by Jane Arbor
He rang up, making an importance of his needing to see her, and after asking him for news of Cicely and Mrs. Mordaunt, she suggested a time that afternoon. When he came, almost without preliminary he threw a copy of Lo Sussurro on the table. ‘You’ll have seen this,’ he stated, not asking her.
Ruth said, ‘Yes. Signora Parioli saw to it that I did. She brought it to show me.’
Erle nodded. ‘So she told me, feeling you ought to see it. The point now is—what is to be done about it?’
‘The last time they concocted the same kind of lie, you said there was nothing that one could do,’ she reminded him.
‘Ah, nothing negative, I agree.’
‘Negative? Such as?’
‘Well, demand that they apologise or retract in print. This time it’s obvious they picked on the night you came to my place in search of Cicely, and as in the Siena story, there’s enough truth in each to allow them to plead justification. Their strength is that they don’t accuse us of immoral goings-on; they only hint, and a retraction of something that hasn’t even been said wouldn’t be worth the paper it was printed on. Quite apart from the fact that rebutting this latest story would involve Cicely, and that we certainly don’t want.’
Ruth bit her lip. ‘No. What then? Do we have to let it go, as we did before?’
‘I doubt if you can afford to. One isolated story didn’t matter. That’s why I dismissed it. But two begin to smell of a concerted attack and before it turns into a campaign against your reputation it had better be stopped. With some positive action which they’d have to understand. Even be happy to, is my guess.’
‘By “positive” you mean go to law? Sue them? That they would enjoy the publicity that would afford them?’
Erle shook his head. ‘Nothing like that. To sue would be only one step beyond asking for a denial and just about as efficacious against a libel that hasn’t even been made. No, the positive action I have in mind would be mine, and needing your full agreement.’ He paused, looking straight at her, holding her glance. ‘In short, I’m suggesting that you allow me to announce our engagement forthwith.’
For a moment the words didn’t register with Ruth. Then they did, cruelly and incredibly, since no one would propose as bluntly as that. Hearing her voice as if it weren’t her own, she echoed, ‘Our engagement? Yours to me? What do you mean?’
‘Just that. We announce our intention to marry at some future date which can be as vague as you please. As a public gesture only, of course. Emotionally it needn’t mean a thing to you.’
‘And to you—though you can’t possibly be serious?’
‘I am. For me you could say it’s a front I’m prepared to put up for your protection.’
‘For my protection! What could it do? The lies have already been told!’
‘About an alleged roué—me, and a new woman in my firmament—you. In those roles, meat and drink to the gossip columnists. But if there’s anything the Italians relish fully as much as scandal, it’s the promise of a wholesome love-affair on its way to fruition. Offered that, they’d be prepared to Forgive and Forget All and be happy to speculate instead on a likely wedding date and who will be there as our guests.’
‘But it wouldn’t be true! It isn’t going to happen!’
‘Which they’re not to know—until, after a decent interlude, the length of which would be your choice, we decide to tell them.’
Ruth protested again, ‘It’s an unthinkable suggestion. Quite, quite impossible. For one thing, no one would believe it of—of you and me. For another—’ But Ruth stopped short of telling him she knew he must have sent Stella Parioli to look over the Casa Rienzi with a purpose.
He took her up. ‘Who cares what anyone believes of the hard fact of an announcement in La Gazzetta or Giomale e’Italia? It’s there to be read and accepted. But by your “For another thing” do you mean it’s impossible because you’re already bespoken? How do matters stand between you and Cesare Fonte?’
‘I’ve told you, I like him. We’re friends.’
‘More than that, surely? By all the signs the man is in love with you. But so far you haven’t committed yourself?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’ At Ruth’s quick frown Erle laughed shortly. ‘All right—impertinent questions. I apologise. But you do see that if you already had ties there, this operation wouldn’t be on? Whereas—’
‘It isn’t on in any case,’ she broke in. ‘My friends— yours—all know there’s never been any question of marriage between you and me. The English papers will copy the news, and Cicely and your family—’
‘Ah, I can’t surprise my family by now. And Cicely has already forgiven me the gallantries which you found so sinister. She has told me so herself.’
