One Hot Summer

by Norrey Ford

  How stupid could one get? She clenched her fists on the white-painted wrought-iron balcony, angry with herself. She had tumbled headlong into the love-trap again, after escaping once with a whole skin and even a whole heart. What a fool!

  After the long hot day, she should have been tired and ready for bed. But she felt full of a restless vitality. The sharp scene with the Cellinis, mother and son, had driven sleep from her brain. She was wondering whether the coast would be clear for her to steal out to the swimming pool, when the remembrance of Signora Cellini brought her up sharply.

  She slipped a linen jacket over her bare arms, kicked off her sandals and pushed her feet into soft slippers, then stole silently out into the garden, on her way to the Signora’s bedroom. Although she had seen the Signora safely in bed and asleep only a short time ago, the older woman was disturbed and distressed, frail in spite of her quiet life and the modest activities in the garden. It was high time Jan took a peep at her patient.

  The garden was empty. The white chairs were grouped around the table as if for a tea-party of ghosts. From this side of the house one could see the sea far below, a broad white pathway painted across it by a full moon riding serenely on high like a polished dinner-plate. The moon, the scented lilies, the white furniture—and nothing more but the deep blue of sky and sea, the dark shadows, silence.

  Signora Cellini was sleeping, though not as peacefully as Jan would have wished. A damp crushed handkerchief lay in a beam of moonlight, eloquent of the tears Bianca’s mother had shed. Jan drew a light chair up to the bed, and waited quietly till the restlessness passed and sleep deepened. Poor worried soul! She shouldn’t be left alone yet. Am I justified, Jan wondered, in walking out on her because Marco has annoyed me? I’m a nurse and surely I’ve learned by now to put the patient’s needs before my personal worries.

  The moonbeam had moved halfway across the carpet before Jan was satisfied. Then she smoothed the sheets carefully, moved cautiously towards the paler patch which indicated the tall French windows which stood open on the terrace and garden. In the Villa Tramonti, house and garden blended together so cleverly that one could hardly tell where one ended and the other began.

  It was almost as light as day outside. The moon still stood high, and the pale flush of pre-dawn was showing in the eastern sky. Jan drew in a deep breath of the morning air. She was tired at last, and thought she would be able to sleep.

  Marco was standing there. The moonlight accentuated the darkness of his tan, silvered the light blue trousers and shirt. Jan stifled a startled exclamation. ‘Marco! I thought you were a ghost!’

  ‘No ghosts at the Villa Tramonti. Or if there are, they are not to be feared. Come and sit down. I want to talk to you.’

  He turned and went towards the chairs without looking to see if she followed. She hesitated, longing now for her bed and sleep. She had had a tiring day, and been awake most of the night. This was no time for talking. Then she dismissed the attitude as petty, and followed her host. If he was now ready to talk, it would be stupid to miss the opportunity.

  He had already drawn out a chair for her, and was waiting for her to sit down. As she approached he held out his hand and took hers lightly. It was no more than a courteous handing to her seat, but her heartbeat quickened with excitement and a certain amount of apprehension. What could they say to each other, here in the moonlight which warred with the dawn?

  ‘You have been with my mother,’ he began. ‘Thank you, Jan. I looked in, twenty minutes ago, and saw you sitting by her bed.’ He smiled at her. ‘After all, you are a nurse before you are a woman. Which makes it easier for me to eat humble pie and beg you to stay with her. If you really loathe me, I can return to the Rome apartment, but my mother needs someone just now.’

  ‘I was going to say the same to you.’ Her cheeks burned. ‘I behaved abominably, throwing those things at you, and I apologise. I don’t loathe you, Marco, and I’ll be glad to remain with your mother till the end of my holiday. But I can’t stay longer. That is out of the question. As you say, I’m a nurse first, and duty means a lot to me. At this distance and in these surroundings, one unimportant nurse among so many may seem not to matter. But it does matter. Hospitals are chronically short-staffed. If I don’t turn up on the right day, someone else’s holiday, or off-duty times, will be affected. I’d be enjoying myself here while another girl works extra hard to make up for it.’

  ‘I understand. You think I’m selfish, putting my needs first?’

