by Laura Wood
“You knew Filomena back then?” I am startled. I hadn’t really given much thought to how she and Ben knew each other. I suppose it always seemed that Filomena picked up interesting people in the same careless way one might collect shells on a beach.
Ben nods, his gaze inscrutable. “Yes, I knew her,” he says.
I’m distracted after a moment by a buzzing in my ear. I brush something away with my hand and notice it’s a flying ant.
“So,” Ben says, his voice suddenly brisk. “Back to romance.”
“I’m ready.” I try to match his tone. “I am actually very intrigued to hear your outlined suggestions about the parameters of the experiment and its projected outcomes.” Another ant flies past my face.
Ben stares at me. “We don’t need an outline,” he says gently, but with some exasperation in his voice. “This is a romantic picnic, Bea. Parameters and projected outcomes are not romantic.”
“Right,” I say, distracted by another ant. It occurs to me then that we have a more pressing problem. “Actually, Ben—”
“No, Bea,” he says, holding up a hand to stop me. “I know you think you can handle this like any of your other experiments, but in this instance, you have to admit that I know a little more than you…”
“Fine. But the thing is, Ben—” I try again, flicking my hand as yet another ant buzzes in front of my face.
“Bea,” he exclaims, “if you’re going to keep interrupting me then how am I supposed to concentrate? You’re the one who said you wanted romantic gestures and I’ve actually got several ideas.” He takes out a slim volume. “I thought perhaps some poetry,” he says. “I know you said it was a waste of time, but this – well, this will change your mind.”
I look up at the sky while he begins to read aloud from the book. Several crows wheel high above us, snapping at the air. I debate whether or not to try and point this out to him, but decide instead to simply sit back and let events unfold as they may.
“But thy eternal summer…” Ben breaks off, batting at his face.
“Yes?” I ask mildly.
“Thy eternal summer…” Ben tries again and stops, his hand flicking near his ear. “Oh, buzz off, you bloody things,” he mutters as several more insects join the first. “What the hell is going on?”
“Well,” I say. “As I was trying to tell you, I believe we might have disturbed a nest of Lasius niger during their nuptial flight.”
Ben looks at me as though I have sprouted an extra head.
“And in English, please?”
“Flying ants,” I reply.
“Of course,” he grumbles, snatching up the remains of the picnic and stuffing them hastily back in the basket as the cloud of ants grows in the sky overhead. “Try and take you anywhere and suddenly it’s swarms of flying locusts.”
“Locusts?” I chuckle, folding the blanket. “Oh, Ben, you really couldn’t be more wrong. A locust is part of the order of Orthoptera, while an ant belongs to the order of Hymenoptera along with wasps and bees.”
“Very interesting,” Ben says frostily.
“It is actually.” I pause to observe the ant that has just landed on the back of my hand. “The nuptial flight is when the young queens all leave the nest to strike out on their own and start new colonies. They mate with the smaller male ants in the air.” I look up at the throng. “The male ants live for just a day or two after the flight – their only job is to mate with the new queens.” I smile at him. “As with so much of nature it all comes down to sex.”
Ben grabs my hand, dragging me away from the swarm, and in the direction of the villa.
“Maybe we should stay and watch,” I say. “It only happens one day a year.”
“Being attacked by a hoard of Hymenopteras was not high on my list of romantic activities,” he grumbles.
“You are using that word wrong,” I point out.
“This experiment is going to be a disaster if you won’t take it seriously,” Ben says crossly. “You’ve got the romantic soul of a … a … plank.”
“That is very unfair!” We are a safe distance from the ants and I pull my arm out of his grip. “And,” I add, “if you think that poetry is going to work on me then you’re wrong. Why were you waving your arms around like that?”
“It’s called emotion,” Ben says, giving me a dark look. “It’s usually something that women appreciate.”
By the time we arrive back at the villa we have settled into silence. We are greeted on the terrace by Filomena and Hero.
