by Norrey Ford
A very modern ghost, then. Bianca kept herself up to date. The inevitable pile of pop records. Hi-fi equipment—very, very lush. A pile of subtly coloured sandals, tumbled as if the owner were in the habit of rummaging through for what she fancied; those were this year’s style or well ahead of it. Fine Italian work. On a marble table, carelessly put down, wing-sided sunglasses.
In the bedroom, it was the same. Jan opened a long row of fitted wardrobes and handled the exquisite garments hung there. Your brother is both rich and generous, Bianca, she thought. I’d love to see myself in some of these creations, and if you really mind about it, have your quarrel with him, not me. He made me promise.
Here, there really was a sea-view. Long windows opened on to a balcony with a sheer drop below. Leaning over made Jan clutch the rail and close her eyes. So far down there, so emerald the water!
Between the two tall windows, there stood a gilt table topped with glass. On the table, a small, exquisite white kid beauty box, fully fitted. After her own loss of the morning, not yet replaced, Jan was truly tempted. Everything was here. Powders, lipsticks in a dozen colours, eye-liners and shadows, mascara. Thoughtfully, her gaze still on the lavish array, Jan reached for the tiny perfume bottle and sniffed. Um, lovely! A famous name adorned the jewel-like bottle.
Something wrong here. What was it?
Remembering how bereft she’d felt earlier in the day, when all her make-up, modest as it was, disappeared with her money, Jan knew—and shivered.
What sort of girl goes on a long visit and leaves her beauty box at home?
CHAPTER II
Jan sank down on to a low white leather stool, her eyes fixed on the beauty box. It was possible that Bianca had a smaller version she used for travelling and had taken a few of her favourite cosmetics with her. Yet these had such an air of being used and loved. Only a girl could know how another girl would sit over such a well-filled box, choosing among her treasures as lovingly as if they had been diamonds, rubies, emeralds.
If Bianca had been feminine enough to spend time and money choosing such a collection, she was feminine enough to want it with her.
A cold shiver touched Jan’s spine. Had Marco Cellini’s young sister died recently and suddenly? Did she now inhabit that dream world of her mother’s? It was not possible to forget that casual You’ll find, her in the swimming pool—nor Marco’s strange amazement. Yet he had hurried to see if she really was in the pool. He wouldn’t have done so, if he’d known her to be dead.
I’m making mountains out of molehills, she decided at last. How do I know how the very rich live, or how they regard their possessions? This Bianca may have a dozen beauty cases, a hundred lipsticks, for all I know. And why should she care who wears her clothes? I’ll bet she has more new dresses in a month than any of us in the Nurses’ Hostel gets in five years. What I need is a shower, a cloud of that heavenly scented talc, and something new to wear.
The bathroom was floored in black marble. Jan threw off her clothes and ran across it, seeing the dim shape of her body deeply reflected. A warm shower rinsed away the stress and heat of her day; then, as she cautiously turned it to cold, the water came through more strongly, stinging like needles till she tingled with energy.
Then there was the delightful business of choosing a new dress. Or, she thought, riffling through the vast wardrobe, trouser suit; for Bianca had an elegant line in those.
Finally she chose a cornflower blue fitted cotton blouse with deeply cuffed sleeves, and wide flaring trousers to match. From a drawerful of carelessly tangled costume jewellery she took a pale blue beaded choker, and three broad white bangles.
The result pleased her, as she peacocked before the long mirrors. Say what you like, she grimaced at her own image, expensive clothes do something for a girl. Her feet were bare, but a pair of sugar-pink and white high-heeled sandals took care of that. After some experimentation with Bianca’s make-up, she produced the gentle, translucent effect she had admired in others but so far rarely managed to produce for herself. A delicate shading of eye-shadow completed the picture.
H’m, dreamy, Jan thought, scrutinizing her face critically in a hand-mirror. No wonder she uses that most; it must be just her colour, as it is mine.
Now she was ready to face the Villa Tramonti and whatever it might contain. She hesitated only a second or two, with the jewelled perfume flask in her hand, then put it down. Not that. I may drift around here looking like Bianca Cellini, but I’m dashed if I’m going to smell like her. The cold shiver touched her spine again.
