‘Everyone shares the rent of a shop in St Ives. There is a small workshop at the back. The local arty shops around Cornwall come to the workshop, see what they like and order from us direct. I only joined them last week. There are six of us so it means we can pool our resources and also employ local people. I don’t want to get too involved, but it is a way of…’
‘Establishing yourself down here?’
I hesitated. ‘Maybe.’
‘Do Danielle and Florence know?’
‘No. Not yet. I’ve only told my parents. I will tell Danielle and Flo. It’s just…they’d both like me to go back to London and perhaps I need to prove that I don’t have to be there in person to design or contribute to the business. Do you see?’
Antonio started to laugh. ‘Jenny, where has this story come from that you no longer have any ambition to design? Danielle gives me a lecture on not putting any pressure on you to produce work for me.’
‘She’s right. I’m not really sure of anything. I’m still feeling my way. For now, this feels OK, manageable.’
Antonio turned away and looked at my sketches pinned up between the windows, then down at the work I was experimenting with. He must have been wondering why he was here. I would not be able to produce work fast enough for him and a local market. In London they were working at full capacity with expensive designs that brought in big money, not the equivalent of peanuts.
I thought suddenly that both Antonio and Danielle were humouring me in the hope that I would get back to full-time designing. Maybe I would. I just didn’t know. I walked back into the kitchen to make more coffee.
After a moment Antonio followed me. ‘Do people down here know what a well-known London designer you are?’
‘Well, I grew up here, so some people know my work.’
Antonio sat down at the kitchen table and loosened his tie, and suddenly he looked younger and attractive, and for a flash I was back in his villa after Tom died. I felt the colour flood to my face and moved to fix the filter on the jug.
When I turned back to the table Antonio said, ‘Well, darling, it seems to me that you are being very sensible. You wish to prove to yourself, quietly out of the limelight, that you have not lost your touch. Down here you can design gently. You can please yourself. You are politely showing me that you are not ready yet for the pressure of me and Danielle?’
I smiled and sat down opposite him. I had forgotten how nice he was. ‘Poor Danielle. She will be very cross with me. It is kind of you to be even remotely interested in these very simple designs.’
‘I am not being kind. I know what sells. How would you feel if I were to have the bulk of your Cornish designs made up in Italy under a separate label? Would you be willing? It would be less remunerative.’
It was a good idea. I said, after a minute’s thought, ‘Yes, I would be willing, but don’t sell them under a new label. Market them with the clothes you export to Italy under the Danielle Brown label. Then it is all under one umbrella. Danielle and Flo will be happy that I am designing for you and I do not feel I have deserted the business completely.’
Antonio laughed. ‘Done! We will talk later, darling. May we walk by the sea? Will you show me a little of your world?’
I took him in to St Ives. I showed him the tiny co-operative shop on the front by the harbour and he bought some lovely jewellery. For a girlfriend? I wondered. I knew he was not married. We roamed around the small galleries and I took him to the Tate, then the Barbara Hepworth garden. He was easy to be with because he was so genuinely enchanted and interested in everything.
James and Bea walked down to meet us for lunch. We ate at the Elba, which had once been the old lifeboat station. It was sophisticated and Mediterranean, and I wanted to show him that Cornwall had much besides its seductive coastline.
Bea was enchanted with Antonio and practised her terrible Italian on him. It made Dad and me wince, but Antonio flattered her efforts with a straight face and inimitable charm.
After lunch I took him to the island, across Porthmeor beach and up to Clodgy Head and the cliffs.
We went back to Tredrea for tea and Bea and James showed him round the house and garden, and I sat in the window seat above the harbour and opened a text from Adam: ‘Plane cool. Mum at Gtw. Luv A.’
Antonio was very relaxed with my parents. I supposed he must be around forty, but he seemed younger when animated. He and James became immersed in a conversation about English war poets.
Dad was the first to notice the bad weather coming in and rang Newquay airport to check on the early evening flight to Gatwick. He was told that all flights in and out of Newquay that evening were cancelled.
