by Norrey Ford
He led her into what she knew must be the great hall, a high chamber the full height of the castle, with a splendid roof of king-post trusses, gilded and painted. The walls were whitewashed and decorated with coats of arms in heraldic colours; scarlet and gold, royal blue and white. Above each escutcheon hung faded and tattered banners, centuries old. The flagged floor was covered with rush matting, such as Jan had seen in the markets; and down the middle of the vast room stretched a long table whose top was of many coloured marbles arranged in squares and circles. The dim light was filtered through tall, narrow windows of a greenish glass. Like living at the bottom of the sea, Jan decided, staring about her as she shifted from one foot to the other waiting for someone to come.
It seemed a long time. Were they busy inventing some story about Bianca not being there; or hiding the girl? Or had she made a mistake, and someone would presently appear to send her away because the Conte was too old, or too disinclined, to receive untidy girls with long blowing hair, and bare scratched feet in scruffy sandals? Perhaps they thought she was a stray tourist intruder.
Then suddenly Bianca Cellini walked in and stood a moment in silence, studying her visitor.
She was exactly as Jan had pictured her. At first sight, not unlike herself. But when one looked again, the Cellini girl was seen to be more delicate. A hothouse flower, Jan thought quickly, cherished and protected from every cold wind. She had the confidence of fine breeding and great wealth, a kind of sheen on her even though she was, at this moment, almost as untidy as her visitor.
Jan returned her curious stare with a quick feeling of dismay. This child would never survive in Paolo’s world. She needed the sort of life her fiancé could give her, the rarified atmosphere which surrounded cherished women of fortune and position. Poor Bianca, poor Paolo! Marco was right, after all.
‘You’re the English girl,’ Bianca announced. ‘How did you know I was here? Did Francesca tell you?’
‘No. I guessed. I tried to think myself into your mind, and I knew you must be on the island a long time before I knew where you were. How was it Marco didn’t find you here?’
‘He never asked.’ Bianca laughed, a silvery peal full of gaiety. ‘He wouldn’t dare, in case my godfather discovered I was missing. He came, of course, to pay a formal visit; but I told my godfather I was in disgrace for some peccadillo and that it would be wiser for me to keep out of Marco’s way that day. He is a gallant gentleman, old as he is, so he protected me and said not a word of my being here.’
‘You don’t feel ashamed of deceiving that old man?’
‘Why should I? I’ve made him happy. He loves having me here. And I did visit Mamma, quite often, when Marco was away. So don’t scold me, because you look about my age and I hardly ever meet anyone who is, except some of the island girls, and I can’t talk to them. Your name is Jan, isn’t it? Haven’t you ever been in love, Jan?’
‘I’m in love now. And it is not a happy love, Bianca, so don’t give me that you-don’t-know-what-it-feels-like routine, because I do know. I love a man I can never marry.’
‘Poor you! But you are stronger than I am. You look stronger. You can look after yourself, can’t you? I can’t. I’ve been brought up to be fed, clothed, and taken care of by some man, the richer the better. I don’t know any other kind of life. It isn’t easy to be me, Jan.’
‘It isn’t easy to be anybody. We have to do the best we can. What’s wrong with this man you’re supposed to marry? Can you tell me? I’m sympathetic, really I am. I think an arranged marriage is dreadful.’
Bianca giggled. ‘Tell my brother that!’
‘I have. Several times.’
The Italian girl whistled, clear as a blackbird. ‘And you’re still alive I You’re lucky not to be his sister. A great sense of family discipline, Marco has. It’s because I was so young when our father was drowned, and he became a solemn, serious big brother, taking care of us all and of the business. Before that, he was so sweet. You can’t imagine how sweet he can be, when he’s not worried and anxious.’
‘I’ve only known him worried and anxious. About you. Are you going to tell me about Rafaello? You can, you know.’
‘Not here. Come up to my sitting-room. Would you like some wine or anything?’
‘I’d like a drink, after the hot ride. I don’t think I’m the right size and shape for a donkey. Could it be orange juice?’