The maid returned, with the orange drink on a tiny silver tray. When she saw Jan she uttered an exclamation of pleasure. Then, recognising the visitor wearing her mistress’s clothes, the girl’s face darkened with anger. Her eyes darted from the wardrobe to Jan, and back to the wardrobe. If she had not been so well trained, Jan knew, she would have protested strongly. As it was, she tossed her head and marched out of the room, expressing in every line of her plump little body the indignation she so clearly felt.
She’ll tell the others and they’ll hate me. Cool glass in hand, Jan wandered through to the sitting-room. Did an invitation to play the guitar extend to an invitation to use the record player? Hesitation disappeared when the sulky, handsome face of her favourite singer glowered at her from the sleeve at the top of the pile. She put the record on, lowered the volume discreetly, stretched herself upon an elegant chaise-longue and crossed her ankles.
This was the life! And all for free.
The warm sensuous throbbing of a familiar male voice, the cool comfortable room, the sense of complete detachment from the real world outside, made Jan realise how deeply tired she was. Since setting out for Rome she had walked every day quite as far as she ever walked in the wards, and mostly over cobbled roads. The heat and incessant noise outside, the dark museums and churches packed with so many treasures that the mind reeled—it had all drained her energy. Providence, no less, had made that impudent urchin snatch her bag. Ten days of this, and she’d go back to the hospital full of vitality and rarin’ to go.
She fell asleep, and woke to find the Signora Cellini looking down at her.
‘Sleeping, my love? How lovely you looked—like a child. It’s almost time for dinner.’
Jan scrambled up. ‘Thank you, signora. I’ve had a difficult day, one way and another, so I just dropped off. Were you needing me?’
The delicate hand cupped her chin for a moment. ‘Bianca dear, I always need you.’
Firmly, Jan said, ‘I am not your daughter, signora. I’m Jan—a visitor.’
Troubled, Bianca’s mother said uncertainly, ‘Oh, I thought—aren’t you Bianca?’
‘You know I’m not. You’re talking English. You don’t speak to your daughter in English, do you?’
‘I’m sorry, I made a mistake. Yes, yes, I see now you are someone else. Jan?’
‘Jan Lynton. Bianca is visiting her Aunt Giulia-Maria.’
‘So she is,’ discovered Signora Cellini. ‘Never mind. You and I will enjoy ourselves. You shall improve my English and I will improve your Italian. Now come, let us eat. Do you know my son is home? He brought his wife. He lives in Rome nowadays, but today he is home. Take my hand.’
They found Marco in a small dining-room whose floor was tiled with yellow and white tiles. Here tall windows opened on to a terrace facing the sea, and long white filmy curtains moved in the almost imperceptible current of air, creating an atmosphere of fresh coolness.
He bowed over her hand, touched it with his lips. ‘Ah—a young goddess! May I congratulate you, signorina. You look perfect, dressed as you are, a hundred times more like Bianca. That is very delightful.’
‘In her clothes, I should look like her. They fit perfectly, so you were right about size. One thing I must ask you, signore—’ she glanced at his mother and dropped her voice. ‘Please tell the servants you invited me to wear your sister’s clothes. That little maid—’
‘Francesca?’
‘She
was furious. Not that she said anything, but her face spoke volumes. She’ll tell the others I’ve been helping myself, and they will hate me for it.’
‘I’m sorry. Trust me, I’ll explain. I shall say you were the victim of a thief.’
‘You don’t have to do this for me, you know. I have clothes of my own.’
He said gravely, ‘But you have to do it for me. You promised.’
After dinner they sat on the terrace, a family threesome, relaxed, not talking much. But when the telephone rang, Marco jumped as if he had been tensed and waiting. He came back like a man who has had ill news.
‘Who was it, my son? Was it Bianca? She’s on holiday just now, in Florence.’
You remember better than you pretend, Jan thought. How much is genuine, how much an act for Marco’s benefit? Perhaps even for your own.
‘Just a business call, Mother. Jan, how would you like to play to us?’
She shrugged. ‘I’m not good enough for a public performance.’
