Island of Mermaids

by Iris Danbury

  That answer appeared to silence him and she congratulated herself on parrying his awkward questions. Yet were they so awkward? They were probably no more than the casual chatter of a fellow-countryman. It was only her unwillingness to give truthful answers that caused difficulty. Yet how could she say that ideally she wanted to be where he was, in Capri or elsewhere?

  When the last glow of sunset had faded and the island of Ischia, no longer a silhouette, merged into the horizon, lights appeared along the Marina Grande, lanterns at the cafes, oblongs of amber in the windows of houses. Kent suggested a walk along the shore.

  ‘We can then have dinner at one of the restaurants here or up at the piazza in Capri, whichever you fancy.’

  Wherever he chose would suit her, but she said, ‘I’d like to stay down here. I love the atmosphere. You feel that this part hasn’t changed so much to please the tourists.’

  She had another and secret reason. Almost anywhere near the piazza there was the possibility of meeting acquaintances or even members of the large contingent of Emilia’s family and friends. Tonight Althea wanted Kent to herself.

  Whether he was content with her company she did not know, but soon had doubts, for after a short distance, he suggested returning to the harbour. He had become remarkably silent, she noticed. What had he wanted then when he gave her the choice of dinner in different places?

  He took her to a restaurant with a courtyard ranged with arches into which tables were set. Fishnets decorated the alcoves and round orange lanterns gleamed on shining artificial fish caught in the meshes. The place was quiet and intimate, yet she sensed that Kent was in a dark, brooding mood. She searched her mind for any cause that might be her fault. Had she said or done anything this afternoon to offend him?

  She took refuge in stimulating him to talk of his work on old houses and it seemed to her that he seized the chance of making conversation on a safe topic.

  He told her of astonishing incidents and finds that had come to light. ‘Sometimes new owners live in a house for fifty years and are quite ignorant of some startling feature.’

  ‘You mean things like secret rooms or staircases?’

  ‘Yes, they’re comparatively common, although it’s extraordinary how a whole room can be bricked up and apparently “lost”. At one place I was puzzled by the discrepancy between inside and outside measurements. It was a question of putting in central heating and I had to be sure where the engineers would want to run their pipes and cables. Then I discovered that there must be quite a sizeable room hidden away on the second floor. Eventually we found that the door and window had been bricked up, plastered over, the adjacent room repapered and no one knew of its existence.’

  ‘‘What was the mystery behind it?’ she asked.

  ‘A rather gruesome tale of a young woman’s disappearance. An heiress apparently, starved to death by relatives who benefited eventually. Possibly she may have been murdered after she’d signed away all her inheritance.’

  ‘How fortunate some of us are who don’t possess vast expectations!’

  ‘Sometimes we find more pleasant treasures,’ he continued. ‘I unearthed a delightful casket full of jewellery and gold coins. It was very skilfully hidden under a stone floor.’

  ‘When you’re engaged on these old houses, how much d’you think about the former occupants and what their lives were like?’

  ‘I become very interested,’ he admitted. ‘Too interested, sometimes. I find myself looking at old portraits and imagining what the subjects thought about and how they behaved. Sometimes a face is most misleading. An angelic expression may conceal a villainous disposition.’

  ‘And vice versa,’ she finished for him.

  ‘Not so often that way round. Most portrait painters were expected to flatter their sitters.’

  When after the long protracted dinner they left Marina Grande and went by taxi to the centre of Capri, the piazza resembled more than ever a vast stage set for a charming operetta. Kent and Althea idly strolled along one of the narrow streets, then went back to the cafe at the foot of the clock tower. Kent had fallen silent again and this time Althea thought it wiser not to talk for talking’s sake.

  Suddenly he stubbed out his cigar, leaned his arms on the table and said sharply, ‘Althea, there’s something I want to talk to you about.’

  She had been gazing across the piazza, idly watching an animated group of young people. Now she sensed a serious note in Kent’s voice and she turned towards him eagerly, perhaps too eagerly, she reflected afterwards.

