One Hot Summer

by Norrey Ford

  Contact with the workaday world of the harbour had blown away her fanciful ideas about Bianca and the dungeon in the rocks. Perhaps even the idea that her host wished her to impersonate his sister to disguise her absence was a bit far-fetched too. She had been unjust to him, though luckily only in her thoughts.

  He had rescued her from a nasty situation like a true knight errant; offered her the hospitality of his magnificent villa; given his servant orders to drive her anywhere she wished in his absence. That he had offered her not only his sister’s rooms but also her clothes and possessions might, for all she knew, be a form of extravagant Italian hospitality.

  Am I annoyed that he did not follow up all this generosity by paying attentions and compliments? Piqued that I failed to attract him?

  She paid for her ice-cream and walked on. Until her money arrived, she could buy nothing beyond a few postcards and stamps. The few hundred lire she gathered up from odd pockets and crannies in her hotel room would not go far.

  A marquetry shop attracted her. Here were boxes of all sizes, tables, trays, plaques and pictures delicately made in coloured woods, inlaid sometimes with mother-of-pearl. She decided on small caskets for her special friends at the hospital, the prices here being much lower than on the mainland and, she felt sure, the craftsmanship was better. Farther along the cobbled street there was a shop exhibiting work in onyx and marbles white and red, translucent green, creams and browns. A magnificent green onyx horse with mane and tail flying made her gasp with pleasure, but for practical purposes she examined the ash trays, book-ends and little gilt boxes with onyx lids.

  When at last she tucked her postcards into the Greek shoulder-bag and turned towards the harbour again, she realised she had lingered the whole morning and it was now nearly lunchtime. Island life was so leisurely that one could completely forget that time existed.

  Obviously the town must be visited again when she had money, but for the moment one must hurry or be late for lunch. The meal, simple as it was and served outdoors, was nevertheless a formal one. She ran the last few yards to the harbour.

  She had a passenger. Marco was sitting in the buggy, stony-faced with anger.

  ‘You!’ he exclaimed when he saw her. ‘Where is Dino? I’ve been waiting twenty minutes. We shall be late for lunch.’

  ‘Dino’s not here. He—he wasn't expecting you, was he?’

  ‘Certainly he was. I told him I would be here by noon, and he was to meet me. And what happens? I find a car but no Dino. Two more minutes and I’d have driven off without him.’

  ‘I’m surprised you waited so long,’ she challenged. Sheer fright had thrown her into an aggressive mood. What had she done?

  ‘Naturally I assumed Dino had been asked to fetch something from the town for my mother, or I wouldn’t have waited at all. Why isn’t he here? I assume you came down with him.’

  ‘I’m afraid not. I came alone. I’m an experienced driver, signore. It was quite safe.’

  ‘Did Dino allow this? Surely he told you I was to be met at noon? Or did you wander round the shops and forget?’

  ‘He didn’t tell me and I didn’t forget. I took the buggy without his knowledge. It was outside the gate. He’d been cleaning it and left it there. So I just—took it.’

  He gave a small, sarcastic bow, a shrug of his elegant shoulders. ‘A guest’s privilege, of course, but not altogether considerate. One is supposed to ask whether it is convenient, to make off with the only means of getting up and down the hill.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have taken it without asking.’

  ‘Please try to be more thoughtful in future. I gave Dino orders to drive you wherever you wished to go. He would have brought you down if you’d asked.’

  He moved into the driving seat, indicated she should get in, and drove off.

  ‘But he didn’t,’ Jan felt she ought to explain what had happened. ‘I asked him yesterday, but he drove all round the island taking me everywhere but to the harbour. And I really did need to buy postcards.’

  ‘I thought you hadn’t any money.’

  ‘Odd lire from my pockets and a spare purse, no more.’

  He said no more, but concentrated on driving up the twisting road. She stole a glance at him, but his face was set in an expression as cold as marble.

  Dino came running to meet them when he heard the engine. He was wringing his hands in distress.

  ‘Oh, signore,’ he wailed. ‘Oh, signore, I thought some thief had stolen the buggy. I am so sorry, signore. I didn’t know what to do.’

