Every Mother's Son

by Val Wood

  She didn’t answer but moaned again. I must tek her wet clothes off, he thought, or she’ll get pneumonia, if she hasn’t already. He lifted her up, unfastened and removed her blouse and skirt, but hesitated over removing her undergarments, even though they too were wet. He wrapped her in a shawl that was on the back of a chair, took off his own jacket and put that round her, and then replaced the blanket on top. The kindling was now burning brightly and he added more wood and then a lump of coal. The kettle was hanging from a hook and he shook it. There was some water in it but not much, and he knew it would take an age to boil.

  He knelt down by the bed and waited, wishing that the doctor would come soon. What if he was out? What would Christopher Hart do then? He tucked the blanket closer to her. ‘Ma. Can you hear me? We’ve sent for ’doctor,’ he repeated. ‘Christopher Hart has gone to fetch him. He’ll be back in a minute.’

  Ellen exhaled, but said nothing. He put his hand to her forehead. She was still icy cold, and although he didn’t want to admit it, he didn’t think she would survive.

  He got up again and went to attend to the fire, carefully feeding in twigs and small pieces of wood and coal so as not to smother the flame, and then turned as he heard her say something. He went back to the bed. ‘What did you say?’ He heard the sound of scurrying feet on the path. ‘I think ’doctor’s here, and Christopher; we came together, Ma. Everything’s all right.’ His voice was choked as he lied. ‘We’ve come to an understanding – about me being ’eldest son, just like you wanted.’

  He thought she gave a small smile, though he could have been mistaken; it might have been a sudden pain that twisted her lips. She breathed some words and he bent his head, and like a faint rustle or a sigh he heard, ‘Tell him – I’m sorry.’

  The doctor and Christopher came into the room and Fletcher turned to them. ‘It’s too late.’ Tears streamed down his face. ‘She’s gone.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Milo introduced himself as Leo Milo, adding that most people of his acquaintance called him Milo. Charles gave him a short bow and held out his hand. ‘Charles Hart,’ he said. ‘How do you do? And my sister, Miss Beatrice Hart.’

  Beatrice dipped her knee and Milo took off his hat and bowed.

  ‘Daniel Orsini-Tuke,’ Daniel said, putting out his hand. The Englishman gave an astonished start at the name, but he didn’t comment.

  Instead, he led them back to the trattoria, taking them inside because of the heat. There were several small tables and a bar with a kitchen behind it, and he asked if they would like to have lunch. They thanked him and explained that they had just eaten.

  He clicked his fingers to their waiter and asked for something. The man brought over a bottle of red wine and four glasses, and a plate of bread and olives.

  ‘Signorina,’ Milo addressed Beatrice. ‘Perhaps you might prefer something lighter? A glass of Puccino, or Prosecco as it is also known?’

  Beatrice hesitated; she wasn’t really used to drinking wine. Milo smiled. ‘Most ladies like it. The bubbles tickle their nose.’

  ‘Then a small glass, signor. Thank you.’

  He poured the red wine and waited for a bottle of Prosecco to be brought, poured Beatrice a glass and then raised his in a toast. ‘Salute.’

  The others raised their glasses and Beatrice pronounced the Prosecco delightful.

  ‘It’s produced in this region,’ Milo explained. ‘Now, I must first of all apologize. I speak so little of my own tongue that I sometimes lapse into Italian. I’ve lived here for a long time. My wife was Italian and my daughter has been brought up as an Italian.’ He paused, and then said, ‘Federico said you were enquiring about ’Orsini family, and’ – he turned to Daniel – ‘you introduced yourself as Orsini, so you must have Italian blood?’

  ‘So I believe, sir. My background is rather a mystery. I never knew my father, he died when I was a baby, but according to my mother it seems that he didn’t know much about his father’s past either.’ He hesitated. ‘My grandmother, my father’s mother, said that – that my grandfather’s name was Orsini and we thought that was an Italian name.’

  ‘Only thought?’ Milo asked with a puzzled frown. ‘And why did you think he might be from Genoa? The Orsini family originated in Rome.’

  ‘I didn’t,’ Daniel admitted. ‘But Granny Rosie told me he was a seaman, so after we’d crossed Switzerland, where we were meeting Beatrice, we headed towards ’nearest Italian port, which happened to be Genoa. They, erm …’ He flushed. ‘My grandparents didn’t marry. My father was born out of wedlock.’

