The following morning, a taxi drove him and Emma to the local station just in time to catch the early morning train to Rome.
‘Be sure to take care of your sister,’ were his father’s last words before they left the villa.
‘I will,’ promised Giles as the car drove off.
Several men rose to offer Emma their seat as she entered the carriage, while Giles was left standing for the entire journey. On arrival in Rome, they took a taxi to the Via del Corso, and once they’d booked into their hotel they continued on to the Villa Borghese. Giles was struck by how many young men not much older than himself were in uniform, while almost every pillar and lamp-post they passed displayed a poster of Mussolini.
Once the taxi had dropped them off, they made their way up through the gardens, passing more men in uniform and even more posters of ‘Il Duce’ before they finally reached the palatial Villa Borghese.
Harry had written to tell Giles they would be setting out on their official tour at ten o’clock. He checked his watch - a few minutes past eleven, with luck the tour would be nearly over. He bought two tickets, handed one to Emma, bounded up the steps to the galleria and went in search of the school party. Emma took her time admiring the Bernini statues that dominated the first four rooms, but then she wasn’t in a hurry. Giles went from gallery to gallery until he spotted a group of young men dressed in dark claret jackets and black flannel trousers, who were crowded around a small portrait of an elderly man dressed in a cream silk cassock with a white mitre on his head.
‘There they are,’ he said, but Emma was nowhere to be seen. Not giving his sister another thought, he headed over to the attentive group. The moment he saw her, he quite forgot the reason he had come to Rome.
‘Caravaggio was commissioned to paint this portrait of Pope Paul V in 1605,’ she said, with a slight accent. ‘You will notice that it was not finished, and that is because the artist had to flee from Rome.’
‘Why, miss?’ demanded a young boy in the front row, who was clearly determined to take Deakins’s place at some time in the future.
‘Because he became involved in a drunken brawl, during which he ended up killing a man.’
‘Did they arrest him?’ asked the same boy.
‘No,’ said the tour guide, ‘Caravaggio always managed to move on to the next city before the forces of justice could catch up with him, but in the end the Holy Father decided to grant him a pardon.’
‘Why?’ demanded the same boy.
‘Because he wanted Caravaggio to carry out several more commissions for him. Some of them are among the seventeen works that can still be seen in Rome today.’
At that moment, Harry spotted Giles gazing in awe in the direction of the painting. He left the group and walked across to join him. ‘How long have you been standing there?’ he asked.
‘Long enough to fall in love,’ said Giles, his eyes still fixed on the tour guide.
Harry laughed when he realized it wasn’t the painting Giles was staring at, but the elegant, self-assured young woman who was addressing the boys. ‘I think she’s a bit out of your age group,’ said Harry, ‘and I suspect even your price range.’
‘I’m willing to take that risk,’ said Giles as the guide led her little group into the next room. Giles followed obediently and positioned himself so he had a clear view of her, while the rest of the group studied a statue of Paolina Borghese by Canova, ‘arguably the greatest sculptor of all time’, she said. Giles wasn’t going to disagree with her.
‘Well, that brings us to the end of our tour,’ she announced. ‘But if you have any more questions I will be here for a few more minutes, so don’t hesitate to ask.’
Giles didn’t hesitate.
Harry watched in amusement as his friend strode up to the young Italian woman and began chatting to her as if they were old friends. Even the little boy from the front row didn’t dare to interrupt him. Giles rejoined Harry a few minutes later, a large grin plastered across his face.
‘She’s agreed to have dinner with me tonight.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ said Harry.
‘But a problem has arisen,’ he added, ignoring his friend’s Doubting Thomas look.
‘More than one, I suspect.’
‘… which can be overcome with your assistance.’
‘You need a chaperone to accompany you,’ suggested Harry, ‘just in case things get out of hand.’
‘No, you ass. I want you to take care of my sister while Caterina introduces me to Rome’s night-life.’
‘Not a hope,’ said Harry. ‘I didn’t come all the way to Rome just to act as your babysitter.’
