The Secret Legacy

by Sara Alexander

  ‘I felt the same with Adeline. Her entire family warned me not to devote myself to her. Her own family, Santina. Friends of mine who knew them were quite blunt about what they thought to be her mental instability. Her brothers were the worst. They didn’t understand her. They abhorred the fact that she did as she pleased, that she would swim naked with them and their friends because if the boys could why not her? That she would curse any who saw that as an invitation to use her as they pleased. Faced with a woman’s unbridled mind and body, man turns defensive. So very disappointing.’

  I stayed silent, hoping he would elaborate before his openness clammed into practiced reserve. It worked; his confession was directed more to the tussled fennel leaves than me.

  ‘I couldn’t ignore the burning need to be with her. It was all-consuming. She was free. She stretched her wings however she chose. She cared little for what was expected of her. That is what I fell in love with. She followed her every instinct.’ He sighed a sad laugh. ‘I almost envied her that. Then I saw her art. She was life itself, in all its vibrant, muddy, terrifying glory.’

  He stopped short. We looked at one another. I held the space between us, his intimate description hanging in the golden pause. I’d never heard a man couch love in those terms. It was bittersweet. I thought about the Adeline at the table last night, about the Adeline scrawling along the walls. My heart ached for the love affair I couldn’t be sure would ever be his again.

  ‘And so it is true. Sleep is magical indeed. Without it, man is mad. Why do you let me prattle on like that?’

  ‘Because it’s beautiful.’

  The words slipped out ahead of me.

  His face opened into an unhurried smile. ‘Beauty is sat on that kitchen table. My nose tells me so. And so does my stomach. Have a slice with me?’

  My head started a rehearsed polite rejection. He would hear none of it.

  We ate my cake in silence as the morning sun stretched its beams down the mountains and across the azure ocean before us.

  The next few days were a flurry of preparations. The Major’s friend, Doctor Simmons, the man I’d first met in those dark postpartum days in London, sent a telegram to announce he would be taking up the Major’s offer of coming to stay at the villa. He would offer his professional opinion on how Adeline was coping with their new lives. We could both see a clear improvement. I suspected the invitation was more for company than medical expertise. Her spirit still trailed her like a damp shadow most of the time, but she ate well. She slept well for the most part. Sometimes she held Elizabeth on the good days, though out of instinct I always stayed close by, pretending to be dead-heading the geraniums in the terracotta pots along the terrace, or dusting the shelves for the third time that morning. The way she touched her child remained stilted, as if she were observing herself do so from a distance, but there was no anger now. Some days she even sparkled into bright focus, but those moments were brief; a hopeful candle flame in a draught. Adeline waded through invisible water. Her steps were braced, as if in fear of something unexpected under-foot. I tried to insist upon her wearing slippers, but after receiving her wrath the first few times, the Major and I let her do as she pleased. It set me on edge. To my mind it was only a matter of time before she caught pneumonia.

  The Major insisted I give the entire villa a deep clean. This was no small task with a toddler intent on dismantling whatever work I did. At last the Major saw that Elizabeth was hindering my valiant efforts. On the morning ahead of the Doctor’s arrival day, the Major played with her, often wherever I was. To mark her careening through toddlerhood she had entered an attached phase. If I was out of her sight for too long she would swerve around the villa until she found me, wailing her lament as she did so. I didn’t love having company whilst I sweated through the arduous tasks of changing beds, dusting, sweeping, mopping, polishing. Nor could I find a polite way to ask my employer to leave me to work alone, but even I had to admit that hearing the two of them tumble into laughter was a delicious sound.

  Sometimes they slid into deep silence, which drew my attention more than the noise. It was a compelling sight, watching the Major study his daughter, as she re-examined whatever object had commanded her full concentration: the caulk between the tiles, a doorknob, the shadows cast through the shutters. His face relaxed into a humble elegance, his eyes bright with curious benevolence. He was at ease allowing his child to wade in her wonder. He didn’t need to qualify what she saw, label it or explain it. Their intimate simplicity was magnetic. She crouched down and traced her little finger along the sweeping designs upon the turquoise and yellow painted tiles. The Major looked up and caught me wrapped into her quiet alongside him. The light streamed a halo around his copper-blond hair. In his smile I caught a glimpse of the playful new father he had allowed himself to become. I turned back to the drawers behind me and polished them a second time.

