“Nothing like it.”
They began to skim up the lower slopes of the hill road.
“The trouble about Miranda is that she dissipates. She picks up people who don’t really mean anything to her and wastes her time and energy on them. She gives them too much of herself … for a time, that is.”
“Perhaps they do mean something to her. How can you tell for someone else?”
“I can. They don’t. It’s just that she hasn’t got clear of her muddle yet, that’s all.”
Everybody seemed to be in a muddle except Pauline.
“How did you get clear of yours?”
“Knew what I wanted when I was sixteen. Now Martin—I don’t like him—”
“I do.”
“I doubt if you do really. You’re still clogged with that vague English middle-class goodwill. If ever Christianity made converts it was the English middle-class. They have to think they like everybody. What are you laughing at?”
“At you using clichés about the class you can’t help belonging to.”
“I didn’t choose to be born into it, any more than you did.”
“But I would have; if we have to be born into a class at all then the one that produced nearly all the poets and novelists is the one I would have chosen.”
Pauline surprised her by a chuckle.
“Well to go back to Martin. He’s egotistical, and conceited and possessive, but he’s clear-cut. He knows what he wants; he knows which people he wants to bother with and which are no use to him.”
“Is Ludo much use to him?”
“At the moment, of course but it won’t last. Martin is permanently hooked on Miranda.”
Flora realized that this was probably true.
“When I am back in England, Flora, you must come to the boutique and have a look round. You can easily get up to London from Oxford.”
“Easily. Anyhow next term doesn’t start until October 14th.”
“How are you going to spend the rest of the vacation?”
“When we go back from here in the middle of September I shall go to a small cottage I have near Oxford and write new lectures for next term.”
“You’ll be here until mid-September?”
“Yes. Miranda asked me to stay until then and go back with her.”
“Oh. She didn’t tell me.”
They swept over the crest of the hill. Something prompted Flora to say,
“Miranda calls this my view because I was so delighted the first time I saw it.”
Pauline without answering plunged down the winding road towards the valley at a pace that made it seem miraculous each time she successfully negotiated one of the hairpin bends. Flora’s muscles tightened. Involuntarily she pressed hard with both feet on the floor of the car.
“Frightened?”
“Yes.”
“I’m glad you didn’t say ‘No’, as most people do.”
“Why should I? That would mean I was frightened of you. I think you’re driving too fast and too near the edge. I know this road quite well, I’ve driven Miranda’s car over it several times.”
“You have, have you?”
The car skimmed so near the edge on a bend that it seemed to Flora that one wheel must have been sticking out over the valley below. She made a sound.
“You are frightened.”
“I told you I was.”
“Like to get out and walk?”
“Yes.”
Pauline laughed, slackened her speed, and drove carefully.
“You know I like you, Flora. Why don’t you come back to London with me at the end of next week? I’ve got a spare room in my flat. You could fig about in the boutique in the daytime or work at your lectures in the flat if you want to, and then we could enjoy ourselves in the evenings.”
“It’s very kind of you and I’m sure I should enjoy it very much, but I have arranged to stay on here with Miranda.”
“Miranda won’t care. She hardly notices when her casual guests come and go. I’ll settle her.”
“But you can’t settle my plans, can you? I shall stay as long as I said I would.”
“Think about it. You’ll have had enough of this place by the time I go back and a new experience is always interesting. I could show you a lot of things you don’t know.”
Flora, downstairs first before dinner, strolled up the garden path, towards the wood. There was a seat at the edge of the wood where she liked to sit and watch the evening light over the valley. An ox cart was coming down the hill road, she heard far off the creaking of its wheels, and the voices of the two men who came with it. It was baking day and the smoke was going up from the red-tiled houses. The sun was moving down towards the distant hills and the shadows were lengthening.
She saw Martin come out of the salone, look round the empty loggia and then around the garden until he saw her. He walked up the garden path towards her.
“How’s Ludo this evening?”
“Much better. We shall get off to Trieste tomorrow thank God, though I think we’ll take it in two stages and stop a night in Venice. Perhaps two nights; Ludo has never seen it.”
“And Dulcie and Dennis go on Saturday?”
“Yes. Why don’t you go with them?”
“I’m not going yet. Miranda very kindly asked me to stay on with her until she goes home in September.”
“I know she did. But do you think you will?”
“Yes. Unless for any reason Miranda finds it isn’t convenient. A lot more people turning up or something. Then of course I should go earlier if she wanted me to.”
“She hopes it won’t come to that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Miranda doesn’t like putting disagreeable things into words.”
“What are you trying to say to me, Martin? Does Miranda want me to go?”
“No; not at all. She likes having you here. No, Miranda doesn’t want you to go.”
“Then does Pauline?”
Martin did not answer.
“This is Miranda’s house.”
“Yes, it’s supposed to be.”
“Pauline has been perfectly friendly most of the time. She asked me this morning to go back to London with her and stay with her.”
“That would be one way of doing it.”
