by Lucy Gordon
She had no close family, but an acquaintance would do, someone back in England who knew her in her real life, maybe even someone who would send help.
There was a telephone by the bed, and, with a sense of relief, she lifted the receiver.
It was dead.
Next morning Nora appeared, bearing a tray with a pot of tea, a jug of milk, a bowl of sugar and a saucer of lemon slices.
‘I didn’t know how you like your tea,’ she explained, ‘so I brought everything.’
‘Thank you,’ Holly murmured, trying to pull the sheet up so that Nora wouldn’t see that she had slept naked, having no nightgown.
‘Shall I run your bath, or would you prefer a shower?’
‘I’ll take a shower. It’s all right, I can look after myself.’
Nora left the room, having first given something that was perilously like a curtsey.
Holly drank the tea, which had been perfectly made, and went into the bathroom. A shower refreshed her, and when she returned, wrapped in a huge towel, Liza was there, in her wheelchair, with Berta.
‘She wished to come here and make you welcome,’ Berta said, smiling.
‘I could have walked,’ Liza insisted.
‘Not so early in the day,’ Berta said. ‘It takes time for you to be strong enough.’
Holly seized her clothes and vanished hastily back into the bathroom. When she emerged the three of them breakfasted together. It was a cheerful meal, but Berta seemed to be working herself up to saying something. At last she found the daring to say,
‘Would you mind if I went away for a few hours? I need to do some shopping, and now Liza has you…?’ She spread her hands in a pleading gesture.
So this was the reason Berta had accepted her intrusion so easily, Holly thought, amused. She saw the chance of a little extra freedom. She hastened to declare that she and Liza would be fine together, and Berta departed, humming.
‘What are we going to do now?’ Holly asked when breakfast was over.
‘Come and meet Mamma,’ Liza said eagerly.
Carol Fallucci’s memorial had been erected in a shady corner of the grounds. The first time Holly saw it she had a feeling of something not quite right. She could not have defined it, except to say that she would have expected more restraint from the judge. There was something romantically gothic about this fountain with the marble angel, wings extended, that didn’t quite fit with the coolness she had encountered from him.
He must have been deeply in love with his wife to have erected such a monument. She tried to picture him consumed by passionate feeling, but she couldn’t do it. Nor could she imagine this self-possessed man in the abandonment of grief.
And yet it must be so. Nothing but the most terrible love and yearning could explain such an extravagant monument. And perhaps it was all the more painful for being so fiercely controlled.
Now Holly understood Liza’s reference to ‘meeting Mamma’. As with many Italian gravestones, this one carried a picture of the dead person. It showed a woman of about thirty, with fine features that were as exquisitely made-up as her hair was elegantly arranged. She looked exactly the kind of wife that a judge ought to have: sophisticated, assured, beautiful.
A million miles from me, Holly thought wryly. Now, she could really have worn those cocktail dresses.
To Liza this place was the nearest thing to happiness. She could come here and sit on the step, or dip her hands in the cool water, and talk about the mother she missed desperately, and who had died just before Christmas.
‘“December 21st,”’ Holly said, reading the inscription. ‘That’s the worst possible time. Not that any time would be good, but to happen then-’
She felt a small hand creep into hers and Liza nodded in silent agreement.
‘Do you have a Mamma?’ she asked after a while.
‘Not now. She died almost a year ago.’
‘Was that just before Christmas, too?’
‘It was last October, but Christmas was my first one without her.’
The silent house, the sudden unwelcome freedom for one whose life had been all duty, the aching emptiness-
‘Wasn’t there anyone else?’
‘No, just the two of us. She’d been ill for a long time.’
Holly didn’t want to talk about the long, agonising years watching her mother die by slow degrees. Words rose to her lips, all calculated to divert the conversation down another path and kill it with platitudes.
Then she saw Liza’s eyes on her. They were innocent and had a quality of kindness that seemed strange in a child. But this one knew more than any child should, and she deserved honesty.
‘The doctors couldn’t cure her,’ she said. ‘So I looked after her.’
‘Until she died?’
‘Yes, as long as she needed me.’
‘But you knew she was going to die,’ Liza said with an understanding that was too mature for her years. ‘She didn’t just vanish-suddenly, when you thought everything was all right.’
‘Was that what happened to you?’
Liza nodded.
‘We were going on holiday,’ she said in a slightly husky voice. ‘I remember Mamma packing lots of cases because she said we were going away for longer this time. It was going to be a special Christmas holiday, but we’d never been away at Christmas before.
‘It was funny because everything was different. Poppa didn’t come to see us off, and he didn’t say when he’d join us. I asked Mamma when he’d come but she didn’t know.
‘And then we were on the train, and Mamma was sort of-jumpy. When I said things, she didn’t seem to hear me. A man came and talked to us. I’d never met him before, and I didn’t like him much.
‘Suddenly there was a loud noise and the train turned over and over. Mamma put her arms about me, and I remember a terrible pain. I clung on to her because I knew she’d keep me safe, and I kept calling Poppa because if he was there he’d look after us both. I cried for him again and again but he didn’t come.
