Last Train from Liguria

by Christine Dwyer Hickey

  'On holiday.'

  'Well, yes, you've said as much. But where?'

  'You know – here and there, see a bit of Europe.'

  'Ah, I understand now, you don't want to say where. Is it a secret? Are you afraid we might follow you or something? Is that it?'

  'Not at all.'

  'So where will you be going first?'

  'Paris.'

  'Paris? Where we've just come from in fact?'

  'Ah yes – so it is.'

  'And then?'

  'I'll be touring around, you know.'

  'Will you be alone?'

  'Of course.'

  'Oh sure. We believe that! Maybe you're meeting someone there. An illicit rendezvous? A chorus girl? A married woman? No? Am I wrong? Well, maybe you're taking someone along then. Oh, I bet you are. Someone we know? Miss Stuart? Is it? Is it Miss Stuart?' Amelia throws out a hard false laugh. When nobody joins in she looks surprised. 'Oh, come on,' she says. 'I'm kidding – it's obvious I am.'

  Without looking to see who is on the other end of the bottle, she holds her glass out to be refilled. Then she turns to Bella. 'It's a joke. You know – a joke? Honestly, you Britishers – such stiffs.'

  'Actually, I'm not British,' Bella says.

  'You're not?'

  'No. We only moved to London permanently when I was fourteen. I was born in Dublin. I'm Irish actually.'

  'Well,' Amelia laughs. 'I wouldn't go bragging about that – if I were you.'

  The Signora stands up. 'Miss Stuart,' she begins, 'why don't you take Alec back to the hotel now? He is looking tired. And I'm sure Edward will want to go too. It's been a long day for all. Alec, will you go to the kitchen and see if Elida is ready to leave? Oh and Miss Stuart, don't bother to come back for the American ladies. I'm sure they would like to walk. I'm sure in fact they will find the fresh air useful. Go. You too, Edward. Goodnight.'

  Bella follows Edward out to the garden to wait for Elida and Alec. 'What the hell's the matter with you?' she asks when she sees the expression on his face. 'Anyone would think she was having a go at you all night, and not me.'

  'What a vintage bitch,' he says.

  'Oh well, I suppose it's my own fault really. I shouldn't have said anything. But I felt she was going to start something, you know? She's so possessive about you – are you sure nothing ever went on there?'

  'Don't be so bloody stupid.'

  'All right – no need to snarl. Look, she just likes a bit of target practice when she's had a few, that's all. If it hadn't been me someone else would have got it. The trick is to duck, isn't it? Get out of the firing range, like clever little Eugenia.'

  'Mmm,' he says, pulling his cigarettes out of his pocket and lighting one. 'I never knew you were Irish by the way,' he continues.

  'Don't really think about it much. It's so long since I've been in Dublin. Why?'

  'You just never told me. That's all.'

  'Why should I? It's not as if you ever talk about your background,' she snaps.

  He shrugs. 'I just didn't know. That's all I'm saying.'

  'You make it sound as if I've been keeping some sordid secret.'

  'That's ridiculous. I just thought—'

  'Don't tell me you're anti-Irish too!'

  'Of course not,' he protests.

  'Actually it would be quite funny if you were.'

  'Why?'

  'Well, once or twice it crossed my mind that you might be Irish.'

  'Really?'

  'Yes, you'd say something and I'd think—'

  'Say something?'

  'Oh, I don't know, once I heard you call Alec a messer. I don't think I ever heard anyone English use that expression. Other things too, from time to time, can't remember now. Oh, there was that time I found you in the old town. Now you really sounded Irish then.' She laughs.

  'Oh, that time.'

  'Well, we won't get into all that.'

  'Yes, thank you, it might be nice if we didn't.'

  'Maybe everyone sounds Irish when they're drunk?'

  'Ah and who's being anti-Irish now?'

  'It's a joke, sorry.'

  'No need to apologize to me.'

  'Oh Edward, why do you always have to be so…'

  'What?'

  'Oh, never mind. Go back inside your shell, I don't care.'

  *

  At the tail end of all the confusion, just after lunch on Monday, Bella's father turns up on the doorstep.