Bianca’s room was in a circular turret overlooking the sea. ‘Like being in a ship,’ she explained, ‘because one cannot see any land at all. See? It juts out right over the water. I like it because the windows are bigger. There was no fear of attack from this side, you see, and they made larger spaces because this was the look-out for enemies.’
‘Who were the enemies?’
‘Saracens, I expect. Spaniards, Venetians, Normans, French, everybody was busy attacking everybody else all through the Middle Ages, and most of it happened around Italian shores. The Crusaders built this place, but whether they were coming or going I don’t know. Why can’t people live and let live?’
‘Why, indeed? Rafaello?’
‘Oh yes.’ Bianca settled comfortably in the padded windowseat, with the orange juice she had collected on the way up. ‘He’s one of Them. The rulers, the fighters, the men who built this. Not those who put the stones one on top of the other, I mean the men who wanted to build it. Wouldn’t you think there was something wrong with people who actually wanted to create a horrible place like this? You should see the dungeons!’ She shuddered delicately.
‘Does Rafaello have dungeons?’
‘Not dungeons exactly. But he belongs to Them. I can’t talk to him. My mouth goes dry and I just can’t find any words at all. Imagine living all one’s life with a man one cannot talk to!’
‘Does he talk to you?’
‘He tells me things. But when I try, I always say something wrong. He corrects me, in front of other people. If I say a distance is three kilometers, he says very loudly, “Oh no, Bianca, you’re wrong! It is three and a half kilometers.” I wouldn’t make anyone I loved look a fool, just for the sake of half a kilometer, would you?’
‘No. Don’t you think you might get used to him, in time? You would make a lovely Contessa.’
Bianca stared wistfully into her glass. ‘I’d like a title. I’d like everything he can give me, except the man himself. It’s sad.’
‘Very sad. And you are also in love with another man?’
The girl’s head shot up. She sat upright, spilling the juice, and stared at Jan. ‘How did you know that?’
‘First, because I guessed it. No girl would fight so strenuously against marrying a handsome, rich, and splendid fiancé if she didn’t have some other man in mind. I gather you raised no objection to the betrothal in the first place?’
‘I hadn’t met Paolo then. And I didn’t realise what a disastrous bore Rafaello was going to be. He’s pompous.’
Drily, Jan said, ‘I guessed he might be.’
‘And secondly?’ Bianca probed. ‘What was the other thing?’
‘I met Paolo. In fact, he kissed me.’
‘Paolo did? The wretch! How dare he? Wait till I see him again!’
‘It was an accident. He thought I was you.’
The lovely eyes widened. ‘How could he make such a mistake? He loves me.’
‘It was momentary, I assure you. I was walking along your beach, looking down at a shell, and wearing your pink bikini. My hair was hidden. Yours is much lighter, and not as long. He came up out of the water like Neptune.’
‘He swam round the headland, from his boat?’ Jan nodded. ‘Expecting to see you there. So he pounced on a girl who looked like you, flung his arms round her and got kicked hard on the shins. But even without the kick he knew at once he’d made a mistake, and was very apologetic.’
‘Ah, I see. He came behind you?’
‘With his eyes full of sea-water. We sat on the sands a long time, talking—about you.’
‘He
adores me,’ smiled Bianca.
‘I know. He thinks you adore him.’
‘But I do.’ Bianca clasped her hands together earnestly, with an unconsciously dramatic gesture. ‘If we can’t be married I shall die. When I am with him everything seems so right. And when I am with Raf, everything seems just a little wrong. As if someone had given the world a twist out of shape. Not much, but enough to spoil it.’
‘Have you told your brother all this?’
‘I’ve tried. But he has never been in love, so he doesn’t know. When I am not with Paolo, I feel as if the soul has gone out of my body. Life doesn’t go on. Time moves, but I am not living it. I’m just—waiting—for time to start again.’
‘I know. I feel like that all the time.’ Looking out of the high window, Jan saw a white boat, small as a toy, moving at snail’s pace across the vivid blue. ‘Like a boat which has lost its anchor. Adrift.’
