Anne Weale

by Terrace in the Sun [HR-1067] (epub)

  "The colour doesn't suit you, and the skirt is too short," he said, frowning. "Surely you could have found something more practical."

  For a moment, she was tempted to flash back an angry retort, even to snatch off her scarf and show him her hair. But she choked the defiant words back, and said only, "Clothes are expensive here. This was cheap, and it will wash well. How are you feeling today, Father? Did you have a fairly comfortable night?"

  "No, I did not," he said fretfully.

  As she listened to his list of grievances, she remembered the maxim she had read in David's library, shortly before her father's collapse. 'The most wasted of days is that on which one has not laughed.'

  It occurred to her suddenly that, even when he was well, she could not remember her father ever laughing. Not once had she seen him throw back his head and guffaw, or even grin and chuckle.

  'How strange,' she thought, staring at him, 'It's not only that he has no sense of humour — he has no gaiety at all. He's like someone who's tone-deaf, or colour-blind. He can't help it. It's not his fault. He was born without any fun in him. Why haven't I noticed it before? Am I like that, too?"

  And the thought that she might be was so unnerving that, involuntarily, she got up and moved to the window, and stood there, twisting the cord of the green holland sun-blind.

  "Must you fidget?" her father said irritably. "Do sit down and be still, girl."

  "I'm sorry," she said automatically.

  I'm sorry . . . Yes, Father . . . No, Father . . . I'm sorry... How many times had she said those two words to him?

  She did not stay long. "When I come this evening, I'll bring you something to read," she said, before she left

  "Ask Cassano if he can spare the time to look in for a few minutes. I'd like to talk to him."

  "Very well, but they may not allow you to have two visitors yet. I'll have to speak to the Sister about it."

  "In that case, I'd prefer to see him."

  There was a café near the hospital, a café with a gaily striped awning and window-boxes, and red wicker chairs and tables set outside on the pavement. Justine saw a vacant table, and sat down. Corsican women and girls did not sit alone in cafés and, even in pairs, went only to the most fashionable establishments. However, the Corsicans did not expect foreigners to conform with their own rather strict codes of behaviour, and there were no raised eyebrows or disapproving glances from the other patrons.

  Even if there had been, she would not have noticed. As she sat in the sun, waiting for her coffee to drip through the aluminum filter on top of the cup, she was wholly absorbed in the change that had suddenly come over her between entering and leaving the hospital.

  'I'm free!' she thought, with a wonderful sense of release. 'I'm not afraid of him any more. If he snaps, I'll snap back. If he's sarcastic, I'll smile and shrug. I'm never going to say I'm sorry again — at least not out of habit and cowardice.'

  And, at last, she understood that, for years, she had not loved Richard Field. But she had gone on enduring his coldness and his captiousness because she had felt it was wicked and abnormal for a daughter not to love her father, and because it had been easier to bottle up her increasing sense of injustice and resentment than to admit that she was guilty of hating him.

  'But I wouldn't have hated him if he'd let me go, if he hadn't tried to possess me,' she thought. 'And now that I'm free, I don't hate him any more. It's gone ... that tense, bitter feeling which I tried so hard to suppress!'

  She paid the bill, and walked round to the bank, and asked if she could see the manager. She wanted to know the exact extent of the funds her father had transferred from England. She had no difficulty in obtaining this information and, as their resources were considerably higher than she had anticipated, she drew out some more money to buy a swimsuit and some coloured pants and shirts to replace her shapeless khaki ones.

  At Laura Manner's shop she chose a sleek white nylon swimsuit, and two trim but feminine working outfits, and another dress for her leisure hours.

  When she returned to the yacht, she was told that Madame St. Aubin was ashore, and Monsieur was in his study. Justine asked where this was and, after she had left her parcels in her stateroom, she made her way there.

  David was sitting behind a flat-topped desk, studying some documents, and holding the microphone of a dictaphone.

  "Oui?" He did not look up to see who had come in. "I'll come back later. I don't want to disturb you." She turned to go out.