  ‘You are concerned for your mother—that’s natural. You must consider getting some sort of nurse for her to take my place, at least until your sister comes home. Your private affairs are no business of mine, but—is she coming home, Marco? Is it true you don’t know where she is? If you can talk to me about it—if I can help in any way, please do. You’ve tried to be father and mother both, haven’t you?’

  ‘As you see.’ He shrugged lightly. ‘Not very successfully. She was betrothed, and seemed happy about it. Raf is a charming young man, and his family welcomed her. It’s a good match. So why should she suddenly take off into the blue—run away without letting us know where she is?’

  ‘With another man?’

  ‘That’s what I fear. But who? She has met so few, and all of them known to me, of course.’

  ‘Have you been to the police? Are you sure she’s even safe?’

  ‘The police, yes. I’ve searched myself, and Dino has scoured every inch of the island, all the rocks and caves. We’ve ruled out any possibility of an accident, though we never stop searching.’

  ‘How long has she been missing?’

  ‘Two days before you came. When I saw you, I thought I’d found her. You have the same way of walking, the same proud lift of the head, and almost the same colouring. I asked you here on an impulse, thinking if you were here we could cover up for a day or two, till she decided to come home.’

  ‘So it was a masquerade?’

  He nodded. ‘Unplanned, and, I see now, foolish. It wasn’t fair to you.’

  ‘It was not. I was very angry when I found you’d been making use of me in that way. What I don’t understand is why you needed to cover up. Surely some publicity about a missing girl would have helped? Newspapers, television—in our country we’d have used all that, to locate her.’

  ‘My dear girl! Publicity is the last thing we want. Rafaello and his family would never accept that; to have her name bandied about, people staring at her photograph. I wouldn’t do that to Bianca. There would be a scandal, her reputation would suffer. The engagement would be broken off.’

  She could hardly believe he was serious. ‘You mean—her fiancé doesn’t know? You haven’t asked him if he knows where she is?’

  ‘We protect our young ladies. The permissive society has not yet penetrated into some of our more traditional families. Raf will expect a bride of unblemished reputation.’

  There was a long silence. A bird cheeped as the light strengthened.

  At last Jan asked quietly, ‘Why did she run away, Marco?’

  ‘We quarrelled.’ His voice was weary. ‘She didn’t want to marry Raf.’

  ‘And you insisted?’

  ‘Yes. She had accepted him. She had nothing against him. And we do not break promises. I put the whole thing down to a girlish whim and told her to behave herself. This is not just a fisher-lad and a village girl. Both families have great responsibilities—wealth and big estates. Bianca has been educated for such responsibilities. She can’t play childish games with such important matters. She understands all that, or I thought she did. She’s no fool.’

  ‘If she’s no fool, she had her reasons. You didn’t listen?’

  ‘She didn’t offer any reasons. She just said she wouldn’t marry him, and nothing I could say made any difference.’

  ‘That sounds as if you did all the talking. Did you, just once, shut up and let Bianca talk? Do you know what I’m thinking, Marco? She’s in love with another man. No, let me finish. You say she h
ad nothing against Raf, and understood all that such a marriage entailed, so naturally she’d need to have the strongest of all possible reasons for wanting to break it off. And that could only be that she was deeply in love with someone else.’

  He did not answer at once. The rim of the sun was showing above the horizon, and the angle of light revealed the hard masculine bone structure, the deep lines of anxiety.

  ‘You’re a woman,’ he said at last. ‘You should be able to read a woman’s mind. Do you think she is with him now? That they are married?’

  ‘From what you have told me of Bianca, I’d say not. I think this is an effort to make you understand that she must choose for herself; and that she is prepared to give up everything, if she must, to marry the man she loves. Perhaps an attempt to make you understand that even old families like yours cannot live for ever in the past. But I don’t think she’d get married without your freely given consent, Marco.’

  ‘So she is resorting to emotional blackmail?’

  ‘Weren’t you? Didn’t you twist her arm to make her marry the man you’d chosen for her? Not physically, of course, but emotionally. Honour of the family, the responsibilities of great estates, and all that? Fair’s fair in love and war. She is playing your game, Marco, and playing it well.’

