Sitting on the side of the tub, they addressed the situation. ‘This is a major problem, Angelo. This is as big a crisis as I’ve ever faced. This is as big – no, bigger – as the agricultural quota failure. This is a catastrophe! She’s not what we thought she was. At all.’ Angelo tried to interrupt but was silenced with Sergio’s raised hand. ‘We have an official welcome planned for this afternoon, we have spent this year’s entire annual domestic budget on the midsummer party and we are due to hold an election soon after. We absolutely have to deliver, I can’t face failure. Failure is not an option.’
Angelo nodded slowly. There was no point in denying that this was a major issue for the government and a potential political disaster. Even now the band would be warming up, the bunting would soon be raised and the whole town would be in the throes of preparation for the afternoon’s event.
He began slowly, cautiously, as though testing the words out on himself as well as the president: ‘Sergio. You’re an intelligent man. You thought she was royalty. I am a reasonably intelligent man. I, too, was fooled. But did you see her out there? The crowd loved her, the ministers were practically dribbling. Do you see where I’m going with this? If we thought she was royal, then perhaps we can get away with it. She could still be royal! She’s due to stay for one month. Only a month. We can do this for a month, surely?’
Sergio nodded slowly and then, as the idea took hold, with unabated enthusiasm. Understanding and relief flooded his features. ‘Yes, yes, of course. She looks royal, she sounds royal. Of course she could still be royal. A month. Yes, a party this afternoon. Fine. And then a month. A few royal tours – just as we’d planned. A speech or two – just as we’d planned. And then home on the train. Yes. A month.’
Angelo looked at his watch. ‘We have an hour before the ministerial gathering and three hours before the official ceremony starts.’ He left the taps running, opened the door and beckoned the anxious woman towards him. ‘Miss Lizzie, in here, if you don’t mind. I have a proposition for you.’
Lizzie rose cautiously from her seat and tiptoed gingerly towards him.
CHAPTER 12
In Which the British Visitor Is Made to Feel at Home
In the boardroom, the gathered ministers chattered excitedly in an undignified audible whisper. The space had taken on a new scent, one perhaps never smelt in Parliament Hall before. Brylcreem fought with aftershave, which, in turn, took issue with perspiration and testosterone. Toothpaste had been utilized more energetically than ever before, combs and brushes wielded with abandon. Even Signor Civicchioni had taken some trouble over his appearance: his shirt – while not exactly ironed – had been tucked in and, worn as a badge of wanton infidelity, he sported a tie for perhaps the first time since his wedding day.
The conversation strayed sometimes towards official duties, rotas, schedules and the upcoming non-elective elections, but soon bounced back to their visitor, the blonde. When words failed, hand signals stepped in, and there was much deep sighing and lip-licking. As the clock’s hand nudged excruciatingly forward to ten minutes past the appointed hour, the conversation peaked and troughed with each suspicion of an imminent arrival. Finally, they were rewarded, and in came Sergio, alone, with the woman. Unusually, Angelo was nowhere to be seen and on this occasion it was left to Sergio himself to draw out a chair for his visitor and to arrange himself primly beside her. The men, who had risen to their feet in unison, took to their chairs once more and turned, unashamedly, towards the blonde.
‘Gentlemen, ministers. It is my privilege and honour to introduce you to our venerated guest, the Duchess of Edinburgh, Miss Elizabeth Holmesworth. As you are all aware, we have been planning for her arrival with much anticipation, and she and I have managed to facilitate an open and honest exchange in which we have covered much ground.’
Sergio looked around the room, glad to see that, while they were listening to him, his important visitor had the full, studied attention of his men. He was aware, too, of a new tension. He continued, carefully scrutinizing each minister as he spoke: ‘Her brief, on this visit, is to understand the cultural differences between her country and ours. These are not just the differences that are clear for all to see, the British monarchy with its fashionable democracy as opposed to our less-understood elected dictatorship. But we’re hoping this cultural exchange will afford us all an opportunity to delve deeper into each other’s being.’