‘Then I went to sleep and when I woke up I was in hospital, and Mamma was dead. I cried and cried, but I never saw her again.’
‘You poor little thing,’ Holly murmured.
‘If I’d known-I could have said lots of things to her first. I could have told her that I loved her.’
‘But she would have known that without words.’
‘Maybe. But we had a squabble. I didn’t want to go without Poppa and I cried and said I wouldn’t go. I was nasty to her on the train. Now I can’t ever tell her that I’m sorry.’
‘Oh, piccina,’ Holly said, struck to the heart by the burden the child was carrying. ‘None of that matters. People fight but it doesn’t mean they don’t love each other. She knew that.’
‘But I want to tell her.’
‘And you can. You can still talk to her in your heart. She knew how much you loved her, and that was more important than any argument. You didn’t need to say it, because your love for her was part of her love for you. And when it’s like that, it’s always there.’
‘Really?’
‘Really.’
Liza nodded. She seemed satisfied, as though anything her new friend said could always be trusted. Holly knew a slight qualm. This appealing child was laying too many expectations on her, and it might lead to her getting even more hurt.
‘What was your mamma like?’ Liza wanted to know.
‘She was brave. In spite of what was happening to her, she always found something to laugh about. That’s what I remember most-how she laughed.’
Something caught in her throat as the memories of that laughter came back to her, frail, growing shakier but more defiant, until at last it was gone forever. She turned her head to hide the sudden rush of tears, but Liza was too quick for her. In a moment her arms were about Holly’s neck, the comforter, not the comforted.
Holly tried to speak but the ache in her throat was too much. At last she gave up and hugged the little girl back, accepting the con
solation she offered.
‘Perhaps we should go back to the house now,’ Holly said at last. ‘Aren’t you supposed to have a nap?’
‘Berta says so,’ Liza grumbled, making a face. ‘She wants me to use my wheelchair all the time, but I don’t need it.’
‘I think you need it sometimes. And if you don’t rest enough you’ll delay your recovery. And then I’ll be in trouble,’ she added lightly.
Liza scowled but got back into the wheelchair. As they headed home they saw Anna approaching them.
‘There’s a parcel for you,’ she called.
‘Already?’ Holly said. ‘I thought it would be several days.’
‘What is it?’ Liza asked eagerly.
‘My new clothes. Your father made me order some last night because all mine were left on the train.’
‘Let’s go and see them.’
Back in the house she almost dragged Holly into the tiny lift that had been installed for her, and then into her room, where Anna had laid out the parcel. The child plunged into the delightful business of unpacking, sighing over the lovely clothes.
‘This is the best store in all Rome,’ she enthused. ‘Mamma shopped there all the time. Poppa complained she was always going over the limit of his account, but he didn’t really mind because he said she looked so lovely.’
‘Well, these clothes aren’t to make me look nice,’ Holly said firmly, lifting out sweaters, followed by a coat. ‘They’re practical.’
But then she discovered something that made her frown. Conscious that she was spending the judge’s money, she had placed only a modest order of underwear. But there were three times as many panties, bras and slips as she had specified.
Perhaps she had made a mistake, and asked for more than she’d intended. But inwardly she knew this was Signor Fallucci’s doing. Before finalising matters, he had reviewed her order and increased it.
But only the underwear. Nothing else had been changed.
She wanted to laugh wildly. He, a judge, had saved her from the police, and within a few hours he was dictating to her in the matter of underwear. There was a surreal quality to it that made her dizzy.
He’d been right. She hadn’t ordered enough and he’d known it, but there was an intimacy about such knowledge that gave her an uncomfortable suspicion that she was blushing.
Then she noticed something on the accompanying paperwork that she’d missed before:
‘First part of order. Second part to follow soon.’
First part? But everything she’d ordered was here.
The sooner she spoke to him the better.
He didn’t appear at supper that evening, and Anna explained that the judge had called to say he was detained by urgent business.
Berta had returned, glowing from her day out, and the three of them had supper together.
‘Did you do all the shopping you wanted?’ Holly asked.
‘Yes, I bought lots of lovely new clothes.’ Berta sighed happily.
‘Will Alfio like them?’ Liza asked cheekily.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Berta said, trying to sound airy.
‘Alfio’s her sweetheart,’ Liza confided to Holly. ‘He works in the hospital and-’
‘And that’s enough out of you,’ Berta said, going pink. ‘Besides, he’s not my sweetheart. He’s-’ her happiness came bursting out ‘-he’s my fiancé.’
The rest of the meal was taken up with a detailed description of the proposal she had received a few hours earlier, a conversation which they all enjoyed.
That night Holly donned one of her new nightgowns. It was flimsy and delicate, with a feel of such luxury that it seemed almost criminal to wear it in solitude. She thought of the plain cotton pyjamas that had always suited her before, and wondered if she would ever be satisfied with them again.
Sleeping in such luxury was a new, sensual experience. So was waking up in it. There was another sensual experience when she put on the new underwear, feeling it move softly against her skin. It was designed for sexual enticement, to persuade a man to remove it, and Holly could feel it mysteriously transforming her. Only a certain kind of woman could wear this underwear. She was wearing it. Therefore she was that woman. The logic of it was perfect.
