Husband By Necessity

by Lucy Gordon

  No wallflower. No sitting at home. He could guess about the men who pursued her, danced with their arms about her, kissed the mouth that had once moved so sweetly against his own. He could, but he didn’t dare in case he went mad. He wondered why he’d never noticed something else about that lovely mouth, its sheer mulish obstinacy.

  ‘I never imagined you lonely-’ he began.

  ‘Then you’re a fool,’ she whispered so that he didn’t hear. Then, eyes flashing, she took up the argument. ‘I did not uproot my life to come all this way because I was desperate for a husband. I have my own reasons. OK, maybe I am as weak and foolish as you think me-’

  ‘I never said-’

  ‘You said a lot more than you think. All sorts of little prejudices came creeping out between the lines. A psychologist could have a field day with what you said, what you didn’t say, and what you don’t realise you said.

  ‘If I believe you I’m just a weakling who falls apart when the going gets tough. I don’t think I am like that, but I want to find out. For me, not for you. It has nothing to do with you. In fact, you’re surplus to requirements, and I’d be obliged if you’d leave because I have a lot of work to do.’

  He stared at her for a moment, and walked out without another word.

  Well, I sure picked my time, she thought as she snuggled down in bed that night. Second week in January, just when the weather’s taking a nosedive to freezing, where it will stay for at least a month. Any sensible person would have done this in spring, but not me. And Bernardo thinks I’m a weakling.

  Bernardo be blowed!

  She’d started with a stroke of luck in getting the nuns on her side. Her second lucky break came the following week, during a phone call with Heather, who mentioned an outbreak of flu in Palermo. So far there were no cases in Montedoro and Angie went into action fast. Every nun in the convent was vaccinated; also the local priest, Father Marco, a desperate gossip who ‘happened’ to be visiting the convent at the time. He was a plump little man in his fifties with a belligerent manner and a kind heart.

  He had two hobbies in life, an obsessive interest in boxing, and his running feud with Olivero Donati, who was the mayor of Montedoro, and his own distant cousin. Donati was a meek, nervous little man who enjoyed the ceremonial aspects of being mayor but couldn’t say boo to a goose. Father Marco had pulled strings to get him the job, but thereafter felt entitled to sit on him whenever he pleased. Mostly Olivero put up with it, but sometimes he remembered his mayoral dignity and found the courage to speak up. Only to be sat on again.

  Within hours of the priest receiving his shot Olivero presented himself at the surgery, declaring it his duty to give a lead to the citizens who looked to him for guidance. Suppressing a grin, Angie praised him for his civic spirit and declared that she wished there were more citizens like him.

  In addition every child in the school was sent home with a letter, signed by the Superior, urging all parents to have their children vaccinated, and also themselves. The villagers might be wary of her but they trusted Mother Francesca. The take up was good, but not as complete as she’d hoped. She considered the problem, identified the cause and decided on measures to tackle it.

  Bernardo, peacefully eating his supper, was startled by a loud banging on his front door. Stella opened it to admit a short figure of indeterminate gender, so heavily wrapped up that it was almost as broad as it was long.

  ‘Buona notte, dottore,’ she cried, after recognising the visitor with difficulty. ‘Come into the warm and I’ll bring you some hot coffee.’

  ‘Thank you, Stella,’ Angie said cheerfully. ‘I could do with it.’

  She threw back the hood of her jacket, disclosing a bright-eyed face, full of smiles. If Bernardo had expected the cold to drive her under he could see his mistake. She was glowing with health and vigour, her cheeks rosy from her exertions.

  ‘Good evening, Signor Tornese,’ she said, clasping Bernardo’s hand and pumping it vigorously.

  ‘Good evening, dottore.’ Bernardo’s manner was polite but wary.

  Stella set a large cup of coffee before her. ‘How you like our cold weather, eh?’

  ‘I’m coping. Look at me.’ Angie indicated her heavy boots and trousers. ‘You know what I’m wearing under this? Red flannel combinations.’

  Stella went into gales of laughter.

  ‘No, really, you should try it,’ Angie assured her. ‘So should you, signore. It’s a wonderful way to keep warm.’