Many pairs of eyebrows simultaneously shot up at the prospect of delving deeper, and each minister edged forward, hearing, but not listening to, every word while examining in all its perfect detail the rosy complexion, the shining golden hair, the quality of the cotton shirt and the way it opened, just one button more than a woman in Vallerosa might have dared, to reveal at least two inches of unencumbered cleavage. And what unknown riches did that bottomless crevasse promise? There was not a man present whose eyes had not roamed and lingered luxuriously there for a few pauses too many, who was not right now dreaming of burrowing a nose, a mouth, a whole head between those two beautiful pink cushions.
Miss Holmesworth did not respond by buttoning up or clasping her shirt more tightly to her. Neither did her expression scold. Instead, she sat up straight in her chair and looked at each man in turn, smiling, returning their gaze with benevolent kindness and reserved dignity. If she knew she was the object of impure thoughts, she did not let on. Instead, she listened intently, her head politely askance, to each word of the president’s welcome.
‘While she is here, I would invite you to make our visitor completely comfortable. If she has a need, I charge you with meeting it. If she is lonely, I urge you to offer companionship. If she is hungry, open your cupboard to her. If she is thirsty, it is up to you to see that her need is quenched.’
The men nodded, a chorus of gulps echoing around the table.
Sergio pulled himself up and cuffed his forehead with the flat of his hand. ‘What a poor host I am! I must proffer my most sincere apologies for using words where actions would have spoken with greater eloquence. Your Royal Highness, may I offer you a cup of tea?’
Miss Holmesworth smiled broadly. ‘Golly, absolutely. I could murder a cup of tea! I thought you’d never ask!’
A bell was rung, and in a few minutes the rattle of the tea trolley could be heard making its way down the long corridors. A few moments later Miss Holmesworth sat back politely as the ritual unfolded before her: the setting out of pots and cups, the distribution of strainers among the contingent party, the elaborate pouring. With grace and restraint, she awaited her cue from her host. When the time was ready, and the tea had made its journey from the darkest brown to its current amber, Sergio indicated with a small gesture that she should drink first.
Miss Holmesworth leaned forward and took the most delicate of sips, studying as she did so the twelve pairs of eyes fixed on her. She sucked in her lips a little, and returned the cup with great care to its saucer. ‘Is there any honey available? Would you mind?’ The men glanced nervously from one to another, while the lightest shadow of a frown glanced off Sergio’s brow. He nodded his approval and Mosconi stepped briskly from the room. They waited, silent, while the honey was fetched. More nervous glances were exchanged as the clock marked the slow crawl of time. Eventually, Mosconi returned, stepped quietly across the room and placed the honey, with a saucer and teaspoon, in front of Miss Holmesworth.
‘Thank you.’ She smiled, unaware of the tension that was currently darting through the air. She scooped a generous spoonful of honey into her tea and stirred, eventually tapping the spoon on the side of the cup and replacing it on the saucer. Once again she lifted the cup to her mouth and this time she allowed herself to take a full mouthful. She swallowed. ‘Beautiful. Just what I needed!’ She returned the cup to her lips.
Sergio refused to meet the eye of any of his attendant ministers but instead followed suit, helping himself to a spoonful of honey, then passing the pot to his right. As he tentatively sipped, a look of surprised delight passed
across his face. Then he swigged greedily from his cup. The honey went around the table and, for a few delicious minutes, the room was filled with the sound of stirring, tapping and gentle murmurs of appreciation.
‘Beautiful,’ Dottore Rossini agreed.
‘Delicious,’ added Civicchioni. ‘So sweet.’
‘Very different, quite, quite different. But I like it.’
The comments were addressed not to the table, but quietly to themselves, as each man was transported somewhere else – a full cup, a previously untasted nectar, and all in the company of a beautiful woman, who herself might have been dripping honey for the men to catch on their outstretched tongues.