‘Your own friends, then—what would they think?’
‘After the initial shock, I’m going to acquire a new image in their eyes. As a potential marrying man, instead of the hard case they’ve always thought me. And when, in the fullness of your own time, you throw me over, imagine the flutter of new interest there’ll be! I’m going to enjoy that, and so will they.’
At the flippancy of his tone Ruth frowned again. Watching her, his expression changed and he came over to her. He said gravely, ‘I’m serious, Ruth. Your own code is so rigid that you drive me to defend my motives with idiotic banter like that. But you’ve got to appreciate that, as I see it, I owe you this. It’s the only way I know to shield you from scurrility which you would never have invited if you hadn’t swum into my orbit again. Yours is a private world; mine is public, and though the gossip-mongers have to have their way with me, if I know anything about it, they’re not having it with you. What’s more, you owe it to me to allow me to protect you from possibly worse to come.’
‘It needn’t—if we didn’t meet at all again.’
He shook his head. ‘Too late for that. They’ve got their teeth in and they’ll hang on. The next thing would be speculation as to the whereabouts of the hidey-hole in which we were continuing our suspect affair out of the public eye. No, I got you into this, and I’m getting you out of it, if you’ll let me. Say you will?’
Ruth said nothing, blaming herself for weakening to his persuasion yet knowing that, to anything he asked of her with such sincerity, she would agree. But she still demurred faintly, ‘It wouldn’t work. I’m no good at playing a part.’
‘It’ll be up to us to make it work,’ he countered. ‘We’ll need to be seen about together; be pleasantly communicative with the Press; discuss our possible future plans in public. Oh, and you’ll have to have a ring—’
But from that she recoiled with such a passionate, ‘No!’ that Erle looked at her, eyebrows raised. ‘No to the whole idea? Or no to the ring?’ he asked.
‘To—to the ring. I won’t accept one under false pretences.’
‘Aren’t you rather straining at a gnat, while agreeing to swallow a camel? You must have a ring,’ he said.
‘But not one bought for the purpose. I—couldn’t. I have an antique pearl and opal ring that was my great-grandmother’s. I’ll wear that if I must.’
‘You must, I’m afraid. And for the rest you’ll take your lead from me?’ At her dumb nod to that he went on, ‘At this point we ought to seal the agreement with a kiss, which you wouldn’t like. But if the Press boys expect us to lay on some public affection for their benefit, you’ll be tolerant of that?’
‘I—suppose so.’
‘Good. I’ll make things as easy for you as I can, and let’s hope they’ll switch off the limelight in favour of the next hint of scandal in higher places than ours.’ As he made ready to go he added, ‘I’ll phone the announcement round the papers as soon as I get back to my office.’ But that brought another ‘No!’, followed by a pleading ‘No—please’ from Ruth which halted him. ‘It has to be announced,’ he said.
‘I know,’ she agreed. ‘But not in tomorrow’s papers, please. I couldn’t bear—That is, I shouldn’t care for Cesare Fonte to
hear of it that way. I must tell him myself.’
Erle looked at her from his distance across the room. ‘So?’ he said meaningly, and then, ‘All right. I’ll hold everything until after you’ve seen him. Let me know.’
Ruth said quickly, ‘May I keep the car for the moment?’ But she knew he hadn’t heard. He had slammed from the room.
As it happened, however, she hadn’t to dread facing Cesare for longer than until that evening, when Erle telephoned to suggest he should tell Cesare the news himself.
‘If you did it,’ he said, ‘I imagine you’d find it as distasteful to your conscience as you say you would, accepting my ring?’
‘Yes,’ she agreed bleakly.
‘Then give me permission, and I’ll do it for you.’
‘Tell my lies for me, you mean?’
He avoided agreement with the crudity of that. ‘I’d handle it better than you would, involved with Fonte as you are—’
‘Only as a friend, to whom I’d hate to lie for no better reason than to shield myself from ugly scandal,’ she retorted.