  ‘It happens.’ Milo shrugged. ‘It won’t be ’first time. But what’s left of ’Orsini family – and there aren’t many – will mostly be in Rome.’

  Charles gave a little frown and glanced at Beatrice, who was listening intently.

  ‘However,’ Milo went on after a short pause, ‘the reason that Federico called me over was not only because he thought that as an Englishman I could help you find information, but also because he knows I’m related through marriage to an Orsini.’

  ‘Oh,’ Daniel breathed. ‘Really? That’s incredible.’

  ‘Goodness,’ Beatrice said. ‘How very extraordinary! What an amazing coincidence. But earlier, the waiter told us that the Orsinis were a noble family, so does it not follow that there would be several blood lines from the original?’

  ‘Oh, yes, most likely, I’d say.’

  ‘Where does your relative live? Would he be willing to meet me?’ Daniel asked eagerly. ‘He might be able to help track down my grandfather – if he’s alive, that is. I must admit I thought it’d be like finding a needle in a haystack. I didn’t expect to find someone wi’ same name on ’first day!’

  ‘You’re from Yorkshire, aren’t you?’ Milo asked him. ‘I can hear it.’

  ‘Aye, I am,’ Daniel said, ‘and proud of it even though I might have a drop of foreign blood.’

  ‘More than a drop, I’d say.’ Milo poured them all another glass of wine. ‘Anyone looking at you would think you were pure Italian. Yes, I’ll take you to see la famiglia. Where are you staying?’

  They explained that they were in lodgings just outside the town, and after considering for a moment Milo said that as Signor Orsini lived outside Genoa in the village of Vernazza, on the Cinque Terre coastline, it was too late for him to take them today.

  ‘I’ll tell him about you,’ he said, ‘so tomorrow morning meet me here at eight thirty and I’ll take you to visit him. We’ll go by ferry, much easier and quicker than by road or rail. He’s sure to invite you to stay, so tell your padrona – landlady – that you might be away for one or two nights. Signor Orsini leads a quiet life nowadays but enjoys having company.’

  ‘That’s really good of you, Mr Milo,’ Daniel began, but Milo interrupted him.

  ‘Just Milo will do.’ His brown eyes were merry, appraising him. ‘Not my real name, but … well, not now. I must dash if I’m to catch ’ferry back. It’s been good to talk to you. Folks from my own country.’ He looked pensive. ‘My own county too.’ He saw their raised eyebrows and questions hovering. ‘More of that tomorrow. Don’t be late, the ferry won’t wait.’ He picked up his hat. ‘Arrivederci.’

  They all stared after him as he departed. ‘Well!’ Beatrice breathed. And ‘Oh!’ Daniel said feelingly. ‘I can’t believe it.’ And Charles added, ‘Did you hear the way he spoke? Beatrice, did you notice?’

  ‘Yes,’ she nodded. ‘I did.’

  ‘What?’ Daniel asked. ‘What about it? He said he isn’t used to speaking English now.’

  ‘Not only that,’ Charles said, as they again said goodbye to the waiter and made their way outside into the heat of the afternoon. ‘Gosh, I feel rather woozy with the wine.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Daniel persisted.

  Charles blew out his cheeks and hooked his arms into Daniel’s and Beatrice’s for support. ‘I mean that he has an accent similar to yours, Daniel.’

  ‘What Charles is tryin
g to say,’ Beatrice explained, ‘is that Milo sounds as if he’s from our area of Yorkshire. From the East Riding, just as we are, except that Charles and I don’t have the local accent as you do. Yours is the true and old accent of the area, whereas ours—’

  ‘Is toffee-nosed!’ Charles gave a snort of laughter at his own joke, and added, ‘I do believe I’m slightly drunk.’

  ‘I do believe you are, old fellow,’ Daniel mocked spontaneously. ‘Come on.’ He took the lead. ‘It’s too hot to be out. Let’s get back. I think we might need a lie-down!’

  Charles snored throughout the afternoon as he slept off the effects of the wine, but Daniel sat on his bed, wide awake, anxiety washing over him as he considered the day’s events. It is such a coincidence. I don’t suppose this Orsini will know my Marco Orsini – it’s probably a popular name just as Joseph Smith or William Brown or Thomas Jones are at home. He thought then of his half-brothers, Lenny and Joseph, and felt guilt yet again that he was here in Italy while although Joseph was still at school Lenny was contributing to the family finances with his pigs at— Oh, it’s his birthday this month. He’ll be fourteen.