‘I’m going crazy,’ she murmured, trying to clear her head. ‘This place is getting to me. Or perhaps it’s the heat.’
Already at this early hour, she could sense the promise of the searing-hot day to come. It hadn’t been like that before she got into the train. In the little town that she’d fled the weather had been warm but benign. It was only now that the heatwave had descended, so that even the early hours glowed with the anticipation of the furnace to come.
The judge made only a brief appearance at breakfast, but when he left the table she followed him to his study. He was putting papers into his briefcase.
‘I’m in a hurry,’ he said, without looking up. ‘Is it urgent?’
‘It is to me,’ she said firmly, advancing into the room. ‘I received my clothes from the store but…’
It had been so easy when she’d rehearsed the speech, but face to face with this cool, ruthless man, her nerve gave way. How could she ever have imagined she could discuss her underwear with him?
‘It contains more than I ordered,’ she managed to say.
He shrugged. ‘You didn’t order enough. I appreciate your attempt at economy but it was needless.’
‘But I can’t allow you to-’
‘Signorina, the question of you allowing me to do anything does not arise, since you’re in no position to stop me.’
‘That’s right, rub my nose in it.’
‘Scusi? Rub your nose?’
‘It’s an English expression. It means that you’re making me feel helpless. I don’t like it.’
‘Most women don’t object when a man buys them clothes,’ he said, sounding a little bored.
‘That depends on the clothes. I do object to you buying me underwear. We don’t have the kind of relationship that…’
Seething, she fell silent. He was regarding her with eyebrows raised satirically.
‘There’s more than one kind of relationship,’ he said. ‘If you’re afraid that I shall try to “take advantage” I believe is the term, you need not be.’
He said the last few words with a slow, savage emphasis that chilled her. He was reminding her of his recent bereavement, saying that if she thought she could interest him she flattered herself. Embarrassment held her silent.
‘If there’s nothing more…’ he said.
‘I also think you should return my passport. Being without it makes me feel like a prisoner.’
‘That is nonsense,’ he said calmly. ‘If you want to leave you have only to contact the British Consul and ask for their help. You’ll be provided with an identity card that will get you back to England. Here’s the address.’
He scribbled on a sheet of paper and handed it to her.
‘If you wish I can call them now and use all my influence to ensure that things are made smooth for you.’
It was all true, Holly realised. She could do exactly what he had described. But all this reasonableness didn’t dispel her suspicions. The reference to his influence sounded helpful but was actually a subtle reminder that he was in control here, even when it didn’t look like it.
The time had come to stand up for herself.
‘Well, maybe I’ll go to the consulate today,’ she said firmly.
‘I’ll order the car for you.’
‘No, thank you, I’ll make my own way there.’
‘Then I’ll call a taxi.’ With a touch of exasperation he added, ‘Or would you prefer to walk several miles?’
‘If necessary,’ she retorted, in a fury.
He groaned. ‘Enough of this. Must we have these trials of strength?’
‘Maybe your strength alarms me.’
‘Have the honesty to admit that I’ve exercised it in your defence.’
‘Be
cause I’m useful to you.’
‘Certainly you are, just as I am useful to you. The best bargains are those where both sides gain.’
Everything he said made perfect sense, and she would have liked to thump him for it.
‘But I wouldn’t dream of detaining you against your will,’ he added. ‘Go if you want to.’
She was saved from having to answer by the door opening and a small head peering round.
‘Can I come in, Poppa?’
‘Of course.’ He rose and went to the door, giving his arm to help Liza walk.
‘I was looking for Holly.’
‘Well, here she is.’
Liza pulled herself free from her father to limp forward at a run.
‘You vanished,’ she said in a tense voice. ‘I thought you’d gone away for ever and ever.’
And that was her nightmare, Holly realised, conscience-stricken.
‘No, darling,’ she said, dropping to her knees so that she could meet Liza’s eyes on a level. ‘I just came to talk to your father. I’m sorry, I should have told you first, so that you didn’t worry. I haven’t gone away.’
She pulled Liza towards her in a bear hug, and found herself almost suffocated in the returning embrace.
‘And you won’t, will you?’ Liza begged.
The decision was already made. Liza was the one who had first championed her, and now she owed the little girl a debt. Going to the consulate would have to wait.
She looked up at the judge, expecting to see an expression of cool triumph, or even indifference at a victory he would have taken for granted.
But there was something else there. Instead of assurance, there was apprehension. Instead of authority, she saw pleading.
That must be a mistake. Not pleading. Not this man who had her in his power.
But it was in his eyes and the taut lines of his whole body. Her decision mattered to him desperately, and he was full of terrible tension waiting for it.
‘No, I won’t go away,’ she said. ‘I’ll stay as long as you want me.’
‘For ever and ever?’ Liza asked.
‘For ever and ever.’
‘I think it’s time I was leaving for work,’ he said in a voice that sounded strained.