‘We’re not critics. Shall I fetch the guitar?’
Bianca’s was a beautiful instrument. Jan enjoyed using it, and soon forgot her self-consciousness, even sang a little, under her breath, till memories of Michael got between her and the music and choked her into silence.
‘Thank you,’ said the Signora, rising. ‘I shall go to bed now. My husband likes to retire early these days. He’s not well, not really well. Goodnight, my son. Goodnight, Jan.’
Marco escorted his mother to her room. When he returned, he asked what Jan thought of her.
‘She’s lovely—a great lady of the old time. I’ve never met one before, and I’m impressed. But, Marco, you really ought to try to do something about her memory. She’s not so confused as she makes out. When she was pretending I was Bianca, she was speaking all the time in English. She knew who I was, you see.’
‘Are you criticising my mother? Saying she tells lies?’
‘Goodness, no, nothing like that.’
‘It sounded like that.’
‘All I’m saying is, she’s in trouble and she could be cured. Well, improved anyway. I don’t think you do her a kindness, letting her indulge in this play-acting. Why don’t you tell her your father is dead?’
‘Why awaken her to a cruel world and a bitter grief?’
‘Because this is the real world, and she’s living in it. You’re treating her as if she were a ghost.’
‘So now I am coming under your hammer? You are no more than a student nurse, you told me? Are you setting yourself up against the opinions of the greatest doctors in Europe?’
Jan crimsoned. ‘I’m sorry if I seemed cheeky. Did you have a woman doctor?’
‘No. Why?’
She shrugged. ‘A truly beautiful, feminine woman can always fool a man, rarely a woman. I think you ought to be sure how much of her mental condition is real, how much is pretence on her part; and how much you yourself are responsible for.’
‘I?’ His face was dark with anger.
‘Yes, you. You keep things from her—like not letting her remember her husband died. Every day you go along with her fantasy, you make it more real for her. But what if you died? Got drowned, as he did? It happens. What would become of her then? You have no right to keep a human being as a sort of Sleeping Beauty.’
‘No right? I am the master of this household. I have every right. You as my guest have no right—if I may respectfully remind you—to call my treatment of my mother into question.’
‘No, I haven’t,’ she admitted quietly. ‘And I apologise. But I may respectfully remind you that you did ask me what I thought. Why ask questions, if you don’t want any answers?’
Sky and sea were violet now, after the sunset. He moved abruptly to the edge of the balcony and stared down. Presently he said in a normal voice,
‘Come here, Jan.’ She went to him. He pointed to a headland far below, a dark diamond shape jutting out into the sea. ‘See that light? It’s a castle. You’ll see it by daylight plainly enough. It has been made habitable, and is occupied by a very old friend of our family. He is Bianca’s godfather and fond of her. When he sees her up here, he likes to wave. If he does so, it would be kind of you to wave back.’
‘Another fantasy? You want to make him believe I’m Bianca?’
He turned to look at her. When he spoke, there was no rancour in his tone. ‘Is that wrong? He is old and lonely. It’s a game they play, and if it gives him pleasure, surely you can co-operate.’
‘It’s a silly game. Suppose Bianca writes to him, sends him a postcard, while she’s away?’
‘She is not likely to.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I say so. Don’t ask so many questions. If you don’t want to make the old man happy for a few moments each day, then don’t. Let him feel lonely. He’s used to it.’
‘I’ll do it. If, he’s so lonely, why not pop down for a chat?’
‘It’s ten miles by the road, and while I’m at the Villa I need to be near the telephone. I’m expecting an urgent call—business.’
‘Goodness! Is that what being a tycoon means? You can’t leave the house at all?’
‘Not till I’ve had this call. So you’ll wave?’
She relented. Why be critical? These people weren’t her family, nor her patients. She had no responsibility for them, beyond the normal courtesies of a guest. Then at least she should accept her position as guest, and fall in with her host’s wishes.
‘I’ll wave. Trust me.’
He touched her elbow lightly. ‘Good girl! Thank you. Now I’ll follow my mother and retire. I’ve been missing some sleep lately and it is beginning to tell. I breakfast at seven here on the terrace. Ring when you’re ready for yours. Goodnight, English Jan. Have a happy time and feel this is your home.’