  He got up and looked in his rucksack for his supply of cards, searched for a pencil and began to write. He first of all wished Lenny a happy birthday and apologized that he might have missed the date.

  I know we’re in June, he wrote. But sometimes we even forget what day it is. We’ve arrived in Genoa in Italy and by sheer coincidence have tracked down someone who married into the Orsini family. But tell Granny Rosie not to get her hopes up yet as it might be a dead end. It was an ancient noble family, he outlined in bold letters. And I hope to meet one of them tomorrow. I’m missing you all. Your loving son and brother, Daniel.

  He went back to lie on the bed. And it’s got to be a fluke, he mused, if Milo comes from our neck of ’woods. Odd sort of name for a Yorkshireman, Leo Milo, though didn’t he say it wasn’t his real name? Why would he change it? Or mebbe it was too difficult for ’Italians to pronounce. He began to feel sleepy and confused as thoughts rushed through his head and, as he did so often since being in her company every day, he thought of Beatrice, her smile, her fair skin and the blonde hair that was bleaching whiter in the sun. Sun-kissed, he dreamed as he fell asleep. I wish that I could kiss it too.

  The next morning they were on the quayside by eight fifteen, not wanting to be late. They’d had to pay their hostess a further deposit to keep their rooms, even though, as Charles grumbled, they were not likely to go off and leave the ponies behind. Daniel said he didn’t mind paying as it meant that the animals were being looked after and grazing every day on a grassy area adjacent to the guest house with access to shelter from the afternoon sun.

  ‘It’s coming.’ Beatrice pointed out the ferry boat heading towards the harbour, a pall of smoke erupting from its tall chimney, and they moved towards the landing stage. As it came nearer they saw a group of passengers waiting to come ashore and in the midst of them Milo, wearing his hat, which he lifted and waved.

  Daniel huffed out a breath. ‘That’s a relief. I half thought he might not come!’

  ‘He must be as curious as we are.’ Beatrice smiled at him. ‘Are you nervous? I would be in your place.’

  ‘I am,’ Daniel admitted. ‘I wonder what he’s told Signor Orsini – if he’s told him anything.’

  ‘We’ll find out shortly,’ Charles said, narrowing his eyes against the sun, already very bright, though a strong breeze was blowing across the water.

  ‘Buongiorno!’ Milo greeted them. ‘Come aboard. I’ve already got your tickets.’ He came to the gangway and put out his hand to help Beatrice on board. ‘I thought you’d like to sit on deck to appreciate the scenery. This is considered to be a most beautiful coastline.’

  Solicitously he handed Beatrice a blanket to wrap around her knees, and although she wasn’t cold she appreciated his consideration.

  ‘How did you travel here?’ he asked as the ferry got under way. ‘By train from Brig, then Domodossola and Milan, I suppose?’

  They all shook their heads. ‘We rode,’ Daniel said.

  ‘Horseback,’ Beatrice added.

  ‘Camping,’ Charles concluded. ‘It’s a long way.’

  Milo looked astonished. ‘No, I meant from Switzerland.’

  ‘So did we,’ Daniel told him. ‘Charles and I sailed from England to Le Havre then took ’train to Rouen and then to Paris, where we spent a few days before going on to Montreux. Where was it next, Charles? Oh, I can’t remember.’ He wrinkled his forehead. ‘But then across Lake Thun to Interlaken to see Beatrice.’ He grinned. ‘And then horseback – well, mountain ponies. I can’t believe we did all that and finally got to Genoa.’

  ‘You came across the Alps on horseback?’ Milo shook his head. ‘And you’ve never been before?’

  ‘I’ve been living in Interlaken,’ Beatrice told him. ‘I was at a finishing school for young ladies,’ she added, laughing.

  ‘Well, I’m sure they prepared you thoroughly for such an adventure,’ Milo said, his eyes merry.

  ‘I wasn’t going to miss it,’ she declared. ‘If my brother and …’ She hesitated. She was quite sure that this Englishman wouldn’t be deceived into thinking Daniel was her cousin. ‘… and our good friend Daniel could do it, then I saw no reason why I couldn’t.’

  ‘I’m very impressed,’ Milo said. ‘Bravo! But you all came for what reason? To do the Grand Tour?’