Flora looked closely at Martin.
“Pauline didn’t ask you to say this to me, did she?”
“No. I’m glad to see that you are developing a more suspicious nature. No, she didn’t ask me to say anything to you and I shouldn’t have obliged her if she had. I dislike her intensely.”
“You always seem to get on with her very well.”
“She’s good value if you don’t care about her. She and I have certain things in common.”
“She’s very entertaining. I enjoy hearing her talk. I think I could like her very much.”
“No you couldn’t. You’re only persuading yourself that you could because you want to. You’re a good liker, but too slow on the opposite. Flora, I’m not going on about this, but I decided to say something to you because I sent you here, and I want to spare you a minor humiliation, and Pauline a cheap triumph. Miranda—” he stopped. “Take my advice and go home with Dennis and Dulcie on Saturday.”
“I’m not going to leave before my time unless Miranda asks me to.”
“You want to stay and fight Pauline?”
“I hope it won’t be necessary. We’re not little girls at school, after all, who can only have one best friend.”
“I’m not so sure. But my advice is to go home and back to Oxford, make it up with Lalage, and find another Hugh.”
“Hugh was unique. You sometimes sound to me as though you despised him.”
“I suppose I did in some ways. He was a charmer, but I can’t stand watching the antics of very unselfish people.”
“I can see they must make you feel inferior. You think, don’t you, that I shouldn’t have a chance against Pauline if she chose to clash with me? You disl
ike her but you admire her too for the very things you dislike.”
“Yes, I think that’s true. ‘The Empress Catherine and I are bandits.’ All the same I wanted to put a spoke in her wheel though I see now I didn’t choose the right one.”
“You despise me too, don’t you?”
“No. I’ve taken more trouble about you than I take about most people who are not part of my life.”
“That I’ve never wanted to be.”
“I know. For one thing you would never have considered competing with Lalage.”
“It never entered my head to want to. Do you expect all women to fall in love with you?”
“A good many of them do.”
“Very silly of them.”
“It depends on what they want. What some people want most from life is an exciting frustration.”
Flora suddenly perceived that this might be true.
“Why do you think they want that?”
“God knows. I’m not a psychoanalyst. I only observe what people do. I don’t attempt to account for it.”
“Perhaps they want heightened consciousness even when it hurts.”
“What I want is a drink.” Martin got up from the seat. Characteristically he did not invite Flora to come and have a drink with him. She watched him loping down the garden path towards the loggia, where Dennis had arrived and was busy with bottles and glasses.
She lingered, thinking over what Martin had said to her, watching the sun touching the rim of the opposite hills. Footsteps roused her; she saw Dulcie coming up the path towards her. Since the arrival of Pauline Dulcie had been much more friendly and had responded to the casual advances which Flora had almost given up bothering to make to her.
Dulcie had evidently been half-hearted about her preparations for dinner this evening. Her eyes were elaborately made up and she had brushed her hair, but she had returned to the blue denims which Agatina had washed for her.
She stood in front of Flora frowning at her but not so much with hostility as if in some perplexity about her.
“You rather like being alone, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do sometimes.”
“So do I. Especially now before dinner. I get tired of watching people having all those drinks when I’m hungry. You know Dad and I are going home on Saturday?”
“Yes. We shall miss you. Are you sorry to go?”
“Oh, no. It’s pretty boring here when everybody is so old except Ludo, and he’s not much good really. Anyhow he’s going tomorrow. You’re not coming home with us on Saturday, are you?”
“No. Who said I was?”
“Dad said he thought you might be.”
With a spurt of indignation because everybody … except the one who really mattered, seemed to be arranging for her to go home on Saturday, Flora said,
“I’m not going home till your mother goes in the middle of September.”
“I’m glad.” With a surprising concession to manners Dulcie added, “I shouldn’t have minded you coming with us. But I’d rather you were here; I’m on your side. I hope you win.”
* * *
On Sunday morning, the day after Dennis and Dulcie had left, the bells of the village church woke Flora, now established in the room that had been Martin’s. It was at the far end of the balcony from Miranda’s, and had a second window looking across the valley and the village to the distant line of hills.
“It’s much the best room in the house,” Miranda said enthusiastically as she installed Flora in it. “It’s the only bedroom that has both views. It’s just right for you when you so enjoy looking at this countryside. You ought to have had it all the time.”
Flora as she sat up in bed drinking her coffee wondered if Miranda would stroll along the balcony to say good morning to her as she had done before the invasion of visitors. Miranda did not come. Flora heard voices and laughter from Pauline’s room next to hers. It was perhaps going to be difficult spending the next few days as odd man out, but she was determined to stick it since after Pauline had left she would have Miranda to herself again.
By evening she thought that the warnings of Martin and Dulcie had been exaggerated. Their dislike of Pauline had made them postulate situations that were the creations of their own fantasies. The day, spent mostly in idling, reading, strolling, sleeping, had been enjoyable. Pauline had talked interestingly, and had taken the trouble to inquire, without too much probing, into Flora’s own life. Talking to them about her book made it real to her again. They all slept for most of the afternoon, bathed before dinner, lingered after dinner on the loggia until the mosquitoes drove them in, and went early to bed.