“Ah,” Filomena exclaims. “There you are! Your uncle was looking for you, Bea. I’m afraid he has had to go to Milan for a short time on business. He wanted to say goodbye, but we couldn’t find you.”
Although we haven’t been doing anything wrong, I notice with interest that Ben flushes a little at this.
“We went for a picnic,” I say, at the same time that Ben says, “We were having an art lesson.”
Filomena’s amused glance takes in both of us. “I see.”
“At least you managed to avoid getting covered in paint this time, Bea,” Hero says. “You must be improving. Not a speck of paint anywhere, in fact.”
There’s a pause.
“I think I’m getting better,” I agree at last.
“She’s certainly … trying,” Ben says. “In every sense of the word,” he adds quietly, so that only I can hear him.
I choose to ignore this. “How were your lessons, Hero?” I ask. I immediately realize this was a mistake as my cousin unleashes a rather disjointed rant about Signora Giuliani and her various shortcomings both as an instructor and as a human being. From the pained look in Filomena’s eyes, I suspect that she has heard this already.
“She’s just so awful!” Hero finishes. “Awful!”
“I know, I know,” Filomena says soothingly. “But we must respect your father’s wishes, my dear.”
Hero’s mouth sets in a straight line. “I don’t see why, if he’s not even going to be around!” she exclaims and then she turns and stomps into the house. With a heavy sigh, Filomena follows.
“Hero!” she calls. “Hero! Wait!”
Ben and I are left standing on the steps. We don’t look at each other.
“Well,” I manage at last, clearing my throat. “It looks as though our romantic rendezvous was a bit of a disaster, doesn’t it?”
“Not at all,” Ben replies quickly. “I think it just means that I need to increase my efforts.”
“The picnic was a nice idea though,” I say encouragingly.
“Next time I’ll try and keep the swarming insects to a minimum.”
“Don’t bother on my account,” I respond cheerfully. “I would have been very happy to stay and watch.”
“You really would, wouldn’t you?” Ben rubs his neck, ruefully. “I can see I’m going to need to rethink my tactics.”
“I don’t think it’s supposed to be a military operation.”
“Oh no?” He raises an eyebrow. “Well, it’s a challenge at least and one I mean to win.” There’s a glint in his eye as he says it, one that sends a prickle of awareness down my spine. There’s also a swagger in his step as he turns and walks away.
I watch his retreating back, until he disappears around a corner, and then I sit on the steps with a sigh.
It seems that young men are going to prove even more interesting than glow-worms.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Although I would have sworn that my time in Italy could not possibly become more relaxed, it seems I was wrong. My uncle’s absence has a curious and unexpected effect on the atmosphere at the villa. Everyone seems to breathe out a little. As the days pass, melting seamlessly into one another, our tenuous grip on routine is lost completely.
“What time is it?” I ask one morning from the lounger where I am sprawled, my wide-brimmed hat pulled down low on my face. A battered copy of Lady Chatterley’s Lover dangles from my fingers. Ursula gave it to me to read, saying that if I was going to take my
romantic education seriously then this was the proper place to start. So far it has been quite illuminating.
“I have no idea,” Ursula murmurs from the lounger beside me. “You’re the scientist. Can’t you work it out from the position of the sun or something?”
“I can’t believe it’s so hot,” I moan, ignoring this. “How can it keep getting hotter?”
A trickle of perspiration runs down my chest and I fan myself wearily with the book. We have been enduring a heatwave over the last few days, temperatures spiking so high that it’s impossible to escape the stifling, smothering feeling. The heat is something else: something heavy and pulsing, wrapped suffocatingly around us all and leaving oil-slick shimmers in the air. The villa is unusually quiet, with just Klaus, Ursula and Ben still here with Filomena, Hero and me. There have been no other visitors for days.
“I’m going to swim,” Klaus croaks from the chair he has pulled into the shade. “In a moment, when I can move, I’m going to swim.” He is wearing only bathing shorts, his head flung back, his arms limp by his sides. These days we all wear as little as possible and I’m a bit surprised by how quickly I’ve grown used to it.