  ‘Adeline and I shall return toward early evening I should imagine, unless you hear otherwise.’ The Major was doing a fine job of ironing away his nerves. I had tried to suggest he leave Adeline with me but he would not be convinced. I ought to have known better than to attempt it in the first place. We both knew that it was his way of proving to his friend what a wonderful job he was doing. I wouldn’t be convinced that it was the right thing for Adeline, however – a long bus journey to Naples was not the best way for her to spend a day. The Major insisted it was time to start acclimating her to the outside world. His stubbornness infuriated me, more so because the trip was about his abilities rather than her wellbeing. In his current frame of mind there would be no hope of anyone changing his decision, however. They left, before the late August sun began to cook the streets.

  Elizabeth and I turned toward the cool silence of the villa. My mind danced through all the things I might have her do whilst I finished preparations for the guest. Perhaps I’d fill one of the wider tin buckets with water and let her splash about? She loved that. Then we’d make a messy lunch together, visit Marco, stop into Rosalia’s house on our return. With any luck I might be able to finish my tasks.

  A knock at the door. My chest tightened.

  I didn’t feel ready to face Paolino just yet, even if I knew avoiding him was both childish and impossible. I ripped the scarf off my head and ran my fingers through my hair, finding my vanity surprising and disappointing. My hands smoothed my apron. I opened the door.

  My father stepped in before I could stop him.

  ‘Well well, landed on your feet after all, haven’t you, Santina?’

  Every muscle contracted. I’d hoped that since his first appearance all those months ago I might escape any further surprises. It was almost as if he’d waited for one of the rare times I’d been left alone in the house. Elizabeth ran up to me. I lifted her into my arms before she made her escape out of the door, forcing me to close it.

  ‘Bella fanciulla! She yours?’

  ‘Yes. No.’

  ‘We will stand here all day? By the door like two corpses?’

  My mouth tasted bitter.

  ‘I have work to do,’ I replied, trying to stay polite but firm.

  ‘No rest for the wicked as they say. Beggars, choosers. Lots of sayings that mean nothing but we repeat and repeat…’

  His breath fumed last night’s drinking.

  I watched him walk to the table and pull out a chair. He sat down, uninvited. I couldn’t remove him by force. That much became an obnoxious fact. I scrambled my mind for options. Numb darkness was its feeble reply.

  ‘Come sit with your father, Santi, so much time has gone.’ He tapped the chair as if I’d just stepped into his home. I didn’t move.

  ‘You married yet?’ he asked with a stupid smile.

  ‘No.’

  ‘No one wants you?’

  His words were the mistaken scrape of a razor, lifting the top layer of skin.

  ‘What do you want, Papa?’

  He ran his crooked fingers over the stubble on his chin. ‘What do any of us want?’<
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  ‘Any minute now my boss is walking through that door. He will take one look at you and drag you by your shirt back onto the street,’ I lied, hoping my feeble fib would become a self-fulfilling prophecy. Perhaps the bus had broken down? Perhaps Adeline would have an inconsolable panic attack and they were halfway back up the hill already?

  ‘He can try,’ my father answered with a sneer. ‘English snobs. Coming here, making their little colony. You should be ashamed of yourself, dribbling behind them like a stray dog. You think they care about you like family? Yes, you live in their palace, walk their gardens, but you’re just their servant, you know that, don’t you? None of this is yours.’

  ‘I don’t have any money to give you. That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it? The only one grovelling in this house is you!’

  Another knock at the door reined in my inevitable loss of control. Paolino stood with a huge box in his arms. On top of our usual deliveries lay a bunch of orange, yellow and pink roses. He took one look at my flushed face and the gnarled man behind me, then walked straight in past me.

  ‘Buon giorno – we meet again, signore,’ he said, striding over to the table. He placed the box on top of it. His arms folded.