‘But you’re my best friend,’ pleaded Giles. ‘If you won’t help me, who else can I turn to?’
‘Why don’t you try Paolina Borghese? I doubt if she has any plans for tonight.’
‘All you have to do is take her out for dinner, and make sure she’s in bed by ten.’
‘Forgive me for mentioning it, Giles, but I thought you’d come to Rome to have dinner with me?’
‘I’ll give you a thousand lira if you take her off my hands. And we can still have breakfast at my hotel in the morning.’
‘I’m not that easily bribed.’
‘And,’ said Giles, playing his trump card, ‘I’ll also give you my recording of Caruso singing La Boheme.’
Harry turned to find a young girl standing by his side.
‘By the way,’ said Giles, ‘this is my sister, Emma.’
‘Hello,’ said Harry. Turning back to Giles, he said, ‘You’ve got yourself a deal.’
Harry joined Giles for breakfast at the Palace Hotel the following morning, when his friend greeted him with the same immodest smile he always wore just after he’d scored a century.
‘So, how was Caterina?’ Harry asked, not wanting to hear his reply.
‘Beyond my wildest dreams.’
Harry was about to question him more closely when a waiter appeared by his side. ‘Cappuccino, per favore.’ Then he asked, ‘So how far did she let you go?’
‘All the way,’ said Giles.
Harry’s mouth fell open, but no words came out. ‘Did you …’
‘Did I what?’
‘Did you …’ Harry tried again.
‘Yes?’
‘See her naked?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘The whole body?’
‘Naturally,’ said Giles as a cup of coffee was placed in front of Harry.
‘The bottom half as well as the top?’
‘Everything,’ said Giles. ‘And I mean everything.’
‘Did you touch her breasts?’
‘I licked her nipples actually,’ said Giles, taking a sip of coffee.
‘You did what?’
‘You heard me,’ said Giles.
‘But did you, I mean, did you …’
‘Yes, I did.’
‘How many times?’
‘I lost count,’ said Giles. ‘She was insatiable. Seven, perhaps eight. She just wouldn’t let me get to sleep. I’d still be there now if she hadn’t had to be at the Vatican museum at ten this morning to lecture the next bunch of brats.’
‘But what if she gets pregnant?’ said Harry.
‘Don’t be so naive, Harry. Try to remember she’s an Italian.’ After another sip of coffee, he asked, ‘So, how did my sister behave herself ?’
‘The food was excellent, and you owe me your Caruso recording.’
‘That bad? Well, we can’t all be winners.’
Neither of them had noticed Emma enter the room until she was standing by their side. Harry leapt up and offered her his seat. ‘Sorry to leave you,’ he said, ‘but I have to be at the Vatican museum by ten.’
‘Give Caterina my love!’ shouted Giles as Harry almost ran out of the breakfast room.
Giles waited until Harry was out of sight before he asked his sister, ‘So, how did last night go?’
‘Could have been worse,’ she said, picking u
p a croissant. ‘A bit serious, isn’t he?’
‘You should meet Deakins.’
Emma laughed. ‘Well, at least the food was good. But don’t forget, I now own your gramophone.’
37
GILES LATER DESCRIBED IT as the most memorable night of his life - for all the wrong reasons.
The annual play is one of the major events in the Bristol Grammar School calendar, not least because the city boasts a fine theatre tradition, and 1937 was to prove a vintage year.
The school, like so many others in the country, performed one of Shakespeare’s set texts for the year. The choice had been between Romeo and Juliet and A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Dr Paget chose the tragedy rather than the comedy, not least because he had a Romeo and he didn’t have a Bottom.
For the first time in the school’s history, the young ladies of Red Maids’ on the other side of the city were invited to audition for the girls’ parts, but not before several discussions had taken place with Miss Webb, the headmistress, who had insisted on a set of ground rules that would have impressed a mother superior.
The play was to be performed on three consecutive evenings in the last week of term. As always, the Saturday night was sold out first, because former pupils and the parents of the cast wished to attend the closing night.