  "Oh, it's you. You needn't run away." He rose, and switched off the machine, and came round the desk. "What can I do for you?"

  "My father wondered if it would be possible for you to visit him this evening, or whenever you can spare half an hour."

  "By all means — I'll go tonight."

  "Thank you. He isn't allowed more than one visitor at a time yet, so in that case I think I'll go over to see Madame di Rostini this afternoon. I can hire a boat from that place along the quay."

  "There's no need for that. I'll arrange for one of the crew to take you in our vedette. I'm sure Madame will be delighted to see you — and no doubt Julien will too," he added dryly.

  Obviously he thought it was Julien, not his grandmother, whom she really wanted to see.

  "I shan't stay long at the villa. I want to go up to our site, and do a little work," she said stiffly. "My father's very grateful for your offer. I expect that's why he wants to see you — to thank you in person." She opened her bag. "I haven't forgotten that I owe you the cost of those night things you got for me. If you'll tell me how much they were, I'll pay you now."

  He resumed his seat behind the desk. "I've no idea," he replied, with a slight shrug.

  "Well, can't you find out?" she said awkwardly.

  "I could — but is it really necessary?"

  'He's deliberately baiting me,' she thought 'It amuses him to watch me squirm.'

  Aloud she said, "They're expensive things. I can't possibly let you give them to me."

  "No? I don't see why not."

  Her hands tightened on the arm of the chair. "It — it just isn't done. You know that."

  He took up a horn-handled paper-knife, and held it in his lean brown hands, flexing the supple blade. 'Tell me something, if Julien gave you a present — let's say a scarf — would you refuse to accept it?"

  "That would be entirely different. Besides, the robe and the nightdress weren't presents. You had to get them because I had nothing of my own to wear."

  He did not reply for a moment and suddenly, during the pause, the narrow blade snapped in half.

  "Careless of me." He tossed the pieces into a waste box. "Even tempered steel has a breaking point."

  Something in his tone made Justine suspect the remark had a hidden significance, but she could not think what it might be.

  David glanced at his watch. "Almost lunch time. Will you make my excuses to Madame St. Aubin? I shall not be joining you today." He rose, and stood looking down at her. "As for this matter of the night gear, which seems to concern you so much, I suggest we compromise. I won't accept payment. But, if wearing the things offends your sense of propriety, give them to Battista. He can put them away, and perhaps they may be of use in some similar contingency one day."

  He walked to the door and held it open. As she followed, he said unkindly, "Disabuse yourself of the idea that I have any dark designs, my dear Miss Field. I assure you it is quite unfounded. I may have the reputation of having few morals or scruples, but I have some discrimination."

  She opened her mouth to protest, but he went on smoothly, "I'm glad you seem to have developed a proper awareness of your not inconsiderable charms, but don't go to the other extreme. Don't overrate yourself, mam-selle. I believe I can resist the temptation to inflict unwelcome attentions on you."

  A buzzer on his desk began to bleep. "Excuse me," he said, with a slight bow, and went to answer it.

  For a moment, Justine stood frozen by shocked disbelief. Then, slamming the door behin
d her, she fled down the corridor, nearly blundering into a startled steward as she turned the corner which led to her stateroom.

  There, she flung herself on the bed, her whole body shaking with outrage and humiliation. She clenched her fists, not feeling the pain of her nails digging into her palms.

  'I'm free!' she had said to herself, less than two hours ago.

  Now she saw that all she had done was to exchange one bondage for another. She was free from Richard Field's domination. But when, like a fool, she had fallen in love with David, she had made herself vulnerable to a man who could hurt her far more than her father had ever done.

  When Diane heard that David was not having lunch with them, she felt a blend of vexation and amusement.

  'So that's your technique, mon brave,' she thought, her blue eyes glinting. 'First you advance a little . . . then you retreat, and hope that I will make a move. You'll be disappointed, I'm afraid. When the stake is high, I can be very patient."

