Vintage Love

by Clarissa Ross

  “How can I?” he said. “I do not know the answer. Try Irma. She is much closer to him than I have ever been.”

  “I shall,” she said.

  Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Henry and her aunt. She introduced them to the friendly young Prince. They were all in a group talking when Prince Sanzio appeared in his wheelchair from the other end of the room. She saw at once that he had changed to evening dress. And she was thankful that Henry had decided to bring his along. It seemed that dinner was a formal occasion in the palace.

  Prince Sanzio wheeled himself up to join them and gave Prince Raphael a special greeting. “I am happy you are here,” he told the young man. “But where is my daughter?”

  Prince Raphael shrugged. “I regret I do not know.”

  “May I add that I also regret it, most sincerely,” the old man said with irony. “Well, we shall have to make do without her. I shall lead the way to the dining room.”

  He went at the head of their group with Della at his side chatting with him. The dining room was on the other side of the huge reception hall and by candlelight looked less shabby than the rest of the house. The candelabra on the table gave the room a rich warmth which was enhanced by the gleaming white cloth, the rows of fine china, silver and cut glass.

  Prince Sanzio wheeled his chair to the head of the table and placed Della on his right and Aunt Isobel on his left. Prince Raphael sat next to Della and Henry sat across the table with her aunt. It was an arrangement for good conversation and she assumed that had her sister been there she would have been seated on the other side of Henry.

  Aunt Isobel showed a thin smile as little Guido entered in waiter’s uniform to serve them solemnly. The little man was barely the height of the table but he managed well with the various courses from soup, to fish, to grouse and then the flaming desert which he wheeled in on a tray.

  Prince Sanzio proved a brilliant table partner. He gave a great deal of attention to Della, saying “You must get to know this old city.”

  “I want to,” she told him. “Rome has always been a magic word for me.”

  “People call it the Eternal City, you know,” the old man said with a wry smile. “Yet in no other city does a visitor see more tangible and tragic evidence of the fragility of human creation.”

  “You are thinking of the many ruins, I suppose?” Aunt Isobel ventured.

  “In a sense,” the old man said. “In the heart of this city you can lose your way among ruined temples. Grass grows on the Via Sacra along which princes rode in celebration of great victories. All that remains of that glory are traces on the ground, truncated columns, inscriptions on stone worn away by the centuries.”

  Henry spoke up: “It is because this was such an early seat of civilization.”

  Prince Sanzio smiled bitterly. “Civilization! A much-abused word! Has man ever been truly civilized?”

  “We Romans pride ourselves on our culture,” the young Prince Raphael contributed.

  The old man gave him a withering look. “Is that why some of our titled young people are turning to Satanism?”

  Prince Raphael’s face crimsoned and he stared down at his plate. Della entered the discussion to ease the tension, saying, “Perhaps when people refer to the eternity of Rome they are thinking of its perpetual rebirth. The city is made up of ruins as life is made up of its dead, it rises from death to new life. After ancient Rome came the Rome of Christianity, and then the Renaissance, and now the new Rome of today.”

  Prince Sanzio’s wrinkled face showed approval. “You speak wisely. Only in Rome have the centuries not been erased. Here poverty and pomp exist side by side. Nothing lasts but nothing dies! History is not abstract, it is present!”

  “You love your city,” Della said with a warm smile. “And that is good. I’m sure every English person has a special affection for London.”

  “And the Queen!” Aunt Isobel said emotionally.

  Prince Raphael raised his glass and stood, “A toast to the Queen! And to our English guests!”

  The toast was drunk and the mood at the table became most amiable as the long dinner continued. At the end the men remained at the table to enjoy their brandy while Della and Aunt Isobel went to repair their makeup before joining the gentlemen later in the living room.

  As soon as they were away from the dining room Aunt Isobel touched Della on the arm and complained, “I don’t like the way this is shaping up! Not at all! Where is the girl?”

  “I hope she will soon arrive,” Della replied, wishing to placate the older woman. Though the situation was also distressing to her.

  Aunt Isobel said, “Something is wrong!”

  “According to the Prince she has fallen in with bad company and has been misbehaving,” she said.

  “She should have been here to greet you!”

  “I know.”

  “I think she’s a fake and afraid to meet us,” Aunt Isobel decided.

  “We can’t jump to conclusions until we know more,” Della warned the older woman.

  Aunt Isobel sat down dejectedly on the end of a divan. “They are pretending! They don’t really like us! I can tell!”

  “I’m sure I don’t know how,” Della argued. “I think we’re being treated well. Prince Sanzio couldn’t be more hospitable and Prince Raphael is charming.”

  “All false front!” was her aunt’s emphatic reaction.

  When the men rejoined them a little later the talk turned to the Vatican. Prince Sanzio said, “You must all spend some time exploring the Papal State. You will be well rewarded.”

  “It is one of the memorable sights of Rome,” Prince Raphael agreed.

  “Even though our sons and daughters no longer have love or respect for the Church,” the old man said severely.

  “I’m excited about St. Peter’s and the square!” Henry said.