Giles was standing anxiously in the foyer checking his watch every few moments as he waited impatiently for his parents and younger sister to arrive. He hoped that Harry would give another fine performance, and his father would finally come round to accepting him.
The critic from the Bristol Evening World had described Harry’s performance as ‘mature beyond his years’, but he had saved the highest praise for Juliet, reporting that he had not seen the death scene performed more movingly even at Stratford.
Giles shook hands with Mr Frobisher as he walked into the foyer. His old housemaster introduced his guest, a Mr Holcombe, before they went through to the great hall to take their seats.
A murmur rippled around the audience when Captain Tarrant walked down the centre aisle and took his place in the front row. His recent appointment as a governor of the school had been met with universal approval. As he leant across to have a word with the chairman of the governors, he spotted Maisie Clifton sitting just a few rows behind. He gave her a warm smile, but didn’t recognize the man she was sitting with. The next surprise came when he studied the cast list.
The headmaster and Mrs Barton were among the last members of the audience to enter the great hall. They took their places in the front row alongside Sir Walter Barrington and Captain Tarrant.
Giles was becoming more nervous with each passing minute. He was beginning to wonder if his parents would turn up before the curtain rose.
‘I’m so sorry, Giles,’ said his mother when they finally appeared. ‘It’s my fault, I lost track of time,’ she added as she and Grace hurried into the hall. His father followed a yard behind and raised his eyebrows when he saw his son. Giles didn’t hand him a programme as he wanted it to be a surprise, although he had shared the news with his mother who, like him, hoped her husband would finally treat Harry as if he were a friend of the family, and not an outsider.
The curtain rose only moments after the Barringtons had taken their seats, and a hush of anticipation descended on the packed audience.
When Harry made his first entrance, Giles glanced in his father’s direction. As there didn’t appear to be any immediate reaction, he began to relax for the first time that evening. But this happy state of affairs only lasted until the ballroom scene, when Romeo, and Hugo, saw Juliet for the first time.
Some people in the seats near the Barringtons became irritated by a restless man who was spoiling their enjoyment of the play with his loud whispering and demands to see a programme. They became even more annoyed after Romeo said, ‘Is she not Capulet’s daughter?’ at which point Hugo Barrington stood up and barged along the row, not caring whose feet he trod on. He then marched down the centre aisle, pushed his way through the swing doors and disappeared into the night. It was some time before Romeo fully regained his composure.
Sir Walter tried to give the impression he hadn’t noticed what was going on behind him, and although Captain Tarrant frowned, his eyes never left the stage. Had he turned round, he would have seen Mrs Clifton was ignoring Barrington’s unscripted exit as she concentrated on every word the two young lovers had to say.
During the interval, Giles went in search of his father but couldn’t find him. He checked the car park, but there was no sign of the Bugatti. When he returned to the foyer, he saw his grandfather bending down and whispering in his mother’s ear.
‘Has Hugo gone completely mad?’ asked Sir Walter.
‘No, he’s sane enough,’ said Elizabeth, making no attempt to hide her anger.
‘Then what in heaven’s name does he think he’s up to?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘Could it possibly have something to do with the Clifton boy?’
She would have replied if Jack Tarrant hadn’t walked across to join them.
‘Your daughter has a remarkable talent, Elizabeth,’ he said after kissing her hand, ‘as well as the advantage of inheriting your beauty.’
‘And you’re an old flatterer, Jack,’ she said, before adding, ‘I don’t think you’ve met my son, Giles.’
‘Good evening, sir,’ said Giles. ‘It’s a great honour to meet you. May I congratulate you on your recent appointment.’
‘Thank you, young man,’ said Tarrant. ‘And how do you feel about your friend’s performance?’
‘Remarkable, but did you know—’
‘Good evening, Mrs Barrington.’
‘Good evening, headmaster.’
‘I must be joining a long queue of those who wish to add their …’
Giles watched as Captain Tarrant slipped away to join Harry’s mother, and wondered how they knew each other.