  She nearly dies when she sees him. He is strange and familiar all at once, like somebody famous spotted on the street. He looks a little pale – as most new arrivals to Bordighera tend to – but fit. Younger, somehow. He is standing at the open front door, as if he is trying to decide if he should ring the bell or step into a hallway full of suitcases and shout 'hellooo'. Or maybe follow the sound of voices and the fuss of coffee cups around to the terrace at the side of the house. Bella and Alec have just come in by the front gate, the car parked firmly on the street outside, all doors open and ready for the removal of the first lot of visitors and their luggage to the station.

  He says the word 'well' about half a dozen times as he comes down the steps. 'Well. Well now. Well indeed. Well, here we are now. Well, well – and how is my little girl?'

  When he says this she bursts into tears.

  'No need for that. Good gracious, no need at all,' he says, taking a final step to her and giving a pat to her arm.

  Alec, shocked by her tears, puts his hand into hers and scowls at her father. 'It's all right, Alec,' she says. 'This is my papa.'

  'Hello, little man.' Her father leans down to shake Alec's hand, which springs behind his back and out of reach in a second.

  'Will you please tell him—' her father begins.

  'Oh, Alec speaks English very well. He's just a little shy.'

  'No harm in that,' her father bellows. 'I used to be a little shy myself, Alec. Hard to believe, I know. In a day or so, I'm sure we'll be the best of old pals. For years to come people will talk of it, they'll say, "Remember that August back in thirty-six, eh? That Alec and Harry, what they got up to? By God, what a pair of scoundrels!"'

  Behind her back she feels Alec tighten.

  'You look different,' her father says to her then. 'You've had your hair cut for a start. And the suntan. Different, but my God, how well!' He looks over at Mrs Jenkins, who has been standing to one side, a few feet away. Bella has forgotten for a moment all about her father's new wife. 'Doesn't she, my dear? Doesn't she look very well indeed – no, marvellous in fact! Let's make no bones about it. Continental – is that the word I'm looking for?'

  'Indeed you do look marvellous,' Mrs Jenkins agrees, coming forward, hand lifted awkwardly as if it is ready to shake or hug as appropriate. Her face is flushed, her smile wide, her over-bright eye just a little shifty. Bella has to wonder how Mrs Jenkins feels about all the lies that have led up to this moment. Had she helped to construct them? Perhaps even sitting beside her father six months ago, making suggestions as he composed that letter which had obviously been intended as a gentle paving of the way:

  You'll never guess who I ran into the other day – an old friend of ours, Mrs Jenkins. A very pleasant and kind woman indeed. You remember her – of course you do, she helped nurse your poor mother. Your mother, I think, was fond of her.

  When Bella takes Mrs Jenkins' hand it is shaking with nerves. Feeling sorry for the poor woman then, she kisses and lightly hugs her. She kisses both her cheeks, in the continental manner; an everyday embrace in Italy, which somehow seems less intimate. Twice the kisses – half the sentiment, Bella has always thought.

  'I hope you'll be very happy,' she says, wondering how she is supposed to address her father's wife.

  'Well, we certainly hope so too,' Mrs Jenkins laughs, 'and please – do call me Ina.'

  Bella and Alec get to like Ina Jenkins-now-Stuart and spend a lot of time in her good and undemanding company. She has an artistic hand, which pleases Alec no end, especially as she takes the time
to give him a few lessons, as well as to buy him his first grown-up box of watercolours, in a proper artist's shop. Her father, although he certainly seems to enjoy looking at Signora Lami-now-Tassi, favours the American cousins when it comes to company. They are, he declares, 'the best of sports'. They in turn find him 'so entertaining and so wonderfully clever', and he certainly seems to take their minds off Edward's desertion. Should they happen to run into each other in town, which they do with unusual regularity, he invites them for coffee or drinks, or if the time is right, back to the Angst for lunch where they always sit at a window table, staying right through to the other side of the siesta, and forming a lively display for anyone who happens by.

  If his new wife minds all this reciprocal attention, she never lets on. Although Bella does feel when the time comes to leave for Berlin, Ina looks brighter than she has done in days.

