, and she was almost asleep by the time a hand rapped sharply on her door, and in response to her murmured ‘come in’ Rosa looked in at her.

  “Scusa, signorina, but there is gentleman to see you. He is in the salon.”

  “A gentleman?” repeated Kathy in bewilderment, wondering at the same time whether it would ever be possible to sleep for any length of time in this bewildering place.

  “Yes, signorina. He says he is from the British Consulate, and if you do not mind he would like to see you.”

  The British Consulate! Kathy got up. “Tell the gentleman I will come in a moment, Rosa.”

  She ran a comb through her hair, lightly dusted her nose with powder, and applied a sparing touch of lipstick to her mouth. Then she walked along the corridor and into the huge, handsome room which she had already discovered was known as the salon.

  A young man was standing by the fireplace—a tall, very English-looking young man, whose eyes registered distinct surprise when Kathy walked into the room. Then their expression altered, as she walked towards him, to reveal something more like undisguised admiration.

  “Miss Grant?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Well, I’m Robert Markham. I’m from the Consulate in Mirano, and I’ve been sent to find out whether or not you’re all right.”

  She smiled, feeling suddenly relaxed. It was so nice to hear an English voice.

  “Thank you, but I’m perfectly all right, Mr. Markham.”

  “You’re quite sure? You see, we heard about you, and it didn’t seem right for an English girl to be shut up here with all this going on.” He waved a hand in a gesture which he had probably picked up since coming to Italy. “The Press are a mile deep outside the main gate, you know. To get in at all I had to put my foot down and charge!”

  “It’s not as bad as that in here ... we’re very quiet.” She asked him to sit down, and he did so, at the same time offering her a cigarette, which she refused. She found the concentrated approval in his grey eyes rather embarrassing, but at the same time it was very pleasant to be sitting opposite anyone with whom she could talk more or less on equal terms.

  “How do you like Italy?” He asked the question casually, glancing around him at the splendours of the room in which they sat.

  “Very much—I think. I only arrived here last night, and there’s been so much to think about ...”

  He looked at her sharply. “Don’t worry about the Karanskas. They’ve nothing to fear. The revolution was absolutely bloodless, and provided they don’t feel tempted to go back and try to alter things they’ll be perfectly safe. You’re employed by Princess Natalia, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I don’t suppose there’s any possibility that she will want to go back.”

  They talked for a few minutes more and then, with transparent reluctance, Robert Markham stood up to go.

  “We’ll be keeping an eye on you,” he told her. “And if anything worries you, don’t hesitate to get in touch with me at the Consulate.”

  She nodded. “I won’t forget.”

  When he had gone, she walked over to the window, and watched him drive away in a small white sports car. It was nice to know that there was someone in the district to whom she could turn.

  The next few days went by rather peacefully—remarkably peacefully, Kathy thought. Shoals of newspapers, both Italian and foreign, found their way into the villa, and from what she could understand of their contents Kathy gathered that the troubles in Tirhania were headline news all over the world, but inside the Villa Albinhieri everything remained quiet. Natalia, for the first day or two stunned and bewildered, gradually began to return to normal, and when the new dresses she had ordered in Paris duly arrived as if nothing had happened, she seemed to derive the keenest pleasure from trying them on and pirouetting before the long gilt-framed mirrors in her bedroom. Kathy’s new clothes arrived as well, and she too was conscious of a definite satisfaction as she tried on the champagne-coloured silk and the dark, diaphanous evening dress, and filled her drawers with soft, pastel-hued twin-sets and mountains of lacy underwear.

  The children, particularly Joachim, were good and rather quiet, and every day they played for a while on the terrace, under the supervision of Kathy or Luisa ... and every afternoon spent an hour with their mother, in the beautiful white and gold sala which was reserved for her personal use.

  Kathy saw little of Leonid, and for his part he seemed rather to avoid her than otherwise. She invariably had her meals with Natalia, in the latter’s sitting-room, and at most other times of the day the Prince seemed perennially occupied in the library, telephoni
ng and dictating letters.

  On the fourth evening, however, Natalia suddenly decided that she would dine with the others, and if she did so, then Kathy would have to do so too, for she must have moral support.

  Kathy would very much have liked to back out, for she felt that at this private family dinner her presence could only be an intrusion—especially at a time when there must be so much that the Karanskas would like to discuss among themselves—but she was not allowed to think of it, so she attired herself in a rather prim lavender-coloured cocktail dress which she had possessed since before she left England, and at seven-forty-five duly went along to the salon, where she had been told it was the custom for guests at the Villa to assemble before dinner.

  When she entered the room, she found the Prince and Signora Albinhieri already there, but Natalia, evidently, had not yet appeared. As soon as Kathy came in, Leonid, immaculate in a dinner-jacket of irreproachable cut, announced that he would prepare her a drink, and suddenly overcome with shyness and self-consciousness, she agreed to accept a small sherry.

  He did not say anything as he handed her the small, fragile Venetian goblet in which the sherry danced and sparkled like tawny, liquid fire, but as she took it from him and murmured a ‘thank you’ she instinctively glanced up into his face, and saw that his eyes were cold and quellingly remote. Feeling chilled and dispirited, she sipped at the sherry, then put it down on the table which Leonid had just courteously moved to a position close to her elbow. The silence, she thought, might have lasted for ever had it been left to herself and the Prince, but fortunately Signora Albinhieri was there to break it. Her bright eyes had been surveying Kathy with interest and a certain amount of curiosity ever since the English girl had entered the salon, and she appeared to be voicing an opinion she could keep to herself no longer when she suddenly said: