"You have heard that I am married to Andria Sebas-tiani?" Maria asked, seating herself on a bench by the table.
"Yes, someone did mention it." Diane crossed her legs, and lit a cigarette. She was beginning to enjoy the situation.
"As you see, we are soon to have a child," Maria said, with a note of pride in her voice. "My husband has made this cradle. Isn't it a fine one? He is so clever with his hands, my Andria."
Scarcely able to hide her amusement Diane agreed that the cradle was a very handsome one. 'Poor Maria — little does she know that "her" Andria would never have looked at her if it had not been for me,' she thought. 'Surely she cant believe that he really cares for her? She was always plain, but at least she had a passable figure. Now she's lost even that. What a bore it must be to have to waddle about like an over-stuffed sack for months. And look at her hands, all swollen from washing and scrubbing.'
"Where is your husband today?" she asked, when Maria had made verveine, an infusion of verbena leaves.
"He has only gone up the street. He should be back in a few minutes.'" Maria paused. "I expect it was to see him that you came to the village, madame?"
Diane stiffened. What a strange remark — what did the girl mean? She couldn't possibly know — or could she? No, no, of course not
But it seemed that Maria did know. Smiling, she said placidly, "It must amuse you to recall that once you wanted to live like this, madame." She made a gesture encompassing the clean but sparsely furnished room. "No doubt you often laugh when you think of it."
Diane could hardly believe her ears. That Maria knew was shock enough. But that she should admit her knowledge so casually and good-humouredly . . . Diane set her, teeth, her whole body stiff with outrage. The girl had the insolence to speak as if what had happened, years ago, had been nothing more important than a harmless youthful calf-love.
"Ah, here comes Andria now," Maria said eagerly, as they heard the outer door open.
With an unsteady hand, Diane set aside her cup, and waited for him to come into the room and see her.
She had been so sure he would have changed. She had wanted him to be changed. Then she could have forgotten about him.
Instead, he was so little altered that it was she who felt suddenly aged.
"Diane!" His surprise was no more than that of anyone finding an unexpected guest in their home. "I heard you had come back. How are you?" He offered his hand.
She took it, forcing her mouth to put on a smile. His palm felt rougher, more calloused, than it had eight years ago. But his waist was still narrow, his jaw still clearly defined. If anything, he was more handsome now than as a youth.
Maria explained to her husband how Diane had turned her ankle and come in to rest for a few minutes. "Will you take some verveine?" Her face glowed when she looked at him.
He shook his head, frowning slightly. "I told you to rest, mon coeur. Where were you going when you met her outsider?"
"Only to the épicerie. I am quite well now," she assured him.
"You were not well this morning. You should rest. I can fetch whatever you want." He laid his hand on her shoulder, and turned to Diane again. "It's a good walk back to the Villa di Rostini. If your ankle is still painful, perhaps you would like to ride home. I'm sure Joseph Santone would be happy to lend you his mule."
"No, that wont be necessary, thank you," Diane said, tossing her cigarette into the hearth. "I must go. They will be wondering where I am. Thank you for your hospitality, Madame Sebastiani."
They did not press her to stay longer, but they went with her to the door, and watched her walk up the street to the Place d'Eglise.
Outside the village, Diane sat down on a rock. Twice before in her life, she had experienced despair — once, after her last quarrel with Andria, and again in the early hours of the morning after her wedding to Mathieu St Aubin. Now, for the third time, she was overcome by a feeling that there was no point in going on.
'If only I had waited for him to come back from Marseilles,' she thought 'If only I had not sold myself to Mathieu!'
And she wished passionately that she had never come back to Pisano. For now, just as she had never quite forgotten the meetings on the moonlit cliffs, she would never be able to forget the indifference in Andria's eyes this afternoon. Incredible as it might be, he really did love his plain wife.