‘How lovely to see you, Captain Tarrant.’
‘And you, Mrs Clifton, and how glamorous you’re looking tonight. If Cary Grant had known that such beauty existed in Bristol, he would never have deserted us for Hollywood.’ He then lowered his voice. ‘Did you have any idea that Emma Barrington was playing Juliet?’
‘No, Harry didn’t mention it to me,’ said Maisie. ‘But then, why should he?’
‘Let’s hope that the affection they are displaying for one another on stage is nothing more than good acting, because if it’s how they really feel about each other, we may have an even bigger problem on our hands.’ He looked around to make sure no one was eavesdropping on their conversation. ‘I presume you still haven’t said anything to Harry?’
‘Not a word,’ said Maisie. ‘And from Barrington’s ill-mannered behaviour it seems he was also taken by surprise.’
‘Good evening, Captain Tarrant,’ said Miss Monday, touching Jack’s arm. Miss Tilly was by her side. ‘How good of you to come all the way down from London to see your protege.’
‘My dear Miss Monday,’ said Tarrant, ‘Harry’s every bit as much your protege and he’ll be so pleased that you travelled all the way up from Cornwall to see his performance.’ Miss Monday beamed, as a bell sounded to indicate the audience should return to their seats.
Once everyone had settled back in their places, the curtain rose for the second half, although one seat in the sixth row remained conspicuously empty. The death scene brought tears to the eyes of some who had never shed a tear in public, while Miss Monday hadn’t wept that much since Harry’s voice had broken.
The moment the final curtain fell, the audience rose as one. Harry and Emma were greeted by a storm of applause as they walked to the front of the stage, holding hands, and grown men, who rarely showed their feelings, cheered.
When they turned to bow to each other, Mrs Barrington smiled, and blushed. ‘Good heavens, they weren’t acting,’ she said, loud enough for Giles to hear. The same thought had also crossed the minds of Maisie Clifton and Jack Tarrant long b
efore the actors took their final bow.
Mrs Barrington, Giles and Grace went backstage to find Romeo and Juliet still holding hands as people queued up to lavish praise on them.
‘You were great,’ said Giles, slapping his friend on the back.
‘I was all right,’ said Harry, ‘but Emma was magnificent.’
‘So when did all this happen?’ he whispered.
‘It began in Rome,’ admitted Harry with an impish grin.
‘And to think I sacrificed my Caruso recording, not to mention my gramophone, to bring you two together.’
‘As well as paying for our first dinner date.’
‘Where’s Papa?’ asked Emma, looking around.
Grace was about to tell her sister what had happened when Captain Tarrant appeared.
‘Congratulations, my boy,’ he said. ‘You were quite splendid.’
‘Thank you sir,’ said Harry, ‘but I don’t think you’ve met the real star of the show.’
‘No, but let me assure you, young lady, if I was forty years younger, I’d see off any of my rivals.’
‘You don’t have any rivals for my affection,’ said Emma. ‘Harry never stops telling me how much you’ve done for him.’
‘That’s a two-way street,’ said Jack as Harry spotted his mother and threw his arms around her.
‘I’m so proud of you,’ said Maisie.
‘Thank you, Mum. But let me introduce you to Emma Barrington,’ he said, placing an arm around Emma’s waist.
‘Now I know why your son is so good-looking,’ said Emma as she shook Harry’s mother by the hand. ‘May I introduce my mother,’ she added.
It was a meeting Maisie had thought about for many years, but this was not a scenario that had ever crossed her mind. She was apprehensive as she shook hands with Elizabeth Barring-ton, but was greeted with such a friendly smile that it quickly became clear she was unaware of any possible connection between them.
‘And this is Mr Atkins,’ said Maisie, introducing the man who had been sitting beside her during the performance.
Harry had never come across Mr Atkins before. Looking at his mother’s fur coat, he wondered if Atkins was the reason he now had three pairs of shoes.
Only Time Will Tell (2011) Page 24