‘Yes, well, don’t forget you’re scotching it for me too. But a scruple like that makes it my duty to do this for you. I’ll send Fonte to you afterwards, and the way I’ll have done it should keep him as your friend.’
Tired of fighting, though ashamed to feel relieved, Ruth gave way. ‘Thank you,’ she said wearily. ‘I’m grateful.’
‘As a friend—until you decide you want him as something more,’ Erle added, and rang off.
When Cesare came to see her, Ruth was to realise that living the masquerade of her engagement was no easier for his having heard of it first from Erle. Cesare was so openly generous in his wishes for her happiness that she was sorely tempted to entrust him with the truth. And though, with the announcement already sent to the papers, it was too late for that, at least she made herself answer some of his questions with honesty.
For inevitably he asked, ‘You were in love with Erle already when you refused me?’ To which she replied simply, ‘Yes.’
And—‘You’re convinced of loving him enough, in spite of all the women with whom his name has been linked?’ To which she said Yes again, and then—because she had to know—asked, ‘What did Erle tell you about—caring for me?’
Cesare smiled wryly. ‘I think he knows what I feel for you too. So he let me down lightly. He said, “You could say it’s a case of: Boy meets Girl; Boy loses touch with Girl for too long; Boy meets Girl again; Happy Ending.” Good of him, I thought, to play down his feeling for you instead of forcing me to compare it with mine, knowing you had found mine wanting.’
Ruth longed to confess, ‘He wasn’t playing it down. It doesn’t exist. In order to shield me he was simply being adroit with words.’ Aloud she protested, ‘It was mine that was wanting, not yours. Yet you—you’re generous enough to wish me well. We can still be friends?’
‘For as long as you want me, though after a while it may have to be with distance between us. Because obviously now Erle won’t renew my lease on the Casa, which means Agnese and I will be returning to Quindereggio after all,’ said Cesare.
‘Why “obviously now”?’ Ruth queried. ‘Why do you think he won’t?’
‘Don’t you know? Surely because he must have bought it with the idea of making it your future home? Hasn’t he told you so?’
‘No. We—we haven’t discussed any future plans like that,’ she evaded. ‘Besides, you must be wrong. If he were thinking of it for me, he wouldn’t have sent Signora Parioli to check it over, would he?’
‘Ah, but it’s there that I was wrong. Misheard her, or misunderstood her, or, not crediting that she would have come without his knowing, jumped to the conclusion that he must have sent her.’
‘I jumped to the same conclusion,’ Ruth pointed out.
Cesare laughed. ‘Hoping, but not knowing so short a time ago that he was going to propose to you? Oh, Ruth, my dear, what does it feel like to be so infinitely lovable to at least two men, and yet so modest as not to know it?’
She looked away. ‘I always knew that you liked me. That, though we disagreed on a lot of things, Erle did too—in his fashion.’ Feeling herself on dangerous ground, she changed the subject to ask, ‘Supposing Erle did only want the Casa as an investment, would you still expect him not to renew your lease?’
‘Ah, I’m not asking him to renew it. I’ve definitely decided to sell up and go.’
‘You have?’
Cesare nodded. ‘For reasons I don’t think you will make me explain, beyond saying that even if you and Erle aren’t at the Casa, you will be here in Rome whenever he is himself.’
Guiltily Ruth understood. Erle’s piece of quixotry on her behalf was like a stone thrown into a pool, creating ever-widening eddies as it dropped. Now it was uprooting two people, one of them courageously cutting his losses by going, the other only too glad to snatch at the opportunity. She said, ‘I suppose Agnese is happy about your decision to go?’
‘More than happy. Triumphant that what she chooses to call “wisdom” has prevailed. I’m afraid I may have another name for it if I don’t sell at a good profit. But she is already packing up in spirit, as it were. Which reminds me—’ Cesare paused. ‘She brought to me the other day another piece of scandalous gossip about you and Erle. But perhaps you have seen it?’
‘In Lo Sussuro? Yes,’ said Ruth. ‘But you didn’t believe that what it implied was true?’