  ‘Flowers for my girl, I see,’ my father chuckled, flicking a look back at me. My cheeks deepened with fury that he mistook for embarrassment. ‘So this is the prince, is it? Mr Grocer Boy? How sweet.’

  That’s when Paolino lunged at him and grabbed his dirty collar. He lifted my father up off his seat. Their struggle scuffed the tiles. Elizabeth burst into tears. She ran toward me. I lunged at the men, leaving her wailing by the open door.

  ‘Stop!’ I hollered, prising them apart. ‘This is my father, Paolino!’

  Paolino loosened his grip. My father shuffled from foot to foot, shaken.

  ‘I want you to leave, Papa,’ I said.

  My father looked up at me, a wounded pup.

  ‘You heard the signorina. Get out!’ Paolino yelled.

  ‘Paolino – please.’

  I watched him walk toward the door. Paolino flanked me, waiting for my father to go.

  ‘This how you treat the man who raised you?’ he hissed, inching toward my face. ‘You’re a stuck up little bitch. Always were,’ he whispered. I watched him leave.

  My eyes darted around the garden for Elizabeth. I couldn’t see her. I called her. No answer. I walked into the kitchen, the dining room, I even ran up to her room. The last time I’d seen her was by the open door.

  My feet pelted down the alley. I didn’t hear their ricochet. I heard nothing but the heavy thud in my ears. The white panic eclipsed everything else. How far would she have got to by now? Someone would have seen her, stopped her, brought her up to me. But as I reached the bottom of the hill where it met the main road there was nothing and no one. Where was everyone? I turned, facing back uphill, panting with panic. Paolino ran down toward me.

  ‘Santina, relax – how far could she have got to?’

  I wanted to stop the fits of sobs. I had to focus. It was impossible. Between the festa, my father’s visit and now losing the child entrusted to me, my resolve broke. I felt his hands wrap around me. I pushed them away. My feet returned to their crazed search. I retraced my steps, her steps. I headed up toward the cemetery. She knew that walk well.

  That’s when I saw her shoes.

  They poked out from a step that led up toward another area of Li Parlati. She had found a nook of shade. I ran to reach her. She looked up with a smile. Her little fingers dismantled a weed that clawed its way up for sun and air between the cobbles. I lifted her and squeezed her into me. A deep cry of relief shuddered through me. I sobbed like a second child, feeling Paolino cradle us. I wish I hadn’t murmured apologies. As my senses returned, I could hear the footsteps of our neighbors. I think one or two tried to say hello. I didn’t need anyone to see Paolino comfort me.

  I could have cried longer. My stomach ached with a familiar grief. Memories of my mother returned and flew around me, tufts of ash from a dying fire, their glowing tips fading fast. We began a weary walk back uphill to the house. We stepped inside and shut the door. Elizabeth grew heavy in my arms. I straightened.

  Paolino took my tear-streaked face in his hands. I hated him seeing me like this. He looked into me. I ought to have been glad for him, but I couldn’t shake the feeling he adored his role of savior more than made me feel comfortable.

  ‘Everything’s ok now,’ he murmured, wiping the tears off my cheek with his thumb. ‘We found her. He’s gone.’

  ‘He’ll never go. She could have been hurt. Anything—’

  He kissed my forehead, then lifted my chin up to face him. ‘Where’s the commander?’

  I wanted to believe he was trying to joke me out of my soggy mess, but I could hear the prickle of sarcasm even more than usual.

  ‘The Major and Adeline are on their way to Naples.’ I craned my head toward a quiet Elizabeth. Her eyes were half closed now.

  ‘I’ll unload the shopping – you lay her down, Santina.’

  ‘Grazie, Paolino.’

  By the time I reached her bed upstairs, Elizabeth was deep asleep. She didn’t even stir as I laid her down. This was not the morning I’d had planned for her. I stepped out without a noise.

  Hands raced around my waist.

  ‘Relax!’ Paolino giggled into my tension. ‘Who did you think it was?’ He leaned into my neck and smothered it with kisses. My spine tingled.

  ‘Don’t – not here…’ I said, my hands pushing him off me.

