by Iris Danbury
‘If I had an office, such as we had in London,’ he told Althea, ‘she would raise no objection, but the idea of my unrolling lengths of silk and standing behind a counter doesn’t appeal to her.’
‘That’s easily settled,’ Althea suggested. ‘You are the manager, the proprietor who sits in the little office, and I am the one who unrolls the silks and tweeds by the metre. Emilia is probably bearing in mind that she’s the niece of an admiral, as Carla told me.’
Lawrence laughed. ‘Yes, I’ve heard a good deal of the family history by now.’ His tone was kind. ‘I must expect quite a few visits from various relatives soon. They’ll want to inspect me to see if I’m a fit and proper person to become Emilia’s husband.’
‘Not just a budding shopkeeper,’ said Althea, laughing.
‘Yes. I think I’ve ironed out all Emilia’s objections, especially if I can convince her and her family that it’s just a hobby with me—something that will keep me out of mischief for part of the time.’
During the next week or so, the Villa Stefano was the scene of much coming and going of various members of Emilia’s family. As Carla said to Althea, ‘It is a good opportunity for you to become acquainted with all my uncles and aunts, cousins and so on, for you will meet them at the wedding and be able to know each one.’
Althea doubted that, for she had already confused Aunt Catalina from Florence with Cousin Gabriela from Milan. Then there was Alfredo, whom she was uncertain as to whether he was Emilia’s brother or brother-in-law, but he had brought a lawyer with him ostensibly to look after Emilia’s interests.
Althea wondered if such settlements were really necessary and said as much to her father.
‘Oh, I think that’s quite reasonable,’ he assured her. ‘To start with, I’m a foreigner and the legal side must be established for future contingencies, such as, in the event of my death and so on. Also, there’s another side to it. I have the opportunity to make certain provisions for your benefit.’
As always, she realised that her father was far-seeing and ready to co-operate to everyone’s advantage.
One afternoon she strolled down towards Kent’s villa, hoping that he would not construe her visit as thrusting herself upon him.
He was mixing cement while Rinaldo, his assistant on rare occasions, indolently shovelled sand from one heap to another.
Kent looked up when she approached. ‘Nobody is going to drag me away from my task today,’ he greeted her. ‘Not even a mermaid.’
‘Are you often pestered by those creatures?’ she asked, sitting on a rough piece of marble.
‘Too often,’ he replied. ‘They wander in and out of my house all the time.’
‘Flapping their tails behind them, I suppose!’
He grinned at her, wiping his face with a piece of rag.
‘I suppose I should have known better than try to write an opera about mermaids. Intrusive creatures!’
‘Are you progressing with your magnum opus?’
He shook his head. ‘Not really. I work on it sometimes in the evenings, because I want to do as much rebuilding here to the villa in the daytime. But by that time my brain has gone dull and tunes don’t come.’
‘Surely the mermaids would be at their most luring in the night-time?’
He sighed. ‘Let’s forget it for a bit. What news from Stefano?’
She laughed mischievously. ‘The truth is that the Villarianis and all the other tribal connections. Everywhere I went this afternoon I nearly fell over aunts or in-laws, even cousins by marriage and a couple of somebody’s stepbrothers.’
‘So you took refuge here?’
‘That’s right. But not to hinder you. Do go on with your cement-mixing, please.’
‘You’ve spoiled my mood for cement tactics,’ he complained. ‘Rinaldo!’ he called to his gardener-workman. Then he gave instructions as to what he wanted done during the next couple of hours. ‘Come along, Althea, I’ll make you some of my famous English tea.’
She was aware of the interested smile on Rinaldo’s darkly-tanned face. She could almost guess at the thoughts running through the man’s head. ‘Oh, yes, when a girl comes along, the Signore soon stops work.’
While Kent made the tea, Althea inspected some of the work already completed. Part of another and larger bedroom was taking shape, the foundations for a room opening out from the large salon had been properly restored from the crumbling fragments already there for many years. The heap of bits of coloured marble was growing.
‘I had a good find the other day,’ he told her when he brought the tea-tray to the loggia. ‘Look!’ He picked out a lump of white marble and held it in front of her. She stretched out a hand to take it and he exclaimed roughly, ‘Don’t drop it!’
Startled by his angry shout, she almost succeeded in dropping the misshapen piece, but realised that she had forgotten how heavy marble was.
Now she was almost tempted to say, ‘What is it? Just what you wanted!’ but instead she turned it over once or twice, jagging the fine skin of her hands with the marble’s rough edges.
‘Don’t you see what it is? Part of a bust.’ Now he was plainly exasperated by her lack of intelligence.
Part of a nose, perhaps, the indentation of an eye, the rounded curve of a noble forehead. Then, holding it differently, she saw the piece in its own context. ‘Oh yes,’ she murmured. ‘Is it possible to restore it?’
‘No, not without too much sham. I shall try to carve it down what would have been the middle and make it into a profile in relief and set it on a wall somewhere.’
‘I know. Like you fix half an urn or bowl flat against a wall.’
He stared out across his precipitous garden towards the lavender sea. ‘This business of your father remarrying, how is it going to affect you?’ he asked, then added, ‘Or isn’t it my business?’