Well, almost. I still think it’s rather daring that I lie out in my bathing suit, but that article of clothing is positively puritanical compared to the two-piece costume that Ursula wears. When I first saw it my eyes nearly popped out of my head and Ursula laughed, calling me the “little Victorian”.
“Swimming won’t help,” I groan. “The pool is warm. Everything is warm. I’ll never be cold again.”
“I need water,” Klaus says hoarsely.
“Yes,” Ursula says longingly, “in a tall glass with ice.”
“Ohhh,” I whimper.
“Go on, then.” Ursula kicks her leg half-heartedly in my direction. “You go.”
“I can’t move. You go.”
“Did someone call for drinks?” Ben appears, a tray in his hands.
“Is that … cold lemonade?” Ursula rallies slightly, lifting the sunglasses up from her eyes to squint at Ben. “Are you a vision? An angel?”
“Lucifer, possibly,” I say, smiling up at him.
“Do you want a drink or not?” Ben asks sweetly.
“Yes, please.” I take the glass he hands me, draining the lemonade inside in one long, thirsty draught. It is icy sweet and lip-tinglingly sour at the same time, and utterly delicious.
“Where have you been?” Ursula asks Ben. Revived by her drink she pulls herself into a sitting position, admiring the biscuity tan on her legs.
“Working,” Ben says, taking a sip and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. My eyes catch there on his lips for a moment. “Like the rest of you should be.”
“Not me,” I point out over Ursula and Klaus’s groans. “I’m on holiday. Or enforced exile, I suppose. Reflecting on my bad behaviour.”
“Well, I should think that’s plenty to keep you occupied.” Ben sits, lowering his feet over the edge into the pool. “It’s like bath water!” he exclaims.
“This heat is unnatural,” Ursula says. “I remember what it was to be cold once.” Her voice takes on a wistful quality. “To have to wrap up in coats and scarves against the biting wind.” She sighs. “I’m actually starting to miss Vienna.”
“Don’t be foolish,” Klaus says, finally dragging himself to his feet. “This place is heaven and you know it.”
“Klaus is right,” I say drowsily. “I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be.”
Klaus smiles sweetly at me and I smile back, lowering my eyelashes in what I hope is a flirtatious gesture. There seems to be a lot of fluttering eyelashes in the business of flirtation, and I am supposed to be learning about romance after all.
“Have you got something in your eye?” Ben asks sourly.
“Let me check that for you,” Klaus says smoothly, and he bends down so that his face is close to mine, one hand cupping my chin.
“Hmmm,” he murmurs, his breath fanning warm against my skin. “I don’t see anything.”
“Are you sure?” I ask softly. This is going marvellously. Full marks for flirtation; it seems I am a natural after all.
“He’s sure,” Ben says. “Short of climbing inside your eye he couldn’t be looking more closely.”
Klaus releases my chin and steps back, his eyes laughing. “I think that the heat has got you on edge, my friend.”
“Is it perhaps that our little experiment is not going to plan?” Ursula murmurs. “Perhaps Bea is not as susceptible to your charms as others, Benedick.”
Ben grins, a flash of white teeth in his tanned face. “I think that Bea just needs more exposure to them.” He gets to his feet and holds out a hand to me. “In fact, that is precisely what I came to discuss with you, Bea, if you don’t mind a word in private.” He glances over at Ursula and Klaus, who are watching avidly. “It’s a bit much to ask a man to do all his wooing with an audience.”
“Of course,” I say. “Let’s talk.” I place my hands in his and let him pull me up, then I pick up the trousers pooled by my sun lounger, stepping into them before slipping my feet into my sandals.
Ben leads me around to the other side of a tall laurel hedge before turning to face me. He is, I notice, still holding lightly on to my hand, his fingers tangled through my own.
I look up at him, waiting for him to speak, struck again by how blue his eyes are.
“You’re flirting with Klaus,” he says.
“Oh, am I?” I say, pleased. “That is good. I wasn’t totally sure I was doing it right.”