Bea and James immediately told Antonio that he must stay the night. He was anxious and embarrassed. ‘No, no, I will not put you to trouble. I will go to a hotel.’
‘Well, if you’d rather. But you are very welcome.’ Bea and James disappeared into the kitchen.
Antonio was looking out of the window, nervously jiggling the coins in his pocket. ‘How quickly the weather changes, Jenny. It is rather alarming.’
I smiled. ‘Please don’t feel trapped. I should have warned you about the vagaries of flying from Newquay. Will you miss anything important?’
He turned from the window. ‘Nothing my assistant cannot handle. I am embarrassed. I do not want to outstay a wonderful day with you and your parents. I think a hotel will be less trouble for you all.’
‘This is a big house and my parents will love having you, but if you prefer to go to a hotel to work or chill out they will not be in the least offended.’
‘Oh no. I hate hotels. Then I thank you for your kindness.’ He bent quickly and lightly kissed my hand with a smile of relief. ‘I see why this place is right for you and how it must fire your imagination. Colours change in a moment and the elements must get into your soul.’
Dad came in with drinks on a tray and I went up to the top of the house to make up my bed with clean sheets and lay out towels. As well as a view up here Antonio would have his own bathroom. I would sleep downstairs tonight so that I could drive him early to Newquay.
James took him to the pub while Bea cooked and I laid the table.
‘He is utterly charming, Jen. I do like him.’ Mum was pink and happy. She loved new people.
I hugged her. ‘Maybe it’s because you can practise your execrable Italian?’
‘You’re very rude.’
She insisted we used the Venetian wineglasses she and James had bought on honeymoon. Dad and Antonio came back slightly merry. Antonio had been introduced to Cornish beer. I should have warned him.
The house was warm, the table flickered in the candlelight. The harbour below us was full of small glittering lights in the rain, signalling an inhabited outside world, while we were comfortable and secure up here in our eyrie. I used to think when I was a child how lucky I was. I still felt it.
I looked at my parents’ faces in the candlelight, ageless to me. Home was a refuge that never changed or faltered in love, welcome and security. What would I have done without Bea and James these last months? I watched them chatting happily to Antonio, a man they had only met today but decided they liked unequivocally.
I raised my glass, suddenly overcome by love for them. ‘Bea, James, to you!’
They turned to me, surprised, and I added quietly, touching their glasses, ‘Just to say thank you, in case I ever forget.’ I laughed, embarrassed, and they laughed too.
Antonio raised his glass to them as well. He met my eyes and held them. They showed regard and something impossible to read. ‘Why do you sometimes call your parents by their Christian names?’
Dad laughed. ‘She grew up with a little friend who obviously called us Bea and James. She started to do it too and it became a habit. She doesn’t know she’s doing it!’
After supper Antonio insisted on helping me clear up. Bea and James went and watched the news, and we talked business as we filled the dishwasher. If the weather had not lifte
d by tomorrow Antonio would have to catch a train to Paddington as he had an evening flight back to Milan.
I took him up to my room. ‘I hope you’ve got everything you need.’ I showed him the tiny bathroom and went to draw the curtains.
‘Leave them, darling. I like to see the sky and hear the sea.’ He came to the window and looked down at the hundreds of lights spread below us round the harbour. ‘A bewitching place…’ He turned to look down at me.
‘I’ll say goodnight.’ I felt awkward. I had drunk quite a lot of wine.
‘Goodnight, Jenny. I fear I have taken your room. I shall sleep well.’
Antonio’s voice was like a caress. He bent to me and as I raised my cheek for his goodnight kiss I wobbled and had to hold on to his arms. They felt warm underneath my fingers, warm and surprisingly strong. Desire shot through me and I had to fight an instinctive intake of breath.
His mouth hovered for a moment near mine as if the belt of sexual tension had been mutual. He caught the side of my mouth with his. I felt his hands tighten on my shoulders and I could not move away. I felt the pressure of his fingers and his mouth stayed quite still against my own. I drew away, shaking, met his eyes, whispered goodnight and fled.