  ‘Yes? What is it?’

  ‘I want to ask you ‘

  ‘Hallo there!’ came a man’s voice close by, and Althea glanced up to see Brian, the young artist in Anacapri. He was accompanied by another man about his own age, whom he introduced as Philip.

  ‘I wondered if you were still interested in odd bits of statuary,’ Brian spoke to Kent. ‘Phil knows of one or two places in Naples where you might find something you like.’ After that, it was impossible not to ask the two young men to join in a glass of wine or coffee. Althea smarted under a sense of injustice. Could any interruption have been less timely than at that moment when Kent had broken off in mid-sentence? Here were the three men talking about bits of junk statues when Kent had evidently been considering some quite important request to her. What request? She quelled the line of wishful thinking that his question might be the one, above all others, that she longed to hear. Her imagination was running away with her.

  Brian and his friend showed no signs of wanting to leave and the conversation became general.

  ‘How much progress is your father making towards his shop?’ Brian asked Althea.

  ‘The formalities are going along slowly,’ she told him. There was now no need for secrecy over the plans. ‘The trading permits and so on all take time.’

  ‘When you open, you’ll be able to tell your customers that an excellent artist has a studio next door but one and after they’ve bought material to clothe themselves, what about a picture to decorate the walls?’

  ‘I’ll certainly recommend you,’ she promised. ‘You must do the same for me.’

  She was aware of Kent’s dour cross-glances as he looked first at her, then at Brian. The other young man, Philip, was on holiday, he said, staying in Brian’s apartment because he could not afford too many hotels and he liked to travel as far as possible, even if it meant living rough. He worked for a firm of monumental and decorative sculptors.

  We do quite a line in fancy bits on modern buildings,’ he said. ‘Coats of arms or emblems of one sort or another, and I’ve just done a set of gargoyles for a new university college—likenesses of the present principal, vice-principal, librarian and so on.’

  ‘I thought gargoyles were usually very unflattering,’ Althea commented.

  ‘Oh, these are not spiteful caricatures. They’re recognisable, I hope, and you can give the features rather more everyday animated life than in a static, expressionless head. Some of the old boys are delighted to have their features permanently placed on the building for posterity!’

  Tie’s too modest to say so,’ cut in Brian, ‘but Phil’s entered these gargoyles for a competition for that kind of decorative sculpture and he’s on the short list.’

  ‘Splendid,’ Althea congratulated him. ‘I hope you win.’ The clock in the church tower above them struck eleven and Kent said, ‘We must go soon. I have to take Althea home.’

  Something in his tone irritated her. He spoke as though she were a burdensome child for whom he was responsible.

  ‘If you three want to stay down here until the early hours, I can easily get a taxi up to Anacapri,’ she said quickly.

  But she knew Kent would not allow her to do that and in another half an hour the whole four of them piled into a taxi and thus deprived her of that few minutes alone with Kent when possibly he might have found another opportunity of asking her that postponed question.

  He alighted with her outside the gates of the Villa
Stefano, murmured a hurried ‘Goodnight’ and waited only a moment or two before rejoining the other occupants of the taxi.

  An anti-climax to an enjoyable afternoon and evening, she thought. Half a dozen people were still sitting on the main terrace, including Emilia and Lawrence, and Althea deemed it better to join them unobtrusively rather than try to escape unseen.

  Her father smiled at her, but Carla glared. Very soon the relatives rose to go indoors, if not to bed, then to continue their chatting in various rooms. Under cover of the chorus of ‘Buona nottes’ Carla whispered fiercely to Althea, ‘Have you been out with Kent?’

  There was no point in lying. Althea nodded agreement. ‘That was when you slipped off this afternoon,’ Carla accused. ‘Why did you not tell me?’

  ‘I suppose I could have mentioned it, but Kent offered to take me down the Scala Fenicia and along to Marina Grande. I thought you’d probably already been at some time or other and clambering about down there would be no treat for you, so I—’

  ‘But with Kent!’ wailed Carla miserably. The two girls were now alone on the terrace. ‘You do this to me to make me jealous.’