  During the first course, she was preoccupied. But presently, she noticed that Justine had scarcely touched the caneton aux cérises, and appeared to be under some strain.

  "You have a headache?" she asked. "You don't look very well today."

  Justine sipped her wine. "Don't I? I feel all right I'm going over to Pisano this afternoon."

  "I'll come with you," Diane said. "I'm surprised we haven't seen Julien since the day before yesterday. Perhaps Grand'mere is not well, and he doesn't like to leave her."

  'Or perhaps he has told her about the deal, and she's being difficult. Well, if he's botched it — too bad! It's his misfortune, not mine. I have my own fish to fry,' she thought unsympathetically.

  Before they set out for the island in the yacht's motor-boat, Justine put on one of her new working outfits — an Italian-pink cotton shirt, and a pair of sky-blue tapered pants with braided side seams.

  "Très chic," said Diane, with a nod of approval, when she saw them.

  Normally, the sea crossing, with the bows cleaving white wings of foam as the boat soared over the calm and shining water, would have exhilarated Justine. But today everything was spoiled by the persistent echo of David's scalding sarcasm.

  Why had he snubbed her so brutally? What had she done to provoke it? Surely there was no offence in wanting to discharge some part of her obligation to him? It was all very well for him to deride her for conventionality, but the fact remained that it was not comme il faut for a girl to let a man buy clothes for her. Even Aunt Helen and Uncle Charles, the most broad-minded of people, would not approve of it, especially when it was barely a fortnight since she had first met him. But what was most unjust and incomprehensible was his taunt about her overrating herself.

  Julien must have heard the motor long before the vedette was in sight, as he was waiting on the jetty to meet them when the boat swept round the promontory.

  "Justine!" He helped her to jump ashore, and kissed her hands, first one and then the other. "It seems so long since I have seen you, chérie. Each time we meet you are more enchanting."

  His extravagance made her smile, but nevertheless it salved her raw pride a little to receive such an eager welcome.

  The seaman who had brought them over helped Diane to land. If the ladies had no objection, he said, he would take the boat round to the village and come back for them later. What time did they wish him to return?

  "You must stay for dinner," said Julien. "If you hadn't come to Pisano, I would have come to see you." He asked the man to come back at nine o'clock.

  As Justine started to climb the steps up to the terrace, she heard him say, in an undertone, to his sister, "I have spoken to Grand'mère, but she hasn't yet made up her mind, and I don't think it wise to press her."

  It seemed to Justine that, in the short time she had been away from the island, Madame di Rostini had become thinner and less erect. As they shook hands, the old lady's fingers felt cold and fragile.

  "I am so relieved to hear that your father is making good progress, my dear child," she said kindly. Even her voice seemed fainter.

  'She is sinking,' Justine thought, with a pang. 'Something has happened. She's lost that extraordinary vitality.'

  And, as they talked, she became more and more oppressed by the conviction that Madame was dying; not because of any sudden deterioration in her heart condition, but because she had at last surrendered the strength of will which, in spite of age and infirmity, had made her such a great lady still.

  'She has given up,' Justine thought, deeply shocked and perplexed. 'She is letting herself fade away.'

  Later, she went to the kitchen to see Sophia. Madame di Rostini had made no remark about Justine's changed appearance, but the housekeeper threw up her hands, and declared that she scarcely recognised her.

  "Such a pity to have cut off your lovely hair, mademoiselle," she said, clicking her tongue. "There are so few women with a fine head of hair these days."

  Presently Justine said cautiously, "Madame doesn't look very well today, Sophia."

  "Ah, you have noticed it too." The housekeeper sat down at the kitchen table, and sighed, and shook her head. "M'sieur Julien tells me I am foolish. He says he can see no change in her. But I have served her for twenty years, since my good man passed over, God rest him, and I know there is something amiss. Last night, when I put her to bed, she held M'sieur Pietro's portrait, as she does every night before she sleeps. 'Oh, my son, if only God had spared you,' she said, and she wept, mademoiselle. She thought I did not see, but there were tears on her cheeks. She has always grieved for him, but it is many years since I have seen her weep, poor soul. There is something troubling her. I do not know what it can be, but she is not at peace here." She put one hand over her heart, and sorrowfully shook her head again.