I threw off my clothes and fell into bed. I thought of Antonio above me still standing by the window looking out at the closed in night sky. I had wanted him to throw me on the bed and just take me. Just take me. Fuck me quickly without words.
I tossed about on the bed, my treacherous body betraying Tom, burning me up. I want to feel his dark square body on top of mine. I want that soft voice in my ear urging me on. I want to crawl up those stairs step by step and see him waiting for me. With a moan I sat up. I’m drunk. In the morning I’m going to die a hundred mortified deaths for having these thoughts.
I got out of bed, wrapped an old eiderdown round me and went and sat in the window. This bedroom had a view of the island and the cross on the tiny chapel was illuminated in the cloudy night. On the horizon the ocean moved like a thin snake.
I remembered with rising embarrassment that I had once slept in the same bed as Antonio in Italy. I had blanked it from my mind. It seemed so improbable now and long ago. As if it had happened to someone else.
I stood up. If I had climbed into his bed once from loneliness and need, could I not do it again? I went to the foot of the stairs and looked up. Not a sound came from above. The house creaked and breathed around me. My courage deserted me. I turned and went back to my cold bed.
I miss Adam’s sweet warmth. I did not like sleeping alone any longer.
SIXTY-NINE
Antonio’s villa stands on a hill facing the sea. Between the house and the water lies a path through trees to the beach. It is all so beautiful and unexpected that Danielle and I are momentarily speechless. We knew Antonio had a plush modern flat in the fashionable quarter of Milan and we had imagined that his house in the country would be split-level and modern.
The house is old and surrounded by a formal garden and vineyards. I am somehow unprepared for a home full of elegant comfort. Antonio has kept everything simple in natural woods. The floors are polished and uncarpeted, with Persian rugs in bright colours. The furniture is light oak. There are no curtains at the windows, only shutters, and the house stands serene in dappled sunshine.
I feel warm for the first time in weeks. Antonio is watching me anxiously. We came by water ferry and it feels like being transported to another land completely, a world without nightmare.
‘What an amazing house. It’s perfect. Thank you for inviting us.’ How strange my voice sounds.
Antonio takes my hand and I see that his face is tinged with pleasure. ‘While you are here, darling, this is your home also. I want you to rest and heal and swim and lie in the sun.’
‘Thank you. You’re very kind.’ I turn to the open windows. ‘May I explore?’
I step out into the heat of late summer and pray they will let me walk away on my own. The sea glitters in the distance. I turn down the hall to my room to change into my swimming things, then make my way down the path to the sea leaving Antonio and Danielle wandering around the house calling out to each other in Italian.
Antonio comes to the french windows and shouts to me, ‘It is safe to swim, darling, but do not go too far out. In a moment we join you.’
I raise my hand in acknowledgement. I want time alone to soak up the beauty of this place. As I walk the heat presses down. There is only the sound of crickets and a slight wind through the trees, and that of my footsteps.
The small cove is deserted and the sea is warm, breaking in small waves, comforting, like home, like Cornwall. I swim out a little way and tread water looking out to sea. I feel that if I turn and look back at the villa I will see two figures watching me anxiously from the terrace.
The water is clear, tiny fish swim up in shoals beneath me. I kick out and swim up and down trying to close my mind to everything but the velvety touch of salt water.
Up and down, up and down through the pale-blue sea I swim, letting the sun warm me through the water. I swim into the shallows and let small waves break over my back and legs in little slaps. A heat haze hangs over the water, merging sun and sky. I close my eyes.
Mama, Mama. Hold hand. Jump! Jump wave, Mama. I look up, rise out of the water with joy to catch Rosie to me. No child runs towards me. No man follows, chasing his daughter in the shallows. There is no one at all in the deserted landscape. The beach lies before me curved and empty.
I put on a light-green dress that Danielle made for me. It is so wispy, so light that I can hardly feel myself within it. It has two panels of multicoloured silk that float out from the shoulders like wings to fly away. It took her two days in the workroom; two days and two nights. A little act of love. Tom would have approved. It is classic but it has that edge of difference.