  ‘You should have walked down, you stupid lazy boy! Then at least you could have told me about the thief and we could have taken a taxi back. If you hadn’t been so idle you’d have found our thief yourself, as I did.’

  ‘The Signorina? Oh—’

  The look Dino turned to Jan was compounded of surprise, reproach, distress. ‘I’m sorry, Dino,’ she said gently. ‘It is I who am in trouble, not you. I have explained to the Signore that it was not your fault.’

  ‘All right, all right,’ Marco said crossly. ‘Spare us the apologies; and Dino, stop snivelling! We shall be late for lunch and Mamma will be upset.’

  There was no time for a shower. Jan brushed her smooth shoulder-length hair, coaxed it into turning up at the ends. I must look for a photograph of Bianca, she decided. Does she have my dark hair, my grey eyes and arched brows? The nurses say my skin is my best point, fine and clear. In fact—she smiled at herself and leaned forward into the mirror—not to beat about the bush, chum, flawless.

  Why do we look alike at a distance? Michael used to say, ‘Jan looks like a woman and walks like a princess,’ but he’s probably saying that to another girl now.

  She was scrambling into one of her own dresses when the significance of what she had just thought struck her motionless. She had thought about Michael, remembered he had left her, without that awful sickening pang of agony. For the first time. Was she getting over him?

  The Cellinis, mother and son, were waiting for her. She apologised for her lateness and moved to her seat, which Marco drew out for her with his never-failing formal good manners. But he was frowning.

  ‘Why are you not wearing one of my sister’s dresses?’

  ‘Is it a rule, signore? Surely I am allowed to decide what I wear? It seemed I had already made too free with your family possessions this morning.’

  ‘Go and change.’ It was an order.

  ‘But the Signora is waiting.’

  ‘We shall wait. Mamma, Signorina Jan is not quite ready for lunch. We must wait for her.’

  The Signora smiled and bent her head graciously in agreement. Fuming with rage, Jan left the table, went to her room feeling like a child in disgrace, and pulled off her dress. Her hands shook as she snatched down one of Bianca’s.

  At lunch she was too angry to speak. The fresh-caught fish, the strawberries soaked in wine, tasted like nothing. When his mother had withdrawn for her siesta, Marco said:

  ‘I’m sorry, I forgot. I brought our letters from the mainland. It saves time, to collect them. There is one for you.’ He laid an envelope on the table and she saw with a leap of her heart that it was in Michael’s writing, readdressed from the Rome hotel.

  ‘Thank you, signore.’

  ‘We agreed you should call me Marco when we are alone. Please do so.’

  ‘Marco.’

  ‘That’s better. You are not sulking because I scolded you?’

  ‘No. I deserved scolding, for running away with your car. It was a stupid thing to do and I have already apologised. But I am very angry indeed at being ordered away from the table like a child, to change my dress. I tried my best not to keep your mother waiting, yet you forced me to do so.’

  ‘That need not happen again, if you will keep your promises.’

  She was longing to be alone and open Michael’s letter, but Marco had given her an opening she could not miss. ‘Marco, what is the purpose of this—this masquerade? Why do you insist I dress u
p as your sister? You want people to think she is at home, don’t you? I’m not prying in matters which don’t concern me, but if I’m to play a part in this deception, at least I should be told something about it.’

  His mouth whitened. His eyes, looking at her, were hard as pebbles.

  ‘I am a rich man, Jan. My sister has expensive clothes from good dress houses. You are a working girl, you tell me, and I thought you would enjoy the chance to wear such clothes.’

  ‘You—damned little snob! How dare you! Yes, I earn every penny to pay for my clothes. And yes, some of them are bought at a chain store. But I’m not ashamed of them. If you’re ashamed of me, you shouldn’t have asked me here as a guest. I’d have come as an employee, for the remainder of my holiday, if you’d offered me a job looking after your mother straight out, instead of disguising it as an invitation.’

