by Jess Foley
Not that she would have admitted it for a moment, her unhappiness. Faced with the evidence of Marianne’s happiness she found herself even more anxious to conceal the reality of her own state. Over the years she had never admitted to Marianne the existence of the rift between herself and Alfredo – though Marianne would have to have been blind not to realize that it was there, even though she was unaware of the extent of it. Even when Alfredo had denied Blanche visits to her friends she had made excuses for him. The result was that she had given her marriage a façade that bore little relation to the substance beyond. And while Marianne and Gentry were almost certainly aware by now that there were problems in Blanche’s marriage, they knew nothing of Alfredo’s gambling, the losses he was incurring, the continual eroding away of the material of their livelihood; they knew nothing of his bouts of drunkenness, his intolerance, his passionate jealousies.
Looking at the clock on the mantelpiece, Blanche said with a shake of her head: ‘Half-past four. I must get back to Adriana – and to make sure I’m ready for dinner.’
‘Is Alfredo expecting you?’ Marianne got up from the sofa.
‘Let’s say that he expects me to be there,’ Blanche replied quickly, ‘– whenever he wants me.’
Immediately she had spoken she felt that she had said too much. Marianne said nothing, but was looking at her with sympathy – a look that Blanche could not suffer. Blanche remained standing there, as if undecided whether to go or to stay. Marianne said:
‘Listen, on Boxing Day we’re going to the opera house to see Aida. Madame Karalech is singing. We’ve got a box there. Why don’t you and Alfredo join us? We can have supper afterwards, the four of us.’
Blanche said, ‘I remember we saw Madame Karalech in Palermo, Alfredo and I, when we were first married.’
‘Will you come? Ask Alfredo. It would be lovely if we could all go together.’
Blanche nodded. ‘Oh, it would.’ She was sure that Alfredo would not agree. Nevertheless she said, ‘I’ll ask him. I’ll let you know.’
‘If not, perhaps we can meet for dinner over the Christmas season.’
‘Yes, I hope so.’
‘And I do so want to see Adriana. What a shame you couldn’t bring her today. Still, you’re living here now, so there will be plenty of opportunities. I’m sure we’ll see quite a change in her since we saw her last.’
‘Oh, yes. She’s a tiny, solemn little creature.’ Blanche smiled. ‘But she’s beautiful.’
‘It’s my one regret,’ Marianne said, lowering her eyes,’ – that Gentry and I have no children.’ She sighed. ‘I don’t know whether it’s me or …’
She let her voice fade, and Blanche, looking at her, could see what the words had cost her. And, knowing Marianne, she was sure that it was unlikely that she had made any such admission to anyone before.
Marianne raised her eyes to Blanche. ‘Still,’ she said, with a little smile, ‘we’re young, we’re strong, we’re healthy. There’s still plenty of time.’
‘Yes, of course.’
And it was as if Marianne’s words had freed Blanche from her own self-imposed restraint, for suddenly, reaching out, she took Marianne’s hands, gripped them.
‘Why am I pretending, Marianne?’ she said. ‘Why with you, of all people? I hate him! I hate him! I can’t stand to live with him another moment.’ She stood there, holding Marianne’s hands while the tears welled up in her eyes, spilled over and ran down her cheeks.
They stood holding one another. After a time Blanche grew calmer, and Marianne asked:
‘What are you going to do about it?’
‘There’s only one thing I can do,’ Blanche replied. ‘I must leave him. I must just take Adriana and go.’
‘Where? Back to England?’
‘Yes. I’ll find work there. I can support us both.’ She paused. ‘The trouble is, there’s no one there for me any more.’
‘What about Mr Marsh? He’d help you, wouldn’t he?’
‘Oh, yes, I’m sure he would.’ Blanche shook her head. ‘But how could I go to him for help?’
Marianne said, ‘Well – if you decide to go, then you know I’ll help in any way I can. Gentry and me – you can depend on us, you know that.’
‘Yes, I know. Thank you.’
And, Blanche was determined, if things got any worse then that was what she must do. And if she still did not have enough money then she would have to ask Marianne and Gentry to lend her what she needed. It might be the only way.
Chapter Forty
Alfredo came in late for dinner that evening, sat uncommunicative at the table and left again soon afterwards so Blanche had no real opportunity to tell him of her visit to Marianne and of Marianne’s invitation to the opera. He was off to the casino, she assumed. For how much longer, she wondered, would he be able to hang on to their few remaining assets? With some irony she reminded herself that if she was dissatisfied with their present home in Messina, she might find that they were in an even worse situation come a year or two. The only certain thing about Alfredo’s gambling was that it always eventually ended with loss.
What time he returned from his club she had no idea; he did not awaken her. He joined her at breakfast the next morning – complaining of a headache and yawning over his newspaper. Knowing that she must have an answer for Marianne, she waited for the right opportunity to bring up the matter of their meeting. She did not need to wait for the right moment, though; Alfredo himself brought up the subject.
She had said to him that she wanted to go into the town to buy some Christmas gifts, and asked if she might have some money for the purpose. In response he took out his wallet, counted out some notes and grudgingly pushed them across the table towards her. ‘I thought you’d already gone out shopping,’ he said. ‘Didn’t you go yesterday?’
No, she said, she did not.
‘Then where did you go to in the rain in such a hurry?’ he said, and the tone of his voice and the look he gave her up under his eyebrows told her plainly that the matter of her departure from the house had been on his mind.
Angered by his question and its implication, Blanche said:
‘If you’re so intent on watching my every move I wonder you don’t get your spy to follow me. I’m sure Edgardo wouldn’t object.’