‘Santo cielo, no! I realised at once what it sprang from, and told Agnese so. Some busybody of a reporter must have seen you on the night that you went to Erle’s apartment, expecting to find Cicely there—wasn’t that the real truth of it?’
‘Yes.’ Ruth looked her surprise. ‘But how did you know about that?’
‘From Cicely. How otherwise?’
‘Oh. I hadn’t expected she would tell anybody about it, since it didn’t show her in the best of fights. Jeremy Slade knew, of course. And Vivien. But—’
‘Well, she made it into a good story against herself to Agnese and me one day, and naturally I reminded Agnese of that.’ Cesare looked at his watch. ‘Do you think I could ask you to lunch with me, without the gutter press deciding that I’m double-crossing Erle?’ he asked.
Ruth managed a smile. ‘I think we could risk it,’ she said. But she spoke mechanically, her thoughts churning.
She hadn’t, after all, been seen to visit Erle’s flat that night. It had been Agnese Fonte again who had turned Cicely’s innocently told story into the evil trash it had become in her own and Lo Sussurro’s hands! Well, thought Ruth, she had been warned. Agnese had threatened to use any chance to injure her which offered. This was Agnese’s own stone thrown into the pool of other people’s lives—touching Ruth, herself sought enemy; Erle, and even Cesare with the inevitable backwash of the circles which it made.
CHAPTER EIGHT
As soon as the news broke—in small paragraphs in the serious newspapers and as double spreads in the popular press—Ruth began to savour the distasteful truth that a falsehood told often enough gradually becomes easier to tell and more credible to the teller. The first time she said ‘We’ of herself and Erle she felt a pang of guilt; by the tenth or so time she had to say it in answer to questions her qualms of conscience were less and the pretence that they planned a future together so much less of a sham. Sometimes she even allowed herself the fantasy of ‘If he were really in love with me, the things I’m doing and saying in regard to him would be true’—which lent her a mirage of peace while she indulged it, though she hated herself for doing so.
Seemingly, if Erle had ever had any such misgivings he had quashed them even before she had. He played the lover, the happily engaged man to perfection. In order that Ruth should not be harried at her flat by reporters he called a press confrontation at his office, where he parried awkward questions about the secrecy surrounding his courtship, put his arm round Ruth and kissed her as warmly as the enthusiasm of the photographers demanded, and m
ade a good story of their original teenage meeting in the fog of an English winter day.
All of which was reported lovingly, with romantic trimmings; with, even in Lo Sussurro and its kind, never a backward glance at the sour insinuations of a week or so ago.
What were Stella Parioli’s reactions to Erle’s engagement Ruth did not know. Erle did not tell her and she scorned to ask. Presumably, whatever his relations with Stella, he intended they should continue within the limits set by his public committal to Ruth. It was as if, Ruth felt, they had tacitly agreed that the subject was taboo between them. The future of the Casa Rienzi was another, any mention of which Erle hedged by saying he had thought it a wise investment, and though he agreed blandly with a questioning reporter that it would make an ideally luxurious home for a bride, he did not discuss it with Ruth beyond saying that he could make no firm decision while the rights of Cesare’s lease had still some weeks to run.
‘Cesare told me that he won’t ask you to renew it. He has decided to go south again,’ said Ruth.
‘So? Well he hasn’t told me as much, and the wind may have changed for him by then,’ was all Erle commented on that.
There was an expensive cable from Cicely. Well, you could have fooled me, you dark horses. Thought you only went hand-in-hand for my sake. Tell me the date of the wedding and I’ll play bridesmaid. Or matron of honour to Ruth if I beat you to it. Joke, ha-ha. Mother won’t hear of my being engaged to Jeremy until I’m eighteen. Love to both. Cicely.
There were warm good wishes and some coy curiosity from Ruth’s language pupils. Little Signora Matteo in particular took to herself some reflected glory from her connection with Ruth. ‘I tell all my friends that I learn the English from la fidanzata. And that my husband who, as you remember, signora, is a stage-hand at the Opera House, often sees and speaks with il sposo, Signore Nash,’ she claimed with pride.