For dinner, he had changed into a white suit which, even more than that which he had worn in Rome, showed off his broad shoulders and slim waist. One day soon, she thought, I’ll see him in a swim suit and he will look like a Greek god and that golden tan of his will be all-over. He will be perfectly muscled and swim like a fish. If he wasn’t so bad-tempered and touchy, he’d be perfect.
The night was too warm, too beautiful to leave. The moon rode high. The scents of the garden were heavier now; lilies, the vanilla scent of broom and the long white bracts of acacia blossom. Jan stretched out on the deep cushions of a long cane chair, and sighed contentedly. The nurses at the hostel would never believe a word of this.
You’re making it up, Jan! But go on! What was he like?
Dreamy, she’d tell them. Dark eyes, almost black. Dark hair, a strong face, a voice like dark brown velvet. And charming. He kissed my hand.
Someone would giggle, I don’t believe you!
True every word. And at night, when it was dark and warm, we’d swim in the pool among the scent of lilies. Jan smiled at her fancy. That wasn’t true, but it would be fun to swim in the dark. Why not?
When she came back wearing her own turquoise halter-neck bikini, and trailing a huge pink and orange towel, she heard from somewhere in the house the shrill of a telephone. Marco’s business call? Or maybe Bianca calling her family. She froze a moment, but as the ringing stopped and no one seemed to stir from the house, she sat on the marble edge of the pool and slid gently in. The water was warm after the long hot day.
She swam the length of the pool. The disturbed water shone silver. Then she floated, resting on the water and staring at the great star-studded arch of sky. Her hair spread out like a fan.
Someone came running up the garden steps. Hearing the pad of feet, she pulled her own under her and glided to the side of the pool, hoping not to be noticed and keeping her head just below the rim. A terracotta jar of lilies would, she hoped, conceal her completely until the intruder had gone.
Lights were switched on. Marco, again wearing his town suit, hurried out and met the newcomer. It was the boy from the boat, Dino. They talked together in low voices.
‘The boat,
Dino. Quickly.’
That much Jan understood. And then Roma. Was he going to Rome tonight? She knew his car was garaged on the mainland, and he had refuelled before they left it. What had called him back so late? His business call? Was this one of the penalties of being an international tycoon; the price of being wealthy?
The two were talking fast now. She could not understand a word, so was in no danger of eavesdropping. But as Dino turned away, he hesitated and spoke again.
‘E la signorina?’
He had seen her! Jan gripped the marble edge of the pool, annoyed with herself for skulking under the lilies. How foolish she was going to look!
But Marco said something quickly to the boy, and ran lightly back into the villa. Jan sighed with relief.
Dino nodded and went away. But as he went, he must have noticed the big towel lying, for he came back, folded it neatly, and carried it away, as if it were all in the day’s work to find discarded possessions strewn around the pool.
In the morning Jan chose a sun-suit in a multi-coloured Hawaiian print and scarlet sandals. She breakfasted alone on the terrace. Fresh orange juice, warm rolls with butter and cherry jam, and a great pot of coffee. It was served by Francesca, the plump maid, who smiled and seemed to accept that this guest wore the Signorina Bianca’s clothes. Presently Jan heard her talking to a man, and when the pair of them came into the garden she saw it was Dino. So he had brought the boat back? Had Marco come too?
Dino flashed his broad grin. Wearing his usual gear of faded blue jeans and a gold cross on a chain which flashed against his bare brown chest, he bowed as gracefully as a mediaeval page, and handed her a letter with a flourish.
It was from Marco. ‘I have been called away on business,’ it read. ‘I could not wait, as it is urgent. It is not possible to say how long I shall.be away, but I hope not too long. Do not let my mother worry, keep her amused if you can. Dino will take you anywhere you want to go, but it would not be wise to wander off on your own. You might get lost, and our cliffs are high and dangerous.’
Not much, but he had remembered her in the haste of his night journey. The disappointment she felt surprised her. In his absence, her visit lacked the spice of excitement—danger, almost—it had had yesterday.