Bianca hugged her knees and stared at Jan with wide eyes. ‘You’re in love—I can tell. When two people feel like that about each other, anything which keeps them apart must be wrong. I’m only staying away from Marco as a sort of demonstration, like the young people do on television. To make my point. But—’ her head drooped forward, the curtains of her hair falling like wings on either side of her small, sad face, ‘I haven’t much hope of winning. All the big guns are against me.’
‘But the biggest gun of all is for you—Paolo.’
‘What can he do? Marco owns him.’
‘Marco owns nobody, not even you. The world is wide, Bianca. There are other jobs. Paolo has brains and clever men will pay well for brains. If you want him, you must let him tell Marco he wants you.’
‘He would never do that. I begged him not to. I was afraid for him.’
Jan covered the space between them, dropped on her knees and seized the slim shoulders in her strong hands. ‘Bianca! Look at me! Tell me the truth. The honest truth, right from the depths of your heart. Do you really want to marry Paolo? I don’t doubt you love him, but is it the sort of love which climbs mountains and crosses rivers? Would you mind not being really rich, the way you are now? Would you stand by him till he got on his feet again if Marco finished with him? Search your heart, Bianca. Are you playing with Paolo?’
‘No, no, no, I am not playing. I mean it. Without Paolo, I believe I shall die. I’d rather be a nun for ever than marry Rafaello.’
Jan sat back on her heels. ‘Very well. Get your things together and come home with me. This afternoon Paolo will come to the villa to ask your brother for you.’
‘Marco will eat him. He doesn’t know—’
‘Don’t you have any faith in Paolo? I have, and I’ve only met him once. I don’t profess to love him, but I’m absolutely sure he’ll do as he says. He will be fighting for the girl he loves. And you must be there, at his side.’
The tender mouth shook. ‘You mean all this? It’s true?’
Every word.’
‘Very well. I’ll come. You’ll—you’ll stand by us, Jan? You’re so much stronger than I am.’
‘My dear child, it’s no business of mine. I can’t poke my nose into the affairs of the Cellini family. Try not to lose that fierce Cellini temper. Keep calm, and stick to what you want.’
‘Paolo promised me he wouldn’t. I wanted him to wait till I’d brought Marco round myself.’
‘Paolo is a man, remember. And a man fights his own battles, if he’s worth having.’
Bianca nodded. ‘I’ll come. If only Marco could understand what it is to be in love—’
‘It would help,’ Jan agreed wistfully. ‘But stand firm and you may be able to make him understand. Even if he doesn’t, at least he’ll know you mean what you say. The time for these old castles is over, child. You and I belong to another century, whatever the men say.’
CHAPTER VIII
Jan, Pietro and the donkey went back alone. Bianca had promised to play chess with her godfather before lunch, and would not disappoint the old man. She would say goodbye to him, she said, and leave when he had settled to his siesta.
Going uphill on the donkey was worse than going down. After a while Jan tired of the struggle not to slide backwards over the creature’s tail, and decided to walk. It was now very hot, the sun blazing on the exposed sections of the track, and the flies bothering Jan and the donkey. Pietro cared for nothing. He had his five hundred lire and jogged along on his hard little heels planning how to spend such a fortune. Jan knew she would have to pay his father for the hire of the animal, and hoped Pietro was wise enough to spend his tip before one or the other of his parents commandeered it.
The kitchen was in an uproar when the tired and dusty pair arrived; Maria-Teresa shouting at the top of her voice, and everyone else scuttled round at her orders, and adding to the commotion by a running commentary of his or her own. Jan was by this time accustomed to the colourful and passionate Italian way of carrying on a normal conversation, but this seemed more intense than the business of preparing the villa lunch warranted. So she asked, at the top of her voice, what was happening.