  ‘Not deliberately,’ replied Althea. ‘It was only a case of spending a few hours in the company of a friend.’

  ‘Friend?’ echoed Carla, her voice shrill with tears. ‘But you are not Kent’s friend. You want him to love you.’

  Althea found it hard to deny this and took refuge in dismissing such a ludicrous idea. ‘Why should I want him to fall in love with me?’

  ‘Remember you gave me your promise that you would not fall in love with him,’ Carla muttered darkly.

  Althea was in a cleft stick and she knew it. ‘Well, as long as Kent doesn’t fall in love with me, you’ve nothing to worry about.’ That foolishly given promise would haunt her.

  ‘Oh, how can I know what tricks you will playto get him!’ was Carla’s angry exclamation. Then she burst into tears, her shoulders racked with sobs. Althea put her hand on Carla’s dark head.

  ‘Don’t cry for Kent, Carla,’ she said softly. ‘Soon he’ll go back to England and perhaps he won’t return here for a long time, even next summer. You’ll be able to forget him.’

  Carla lifted her tear-stained face. ‘It would be better if you would forget him. He was mine before you came. Now—I don’t know—perhaps I’ve lost him to you.’

  ‘Never that, carissima. If Kent had truly been yours, then no other woman would ever take him away. Don’t you think if he really loved, his love would be strong enough?’

  Carla sniffed and blew her nose. ‘I don’t know.’

  Her mother’s voice called ‘Carla!’ and the girl answered ‘Coming!’ She dabbed at her eyes and hurried indoors.

  Althea walked slowly towards the ‘gingerbread house’. It was true that she had promised on her honour not to fall in love with Kent, even omitting the escape clause ‘try not’ to please Carla. Should anyone ever bind themselves to such a course? Was it really love that she felt for Kent or only propinquity, the accidental companionship of an Englishman who lived temporarily nearby? If she had met Kent Sanderby in England would she have placed him above the other men friends she had known there? Even of this she was uncertain, for although he seemed not to dislike her company she was aware of the defences he put up when he thought she might encroach too far into his life.

  She stepped towards the door of her apartment and then a man’s figure appeared from the shadows.

  ‘Cristo!’ she exclaimed. ‘What are you doing here at this time of night?’

  ‘Waiting for you,’ he replied. ‘Carla said you had gone out with the Englishman, so—’

  ‘She didn’t know. She merely guessed that.’

  ‘But it was true after all. I heard you and Carla talking and you did not deny.’

  ‘Well, if I did, it’s no business of yours, Cristo,’ she told him abruptly.

  ‘But it is my business. I’m madly in love with you and I can’t bear you to go out with anyone else.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous nonsense,’ she retorted. ‘You’re not even here all the time, so how could you hope to prevent my going out with whom I choose?’

  ‘I shall marry you, carissima, and take you to Rome, and then I ‘

  ‘Then you’ll lock me up in a cage like a Victorian wife who was never allowed to go anywhere or do anything without her husband’s approval?’

  ‘Yes, I would like to do that,’ he admitted. He seized her hand and was about to pull her towards him when footsteps sounded along the paved terrace and Althea’s father appeared.

  ‘Hallo, Cristo!’ he greeted the young man cordially. ‘I see you’ve escorted my daughter home. It’s tempting to stroll about in these lovely gardens at night. Full of soft, mysterious sounds and the most enchanting scents. Goodnight, Cristo. See you in the morning, I suppose. Coming, Althea?’ She needed no second reminder, but called ‘Ciao, Cristo!’ over her shoulder and preceded her father into the hall of their apartment.

  ‘Saved by the gong!’ she exclaimed with a laugh, when the door was safely shut.

  Lawrence chuckled. ‘I guessed he was making a bit of a nuisance of himself.’

  ‘I didn’t know he’d arrived.’