  ‘We came because Daniel wanted some answers about his past,’ Charles said, adding, ‘I wasn’t going to let him come without me, although we hadn’t reckoned on Beatrice coming too. She tricked us.’ He gave an ironic grin at his sister and a heavy sigh. ‘As she so often does.’

  By the time they had talked and Milo had pointed out the position of Cinque Terre, the five villages nestling in small coves and meandering up the steep mountainside, they were nearing Vernazza with its small harbour, olive groves and terraced vineyards that appeared to be plummeting down into the sea that lashed lazily beneath its feet.

  ‘It’s a steep climb up to ’house,’ Milo told them when they disembarked. ‘If you look up you can see it on that promontory.’

  Above them on a rocky shelf stood a tower-like building with a terrace overlooking the sea.

  ‘How lovely!’ Beatrice said. ‘Do you live there too, Milo?’

  He took Beatrice’s rucksack from her and put it on his own back as they began the uphill trek. ‘I do now. My wife and I used to live in Genoa and after she died I stayed for a few years, but the port is getting busier and busier and I worried about my daughter’s safety, so we came to keep her grandfather company.’

  ‘Oh,’ Daniel said. ‘So Signor Orsini is your father-in-law?’

  ‘He is,’ Milo answered. The hillside was very steep, as he had said, and the path so narrow in places that they had to walk in single file and were unable to converse. Eventually Milo said, ‘Nearly there. Five minutes or so and you can catch your breath.’

  They were all breathing heavily by the time they reached the wooden gates which stood wide open to greet them. The path went higher up the mountain and on each side the vineyards stretched on, as did the sweet-scented lemon groves. They walked through the gates towards the house, which was much bigger than it seemed from below. From the rear it was castle-like, with stone terracing and lows walls and a piazza with stone jars and seating beneath olive trees and trailing vines.

  ‘Come,’ Milo said. ‘We’ll go in from the front and you can look at ’view over the sea.’ He led them to the front of the house, where they came to the terrace they had seen from below. They followed him towards the terrace wall to look down at the panorama of steep hillside and vineyards; beyond the small harbour and cluster of houses the deep blue Mediterranean threw up spumes of white spray on to the rocky coastline. They didn’t notice the figure sitting at the other end of the terrace.

  ‘Buongiorno.’ A deep voice made them about-turn and walk towards a broad-shouldered man in h
is late sixties, with a thick white moustache but dark eyebrows, and a straw hat on a head of white hair. He sat comfortably in a basket chair, a white jug and a cup and saucer placed on a low table beside him. There was a pungent aroma of coffee.

  ‘Buongiorno,’ they replied. Charles and Daniel bowed and Beatrice dipped her knee graciously.

  ‘Babbo,’ Milo said, and only Beatrice knew that this was an affectionate term for Father or Da. ‘These are the English people I was telling you about.’ He spoke slowly, in English. ‘Miss Beatrice Hart, her brother Charles, and Daniel …’ he hesitated, ‘Orsini.’ He turned towards them. ‘My father-in-law, Signor Orsini.’

  ‘Caffè.’ Signor Orsini snapped his fingers in the air. ‘Tell Sophia she bring caffè for our guests.’

  Milo went inside and called to someone, and Signor Orsini beckoned to the three of them. ‘Come, forgive me for not standing; my legs are not good today.’ He beckoned again to Daniel and Charles. ‘Bring chairs, per favore.’ Then, turning to Beatrice, he said, ‘Signorina. Leo no say you are so beautiful.’

  He invited Beatrice to sit next to him, murmuring, ‘La mia giornata é più luminosa. You understand, yes?’

  ‘No, signor.’ Beatrice blushed.

  ‘Explain, Leo,’ he said to his son-in-law, who had come back out on to the terrace.

  ‘He says that his whole day is brighter,’ Leo translated, adding, ‘My father-in-law is a terrible flirt.’

  ‘You’re very kind, sir,’ Beatrice smiled.

  Daniel, listening, thought, I wonder if I could remember that? But then, what’s the use? I’d never be able to say it to her.

  A pretty dark-haired woman with a flower in her hair and wearing a crisp white apron over her colourful dress brought a tray of coffee cups and another jug of coffee. Leo took it from her and said, ‘This is Sophia. She is a good friend of ours and helpmate of Signor Orsini.’ She glanced at Beatrice, then Charles, but her eyes lingered on Daniel as she smiled and bobbed her head before she left them.