As the cups were drained, it became clear that the lead now needed to come from their visitor. She pushed away her empty cup and, having turned pointedly to thank Mosconi for fetching the honey, she turned back to the room. ‘Um, gentlemen. It is my real pleasure to be here with you today. Your president and I have agreed a form that this visit might take and it seems best, if you don’t mind, that you treat me as one of yourselves.’ She looked around the room for approval. They stared in unblinking incomprehension. ‘Um, as you would treat your wives?’ This elicited a more open response but the smirks and nudges were, Miss Holmesworth sensed, a little more lascivious than she had perhaps intended.
‘What I mean to say is that, with the exception of the occasional ceremony, like this evening, I would like to be left to explore your beautiful country as though I were just an ordinary tourist. I’d like to be able to get to know you all a little better,’ more smirks, more nudges, ‘and, well, make myself at home for the duration of my stay. I think it’s fair to say that much more effort has been put into my welcome than I perhaps intended,’ she looked at Sergio, ‘and while I’m delighted to take part in these formal ceremonies, and am at the disposal of your president when he specifically demands it, for the bulk of my visit, well, you can pretty much expect me to muck in.’
The men pretended that they had been listening to her every word instead of escaping into the elaborate fantasy concocted by their collective imagination. Being brought back to worldly matters, with the mention of ‘muck’, they paid attention. Relishing the feeling that she had control of her audience now, she continued with her address: ‘There are some aspects of my visit with which I would like your help. It is my hope that during my visit I can accomplish some good work, something perhaps of a charitable nature.’ She turned to Dottore Rossini. ‘You’re the doctor, aren’t you? Is there perhaps an orphanage I might be able to visit while I’m here?’
Rossini frowned. ‘An orphanage?’ He looked around the table, seeking help from his peers. They seemed as confused as he felt.
Lizzie smiled gently, almost relieved to encounter an English word that they failed to understand. ‘An orphanage is an institution that cares for unwanted babies or children with no other family …’
‘Yes, yes, yes, I know what an orphan is. Harry Potter. Oliver. Annie. Yes, yes, an orphanage. But no. Not here.’ He glanced around again, seeking permission to continue, and as no one seemed willing either to challenge him or to step in and help he pushed on bravely: ‘You see, I think you’ll find that an orphanage is necessary only where there are surplus children, or children with no parents. Here in Vallerosa, just maintaining our population numbers is one of our government’s primary objectives. As for unwanted or parentless children, we simply don’t have any. In the very unfortunate circumstances in which a baby is orphaned, at birth, for example – which you must understand happens very rarely under my watch – then the baby would automatically be raised by its extended family. I cannot remember an occasion when a baby wasn’t embraced by the women here. Really, that is the function of our women, to nurture the children. That is what they do … I’m sorry …’ He trailed off, disappointed that he hadn’t been able to acquiesce to the very first request made.
‘Oh, but that’s marvellous. Absolutely fascinating. I’d be very interested to learn more about this. And perhaps see for myself your hospital and maternity ward. Might that be possible?’
‘Well certainly. I’d be delighted. I’ll ensure a full tour is built into your schedule.’ The doctor grinned sheepishly, trying to disguise his delight.
Lizzie went on politely, ‘And are there any other projects, of a charitable nature, in which I might involve myself? I would be happy to help the needy, wherever you feel there might be an opening for me. I’d very much like to feel that my time here hadn’t been wasted.’
‘Needy. Hmm.’ Dottore Rossini thought for a moment.
‘There’s Franco. He’s pretty needy,’ suggested Signor Pompili. Everyone laughed but hushed themselves quickly at the insensitivity of their ridicule.