‘I’m not going to be difficult, if that’s what you mean. I like Emilia.’
‘She can be a tartar when she chooses,’ he reminded her. ‘Maybe. I’ll try not to offend her.’
‘This wasn’t exactly what I meant,’ he said slowly. ‘You’ve spent some time caring for your father and I understand those circumstances, but will you want to idle about doing nothing in particular afterwards?’
‘You’ve forgotten that the shop is going to take up most of my time,’ she reminded him. ‘My father thinks it will take all the winter to get it fitted out and buy the stock. He wants to open in the spring of next year if the various authorities and workpeople don’t cause too many delays.’
‘So you won’t be returning to England in the autumn?’
Her heart lifted for an instant as she wondered if he were fishing for information. Did he mean he might want to continue their friendship in England? On the other hand, he might want to know her plans for the very reason of being able to avoid her.
‘No. Only for brief business visits on behalf of my father,’ she answered. His reflective silence emboldened her to send the ball into his court. ‘And you? Are you returning soon?’
‘I’m going next week as a matter of fact,’ he replied casually. ‘I have a restoration job, an old Elizabethan manor, that needs my attention and the owners will be away so that they can escape all the discomfort of alterations.’
‘Then you won’t be here for my father’s wedding?’
‘Oh, I may make a flying trip for that. Where’s it to be? And when?’
‘I’m not sure of the date, but it will take place in Naples.
That seems to be the easiest meeting point for the friends and relations.’
‘I see. Let me know the date when it’s fixed.’ Then, after a pause, he said, ‘Let’s go down the Phoenician steps to the shore. You haven’t been, I suppose?’
She shook her head.
‘Then I’ll take you. I don’t want you tempting fate by taking a header down the cliffside.’
‘Can’t you ever forget that once I tripped over a stone in your so-called garden?’ she demanded crossly
.
‘One day you’ll take back that insulting description of my garden when it’s a vista of beauty, of pergolas and arbours and arches. Five years from now, perhaps.’
Five years, she thought. Where would she be in five years’ time? In England? Or still in Capri handling fabrics in the shop? Who would be Kent’s companion here in five years? She could not visualise Carla flitting about the garden or strolling along its shady paths, but equally she could not imagine herself. Not once had Kent divulged anything of his background in England, except his business interests, but it would be ludicrous to believe that his life held no place for women. Possibly he had made no mention of that one woman who meant everything to him for the very reason that he regarded Carla and Althea and probably half a dozen other girls as feminine acquaintances, companions of his leisure hours in Capri. What right had she, Althea, or any others to know the essentials of his private life?
‘Well?’ His voice recalled her. ‘Are you coming or aren’t you? You’ve been debating in your mind long enough.’
‘Sorry. I was thinking of something else.’
‘Obviously,’ he retorted drily. ‘I wonder if I know him.’
She ignored this joke. ‘Yes, of course I’ll come down the steps. I hope I’m not dragging you away from your work.’
He was looking at her shoes. ‘Go back to your villa and change into sandals. If you flatter yourself you’ll be missed at dinner, tell someone you won’t be home. We’ll have something at the Marina Grande.’
She obeyed him without question. This was to be in the nature of a farewell clamber down the cliff, followed by a parting meal. She might as well accept amiably. On the way back to the villa, she hoped she would not be noticed and, for once, her luck held. She took the opportunity to change her dress, remembering that for a cliff scramble, it must not be too fragile, but she had a coral and grey patterned cotton that was fairly sturdy. She brushed her corn-coloured hair, renewed her make-up and put on a pair of strong sandals with flat heels. She left a brief note for her father.
Again, she skulked between the orange and lemon trees of the Villa Stefano, avoiding one group of relatives who sat at the far end of the terrace. Then she saw Carla coming towards her.
‘Come and meet some new cousins,’ invited the girl. ‘First I must ask Rosanna for some more coffee and cakes.’
‘I can do that,’ offered Althea, seizing the chance. She took the coffee pot from Carla’s hands and dashed into the side door that led to the kitchen. While she waited for the coffee, she noticed that Carla had returned to the party round the table.
‘Rosanna, will you take the coffee and cakes when they’re ready?’ she asked. ‘I have to go now.’
‘Si, si, signorina,’ agreed Rosanna, rolling her eyes comically. ‘Caffe, sempre caffe, dolce e biscotti.’
Althea laughed sympathetically. Indeed, with all these visitors, Rosanna was constantly preparing coffee and cakes, lunches and dinners.
Without further delay, Althea hurried off, congratulating herself when she was clear of the Villa Stefano that there had been no other encounters. What amusing thoughts were running through her head at this clandestine appointment! She dismissed them abruptly. No need to become sentimental over the mundane matter of changing one’s shoes.
‘Heavens, I thought you’d taken a trip to Naples!’ Kent greeted her.
‘I haven’t been long,’ she protested, glancing at her watch. ‘Not more than half an hour—and anyway, I was delayed. I met Carla.’
‘Did you tell her where we were going?’ he asked, a trifle sharply, she thought.
‘No. I was invited to meet yet another batch of cousins, but I dodged it this time.’