Remembering how tenderly he had reproved Maria for attempting to slip out in his absence, Diane pressed her hands over her eyes. Although she tried never to think of it she knew that one day, her looks would fade, and she would no longer be desirable. When that happened, the whole meaning and purpose of her life would be lost. But for Andria and Maria, life had a different meaning, and a different purpose. For them, middle-age was not something to be feared and fought against. Time, and their children would strengthen the bond between them.
When Maria was forty, the hardest part of her life would be over, Diane thought bitterly. But for herself, and women like her, the ordeal by mirror, the fight against age with face-lifts, and massage, and rigorous dieting, would just be beginning.
And as she contemplated her future — ten, perhaps fifteen years of being beautiful, and spoiled, and envied, before the dread point of no return was reached—she knew that it was Maria who was truly the lucky one.
Next day, the Kalliste left her berth in the harbour at Ajaccio, and returned to the bay below the villa. If Julien had not suggested the probable reason why David wanted to see the Fields' work completed, Diane would have been secretly furious at having to go back to the island. She had counted on them staying in the harbour until Justine's father came out of hospital.
However, as her brother said, David wouldn't put half his men to work on the dig unless there was something in it for him. And the move did not mean she would have to suffer the relative discomfort of life at the villa. David thought it best for the two girls to continue to stay on board the yacht in order to spare Sophia too much work.
In the week that followed the yacht's return to Pisano, she saw almost nothing of David. But one afternoon, he and Captain Stirling came up to the site to see how things were progressing. Julien was lending a hand that day, and it so happened that, just as the two men came in sight, he was trying to flirt with Justine.
Ordinarily, she would have said, "Oh, Julien, not now,"' and urged him to get on with the job she had given him. His ardent glances, and exaggerated compliments, embarrassed her in front of the crew.
However, when, out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of David approaching, she did not disengage her hand, but let Julien hold it, and gave him such a dazzling smile that he promptly bent his handsome head and kissed her.
This was more, much more, than she had bargained for, and her sun-browned face became suffused with rosy colour.
"Look out — here comes David," she muttered.
Captain Stirling's blue eyes were twinkling as he came towards the young couple, but David's grey ones were icy. With the stiffest of nods, he walked past them to have a word with some of the crew. Fifteen minutes later, without speaking to Justine or Julien, he went back the way he had come.
On the day Mary Ghilardo came down to Ajaccio for a shopping spree, they all dined at an open-air restaurant on the coast road between the city and the Iles Sanguinaires, a group of rocky islets at the northern extremity of the Golfe d'Ajaccio.
The party from Kalliste (which included Captain Stirling, to make the numbers even) crossed from Pisano in the yacht's big eight-seater launch. Then, having collected Mary from the beauty parlour where she had had her hair done and changed into evening clothes, they drove out of the city. David drove the leading car, accompanied by Diane and her brother, and Captain Stirling chauffeured Mary and Justine.
The restaurant stood between the sea and an idyllic garden, made even more enchanting by garlands of coloured lights festooned between the pine trees.
Justine, who was wearing the white dress she had bought from Laura Marnier, was rather di
smayed when she found that the place had an orchestra and a dance floor.
Evidently David had ordered the food and wine in advance as, a few minutes after they had been ushered to a table, he asked Diane to dance with him. She was wearing a long dress with a white duchesse satin skirt, and a black lace bodice which accentuated the beauty of her pale, lovely neck and shoulders. The next to rise was the Captain and, as he and Mary left the table, Julien asked Justine to dance.
"I told you, I don't know how to," she said regretfully.
"It's easy. I'll show you. Don't be nervous." He took her hand, and made her go with him.
With him it was easy, she discovered. The first turn round the floor was rather agonising, but then she discovered that it wasn't really necessary to know the steps, as she had supposed. If she relaxed, and let Julien guide her, and concentrated on the rhythm of the music, the right movements seemed to come naturally.
When she returned to the table with him, the others were already seated, and Mary was choosing delicious tidbits from the hors d'oeuvres trolley.