  The tightness went out of his face. He almost smiled. ‘Dear me, what fireworks! I’d no idea you could be so temperamental. Almost Italian, if you’ll allow me to say so. I assure you, my only crime was to give you some pleasure.’

  ‘Do you think it gives me pleasure to be ordered to wear certain clothes? To be driven around the whole island by a servant who knows perfectly well what I really want? You told him to do that, didn’t you? Don’t let her get too close to other people, or they’ll notice she isn’t Bianca. Isn’t that what you told Dino?’

  ‘Why should I?’

  ‘That’s what I’m asking you. Why? There’s a gate leading to a path down to what looks like a private beach. It was open yesterday. Today I found it padlocked. Was that because I tried it yesterday and someone thought I might go down there and be seen?’

  ‘I didn’t know about that. Did you actually go through the gate?’

  ‘A few yards only.’

  ‘The path is dangerous. Probably Dino locked it because he feared you might slip and fall. Our guests are our responsibility. The path leads only to our private beach. If you want to go, I will take you.’

  ‘Thank you. I had a longing to swim in the sea, that’s all. We have a pool at the hospital. Not as beautiful as yours, and there are no lilies overhanging the water. But the sea—that’s quite something.’

  ‘Very well. We’ll swim this evening. I shall be ready at five.’

  She swallowed. What could one do, with a man like Marco! He made one feel so deflated. She felt like saying I don’t want to go now! but he would merely point out how childish that was; besides, it was untrue. She did want to go.

  ‘At five. That is kind of you, Marco. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll read my letter now.’

  He called her back. ‘Also I should tell you, your passport is ready, and new travel documents. I telephoned the Consul’s office. I also enquired at the bank. Your money should be there tomorrow. If I do not need the boat, Dino can take you all the way to Naples. Otherwise, I will take you as far as Ischia and you can catch the ferry from there. If you will not consider me too much of a little snob, I will lend you the money to finance your trip, and you can pay me back when you return in the evening.’

  ‘You took all that trouble for my affairs, when you had business of your own? Marco, I shouldn’t have called you a snob, but you just made me so angry I couldn’t help myself. You’re lucky it wasn’t something worse.’

  ‘Don’t apologise, my dear Jan. You look lovelier than ever when you are angry, and we Italians enjoy watching a woman in a passion. A touch of hot ginger in a dish lends added pleasure.’

  Francesca arrived to clear the luncheon table and seemed confused to find them still there. She made to go away, but Marco called her back, saying he and the Signorina were going.

  ‘You to your siesta, Jan. And I to my work. We shall meet again at five.’

  Michael wanted her. The letter was a despairing cry from the heart, but it left Jan cold.

  So the other girl had let him down. Just as he had let Jan down. She hadn’t wailed for sympathy, and all the tears she had shed had been in private. But this—! She shrugged helplessly. It was just a load of self-pity, which even a month ago would have fooled her, sent her running to poor Michael with little cries of sympathy. Not now.

  Sorry, Michael, she said as she tore the letter into narrow strips and dropped them in the wastepaper basket. Seems like you’re going to have to do some growing up, boy. But not at my expense, thank you.

  The louvred shutters were closed against the afternoon sun; the room was cool and dark, smelling of flowers. As Jan drifted into a light sleep, the thought came to her that she had grown out of Michael because she’d met a real man now. The thought must have amused her, for she slept with a little smile on her lips.

  She woke with a feeling that something pleasant was about to happen, and lay idly watching the narrow slits of sunlight on the closed shutters. She felt relaxed and rested, the sharp skirmish with Marco half forgotten. In this lotus-land, nothing was important enough to quarrel about. Especially with Marco, who could be so kind when he chose, and even at his worst, never failed in his princely good manners.

  Remembering Marco, she remembered they had a date at five o’clock to go swimming. And before that, there would be the Signora Cellini’s tea, served on the terrace overlooking the Bay, as delicate and formal as a ballet, with Francesca in a clean white cotton apron and wearing white silk gloves. To-day Marco would be there. Punctilious in his attendance on his mamma, he would never miss her tea-time when on the island.