Ben looks torn between irritation and amusement again. “Oh, you’re doing it right,” he says, his fingers toying gently with mine. “I suppose I just hoped that if there was going to be any flirting it was going to be … well, with me.”
“Oh,” I say.
“I know the picnic didn’t go to plan,” he says, “but I think we need to give it another chance.”
I consider this for a moment. “A good experiment should always leave a margin for error.”
“So we can try again?” I think the smile Ben gives me is actually a little relieved.
“All right,” I say. “We can shake on it again if you like.”
Ben tugs a little at my hand and we’re standing very close together now. I pull back to look at his face, finding my eyes are on a level with his mouth. My brain empties and for a second something electric snaps in the air around us; what little distance there was between us seems to be fast disappearing, and I feel Ben’s arm close around my waist.
“Oh, I think we can do better than that,” he murmurs.
There’s a breathless beat as he bends his head towards mine. An outbreak of voices and laughter comes suddenly from the pool and breaks the tension. I pull away from Ben, surprised to find my breathing slightly ragged.
“Let’s go back,” I say.
“As you wish.” He is, I notice, also a little flushed, but he holds out his hand to me and as we walk back his easy charm slips seamlessly back into place.
We reach the pool to find that Hero and Filomena have joined the others. Filomena is dressed in paint-and plaster-spattered overalls; Hero is pink-faced and frowning.
“Look at you all having a lovely time,” Hero complains, “while I’m stuck inside with Signora Giuliani, conjugating verbs.”
“Your father would not be best pleased if I allowed you to abandon your schoolwork,” Filomena points out gently.
“I still don’t think it’s fair,” Hero says.
It’s difficult for her, I think – the three-year age gap between us can feel so big, and I know she sometimes feels excluded from our group.
“It’s much too hot to be studying,” she sighs. “I wish it would rain.”
“Rain,” Ursula repeats dreamily. “I remember rain.”
“It’s boring and hot,” says Hero again. “Oh, I wish that something would happen.”
Filomena is watching Hero and her expression is understanding. “Well,
then there is nothing else for it,” she says, squeezing the girl’s arm. “Tonight, we must have a feast for Jupiter, God of thunderstorms, in the hope that we appease him and bring rain.”
Hero gasps.
“Truly, Filomena?” she says, her eyes bright. “A feast for Jupiter? Will there be a ritual? A blood sacrifice?”
Filomena chuckles. “No blood sacrifice,” she says, and Hero’s face drops so dramatically that Ben snorts with laughter. “But a ritual, certainly,” Filomena continues, and Hero hops delightedly from foot to foot. “We will honour our ancient Roman ancestors properly.” She glances around at the rest of us. “I hope you will all be there.”
“If it means rain, then I’m all for it,” Ursula says.
“Me too,” Klaus says.
“What do we have to do?” I ask suspiciously.
“Leave it to me.” Filomena is enigmatic. “You may await my instructions.” She turns. “Come, Hero; we have much to organize.”
“Why does that sound ominous?” Ben asks as we all watch Hero hurrying off after her future stepmother.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Later that night I am sitting in front of the mirror. I can’t stop thinking about the moment I shared with Ben in the garden. What would have happened, I wonder, if Hero and Filomena hadn’t interrupted us? Would Ben have kissed me?
The reflection before me shows my eyes wide and shining, and I can’t seem to stay still.
My thoughts are interrupted by a knock on my door and I open it to find Hero, beaming and clutching a pile of bed linen to her chest.
“What have you got there?” I ask.
“It’s your costume, of course,” she says, stepping over the threshold.
“My what?”
Hero drops the sheets on to the bed and I realize that she is wearing what can only be described as a white toga.
“Oh no,” I say quickly, holding my hands up in front of me. “I’m not wearing one of those.”
“You don’t have any choice,” Hero says, giggling evilly. “It’s all part of the ritual.” I eye the sheets uneasily. “I’ll dress you – Filomena taught me how to do it,” she insists. “I think you’ll look lovely, Bea, like a Roman goddess. Please let me; everyone else is.”