Between the hors d'oeuvres and the smoked trout, David danced with his sister and, between the fish and the Blanc de Volatile Maréchale, he danced with Diane again.
Justine was dreading the inevitable moment when he would ask her to stand up with him, because she knew it would be impossible to relax with his arm round her.
"You seem very pleased with yourself tonight," she said to Julien, in an effort to distract herself from the ordeal ahead of her.
"Today is a good day for me," he told her, with a wink and a grin. "From today everything will be different"
Justine remembered that he had once expressed the hope that David might offer him a place in the Cassano organisation.
"You mean David has offered you a job?" she asked.
"No, no — much better than that Now I don't need a job. Grand'mere has at last agreed to sell Pisano."
"Sell Pisano?" The shock made Justine stop dead.
A couple, dancing close behind them, narrowly missed bumping into them. Julien gaily apologised, tucked Justine's hand through his arm, and led her off the floor not far from their table.
"It surprised me also," he said wryly. "I was afraid she would refuse to consider it. It has taken her more than a week to make up her mind — but at last she has done so."
"I suppose I needn't ask who's going to buy it," Justine said, in a hollow voice, as he drew out her chair for her. "The well-known entrepreneur. Monsieur David Cassano!"
"But naturally — who else? It was a lucky day for me , when I lost all my money at Cannes. I would never have seen that Pisano had commercial possibilities," said Julien, tossing back some more wine. "But David saw them immediately. He is going to make the island an exclusive resort for those who do not wish to mix with les excursionnistes.
"I see," Justine said dully. "Excuse me a moment, Julien." She pushed back her chair, and got up, and asked a passing waiter the way to the ladies' cloakroom.
When she got there, she found it was full of chattering women, so she slipped outside again, and went along a shadowy path leading through a shrubbery. She had to have five minutes alone before she could face the others without showing how upset she was.
It was dreadfully clear to her now why Madame looked as she did.
'Oh, how could you? How could you?' she exclaimed aloud, her heart wrung with pity for the old lady.
It was not Julien she was apostrophising. He would never have thought of such a scheme if it had not been dangled in front of him, tempting the selfish streak in him, suborning the best in his nature.
David was the person she blamed. He was the author of the deal. He was the one she despised.
'I thought you loved him?' a voice seemed to whisper inside her.
'I do ... I did!' she cried soundlessly. 'But I can't love a man I don't respect — and how can I respect him now? This thing he has done is unforgivable. It's mean, and greedy, and heartless. He must know what the island means to Madame di Rostini. Couldn't he have spared her this cruelty? He doesn't need any more money. He's rolling in it already. I think he's utterly despicable!'
David was alone at the table when she returned to it. When, still some distance away, she saw that he was alone there, she considered keeping out of sight until he was joined by the others. Then, squaring her shoulders, she went forward.
He saw her before she reached him, and rose to his feet "Would you care to dance, Justine?" he asked, as she came up to him.
"I'd rather not, if you don't mind," she answered frigidly.
His eyebrows went up. "Is something the matter?"
"Yes — but I doubt if it's something you'd understand." She moved past him to her chair, and sat down.
A moment later, she was on her feet again, her arm held in grip which made her wince. "If you don't care to dance, shall we stroll round the gardens?" he said silkily, his expression belying the painful vice of his fingers.
If she struggled, there would be a scene. Seething, she let him propel her away from the table.
In a far corner of the gardens, they came to an old stone wall where water dripped from the mouth of a gargoyle and splashed into a fluted basin.
David released her arm, and thrust both hands into the pockets of his dress trousers. "Now, perhaps you'll explain that remark."
Justine rubbed her bruised arm. She said, in a shaking voice, "Julien's just told me the news — that you're buying Pisano."
"So?" he said interrogatively.
"You didn't expect me to be pleased, did you?" she asked, with stinging disdain.