  Jan got up, showered, and pinned her hair into a neat bun on top of her head. It was cooler that way, and would be easier to handle after the sea-water swim. Then she pulled out all Bianca’s swim suits and made a careful choice. Italian fashion house or British chain store made little difference when one got down to basic girl-in-a-bikini, and Jan had confidence in her long shapely legs and slim bare midriff. It was the teatime cover-up that was important. She chose a strawberry-red and white polka-dot halter-neck playsuit, with matching choker necklace and lime-green leather sandals. Marco was so right, for the wrong reasons. Good clothes did a lot for a girl’s morale.

  Marco Cellini had, it seemed, completely forgotten the brush they’d had at lunch, and forgiven her for her theft of the morning. He rose when Jan appeared, kissed her hand and adjusted the big rose-pink fringed umbrella which shaded the white wrought-iron table.

  ‘About Capri,’ he began as if they were in the middle of a conversation. ‘You cannot leave the Bay of Naples without going there. In spite of the tourism boom, it is still a heavenly spot and I promised to take you. If I am free, we shall go there the day after tomorrow. Tomorrow, you are to collect your valuables in Rome. I have business in Rome, so you must be ready to leave at eight in the morning. We shall travel together, in my car. It will be pleasanter for you than the train.’

  ‘You change your mind quickly, Signor Marco. At lunch you promised to lend me the fare. I can manage alone, truly I can. You’re a busy man and I do not wish to be a nuisance.’

  ‘I have changed my mind,’ he replied in a tone which forbade argument.

  He had changed for the bathe. He wore a white shortie bathrobe, with short sleeves, and was more powerfully built than appeared when formally dressed. Muscular forearms, and legs, were brown as mahogany. His feet, thrust into well-used leather sandals, were shapely and strong. As he conversed with his mother, Jan studied him with professional interest; the muscles beneath the satin smooth skin, the bone beneath the muscles. Almost one could take him for the original model of some of those old Roman gods, bronze or marble, in the museums and gardens she had seen.

  ‘Well,’ he said at last, with a smile in her direction which would have set any woman’s pulse stirring, ‘shall we go? You need reliable sandals on your feet, not those nonsensical ankle-twisters you’re wearing. Put on the pair you were wearing this morning. We have a lot of clambering to do, and I promise you I’m not prepared to carry you up the cliff if you damage yourself.’

  She said demurely, ‘The ankle-twisters belong to your sist
er. The reliable ones are my own.’ He acknowledged the shaft with a rueful grin.

  ‘Touché! You have a quick tongue. I wouldn’t care to trust you with a rapier.’

  Without a word, Jan unrolled her scarlet towel. The approved sandals were rolled in it. Did he think her such a fool as to attempt the cliff steps in fashion sandals?

  His eyebrows rose in surprise, mock or genuine. ‘Mamma, this is the first young woman who ever got the better of me, and made me laugh at myself!’

  ‘Your father said the same thing about me. It is good for a man to have to laugh at himself sometimes. Otherwise he becomes pompous. Your father was never pompous.’

  Marco glanced quickly at Jan, meeting her eyes in a question. The Signora had spoken of her husband in the past tense. Jan’s Italian grammar being shaky, she had not been quite sure until she saw Marco’s reaction.

  ‘You are doing my mother good,’ he said as they started the climb down to the beach.

  ‘I wish you would stay with her as a companion. I will double whatever they pay you at your hospital.’

  ‘I need notice of that question. How can I decide such an important step while hanging on to a cliff by my eyebrows?’

  ‘You’ll think about it?’

  ‘Who wouldn’t? A fat salary, an easy patient, the Bay of Naples. I’ll think about, it, Marco. But don’t be too hopeful. I’m too young to get myself trapped in a cul-de-sac and say goodbye to all ambition.’

  The path led down between banks of flowers whose warm scent filled the air. Broom there was, in golden cascades, and herb-scented shrubby plants, and great clumps of moon-daisies. Though the going was steep, the steps were well kept and there were good hand-holds. When Marco called a halt for a rest, it was possible to see a thumbnail-shaped bay between two headlands, which could only be reached by water.