Sergio frowned at the immaturity of his men. ‘Our approach to community is quite unorthodox and you’ll find many things that you won’t recognize from your own country. I hope you are able to embrace these differences, although you may think we are a poorer country for not having the wealth of facilities you have with which to scoop up the hungry, the poor or those who struggle to fit in with day-to-day living. We, of course, share many of the same issues, but our policies are different. Here, these are not issues of government but of family. If somebody is hungry, they will go next door and be fed. If a baby needs caring for, there is always a sister, an aunt, a grandmother … or, in the most desirable cases, a combination of all of these. My suggestion to you is that you keep an open mind and you look thoroughly at the way we live before passing judgement.’
Lizzie nodded, humbled.
‘And there will be many detractors around the world who will be very happy to pass judgement. They will make uneducated assumptions about our political regime and will push us to exchange it for something else altogether, because it does not conform to the wishes of those so-called democratic leaders. Those leaders are pointing their weapons of democracy at us and at other dictatorships around the world. But,’ he softened his tone, ‘stay with us. Our discussions are transparent. We invite you to join us and witness our government at work as we implement policy. Sit in on the meetings. I have nothing to hide. Take notes – who cares? Not me. Then, and only then, you may judge.’
Lizzie chewed her lip as she listened, smiling the smile that softened Sergio and the rest of the men around the table. Now there was little more to be said. The men were speechless, Sergio was cautious and Lizzie was hoping to say as little as possible while she tried to absorb the scale of her deceit – a duplicity she had agreed to only because she had found herself perched on the side of a bath next to a president who had been convincing on matters of national security.
The meeting drew to a close and Lizzie, with a conflicting sense of nervous excitement, was accompanied to her quarters.
CHAPTER 13
In Which the Visitor Goes Exploring
Glad to be alone at last, Lizzie was grateful for the short amount of time off she had been granted to settle into her surroundings and to unpack. Her journey had been exhausting but had been made even more so by her inability to engage her almost constant travelling companion. He had caught her attention during a couple of train changes early in her journey and again when they’d waited together before the final leg. Lizzie prided herself on her good manners and the ease with which she could find common ground with her elders but her travelling companion had remained obstinately aloof. When it became apparent that they were to share two tiny jump seats in the driver’s quarters for the last long stretch, she had attempted once more to make conversation but he had rebuffed her. He had the countenance of a man who had a good idea of what lay ahead of him and was already weary of it.
Lizzie’s bubbling enthusiasm was not, however, wasted on either the train guard or the driver and she was fed biscuits, with tea from a large urn, and given a blanket to tuck around herself for warmth in the night. None of these small luxuries had been afforded to her fellow traveller who, despite his air of entitlement, was apparently entitled to nothin
g. She had been a little disappointed to share the pony trap, perhaps the most thrilling adventure of her life, with such a negative personality but his lack of enthusiasm hadn’t dented her own and she hadn’t given him a second thought as she’d arrived at Parliament Hall.
After a brief morning snack of tea and bread, she had been allocated a spacious room on the west wing of the main parliament buildings. It was worn, but comfortable. (‘A little more shabby than chic,’ her mother would have commented.) There was no en-suite bathroom but there were totally passable facilities just down the corridor. Also, it seemed that she was the only guest using them, so her accommodation felt both generous and private. Her small balcony was on the corner of the Piazza Rosa, which afforded her a good view of the palatial square below. She drew the curtains, locked the door and made herself comfortable on the bed, quite exhausted and about as far away from anything she knew as she had ever been. She must have fallen asleep for, after a short while, she awoke with a start, suddenly aware of the presence of something or someone in the room with her. She lifted her head, momentarily alarmed, to discover that her companion was a bat, swishing from one side of the room to the other. It was the disturbance of air that she’d felt, rather than the creature itself, and once she’d reassured herself that the bat’s superior guidance system meant it was unlikely to collide with her, she lay down and watched it for a while. Eventually it hooked itself neatly to a rafter, then shook out its leathery wings and tucked itself tidily away.
The Museum of Things Left Behind Page 10