  *

  On the last morning of her father's visit, Bella goes walking with him to the public gardens on via Veneto. 'I'm delighted with you, my dear,' he begins. 'I really am. And as for your mother? Well, I'm sure she wouldn't have believed how things could have turned out. You've settled very well here, they think a lot of you, you know. But if you ever want to come home. Anytime come home. Well, you know.'

  'I am, as you say, happy here.'

  'Just thought I'd let you know. All right for money?'

  'Yes, thank you. Fine.'

  'Even so. I have opened a little account in your name in London. I mean if things ever get tricky in any way, it's there for you. We are not short, Ina and I. She has her own money, as you may know, and is generous with it.'

  'Oh no, really—'

  'Ahaha – doesn't do to go relying too much on the Lami family, you know. Splendid as they are. Blood is blood after all and when it comes to it, they don't owe you a thing. Anyway, I will give you the bank book when we get back to the hotel.'

  'Thank you, Father. That's very kind.'

  'Not at all. I have also arranged a letter of credit. The same account, of course, and amount – in case you think I've gone completely soft in the head. It's just in case you ever need to get your paws on the money over here, you may even need to get yourself out in a hurry. Everything seems settled now, but with his nibs on the far side of the Alps – who knows? And that other Duce chap doesn't seem to be the full shilling, either. Still, I suppose it's too easy to judge the ways of another country.'

  'You used to think Mussolini was wonderful.'

  'I never!'

  'Yes, you did. You used to say it was just what England needed, someone to give it a good kick up the backside.'

  'Good God.' He blinks good-humouredly and scratches his chin. 'Did I really?'

  They stroll on, him sucking his cigar and stopping to peer at a tree now and then, tipping a leaf over, frowning at the end of a branch, as if examining a body part of one of his patients. Bella knows he is mulling over his impressions of the past few days, whatever has got stuck in his head. One by one he will draw out his conclusions until his mind is clear again.

  'Where will you live when you get back to London?' she asks him then.

  'Where? Well, we haven't quite decided. Probably Ina's. She feels the house in Chelsea will always be your mother's, although she has already dickied it up quite a bit.'

  'Oh? What's it like?'

  'Tasteful, I believe the term is – you won't know it when you see it! We could move into her house – I don't mind in the least being haunted by the late Bill Jenkins – it's not as if she has any children to object to my presence. Then again, we may quite simply start all over, buy somewhere free of all ghosts.'

  'It's kind of Ina to think of Mother, all the same,' Bella says.

  'And you, she's thinking of you too, you know. Indeed she is.'

  'Will you go straight home after Berlin?'

  'What? Not sure yet. It depends very much on Ina. We may go to Amsterdam. Return through Hull. We may try the lakes – who knows?'

  'Not to Switzerland?'

  'Not so far as I know – why? Ah, of course – Amelia and Grace. They've invited us to join them. Has Ina said something?'

  'No. They told me. And will you? Join them, I mean.'

  'No. I said we may do so, purely out of politeness. They are good sports, of course they are, but – do you like them by the way?'

  'Sometimes,' Bella laughs.

  'Yes, I know what you mean. Personally, I wouldn't trust them an inch.'

  He takes off his panama hat and fans his face for a moment before handing it to Bella so he can relight his cigar.

  'What will you do all day when the boy goes to school?'

  'If anything there'll be more to do, bringing him to and fro, homework, all that. The Signora will be returning to Naples with her husband and it's not suitable there for Alec.'

  'Why – don't they allow children in Naples?'

  'I can only tell you what the Signora says.' Bella shrugs.

  'And the other chap, the one off on holiday?'

  'Edward?'

  'Yes, I mean, what can he be at – if the boy is at school all day. Bed and board and a wage simply to teach the piano? A cushy sort of number, if you ask me. Pity I didn't learn to tinkle the old ivories myself.'

  'It's never been discussed with me. And he does teach him other things, you know, mathematics and science. I think the Signora probably feels it's safer if there's a man around. We are so near the border here and well, people come and go, there's been a lot of movement lately, and she gets nervous, I suppose.'