  ‘Thank you, I am warm enough,’ Bernardo said. ‘You are welcome, of course-’

  ‘Liar,’ she murmured provocatively.

  ‘You are welcome in my house,’ he said firmly, ‘but I didn’t send for a doctor.’

  ‘No, and you didn’t come to my surgery, either, which was very remiss of you.’

  ‘But I’m not ill.’

  She slapped him on the back. ‘And I aim to keep you that way,’ she said with a heartiness calculated to terrorise any man. ‘There’s a flu epidemic in Palermo and I’m conducting a vaccination program to stop it reaching up here.’

  ‘Flu,’ he said dismissively.

  ‘Don’t sneer, it shows how little you know. Flu can be a killer, especially among the old. They’re the ones who need to be vaccinated but they’re resisting it because they still do things the old ways. So you’ll have to give them a lead.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’re the Great Man around here. If you lead they’ll follow. You see, the trouble is, a lot of people are afraid of needles. Big strong men, some of them, and they can’t face a little pinprick.’

  ‘That will be all, Stella,’ Bernardo said hastily. ‘You can go now.’

  When Stella had left Angie said, ‘Very wise.’ Her eyes were teasing.

  He ground his teeth. ‘Angie-’

  ‘I think you should address me as dottore. It’s more respectful.’

  ‘Respectful!’

  ‘Well, I think you ought to show me some respect,’ she complained with a wounded look. ‘Everybody else does. After all, the doctor is a pillar of the community.’

  Goaded, he retorted, ‘If you’re such a pillar of the community, I don’t think you ought to go around discussing your underwear in public.’

  ‘Only for professional reasons. I’m setting my patients an example of how to combat the cold. And I have to demonstrate or there’s no point.’

  ‘You show people your underwear?’ he demanded, aghast.

  ‘Don’t be stuffy. It’s not as though I’m showing off black satin lingerie. There’s nothing provocative about flannel “coms”. Look.’

  She pulled open her shirt to reveal the uncompromising red flannel underneath. Bernardo drew a sharp breath, hoping she wouldn’t hear and guess that the electric jolt that had gone through his loins. Such prosaic underwear, but it filled him with thoughts and sensations that had nothing to do with red flannel.

  Angie looked up at him, her eyes full of innocent fun. She knew he found her hard to cope with like this. It wasn’t that Bernardo was humourless. He did have a sense of humour-lurking somewhere. But he lacked the flexible mind that could combine fun and serious purpose, as Angie was doing now.

  ‘What are you up to?’ he asked at last, and he sounded uneasy.

  ‘Up to? I’m up to saving lives. I’m surprised you’re so reluctant to help. You’re protective about these people but you won’t do this one little thing to help them.’

  ‘All right, all right,’ he said impatiently. ‘I suppose you’ve come prepared. Do it, and then-please leave.’

  But she shook her head. ‘Not here and now. I want you to come to my surgery tomorrow morning. Be there at about eleven, that’s when it’s most crowded, and people will see you. Then the news will spread. I’ll leave you in the waiting room for a few minutes, so that you can make sure everyone knows why you’re there.’

  He ground his teeth. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Not tonight.’

  ‘Then will you please leav
e?’ he said tensely.

  ‘You’ll be there tomorrow?’

  ‘I’ll be there. Goodnight-dottore.’

  She had half expected him to snub her next day but Bernardo was a man of his word, and he was there on the dot of eleven. When she glanced into the waiting room he was deep in conversation with a mother, with two children, and she overheard enough to know that he was doing as she’d asked. When it was his turn he waved ahead someone who had come in after him. Only when there was nobody left did he enter the surgery.

  ‘Thank you, signore,’ she said formally. ‘I appreciate your help.’

  She tried to keep her thoughts professional, but it was hard when the sight of him was so dear. When he pulled off his jacket and rolled up the sleeve of his dark red shirt she suddenly realised how much thinner he’d become since they’d quarrelled at the wedding. It hadn’t struck her before, but as she held his arm she could feel that its strength was all sinew and nerves. Involuntarily she glanced up and met his eyes, then wished she hadn’t. He was watching her with an unexpected gentleness that recalled the old days, and she couldn’t afford to think of that just now. She still had too big a mountain to climb.