  “It has majesty and beauty,” Prince Sanzio said. “The four rows of columns from the basilica opening are all-embracing. In the center is the red granite obelisk which Caligua imported from Heliopolis and Nero later placed in the Circus Maximus. On each side stand two fountains, their spouting water the mobile and fluid element in what is a symphony of stone!”

  Prince Raphael took Della slightly aside as they stood together with their wineglasses in their hands. In a low voice, he said, “I’m weary of this endless talk. May I show you the gardens by moonlight.”

  There was a twinkle in her green eyes. “I think I could do with some air.”

  They left the living room quietly and went outdoors by a side entrance. Descending several broad marble steps they entered a garden whose perfumed aroma filled the night. On either side of the flower beds and walks there were rows of straight, sentinel-like dark green trees. A full moon shone down to light the area.

  “Magnificent!” she said.

  The man at her side shrugged. “It is nothing to what it once was. Would you believe it is maintained by a single gardener?”

  “He must work from dawn to dusk!”

  “Probably he does. Some simple fellow who has great affection for the old Prince.”

  She looked up at him sharply. “You sound as if you think that wrong?”

  “It is outdated.”

  “I can’t wish to believe that loyalty, respect and affection will ever be dated,” she said.

  Prince Raphael laughed lightly. “You are a creature of sentimentality. I thought only we Italians ran to such sentiment, that the English are cold and prudish.”

  “Prudish perhaps,” she said teasingly, “but never cold!”

  They strolled along the walk and he said, “You must be sick of my friend Prince Sanzio raving on about the glory of Rome.”

  “I enjoyed it.”

  “He was a poor imitation of a tour guide!”

  “Don’t say such things,” she pleaded. “Or I shall think less of you.”

  They had come to the end of the walk and now he halted to ask her, “That brings me to the point of asking
you what your opinion you hold of me.”

  She smiled and considered. “I think you have a great deal of charm but I fear that it is in danger of being spoiled by your cynicism.”

  “To think is to be a cynic!”

  “It depends on one’s viewpoint,” Della told him. “Henry is much duller than you. But he shows enthusiasm at times and that livens him. You heard him going on about St. Peter’s and the square.”

  “I grew up playing in the square. Why should it mean anything to me?” he asked.

  “I’m sorry you have become blind to beauty and history,” she said.

  “And I may think you naïve about Rome.”

  “Do so, I don’t mind,” she said, starting to stroll back and beginning to think the garden interlude might turn out to be a mistake.

  Prince Raphael said, “It is too bad about Irma. Her absence naturally has upset you.”

  “I’m sure it has upset us all,” she said.

  “Do not worry, she will show herself in her own good time. I think she is with Barsini.”

  “That should bother you,” she told him.

  “It will not last,” he said, gazing up at the moon so that its full light shone on his handsome face. “She will come back to me. Barsini soon tires of his playthings. She will have no choice!”

  “You shock me!” Della said.

  “Why?”

  “An Englishman would have a showdown with your evil Count and take his girl back from him by strength! You are content to wait and let it happen by default.”

  “So I am an Italian.”

  “I’m not sure I approve of you,” she said.

  He halted again and, turning to her, said, “I have been thinking of something you said earlier tonight.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes,” he said. “You spoke of Barsini and suggested he might be a thief.”

  “I don’t think I actually said those words.”

  “It amounted to that.”

  “You think so?”

  “Yes,” the young Prince said. “And that leads me to believe that something prompted you to make such a statement about Barsini. What?”

  “You are jumping to a number of conclusions,” she told him.

  “Will you not tell me?”

  “I have nothing to tell you. I was making a comment on his character. Offering a guess as to the sort of person he is.”

  “It didn’t sound like that!”

  “I’m so sorry,” she mocked him.

  He stared at her long and hard. “I don’t think you are anything like Irma.”

  “No?”

  “No,” he said. “And I like what I find in you much more!” Without warning he took her in his arms and kissed her again, perhaps more ardently than he had when first they met.

  When he released her, she said, “You didn’t mistake me for Irma this time!”

  “I did not,” he said gravely. “That embrace was for you. I have lost my head to you, my English Della.”

  “Better be more cautious,” she said. “I don’t like being pawed over whenever someone takes it in their head. I reserve my kisses for good friends and the man I love.”

  “Can I not be a good friend?”

  “It is much too early to say.”

  “Or even the man you love?”

  “You are too late for that!”

  “I will not believe it!”

  “You had better,” she said. “And now I’m sure we ought to go in. We’ve probably caused talk as it is.”

  He laughed. “Do you care?”

  “Yes, I think so,” she said. “It is my first night under Prince Sanzio’s roof. I do not wish to have him think badly of me.”

  “He won’t,” the man at her side assured her. “But perhaps I will.”

  With these somewhat enigmatic words the young Prince saw her back inside the palace. They rejoined the others, who were in deep conversation about the condition of the Church in the late-nineteenth century. Della was grateful that no one seemed to have missed them. Prince Raphael smirked at her when she glanced up at him, as if to underline the fact their absence had caused no comment.

  Della spoke up to say, “We met several people on the train. One of them a jolly old priest named Father Anthony.”