I do not have Danielle’s amazing olive skin that tans instantly, but I am brown from the summer and I think my face is less pale after three days here in Antonio’s house in the sun.
Antonio is having a party. He says it is partly business and partly pleasure; a late-summer gathering for his friends. I have put off going downstairs for as long as possible, but now I must steel myself or I will seem rude. I think of home. I miss Flo. I ring her on my mobile.
‘Jen!’ Her voice is anxious.
‘I’m fine.’ My voice cracks.
‘You’re homesick. You’re wondering what on earth you’re doing there?’
‘Yes. What on earth made me agree to come? It’s too soon. I’m not ready. Antonio is having a party and I don’t have the courage to go downstairs.’
‘You have more than enough courage. Sweep down in Danielle’s exquisite dress. Pretend you are playing a part. Well-known dress designer about to become rather famous…’ Flo, faraway in London, pauses. ‘It will get better, my love. Just moving forward one pace at a time will get easier. Danielle and I will help you get through this.’
‘Thanks, Flo,’ I whisper and say goodbye.
Flo and Danielle hide their own grief in order not to compound mine. I look in the mirror. A thin, wiry-haired creature stares back at me. Pretend you are playing a part. I take a deep breath and go downstairs. Antonio is hovering at the bottom for me like a suitor.
He takes my hand and kisses it. ‘Darling Jennee, you look ravishing.’ He grabs a drink from a passing tray and hands it to me. ‘I know how very hard all this is for you. I thank you from the bottom of my heart for coming downstairs. I was not sure if you would be able to face us. Some of these people are important to us and some are my very good friends. Come, I will not leave you alone. If we get separated, come and find me instantly.’
I smile. It is rather like being a child again. I take frequent drinks from the many passing trays. I sail round on Antonio’s arm and smile vivaciously. I answer questions about work, about London. I flirt. I laugh. I take another drink from another tray. I think I am doing very well. I watch myself being a success.
&nb
sp; I catch sight of Danielle circulating. She is stunning, all in white, her long glossy dark hair loose and sexy. Every time I look she is surrounded by more Italian men. Occasionally she frowns at the glass in my hand and gently shakes her head. Then she comes over and whispers, ‘Be careful with the wine. Do not take my example. I have the capacity of an alcoholic, as you know.’
I smile. She is worried that I am going to embarrass myself, burst into noisy drunken tears or suddenly fall on the floor or start to slur my words. But I’m not at all drunk. The wine appears to be having no effect at all except to blur the edges and make things fractionally better. I am merely playing a part.
When it is time to eat I cannot face the buffet table full of food. I slip away and make my way out of the french windows and down the steps to the lower terrace. The light from the house spills over me as I move into the shadows. I hold out my hand to the light as it shines on old flagstones and my hand becomes pink, translucent and strange. I gaze at it curiously.
What am I doing away from home so soon after Tom’s death? I let my hand fall and turn to face the sea. I can hear the faint hiss if I strain and I wonder if I have enough energy to walk and stand by the edge of the water. I stand staring out at the purple strip beyond the fruit trees. Every so often the surface of it is disturbed by little breaking white waves.
Tom would love this. The smell of the night unmistakably Mediterranean, highly scented. The sound of cicadas, the whiff of olive oil.
From behind me the sound of the party comes in small bursts of voices and laughter. I want to melt and be part of the night, part of the stone step I sit on. I want to adhere like a shadow to the old stone balcony I lean against. In the light spilling from the room behind me I study moss on the ancient uneven bricks, little hairs protrude like prickles on an old man’s chin. It is spongy to touch and damp, revealing a ladybird deep in its depths. I have disturbed it.
I want, above all things, to go to bed but I seem unable to move. I am overcome by a powerful lethargy. I go on sitting on the cold step. I hear someone come out of the windows behind me, then Antonio is beside me. He crouches down to me. For a moment he says nothing. I sense his alarm but still I cannot move or turn my head. Slowly he places the back of his hand to my arm, gently, like a question mark. ‘You are getting cold. Will you come inside now?’
Come Away With Me Page 30