  ‘But if she’d told me—’

  ‘Maybe she tried. Maybe she knew it wouldn’t be any good trying. He’s probably neither wealthy nor noble, but just a nice ordinary boy she loves. Find her, Marco. Get a message to her somehow, letting her know you will listen to what she has to say. Because she’s going to win, whatever you say. You may as well accept that as a fact.’

  He pushed back his chair, stood up abruptly.

  ‘You’ve been up all night. Time I let you go and get some sleep. You’ve given me a lot to think about, and you may well be right. I don’t know how women think, and perhaps I didn’t handle the situation very well. It’s been—difficult. You see how my mother is—not really of this world any more. I did my best, but it wasn’t good enough, was it? You’ve changed your mind about leaving today?’

  ‘If I’m forgiven for throwing things at my host, I’d like to stay.’

  He held out his hand and after a brief hesitation she placed hers in it. His fingers closed over hers, and she was aware of the leap of her blood, the racing pulse, as she felt his warmth and strength. Then, without a word, almost without movement, he took her into his arms and there was nothing uncertain about the way he kissed her. Held closely in his arms, his lips hard on hers, feeling the warmth of his body and with the man-scent of him in her nostrils, it seemed as if her cup of joy was full.

  Then the joy drained away, replaced by despair. The kiss had done nothing but deepen the feeling she had for him, the need of her body, the yearning of her heart. But there was no future in this love. How could he, with his rigid ideas of tradition, of the importance of wealth and estates in a marriage contract, ever think of marriage with a penniless working girl from another country, another culture?

  And neither he nor she could accept anything less. She had perfect confidence that he would not cheapen her, although she must seem like beggarmaid to his king; nor would she cheapen herself.

  The end of the holiday, the end of her time at Villa Tramonti, could not come too soon. For her peace of mind, any hope of happiness she had in the future, it was imperative she should get away as soon as possible.

  Yet every remaining hour was precious. They were all she would ever have of Marco’s presence. The next few days had to last her the rest of her life.

  CHAPTER V

  Jan woke slowly, drowsily aware of Francesca standing by her bedside with a tray; of a delicious smell of coffee and hot rolls.

  ‘It is almost lunchtime, signorina, but the Signore said to bring coffee but not to disturb you if you were asleep.’

  Recollection flooded back. Jan sat up. ‘The Signora? How is she? She was not well last night, Francesca, which is why I did not get to bed till nearly morning. The Signore should have sent you to wake me hours ago.’

  ‘The Signora is well. She had breakfast in bed, and is now in the garden. She—’ the girl hesitated, then burst out with what she wanted to say. ‘My mistress is sick, signorina. She remembers nothing one tells her. And she is sad because Signorina Bianca is not here.’

  ‘Where is Signorina Bianca?’ Jan put the question sharply, with a vague idea that the young girl might know, or suspect, where another young girl had sought refuge.

  The girl shrugged expressively. Jan was beginning to learn something of the infinite variations of Italian shrug, and interpreted this one as meaning How should I know? But, she noted, Francesca did not come out with the stock answer that Bianca was visiting her aunt in Florence.

  Jan narrowed her eyes, watching the girl. Maybe she knows something. Maybe everyone but Marco knows. The servants, especially the women, must have known of the battle of wills going on between Bianca and her brother.

  Jan poured her coffee. ‘Is the Signorina Bianca beautiful? I’d like to see a photograph of her. There must be one somewhere.’

  ‘Si, si. Have you not seen it? A big coloured picture, where she was bridesmaid at the wedding last summer? There is one in the Signore’s room. I will fetch it to show you.’

  ‘No, Francesca, wait! Do not disturb the Signore. Perhaps Signora Cellini has one in her room.’

  The girl shook her head. ‘Signore Cellini took them away when his sister went. If there are no photographs, she does not remember to ask for her daughter all the time, only sometimes. The Signore has gone to Naples with Dino. I can fetch the picture. He will not be back all day.’

  The wedding picture showed the bride and four bridesmaids. The bridesmaids wore long-sleeved, high-waisted dresses in deep cream silk with brown velvet sashes, and carried sprays of cream roses. Jan drew a deep breath.