‘Good for you.’ He gave her a slanting grin.
She turned her head away sharply, for the warm, friendly expression in his dark-blue eyes undermined her stern resolve to keep her relation with him on a cool, friendly basis and nothing more.
They walked together a short distance down the road towards Capri, before taking the winding rough path that led down a steep escarpment. Steps were cut in the solid rock, but now that so little use was made of this route from Marina Grande to Anacapri, they had become overgrown with bushes and tangled weeds.
‘How many steps did you say there were?’ she asked him.
‘Seven hundred and seventy-seven, so they say, but that was when they went right into Anacapri, before the road was made. This is the worst part. It gets better farther down.’
He took her hand to help her in the roughest places and once, when she slipped on a crumbling stone, he grasped her elbow.
‘Have you often made this trip?’ she asked, trying to appear completely casual and unaware of his nearness.
‘Two or three times,’ he replied.
She longed to ask him if he had been alone or accompanied by other girls, but restrained her questions.
Halfway down, he suggested they should rest and admire the view.
‘Yes, the view,’ she murmured. All my life I shall remember the view, she thought. He sat on the step below her, leaning on one elbow, his long legs stretched out. He plucked a grass stem and chewed the end. His chestnut head was within reach of her hand, but she clasped her fingers tightly in her lap and concentrated on the view. This lovely scene needed no imprinting on her memory, the clustered buildings around the harbour, the angular finger of the jetty projecting into the bay like a bent letter T.’. A comparatively new feature, the jetty had been constructed for ease of landing, mostly for the tourist trade, for the islanders were accustomed to landing in small boats. Beyond Marina Grande was the rocky coast, multi-coloured and dappled on the top with the green of vineyards and gardens, rising to Monte Tiberio.
Then the dark mauve sea stretching out into the enormous Bay of Naples—the Bay of Sirens, to give it its old name—the cone of Vesuvius with its rosy plume of smoke, Naples and its suburbs strung out along the shore. Yes, it was a view to cherish.
When they started again on the way, Kent pointed out the road that wound tortuously from the piazza in Capri to the shore. ‘We can go round that curve on the road, if you like,’ he suggested, ‘but the Scala Fenicia still goes on and cuts across it again. Or I suppose you could say it’s the road that cuts across.’
‘What an effort this must have been for man and donkey at one time,’ she remarked. ‘Either up or down would be strenuous.’
‘Oh, Capri was no place for weaklings. Those who came didn’t just laze about in the sun.’
‘All the various invaders must have found it hard going—Saracens, Lombards, Spaniards and so on.’
Kent grinned as he turned towards her. ‘Even the French and the British had a go, besides a few other nationalities.’
She was silent for a few moments. Then she asked, ‘D’you think all these various invaders leave some mark on the inhabitants? Surely there must be a few men left behind every time and they stay and become integrated with the islanders?’
‘Yes, I think that’s probable. It’s hard to distinguish particular racial characteristics in a modern population, but there are a few quite fair-skinned people who might be descended from the Normans when they were here.’
They had reached the road and waited for several cars to screech round the precipitous bend.
‘I’d rather keep off this dangerous road,’ she said. ‘Let’s take the path.’
After they had crossed the road a second time, there was only a short distance before they reached the shore.
She sat down and took off her sandals.
‘Tired?’ he enquired.
‘Not particularly. Coming down all those steps makes my calf muscles ache.’
‘You’re too used to lifts. That’s your trouble,’ he told her unsympathetically.
The Marina Grande appealed to her and she had come down on the funicular several times just for the pleasure of gazing at the tall old houses with their balconies and Moorish arches, their outside staircases and, almost immediately i
n front of them, the brightly painted boats drawn up on the shingle. Instead of pavement cafes, several restaurants had square wooden structures with awnings or roofs built out on supports on the beach.
Kent chose one of these for refreshment. ‘What d’you want? Coffee? Wine? Cold drink?’
‘Coffee, please.’ She peered over the railings, painted blue, red and green. ‘It’s almost like sitting in a seaside bandstand, isn’t it?’
‘It’s a case of making the most of the available space, with the mountainous background almost pushing you into the sea.’
The last steamer of the day was just about to cast off and a few latecomers hurried from the funicular or clambered out of taxis to dash along the quay, ignoring the vendors of balloons and souvenirs, sticky cakes and shady hats.
The stall-owners ceased to shout and began to pack up their wares. The shore became gradually quieter.
‘Isn’t it astonishing how quiet these parts of Capri become as soon as the day-trippers leave?’ she remarked. ‘This is when I like it best, although I know that tourists must come for prosperity’s sake. I’d be a day-tripper myself no doubt if I weren’t living here for the time being.’
Kent gave her a sudden glance. ‘Would you like to live here permanently?’
‘It’s as good a spot as any that I’ve visited,’ she answered non-committally.
‘And you’ll be content to spend your time in your father’s shop and potter about the island in your spare moments, with an occasional trip to Naples for shopping?’
This was the second time this afternoon that he had tried to pin her down with regard to her future plans.
‘I suppose the prospect is preferable to spending most of my time in my father’s office in London and occasional trips elsewhere for holidays.’
