Cast the First Stone: A stunning wartime story
Page 60
A delicious smell of fresh coffee, mixed with that of tomatoes and garlic being cooked in oil drifted along from the direction of the village of San Angelo. Liana was tempted to stop and see if the taverna in the village square still existed. During the war it had closed from lack of food, but perhaps now it sold coffee. Then she looked at her watch. There was no time, not if she was to follow the instructions given her by Margaret in the first letter, and she was a whole day late as it was.
Her initial reaction on opening the letter as instructed after leaving Margaret at the Waldorf, had been a stubborn, no. How could Margaret ask her to do such a thing? Especially now, when she knew the full story. No, Liana had decided, she could not possibly do what was asked of her. So she had put the letter away and did the usual thing, sought refuge in work. Jason Penrose was inundated with instructions and Broadacre Estates made a killing on the gold market owing to Liana’s prudent buying before the gold panic in March 1968. But all the time the words of Margaret’s letter kept intruding, displacing the printing of every page she tried to read. Eventually Liana gave in, and, getting it out, read the letter one more time. It was signed by Margaret, with a PS at the bottom from Donald and Dorothy.
My dear Liana
I’m sorry for the subterfuge, but knowing you as I do I was sure that if I just spoke, you would argue (successfully) against me. So I am writing my words down in black and white. This way, they are not fleeting, they won’t disappear on puffs of my aged breath. This way my thoughts will stay on the paper and (unless you choose to burn the letter immediately) they can be read more than one time.
When I look back on the last twenty-four years, I can clearly see the thread of tragedy running through all our lives. But make no mistake, it was not put there by you alone; you were only a part of it. But as well as tragedy, I see much happiness and many good things. Don’t forget these things, Liana. Remember the bright days as well as the dark ones.
Perhaps it was all meant to be. I don’t know. But whatever the reason, we must learn from our mistakes. If we don’t learn something in this life, what point is there in even being born? We have all made mistakes, you, Nicholas, me, Eleanora, Anne and Richard. Only Peter seems to have managed not to have blundered; although perhaps he should have hung on to Eleanora more tightly, and not have let her go rushing off to Italy. Or should he?
You see, my dear, when I discussed all this with Donald and Dorothy, we all came to the same conclusion. In a strange way, it was a good thing that Eleanora met up with Raul and brought him home, because their relationship was the trigger to the truth. If you are thinking that only more unhappiness has come from that knowledge, then you are very much mistaken. One very positive and good thing has emerged. We all know now that there is nothing to prevent Eleanora and Peter from marrying, and they do intend to marry – very soon. If they have been able to come to terms with the past, (and you must be sensitive enough to know how difficult that has been for Eleanora) then surely you can do the same!
I can’t promise the paradise of eternal happiness, but surely it is worth trying to pick up the threads of your former life? The past is the past. What is done is done. It only bears a relevance to the future if you let it.
So I ask you to go back to Italy, because I think Donald Ramsay is right. He says you must go back to your roots, and then you will see that the past twenty-four years count for far more than the life you led before. You are a different person now. You are a woman of forty-three years, and you came to England as a young girl of nineteen. Donald says that only after you have returned to Italy and finally laid the ghosts of the past to rest by yourself, can you ever hope to accept them for what they really are: links, in the chain which is your life, links which are an integral part of you, but not in any destructive sense. You are the continuation of everything which has gone before, love and sorrow. Only when you can see this will you truly belong to us.
There, my dear, I have admitted it – belong to us. It isn’t only for your sake that I am trying to help. I am being a selfish old woman. It is for my sake. I want you back. Everyone at Broadacres wants you back.
Use the air ticket and fly to Naples. Open the second envelope when you are at your former home, the castello near San Angelo. Don’t think I am being dramatic and silly, please, please, open it on the date and at the time on the envelope – not before, and not after. This is very important.
I am praying that you will do as I ask.
Your loving mother, Margaret.
Then in Dorothy’s handwriting:
PS ‘Years steal
Fire from the mind as vigour from the limb:
And life’s enchanted cup but sparkles near the brim.’
Donald says to tell you, Byron knew what he was talking about. So don’t waste time! Love, Dorothy and Donald.
Liana knew now, as she climbed the last few steps of the way up to the Roman gateway into the castello, that Donald was right. He knew more than most just what the years could steal, although it could never steal fire from his mind. The letter had forced her to look objectively at what lay ahead, and she saw year after year of bleak loneliness if she pursued her solitary path. Margaret and the Ramsays were right; it was worth a try, coming back. It would be futile ending up a lonely old woman, not even knowing whether or not an alternative had ever been possible.
She reached the gateway and crossed the courtyard. It looked far prettier than she had ever seen it. No weeds between the cobbles, brilliant pink and red geraniums in terracotta urns and stone troughs against the walls and around the well, purple bougainvillaea spreading its way up and over the door which led into the kitchen area. Liana stopped, it all seemed so welcoming, not in the least how she had expected to find it. A large key was sticking out of the kitchen-door lock, obviously meant for her to turn. She turned it and opening the door stepped inside. Part of the castello had been separated off from the ruins and beautifully restored. There were no unhappy ghosts in these sun-filled rooms. Everything was clean and smelled of fresh polish, the furniture was pine and copies of Etruscan pottery hung on the newly plastered walls. It felt happy.