  At this point, Julien came into the kitchen and said that, if Justine was going up to the dig, he would accompany her.

  Seeing him reminded Justine of his low-voiced aside to his sister on the jetty. Was he responsible for his grandmother's unrest?

  Professor Field had been worried that, during their absence from the island, the village children might have interfered with the dig. But it was just as they had left it

  "What will you do with all these things when you have finished here?" Julien asked, examining a tray of small finds with an expression which betrayed his opinion that only eccentrics would spend their lives grubbing for bits of broken pottery and lumps of iron slag. "You will take them to England for one of your musées?"

  Justine shook her head. "We may have dug them up, but that doesn't mean they belong to us. Normally, if we find something of special interest, it has to be handed over to the government of the country where we're working. I'm not quite sure what the position is here. Although your grandmother owns Pisano, I imagine the Corsican government could probably claim any really outstanding antiquities."

  "This villa urbana ... it would be possible to rebuild it as it was when the Romans were here?" he asked presently, when she had shown him the fragments of wall painting, and mentioned the likelihood of a fine mosaic floor being found.

  Justine looked doubtful "It depends how much of the fabric has survived. Complete restorations have been done, of course, but not on sites like this. It would cost a great deal of money."

  "Perhaps you are right." He dropped the subject, and said it was too hot on the hillside, and suggested a bathe.

  "I can't I haven't brought my bathing suit" said Justine.

  He gave her a mischievous glance. "I thought you preferred to swim without one?"

  Not long ago, the remark would have made her blush and stammer. Now, she smiled, and said, "Yes, but only when I'm by myself. Let's walk over to the other side of the island. I've never been there."

  While her brother was following Justine along a track through the maquis, and admiring her slim back view in the well-cut blue pants, Diane was strolling down the village. By the time she reached it, she was beginning to regret giving way to her curiosity, for her high-
heeled, thin-soled navy shoes had not been designed for walking on rough country paths. But, when Justine had said she was coming to Pisano, Diane had suddenly felt an irresistible urge to see what the years had done to Andria Sebastiani.

  Andria was not among the fishermen mending their nets and gossiping by the low quay wall. One of them noticed her and discreetly passed the word along and, within seconds, they were all covertly eyeing her.

  Diane was not easily discomfited, but she was hot and her feet were aching, and she had the unnerving feeling that instead of being impressed by her fashionably coiffured hair and haute couture suit, the villagers were poking fun at her — not only those she could see, but others who peered from shadowed doorways, or through the slats of shuttered windows.

  As she turned to leave the square, one of her heels caught in the cobbles, and she jarred her ankle and drew in a gasp of pain. For a moment, recovering her balance, she expected to hear a concerted burst of mocking laughter. But there was no sound. The square was as quiet as if it were deserted.

  Furiously, sensing the sly grins they were exchanging, she hobbled up a narrow side street leading to the church, and leaned against the wall to rub her ankle.

  As she was cursing her folly in ever setting foot in the place, a nearby door opened and a young woman came out. Like all the women on the island, she was dressed in black, with a black scarf covering her hair.

  If the girl had not addressed her, Diane would not have given her a second glance. But when she smiled and said a pleasant good day, she realised with a shock that this was Maria Angeletto, or Maria Sebastiani as she was now.

  "You have hurt yourself, madame?" the girl enquired.

  "It's nothing . . . just a slightly twisted ankle."

  "Won't you come into the house and rest for a moment?" Maria offered.

  Diane hesitated. A moment ago, she had wanted to leave the village with all speed. But now this chance encounter with the wife of the man she had come to see revived her curiosity.

  "Very well . . . just for a moment. Thank you." She followed Maria through the door.