  ‘You’ll hardly feel it,’ she said mechanically.

  ‘Do you think a little needle-prick is the worst pain in the world?’ he asked, quietly.

  ‘Well, I suppose everyone has their own idea of the worst pain in the world,’ she murmured. ‘One person might be wounded to the heart by something another would ignore.’

  ‘And one might understand pain so little that they thought they could play games.’

  ‘If that’s meant for me, it’ll miss. I’m here to give these people a level of medical care they’ve never had before, and I’m not playing games.’ She withdrew the needle and rubbed the spot with alcohol.

  ‘Is that all you’re here for?’

  ‘I can’t think of anything else, can you?’ she asked, meeting his gaze.

  ‘Not a thing.’

  As she ushered him out they found a man in the waiting room, whom Angie had never seen before. He looked elderly, with lined, weather-beaten skin, and he was in a state of great agitation. He began to speak as soon as she appeared, gabbling in Sicilian that she found hard to follow, and falling over himself to get the words out. Bernardo put his hand on the man’s shoulder and he began to calm down, although he still spoke urgently.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Angie asked Bernardo.

  ‘His name is Antonio Servante,’ Bernardo explained. ‘He has a tiny farm a few miles from here which he farms alone except for his mother.’

  ‘His mother? How old is he?’

  ‘Sixty-five. He had a wife once, and two children, but they all died years ago in a measles epidemic.’ Antonio seemed to be pleading for something. ‘He wants you to vaccinate his mother,’ Bernardo explained, ‘but she’s bedridden and he can’t get her down here. His only transport is a mule. He says his mother is all he has in the world and he wants you to keep her alive.’

  ‘Then I’ll go to her, of course,’ Angie said at once. Calling on her basic Sicilian, she told Antonio she would accompany him at once and he gave her a beaming, toothless smile.

  ‘How are you going to travel?’ Bernardo demanded. ‘On his mule?’

  ‘I’ve got a car.’

  ‘I’ve seen it. It’s pathetic. It’ll never get you over that ground.’

  ‘It’s hired. I haven’t had a chance to buy a proper one yet.’

  ‘So how will you get to this place? And, when you get there, how will you communicate?’

  She faced him. ‘You tell me.’

  ‘I warned you of something like this.’

  ‘If you’re going to say “I told you so”-don’t. Just-don’t.’

  ‘Wait here,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘I’ll get my car.’

  Antonio, on his mule, led them down the road from Montedoro, then aside onto a winding road that climbed again and came out onto a flat stretch of earth that was the most barren and ugly she’d ever seen. There were stones everywhere, and she pitied anyone trying to scratch a living from this inhospitable place.

  ‘I wonder how many of my patients are up here,’ she murmured.

  ‘Let’s put it this way,’ Bernardo said curtly, ‘if they haven’t got you, they haven’t got anyone.’

  ‘I haven’t had time to go right through Dr Fortuno’s lists. I’ll have to do that soon.’

  ‘I don’t think he found his way up here very often, certainly not in winter. His old banger couldn’t manage it, and you wouldn’t catch him on a mule.’

  ‘The sooner I get that car, the better.’

  ‘You need one like mine, heavy-duty, four-wheel drive. Even so, it isn’t going to take us all the way there. I’ve just remembered something.’

  What he’d just remembered became evident in a few minutes. A steep hill reared up ahead of them, only negotiable by a path too narrow for a car. Dismayed, Angie got out and stared up the path to where Antonio was pointing.

  ‘Is that it?’ Angie asked, ‘that house I can see?’

  ‘That’s the farmhouse, such as it is,’ Bernardo agreed.

  ‘Fine,’ she said, speaking more cheerfully than she felt. ‘Then we don’t have very far to go.’

  Antonio shyly took her arm and indicated for her to get onto the mule.

  ‘I don’t think-’ she began hesitantly.

  ‘It’s the greatest honour he knows how to bestow,’ Bernardo said. ‘He loves Nesta almost as much as he loves his mother.’ He added, ‘and in mule terms she’s almost as old.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Angie snapped.