  ‘Why not?’ he whispered in my ear. I felt the tip of his teeth trace along the top of my shoulder. ‘No one’s here. When else can we feel like royals? You want to slink around alleyways all our life?’

  I didn’t know what overwhelmed me more. His fast hands, the way they traced my thigh under my skirt, or his fast words? What life? Which part of our lives had become inextricably joined? We had kissed. Once. In the shadows of the festa. Now he was intent on playing make-believe in the Major’s villa. Everything about it felt wrong. His fingers teased my body. The pull I felt was as compulsive as the retreat. My confusion bristled with longing and a fearful emptiness.

  I couldn’t say what happened first, me pushing his hand away as it reached the heat at the top of my thigh, or the sounds of the door opening downstairs. All I remember was racing down the stairwell and meeting the Major and Adeline as they came in. My hair and clothes looked touched and ruffled. Paolino walked into a guilty spotlight behind me. The Major’s face was flint. Mine crimson with shame.

  ‘Buon giorno, signore!’ Paolino beamed, unruffled. ‘I just finished unloading the groceries.’

  ‘I imagine you did,’ the Major answered without moving.

  Paolino looked to me. I hoped my eyes said nothing.

  ‘Well,’ he began, tiptoeing through the awkward pause, ‘I’ll see you later in the week. Buona giornata.’

  He nodded at Adeline and the Major, resisted looking back at me, and closed the door behind him.

  No one spoke.

  ‘Is everything all right, signore?’ I offered, wishing I’d stayed quiet.

  ‘Clearly it’s not.’

  Nothing about this morning was all right.

  ‘Accident on the road to Sorrento,’ he began, terse, ‘absolute God awful chaos on the roads. We were forced to turn back. Shambles. I’ll try again in an hour or so. Adeline will remain here – unless you have more pressing duties to attend to, of course?’

  I looked at him, expressionless.

  ‘I trust you won’t be entertaining all of Positano each time I set foot out of my house?’

  He walked by me, leading Adeline by the hand. As they passed I felt the humiliation of his condescension.

  My anger wound into a tight ball. I couldn’t decide whom I’d launch it at first.

  CHAPTER 12

  The doctor arrived looking several shades lighter than I remembered. In London I hadn’t noticed his pallor, but here he was panna
cotta to our caramel. The Major, in his customary way of churning events to fall in line with his will, managed not only to get himself to Naples in time for the Doctor’s arrival, but return with the traveller for an early supper. I took Doctor Simmons’ bag as they entered. He removed his panama hat and gave a weary wave over his face, reddened by the climb from the main road.

  ‘Good heavens, Henry – you don’t mean to tell me you walk them every day? I’m not sure that’s a terribly wise thing to do.’

  ‘No. Double. Before the crowds and sun, obviously. You’ll join me in the water tomorrow morning, James, whether you want to or not.’

  Doctor Simmons simpered a laugh. ‘Pleasure to see you again, Santina,’ he said, ‘what a beautiful place to call home.’

  I replied with a polite welcome.

  The Doctor stepped onto the lower terrace that stretched out from the main doors and ran along the entire width of the house. He passed me, gawked at the overhead vines gnarling a ceiling. He ran a hand over my huge begonia plants twisting their stems up from the tall terracotta pots. I watched him nosey down the antique well at the center of the terrace, then look out, as everyone was compelled to do, toward the ocean. He breathed in the late-afternoon glow, looking out toward the golden-tipped snaking cliffs. His face ebbed from London vanilla toward a hint of color.

  ‘Well, Henry, you might have found somewhere a little nicer than this squalor for your wife.’

  The men smiled at one another.

  ‘Do you spend entire days sat looking at this view?’

  ‘I avoid it wherever possible,’ the Major answered, looking relaxed for the first time today. It struck me that he hadn’t been in the company of a true friend for so very long. I knew he had maintained regular correspondence – I was sent to the post office most mornings with a stack of envelopes, but was that enough? My mind floated to our dawn rituals, the silence of our gardening, the quiet pleasure of our mid-morning reading or cooking. A thought nagged for attention: had our working relationship smudged toward friendship? I flicked away the banality of the idea like a stray crumb from the table.