A vase of freshly picked mimosa stood on the pine table in the centre of the kitchen, the small, brilliant yellow bobble flowers seeming to add an even more cheerful light to the room. Liana sat down at the table and opened the second envelope. Glancing at the time, she saw she was a little late. I must hurry, she thought, hastily unfolding the single page of paper.
After scanning it quickly she smiled. So, Eleanora had disobeyed her after all and had restored the castello. Her anger all those years ago now seemed ridiculous. Her daughter had been right, and she had been wrong.
She heard the laughter of the other Eleanora, the young girl of her childhood, her dearest friend, and knew she was there in the castello with her. Eleanora’s voice echoed across the years, tender and overflowing with love. ‘I shall always be with you for as long as you live. Nothing can separate the indivisible.’ No hint of sadness now as past and present merged together.
‘And you are.’ Liana spoke aloud, but she was smiling through her tears. ‘You are with me. You were right, and I was wrong. You had faith and I didn’t. I can see it now. Part of you has a new flowering in Eleanora. New and completely different, but linked back to the past by love. You are, and always have been, a link in the chain of my life. Just as they have all been. Even Raul and baby James, they are links, too, part of the whole me.’
Suddenly she realized she was standing in the middle of the kitchen, speaking in a loud voice, half laughing, half crying. Just as well the place is empty. What a fool I must sound, she thought. She fished a handkerchief from her bag and wiped her eyes, then looked at her watch.
‘I must hurry. I shall be late.’
A shower of pollen from the mimosa floated down, sparkling golden dust in the sunlight as the kitchen door slammed. Liana had left the castello.
*
The door to the tiny ancient church creaked protestingly a
t being opened. The congregation, four people whom Liana had never seen before, turned and stared, but the three people standing before the priest at the altar rail did not move.
‘I call upon these persons here present to witness that I, Eleanora Margaret Hamilton-Howard do take thee, Peter Richard Chapman, to be my lawful wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part.’
‘Do you think that’s the mother? The Countess of Wessex?’ The British vice-consul’s wife, always curious, hissed the question at her husband.
Her husband did not hear her, but the consul, her husband’s immediate superior, did. He looked disapproving, and made a point of ostentatiously turning back to face the altar. ‘It is no business of ours,’ he said. ‘We have merely been asked to witness this marriage.’
Unabashed, the vice-consul’s wife continued to watch the elegant woman who was slowly making her way down the narrow central aisle. ‘I think it is,’ she said.
Father Kevin Brophy looked up and glared. Was it not bad enough that he had been dragged out of retirement to conduct a service in English, without its being continually interrupted by doors opening and people whispering! ‘Sssh,’ he hissed loudly.
Liana hurried the last few steps and stood just behind Nicholas.
The moment her footsteps stopped, he turned. His grey eyes lightened as he smiled. ‘You came,’ he said simply.
‘Sssh!’ Father Brophy hissed so loudly he started coughing. He took a large sip of wine from the communion chalice. The wine had come in useful after all. He took another large sip. Might as well finish it; they were not taking communion. In fact, if he had known the bride was not a Catholic he would never have agreed to the ceremony; but the powers that be had kept it from him. He paused, resumed his mantle of dignity and continued. ‘You have declared your consent before the Church. May the Lord in his goodness strengthen your consent and fill you both with his blessings. What God has joined together, let no man put asunder.’
‘Amen,’ the congregation and the newly weds said together.
Eleanora and Peter turned. Liana caught her breath. How beautiful Eleanora looked. She was radiant, dressed in a cream linen suit, a spray of white orchids in her hand. Liana’s fashion-conscious eye spotted Dolly Pragnell’s unerring instinct for the right outfit for the occasion. She smiled tentatively. Would they accept her presence? Peter and Eleanora halted by the side of Liana. Words were not necessary. Their loving smiles told her all she needed to know. They were glad she was there, and it was right. She was the mother of the bride. Proudly she watched them walk ahead down the aisle.
Nicholas followed, but he paused and waited for Liana to fall into step beside him. It was so easy, so natural. Together they followed Eleanora and Peter outside into the sunlight, the father and mother of the bride behind the new husband and wife.
We made the same vow here on the same day in the same church, twenty-four long years ago. Liana looked at Nicholas. Was he thinking the same as herself?
‘Nearly a quarter of a century,’ he said picking up her thoughts. ‘Time now, I think, to close the door on the past.’
Liana nodded. The words she was struggling to find were smothered by Eleanora flinging her arms around her the moment they got outside and hugging her until she could hardly breathe. But I must remember to tell him we have to leave the door ajar, she thought. We must never close it completely. Every link in our past is important because it forges the future.
And there was a future. She remembered Byron’s words, ‘And life’s enchanted cup but sparkles near the brim.’ They had the time. Life’s enchanted cup could still sparkle for them.
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Table of Contents
PART ONE
1943—1944
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
PART TWO
1944—1961
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
PART THREE
1961—1966
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
PART FOUR
1966
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
PART FIVE
1966—1968
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four