  He ground his teeth. ‘Well, you wouldn’t be told, would you?’

  ‘Are you going to be useful?’ she ground back. ‘Or are you going to stand there gloating?’

  ‘I am not gloating.’

  ‘Well, you’re certainly not being useful!’

  Conscious of Antonio’s eyes flicking from one to the other, Bernardo said in a tight voice, ‘I’m going to carry your bag, so you’ll have both hands free for holding on. You’ll need them.’

  She let Antonio help her onto Nesta’s back, certain that the old animal was too small and frail for the burden. But Nesta stepped out confidently and began the journey up the steep incline. The path was about four feet wide, so that Angie could avoid looking down for most of the time. But suddenly they came upon a sharp turn which left her gazing down a long drop straight into the valley. She closed her eyes and the moment passed, but her head had swum sickeningly. She was never at ease with heights, yet she’d chosen a life where heights would be encountered daily. She wondered if there was any insanity in her family, or whether she was the first.

  Antonio was walking at Nesta’s head, encouraging her. Bernardo came up beside Angie, on the outside. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said untruthfully. ‘I wish you wouldn’t walk there, so close to the edge.’

  ‘I thought you might feel safer if I was between you and the drop.’

  ‘That’s nice, but honestly it just makes me worry about you. Anyway, you’ve got it quite wrong. I’m not afraid of heights.’

  ‘I thought you were. That day in my home-’

  ‘No, no,’ she managed a laugh that came out sounding bright and confident, she couldn’t think why. ‘I was just taken by surprise that time.’

  There was no need for him to answer because mercifully they had reached the top and were making their way to the tiny farm house. Angie saw that it was little more than a hovel, and she began to understand the kind of poverty she was dealing with.

  Cecilia Servante came as a surprise. She was in her eighties but looked older, a little weatherbeaten gnome of a woman. But her eyes were bright and her voice lively. She couldn’t get out of bed but she could backchat her son and send him scurrying into the kitchen to make coffee for their honoured guest. Angie was enchanted by her.

  She spoke nothing but Sicilian. Takin
g a chance, Angie waved aside Bernardo’s offer of help and tried to converse in her own tentative Sicilian. It turned out to be a smart move. Cecilia roared with laughter at her mistakes and spoke slowly to help her. In a few minutes Angie had learned some new phrases and established an excellent understanding with the old woman.

  Her grip on life was still vigorous and to Angie’s delight she was eager for the vaccination, pushing up her sleeve impatiently, then pointing to her son, cackling with laughter when he was squeamish at the needle.

  Looking around her, Angie was horrified. Everywhere needed repair, everything was of the most basic. Antonio brought coffee and bread, which she guessed was a strain on his budget, but the law of hospitality was unbreakable. Her worst moment came when he reached into his pocket and brought out some money. It was a tiny amount, little more than one pound, but it was clear he could ill afford it. Then her quick wits came to her rescue.

  ‘No money,’ she said, holding up her hand as if to ward it off, and speaking slowly in Sicilian. ‘Instead, you can do something for me. This room-Friday morning-I hold a clinic here. And you tell all your neighbours to be here. Yes?’

  A smile broke over Antonio’s face and he nodded vigorously, shoving the money back into his pocket with relief. He did his best to reply to her, but had to fall back on Bernardo.

  ‘He says let him know what time, and he’ll be waiting at the foot of the path with Nesta,’ Bernardo translated.

  They arranged the time, and Angie prepared to leave, with the sense that she had achieved something. But her smile died when she saw how fast the light had faded, leaving the path barely visible.

  ‘Stay here while I go down to the car and get the torch,’ Bernardo commanded.

  ‘No way,’ she said cheerfully. ‘If I keep hold of the wall I’ll be fine.’

  ‘Will you please do as you’re told?’ he yelled.

  ‘Nope. Let’s get going.’

  She set off briskly but he darted in front of her and hurried ahead. By the time she was half way down he was back with the torch, which he directed onto the path ahead of her. By this time it was completely dark and she was glad of the help, although she would have died sooner than admit it.