Flora was strolling round the garden next morning when Miranda wearing a light suit and stockings joined her.
“Pauline wants to go into Florence to see a woman there who sometimes supplies her with materials for the boutique. She’s a hard-up Contessa who likes to make a bit on the side. Would you care to come too? I’m afraid it would mean spending some time on your own. We shall have to take the Scagliari for a business lunch, but it would be nicer for you to come in with us than to spend the day here, wouldn’t it? Although if you’d rather be here you could have my car to go and bathe. Pauline is taking hers. She hates anybody driving her.”
“I should love to go to Florence. There are plenty of things there I haven’t seen or would like to see again.”
“We’ll start as soon as you’re ready, then.”
Pauline, who looked out of humour, greeted Flora brusquely, and shut her firmly into the back seat. She drove fast but well; Flora realized that her performance on the hill road had been a show off … a dangerous one, which today was not going to be repeated. She relaxed, and enjoyed the countryside which had not yet lost its early morning freshness.
The conversation in the front seat was brisk and mostly about the affairs of the boutique. Pauline had picked up some scandal about the Contessa, and was priming Miranda.
“Don’t ask about the daughter-in-law and the child because they’ve left her; I should think they must have found living in her house pretty intolerable. Federico has gone too, but that was breaking up anyhow. I expect she has a new lover by now. The villa at Castioncello is going to be sold. What I hope is that we might get some of that brocade she bought for it cheap. She bought yards and yards of it for curtains. I should think Federico paid for it. It was lovely stuff but all wrong for a seaside villa. She may very well be fed up with the whole thing, and glad to let us have the silk. On the other hand she’s a capricious old devil, and any idea that I want it would put the price up. We shall have to handle it casually.”
“I’ll leave all that to you.”
Once or twice Miranda turned round and spoke to Flora, asking if she was comfortable, and pointing out some particularly attractive villa on the hillsides.
“When you’ve made a lot of money with your book that would be a nice one for you? Only it’s rather far from Le Rondini. You couldn’t drop in for a drink.”
She turned back eagerly to Pauline’s talk. They knew so many of the same people.
“You know Florence quite well, don’t you Flora? Where will you lunch?” Miranda asked as they walked out of the station car park.
“I’ll find somewhere. Don’t bother about me.”
“There’s a very nice little place on the Lungano just round the corner from the Via Tuornoborni.”
“Where shall I meet you? What time?”
“I should think at the car park. What time, Pauline?”
“Five-thirty.”
“Do you think we shall be as long as that?”
“Probably. The Scagliari is never punctual, and she’s so afraid of losing ten lire she’ll bargain for hours. It will take me a hell of a time to make up her mind for her.”
“Five-thirty then, Flora, if that’s all right for you. Have a nice time.”
If I feel that they just want to get rid of me it’s because since Hugh died I feel so much more undefended. They’ve got busine
ss to do and naturally they don’t want an outside person. A day to wander round Florence alone will be a great treat.
It was surprising how soon it began not to seem like one … partly because of the heat, partly because so many of Flora’s responses were still out of action. Pictures were not yet alive for her again; everything beautiful had for the last five years been seen half with her own eyes and half with Hugh’s. When she sat down at Donneys half way through the morning for a cup of coffee people walking along the pavement past the windows were removed from her by more than glass. She went out again and looked at the shops but did not want anything she saw.
The scene kindled into life for her when she suddenly thought of buying a present for Miranda. She would have wanted to buy something anyhow for a hostess who was giving her such a holiday but to choose something for anyone as dear and charming as Miranda would be a vivid pleasure. She began to look again with lively interest at the shop windows she had idled negligently past half an hour ago.
It was not easy to find the right gift for somebody who had most things. The search took a long time. At last it struck Flora that since Miranda designed her own dresses she might like a length of silk. She bought in the end a length of Italian seta pura, pale gold with a design of soft coral. The supple silk rippled on the counter like sunlit water. As the woman selling it bunched it up and held it under her own plain, lively face Flora could see it on Miranda.
By the time she came out of the shop she was tired and hungry. She looked at her watch and saw it was half past one. She was near the restaurant where Dennis had taken her. She had meant to look about for some smaller, cheaper place, but after all there was not much she could do for the next hour and a half; all the galleries would be shut. She had spent more than she meant to on Miranda’s present, one extravagance breeds another, she might as well blue the rest of the money she had with her on a leisurely lunch. She went in.
The place was full but the head waiter pointed out to her that two people at a small table in one corner were finishing their coffee. If the Signora could wait just one minute the table should be hers. In the meantime he offered her a chair and a drink. Flora asked for a campari soda and sat down.
Glancing carelessly round the room she saw Miranda and Pauline at a table for two in an alcove at the far end.
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