Maria-Teresa flung her arms above her head. ‘Ma insomma! Siamo fritti! We have guests for lunch. Here already! And these good-for-nothings lazing about and the Signore wanting to put the best before his guests, and—’
Jan was not alarmed, knowing that Maria-Teresa produced a perfect meal every day for her employers, and that all vacant space was piled high with food in the course of preparation. ‘Where is Francesca?’
‘Dressing the Signora. And when you and the Signorina Bianca arrive, you are to go to your rooms by the side path, not through the garden or you will be seen. And to dress quickly in a good style for important people, please. Santo cielo! Where is Signorina Bianca?’
‘Coming after the siesta.’
‘Siamo fritti!’ The cook clutched the bosom of her apron in horror, then rushed to the stove where a pan spluttered.
Jan left the kitchen to its crisis and, only too anxious to avoid important guests in her present state, tiptoed lightly along the side path and stole into Bianca’s bedroom without being seen. She showered quickly and dressed in the nicest dress she possessed, a trim pink linen. As she brushed her hair into its normal sleekness, she wondered whether she was supposed to join the family and their obviously important visitor, or whether she should tactfully take lunch in her room. If only Francesca would come, and explain what had happened to set the kitchen in an uproar and require the Signora to be specially dressed. Who was this guest?
She was doing her eyelashes when the maid slipped in. ‘Signorina! You are here, thank God and his angels! Did you find the Signorina Bianca?’
‘I did. And she is coming home when her godfather settles to his siesta. I heard in the kitchen we have a guest for lunch. If it’s someone terribly important, maybe I should eat here. Will you ask the Signora what I am to do, please? If you can, that is.’
‘Too late. She is already with him. Oh, if only Bianca had returned with you, all would be well. The Signore is so angry and so polite. He is like Vesuvius today, all fire deep down inside, and so pleasant on the outside. I pity him, I truly do. What will happen?’
‘How can I say, until I know who the visitor is? Is it a business colleague, or one of the family, or what? Do stop wringing your hands and tell me.’
‘Did they not tell you, in the kitchen? It is the Conte Alberghi.’
‘Sounds impressive. And who is he?’
‘Who is he?’ Francesca’s voice squeaked with astonishment. ‘Does the Signorina not know? He is the betrothed of the Signorina Bianca.’
‘What!’ Jan’s heart raced. The palms of her hands were damp. Rafaello here, at the villa? ‘When did he come? Did he arrive without warning?’
‘I think not. He found himself in Naples on business, and telephoned to say he would hire a motorboat and come out. That’s what the Signore told Dino. Of course they went down to the harbour to meet him, and arrived back here ten minutes ago. The two signori are a
t this moment sitting on the terrazzo with cigars, and talking over their wine.’
‘What has he been told about Signorina Bianca?’
The girl shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’
The aunt in Florence story, of course. With Bianca due to arrive home within the next two hours, ready to do battle with her brother but completely unprepared to meet her fiancé. In spite of all that had happened, the girl was still engaged to the Conte.
‘Francesca,’ Jan said urgently, ‘Bianca must not be allowed to walk into this without warning. Can we telephone the castle?’
‘Not without the Signore hearing.’
She drummed her fingers on the marble top of the toilet table. ‘Someone must go down. Not Pietro, he’ll be tired out. He’s only small. Is there anyone else who could take a letter?’
‘Plenty. The kitchen is always full of empty minds and full stomachs. But we shall have to pay.’
Jan laughed shortly. ‘That goes without saying! A thousand lire?’
The girl shrugged. ‘It is hot now, and the messenger will lose a meal and miss the siesta.’
Jan hesitated. She was running short of Italian money unless she changed another travellers’ cheque, which she was loth to do at this juncture. She had enough for her journey, but little over. ‘Three thousand, then. I can spare no more.’ It occurred to her that she could pay a good deal more and recoup it from Marco. His sister’s arrival, in the nick of time, would suit him well, but unless she was warned that Rafaello was here, she would walk straight into disaster. And Paolo was due to arrive this afternoon. Would it be possible to intercept him, warn him to turn back? With these volatile, quick-tempered Italians, in such an inflammable situation, who could tell what might happen?