  ‘She’s beautiful, Francesca. One day she’ll be a bride herself.’

  ‘Si signorina.’ Expressionless. Not the voice of a girl talking weddings.

  When the girl had disappeared with the photograph, Jan buttered her rolls absently, thinking. A young married friend? The other bridesmaids could be dismissed. Obviously daughters living at home and, however sympathetic to romance, not able to shelter a runaway. But the bride? There was a possibility.

  How am I so sure that Bianca has not eloped, and is not now married to her sweetheart? Is it because I am living in her rooms, wearing her clothes, am supposed to look something like her, that I imagine I can feel as she does? She loves her mother and brother, she doesn’t want to hurt them permanently, or bring disgrace on the family. Of that I’m sure. So this is a protest only, a cry for help.

  Pushing the tray aside, Jan pressed her fingers to her temples. Think, think! Somewhere there must be a clue to the girl’s mind, if only I could read it. No one disappears entirely without trace. Especially—

  She sat up straight, startled by a thought. Especially if she really wants her protest to be noticed. What’s the good of a demonstration if no one sees it? If only Marco had told me the whole story at the beginning, we might have found the solution by now.

  She was still puzzling over the problem as she dived into the pool and swam lazily. When she floated, she reflected that the all-over golden tan she had acquired would be the envy of her friends, and that the tan would fade long before the memories of last night; of all the hours she had spent in Marco Cellini's company.

  Signora Cellini was in her favourite spot on the terrace overlooking the sea. She had her needlework in her lap, but her hands were folded over the delicate silks, and she stared out to sea like a blind woman. Jan stood unnoticed, watching the older woman, and the change in her overnight caught at her heart. The Signora seemed to have shrunk since yesterday. The frail bones showed clearly through the thin black dress; shoulderblades and vertebrae.

  Enough is enough, Jan thought. She’s had all she can take. Bianca must come home. Marco must forget all his scruples about public
ity. If he doesn’t find his sister soon, his mother will slip through his fingers.

  She went forward and knelt beside the old lady, who lifted heavy lids to look at her. The disappointment in the sharp old eyes brought a lump to Jan’s throat.

  ‘You’ve finished the passion flower,’ she said gently, touching the embroidery, noting the skin of the long narrow fingers was thin as paper. ‘Is it for Bianca? It’s a screen, isn’t it?’

  She had a theory which she half feared to test. But now, if ever, was the time. The matter of Bianca’s return was urgent.

  The fine brows drew together, as if an effort to remember was being made. ‘A screen, for a salone. My daughter is to have a splendid establishment, you know. She is to be a countess, and live in a palazzo. She must take many beautiful things with her.’

  ‘Of course, signora.’ Jan moistened dry lips.

  ‘Where is she now, signora?’

  Again that knitting of the brows, ‘I don’t remember.’

  ‘But she did tell you where she was going?’

  ‘Oh yes, of course. Bianca tells me everything. I am her mother.’

  Jan’s heart turned over. As she thought! The Signora knew but had forgotten. Somewhere in that lost mind lay the information so sorely needed. Questioning would not help. The Signora would only become more confused if pressed. Jan pulled a cushion towards her, tucked her legs under, and spoke casually of this and that, always leading the talk back to travel, to Bianca’s friends, to the wedding picture which the Signora remembered well, and talked about in an animated way. Till suddenly she fell silent and began that unseeing stare at the blue horizon again.

  The gate to the cliff path was unlocked. Jan’s gaze came back to it again and again. Had Bianca gone that way? But it led nowhere, except to a beach and though Marco had admitted it was possible to swim round the headland, it seemed an unlikely journey for a girl bent on leaving home and presumably wanting clothes with her.

  How did Bianca get off the island?

  Jan sat up straight, ignoring her hostess, who had started on a long tale about the Cellinis of long ago. Why hadn’t I asked Marco that? No doubt he took it for granted, as I did, that Bianca had slipped on board the once-a-week boat which brought supplies, mail, and a few visitors to Barini. He would have questioned the local boatmen. A few smart white yachts put in, from time to time, but the harbour was too small for anything ambitious.