  'What's she get nervous for – she's never bloody here?'

  'For Alec, Father.'

  'Bit unconventional though, two single people, only a child and a housekeeper besides under the one roof. Don't read me wrong, I'm not criticizing, but—'

  'He doesn't live in the house, Father. He has his own place at the back entrance, a sort of mews flat over the garage where I keep the car.'

  'Ah yes, of course. You and your car what?' He gives her a nudge and a grin.

  'Well, it is only on approval.'

  'The Signora approves. Don't you worry – you'll get to keep your little motor.'

  They come to the fountain that marks the end of the path. 'Another lap, Bella – what do you say? May as well give these old hams a stretch before they're cooped up on the train for God knows how long.' They move on. 'Still, he's fond of you, that little chap.'

  'Yes. We're fond of each other.'

  'He's not quite right of course. But I daresay you know that.'

  Bella stops short. 'What do you mean?'

  'My dear girl. Don't look so shocked. You must have noticed.'

  'There's nothing the matter with him.'

  'Well, it's not my field, of course. But don't you find him a little detached? A little too wary of people? Reluctant to make eye contact, for instance. To listen even? And then other times he's overfamiliar, coming straight out and saying something forward, even a little bizarre?'

  'He's not used to so many strangers, that's all. It's his way of coping. When he starts school in October… And the boy scouts, you know. He needs company. That's all. Other children. He's a good little artist, he'd hardly be able to draw and paint like that if there were anything wrong with him. Ask Ina, she'll tell you how artistic he is.'

  Her father looks carefully at her for a moment then takes a pull of his cigar and flips the smoke off his tongue back to the air. 'Ah, it's most likely he's just been a bit mollycoddled, probably that's what has him nervy. School will sort him out and as you say the boy scouts. A bit of rough and ready, just what a boy needs. As I've said, it's not my field. He'll grow out of it. I daresay he will.'

  *

  The house becomes quiet again. At the end of August the Signora and her husband move back to Naples and the thank-you cards and letters begin to arrive from the wedding guests who have finished their respective tours about Europe and are now returned to their everyday lives. Eugenia first, just back from a visit to her father's family in Dusse
ldorf. A large greeting card lined with red velvety rose petals: 'a thousand kisses for my adorable Alec' – who stomps off in a huff when Rosa teases him about it. The Swiss couple, thanking Bella for kindness she hadn't really shown, and inviting her to visit their house in Zurich. She had been like a daughter to them, the letter declares, puffing up what had really been no more than common courtesy into deep affection, and making her worry about how the unfortunate pair usually found themselves treated. A short girlish letter from Grace next; all snappy sentences and scattered punctuation. A sort of a jazz letter, Bella decides.

  Back in N.Y.C. Dad put Amelia to work. Get this – in his fuddiest-duddiest hotel!! A morgue practically… (to keep her out of trouble – as if – ho hum!) Lucky ol' me left to care for Mother, an invalid now, nothing much working except her complaining whine – only joking ha! Anyway. Here we both are, BORED to tears and longing for Europe. Europe! Had a note from Aunt Lami thanking us for the wedding gift – didn't say if she liked it though… Bing!!!

  Then a long letter from Ina, wanting Bella to know, and please not to mind, that they have decided to live in the house in Chelsea after all, her father having all his papers and medical paraphernalia there, it just seemed to make more sense. Although the house – for so long without a woman's touch – had become a little shabby and would really need to be completely redone (with Bella's blessing of course and with no disrespect to the taste of her late mother). Bella, recalling what her father had said about the 'tasteful' improvements already carried out, is at first shocked and a little hurt by this blatant lie, but then after a while she decides not to care.

  'Germany,' Ina's letter concludes, 'has been more interesting than anything else. Impressive city that Berlin is and for all the beautiful countryside afterward, the air is tense and hard-edged. Not at all like the soft warm air one finds with our friends in Italy!'

  To the end of the letter her father has added a few hasty lines. Bella can imagine, now that he has a wife, he will be relieved never to have to think through, never mind write, another full letter to her or anyone else again. His few words say more than Ina's three pages.