He said, with infuriating blandness, "No, I didn't expect you to be pleased ... or annoyed, for that matter. Perhaps I am being obtuse, but I fail to see why the sale should concern you at all."
"No, you wouldn't!" she flared hotly. "I suppose you never bother about people's feelings? Your only concern is making money. You—" She stopped, almost choking with anger.
"Oh, please, do go on," he urged. "You needn't mince words with me, you know. I'm sure some home truths will be very salutary for me. No one else has the courage to point out my failings to me."
If he had not mocked her, she might have controlled her temper. But his tone, and the curl of his mouth, were like petrol dashed on the fire of her anger and bitter disillusionment.
"Yes — you're very popular," she flung at him. "But only because you're so rich, m'sieur. This must be a great coup for you. How much are you paying for the island? Enough to ruin Julien, no doubt. But only a fraction of the profit you expect to make eventually. I suppose that's why you want our dig finished? I should have guessed it before. Some Roman remains will give the place extra cachet"
She paused, dangerously close to tears. "I don't care about that," she went on huskily. "But I do care for what you've done to Madame di Rostini. I think it's hateful... contemptible. It's ironic — everyone says that you hate your mother's people for what they did to her. But nobody seems to have noticed that you're just as unfeeling yourself."
After a pause, he said softly, "Is that all? Have you finished your indictment Miss Field?"
She nodded, her eyes full of tears which, in a moment, would spill down her cheeks.
"In that case, you will excuse me if I return to my other guests," he said, with velvet-smooth courtesy. "I suggest you stay here for a time . . . until you have composed yourself again."
He bowed, and walked away and left her.
CHAPTER SIX
AT six o'clock the next morning, Justine rang for Battista. She had never used the bell before, and was not sure if the kindly old steward would be on duty yet. But if he was not, no doubt one of the others would be.
As it turned out, Battista did answer the bell. He looked very surprised at finding her up and dressed an hour before her usual rising time.
"You wish for breakfast, mademoiselle?"
She shook her head. "No, thank you. I'm not very hungry this morning. I'll just have a cup of coffee, if ther
e's some made. Battista, I want to go to Ajaccio. Would you find out if there's anyone to take me over there?"
"Now, mademoiselle? So early?"
"Yes — if it's possible, please."
He eyed her with some curiosity. "Just as you wish, mademoiselle. I'll make enquiries for you." He bowed, and withdrew.
When he had gone, she went to the bathroom, wrung out her flannel in cold water, and pressed it against her eyes again. She hoped no one would notice the telltale pinkness of her eyelids.
It was five or six minutes before Battista came back. He said — or she thought he said — "The Captain would like to see you, mademoiselle."
"Oh . . . yes, very well," she agreed. Probably Captain Stirling wanted to know how long she would be away, in case the vedette was needed for some other purpose.
Battista led the way along the corridor, turned a corner, and knocked on a door not far from her own. Indicating that she should enter the room within, he said, "Please wait here, mademoiselle. He will come to you in a moment."
It wasn't until he had closed the door behind her that she realised she was in a bedroom. It struck her as rather odd that the Captain should have summoned her here. Then, from behind a slightly open door, came the sound of a tap being run.
'I suppose he's only just up,' she thought, and hoped he would not be annoyed at being disturbed while he was still dressing.
She was looking at an antique terrestial globe which stood on the desk below the portholes, when the bathroom door opened. She turned, and her heart gave a lurch. For it was not Angus Stirling who stood, watching her, from the threshold. It was David.
Too late to escape, she realised that what Battista must have said was not 'Captaine,' but the Corsican 'Capu' — meaning the Chief. The two words were easily confused — especially, as Battista spoke French with a strong Midi accent — and, stupidly, she had misheard him.
"I'm afraid it isn't convenient for you to take the motor-boat this morning. May I ask why you want to go to Ajaccio at this early hour?" David asked.
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