  ‘He and his mother came this afternoon. For your information, Cristo has an appointment in Naples tomorrow. He’s hoping to sell a car to a likely customer.’

  ‘Thanks for telling me. He hasn’t been quite so bad lately. I’ve been able to keep out of his way or else be among a number of other people.’

  Her father lowered himself into an armchair.

  ‘D’you find all these friends of the family rather tiring?’ she asked after a few moments. She wondered if he had known what a horde of relatives and others would come tripping over to the villa when he announced his intention to marry Emilia.

  ‘Oh, it will all simmer down in no time. Emilia’s family have to satisfy their curiosity when someone new comes into it. After that there’ll be only the occasional visit from her sister or brother. Nothing to worry about.’

  Althea was relieved. After a pause she said, ‘I went down the Scala Fenicia with Kent and we had dinner at Marina Grande.’

  ‘Good. I shall miss him when he goes back to England for a while.’

  Not as much as I shall, she reflected, but that might even be a blessing in disguise.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Carla seemed to have recovered by next day from her gloomy, tearful mood and Althea soon realised that part of the credit was due to her father.

  During the morning Carla invited Althea to her bedroom. ‘I have something to show you,’ she promised, her dark eyes sparkling.

  Althea followed and waited while Carla unwrapped a fancy box, then took from the tissue paper a length of exquisite silk.

  ‘Your father, Lorenzo, has given me this lovely fabric for a dress for the wedding.’

  Althea smiled. ‘It’s lovely and suits your colouring.’ The printed pattern of deep rose and plum with splashes of acid green was beautifully blended.

  ‘Have you a good dressmaker?’ Althea asked.

  ‘Oh yes. Here in Anacapri there is Barbarina. She has made many dresses for me and Mamma.’

  ‘Don’t you usually buy them in Naples?’

  ‘Sometimes. Also, when Mamma has money, we go to Rome for a—what do you say?—a spree?’

  ‘A shopping spree.’

  Althea was thinking that she would be dubious herself in entrusting such costly silk to a village dressmaker, but perhaps Carla knew Barbarina’s skills.

  ‘I think it is most lucky that Lorenzo will give us beautiful silks,’ Carla said. ‘Now we shall always be well dressed.’ Althea found on returning to her room that her father had also treated her to a length.

  ‘There’s enough for a dress and a full-length coat,’ he said, as she unfolded the silk.

  ‘Thank you, Father. You have the most excellent taste for your daughters. Carla is delighted with hers.’

  In the lave
nder, hyacinth blue and fuchsia pattern, Althea was reminded of the colours of Capri and its sea. She had intended to go to Naples for an outfit, but now she could not refuse to wear her father’s gift at his wedding and hoped that Barbarina would not botch the material. She regretted now that she had not tried out the local dressmaker on an inexpensive cotton dress.

  Just before lunch Carla came running through the garden to Althea.

  ‘He’s gone!’ she panted breathlessly.

  ‘Gone? Who?’

  ‘Kent. He’s gone back to England. You knew he was going today,’ she said stormily. ‘You went out with him for the goodbye.’

  ‘But I didn’t know he was going so soon.’ Althea was as shocked as Carla. Kent had said nothing last night of his immediate departure. There had been only vague references to the fact that he must go soon.

  ‘How d’you know he’s gone to England?’ she asked Carla. ‘He may only have gone over to Naples.’ Althea remembered last night’s discussion about the pieces of statuary that might be picked up there.

  ‘No, no, Assunta told me. Also Rinaldo. He has given them the money for their wages and says he will not be back for a long time.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ murmured Althea, although she admitted to herself that Kent had a right to please himself in his comings and goings. He was not subject to her or Carla’s wishes.

  ‘You said the farewell to him,’ accused Carla, ‘but you did not tell me.’

  Althea sighed. ‘No, Carla, he didn’t say any farewell to me either.’

  ‘Now he will not be at the wedding,’ Carla declared. ‘Oh, everything is spoilt for me. If Kent is not there I shall be sad.’