  Prince Sanzio said, “The only Father Anthony I can think of died two years ago. But Rome is crammed with priests and many of them must surely be named Anthony. It is an Italian name.”

  Prince Raphael added, “To find him would be like seeking out a John Smith in London!”

  “What about that wretched woman?” Aunt Isobel said. “I think her name was Gonia or something like that!”

  Henry said, “Madame Guioni. A widow who claimed to be the owner of the Guioni Brothers winery.”

  “I have never heard of her,” Prince Sanzio said. “But that does not mean she is not an important figure here. I’m very out of touch. I know few people of the new generation.”

  “She’s an Englishwoman who married into the Guioni family,” Della explained.

  “I do not know the lady but I’m familiar with the wine,” Prince Raphael said. “It is very poor stuff!”

  “So Father Anthony said,” Henry put in.

  The intimate conversation went on and the tension within Della grew. It was growing late and the sister she had traveled so far to meet had not shown herself. She was badly worried about it all. She felt relief when Prince Raphael announced his intention to leave and the party broke up.

  The Prince kissed her hand in leaving and bade a courtly goodnight to Henry and her aunt. He spoke a few words with the older Prince and then went on his way. Prince Sanzio looked deathly pale, as if on the point of collapse.

  He addressed himself to Della: “How can I apologize for my daughter’s snubbing you in this fashion?”

  She said, “I’m sure she must have had a good reason.”

  “I would hope so,” the old man said. “Yet I seriously doubt it.”

  Della said, “She will return. Then I’ll talk to her and so will Mr. Clarkson. We will then decide if the woman’s letter was valid.”

  The old Prince looked shattered. “I would not blame you for repudiating her even if she should be your sister.”

  “If the facts are proven I will not let anything else stand in her way,” Della said quietly.

  “That is charitable of you,” the old man said with sincerity. “Sleep well this first night in the Palazzo Sanzio.”

  “I’m sure I shall,” she said.

  The old man wheeled himself off into the shadows and she mounted the stairway, following Aunt Isobel and Henry, who had already gone upstairs. The landing was deserted with only a single candle burning there for light. The Prince appeared to rely entirely on candles for lighting the palace. Perhaps because he found it less expensive.

  The evening had left her depressed and tense. She felt things were not going well and she was not at all sure about Prince Raphael. She had a suspicion he might not be the carefree man-about-town he pretended, but something much more sinister.

  He had reacted strangely to her mention of a theft of a treasure and whether Barsini might be related to it. She was filled with these troubling thoughts as she opened the door to her room and went in. A single candle on the dresser offered light.

  She was closing the door when hands reached out and grasped her by the arms. She cried out in terror and twisted around to find herself facing Henry!

  “You!” she exclaimed. “Why did you do that? You gave me a dreadful fright!”

  “Not my intention,” he said.

  “You should have spoken, given me some warning.”

  “I thought of that in the garden,” he said, his tone meaningful.

  She stared at him. “The garden? Were you spying on Prince Raphael and me?”

  “I would hardly call it that,” he said. “I went out to join you for a breath of air expecting nothing. And I found you two most romantically in each other’s arms!”

  “
Henry!” she said in reproach.

  “I was a gentleman,” he promised. “I turned straight about and went into the house.”

  “You gave no hint of it when we returned!”

  “I have some discretion,” he assured her.

  She touched his arm. “I promise you it was nothing. He is an Italian and a Prince!”

  “I know that.”

  “He simply caught me by surprise! Swept me into his arms before I could resist! I was shocked and I gave him a good lecture!”

  Henry smiled knowingly. “I shall believe you. I shall not let my mind be filled with nasty, suspicious thoughts as I have known you to do in the past!”

  “Will you never forgive me?”

  “Forgiven, my dear,” the young lawyer said warmly. “I guessed the situation was as you described it.”

  “Mind you,” she said, “he most brazenly went on making love to me as if he weren’t engaged to that Irma at all! I’m sure I may have trouble with him.”

  “He will require handling,” Henry said. “And as for Irma? Do you think she exists?”

  “Of course,” she said. “The old Prince was in despair at her behavior.”

  “There is something very odd about it,” Henry ventured.

  “I’m sure Prince Raphael knows more than he lets on,” she continued. “I mentioned Barsini and conjectured whether he might be a thief.”

  “That was bait,” Henry said, at once interested. “How did he react?”

  “At first he said Barsini would not steal as he is too rich.”

  “Then?”

  “Then I made him admit there might be other motives for theft. The thrill of taking a great treasure!”

  “He reacted to that?”

  “Yes and brought it up some time later in the evening. So I think we have hit a vein. It may mean a low follow-up, but I say Barsini is our man!”

  Henry offered, “He seems to be at the bottom of a good deal of the trouble here. So why should he not be mixed up in the theft of the jeweled Madonna?”

  “If there ever was one,” she said. “Now I must get some sleep. I’m dead on my feet!”

  Henry smiled at her. “Would a kiss from me be an anticlimax after all your earlier romancing?”

  Pertly, she thrust up her mouth, “Why not try it and find out?”