Alfredo gave a shrug. ‘Perhaps I shall.’
The scene having taken such a turn for the worse, Blanche tried to recover some of the lost ground. In a conciliatory tone she said:
‘I only went to see Marianne. I just wanted to call on her briefly, to say hello, and to let her know that we had arrived safely.’
‘You didn’t waste any time, did you?’
‘Alfredo, isn’t it natural that I should want to go to see her? We grew up together, you know that. You know how close we are.’
‘You mean you and Marianne?’
‘Of course I mean me and Marianne. Who else would I mean?’
Alfredo disregarded the question. ‘Was her husband there?’ he asked.
‘No, he was out. Why?’
He simply looked at her for a moment in silence, then picked up his coffee cup and drank down the sweet liquid in one swallow. As he set down the cup Blanche said:
‘She’s invited us to the opera the day after Christmas.’
He nodded. ‘Boxing Day, as you English call it.’
‘Yes.’ Blanche nodded and waited for him to go on, but he did not.
‘May we go?’ she said. ‘Paola Karalech is singing in Aida. Marianne and Gentry have a box. And we can all go to supper afterwards. Oh, it would be such a lovely evening – and I’d so like to spend some time with them. May we go?’
‘– No, I’m sorry.’
As she gazed at him in dismay he shook his head. ‘You’ll have to see them another time. I have other plans for Christmas. I want to invite some friends here on the 26th.’
‘Well – in that case, may we invite Marianne and Gentry for dinner on some other evening?’
He
did not answer for a moment, and then he said:
‘We’ll see.’
And she suddenly realized that he was punishing her. He was punishing her for having refused him when he had come to her bedside.
So be it. She would not beg him. She gave a little nod of understanding and went back to her breakfast, although her appetite had quite gone.
Later that morning, after sending a message with Anita to Marianne regretting that they would not be able to join her and Gentry on Boxing Day, she and Betta and Adriana went shopping. It was a bright dry day, and the streets of Messina – so much narrower than those of Palermo – were crowded with Christmas shoppers. For Alfredo she bought some tobacco and a silk necktie. Then, while Betta led Adriana to another part of the street, she went into a toyshop where she bought for the child a little doll in a cradle (Adriana could not have enough dolls), a colourfully illustrated story book of La Bella Addormentata nel Bosco (Adriana spoke Italian – not to mention the Sicilian dialect – as naturally as she spoke English) and a drawing pad and a little box of crayons. Afterwards she bought little gifts for the servants, Betta, Anita, and Anna the cook. For Edgardo she bought nothing. For Marianne she bought a box of lace handkerchiefs, and for Gentry a silk cravat. She also bought various coloured papers and baubles and a small, rather lopsided fir tree. She and Betta and Adriana returned to the villa on the Via Imera loaded down with the purchases. The excursion had been a positive one, though, and Blanche felt bright and buoyant from its effects.
During the afternoon (Alfredo was at his office in the city) Blanche and Adriana made trimmings from the coloured paper – yards of brightly coloured paper chains which they hung from the pictures and along the mantelpiece. The fir tree they set in a little tub of earth – which Betta brought in from a nearby park – and then decorated it with the baubles and with decorations they had made from the paper.
When their work was finished she and Adriana stood and gazed around them in delight and satisfaction. In her earlier years Adriana had been too young to appreciate the magic of Christmas but she was old enough now, and was much affected with the excitement of it all.
The next day, Christmas Eve, Blanche and Adriana spent the morning in the kitchen where they worked with Anna helping to prepare the Christmas fare. Alfredo had left the villa that morning – to work, Blanche assumed – and after luncheon, acting on a sudden whim and the need to get out into the air, she got Adriana into her coat and hat and, taking her by the hand, left the house to see something of the ancient city. And, wonder of wonders, Edgardo was not there to witness their departure, which, Blanche was sure, would be for him a matter of some regret. But let him fret, she said to herself with satisfaction; let him wonder where she and Adriana had gone.
From the Via Varese they took a cab past the university to the main part of the centre where Blanche bought an inexpensive little illustrated English guide book. With its help, she and Adriana spent some pleasant hours wandering the streets in the mild afternoon air.
Blanche had read that in the past the city had suffered from a lack of society and a lack of concessions to society, and as a result had not been a popular resort for tourists. The situation was changing swiftly now, though. There were many tourists visible, she found – and many of them busy with their Kodaks. And, certainly, she soon discovered, there was no shortage of interesting and beautiful sights for new arrivals – herself and Adriana included – to see, although few of the artefacts were as old as the city itself. Messina had been destroyed so many times that few of its ancient sights and treasures remained. Over the centuries it had been ravaged by the most devastating wars, plagues and earthquakes, but from each disaster the city had miraculously risen, its survivors picking themselves up, burying their dead and rebuilding their houses, their churches. To Blanche, reading of the city’s past, it seemed to her to have a wondrous kind of indomitability of spirit. It had faced up to all the calamities with which man and nature had been able to assault it, and it had withstood them all.
Together, and enjoying the comradeship, she and Adriana wandered through the museum, looking at the paintings and the sculptures. Afterwards they strolled along the narrow streets, pausing once to drink hot chocolate and to eat wickedly rich little pastries at a small café before going out again into the December sunshine. There on the street they saw a young boy in a scarlet satin tunic performing impressive contortions, standing on his hands and bending his lithe young body backwards until his feet almost touched the ground. As passers-by paused to watch and then applaud, the boy’s smiling father moved about with his open cap in his hand. Blanche gave Adriana a coin to give for the boy’s performance and then they moved on again. ‘Are you tired, sweetheart?’ ‘No, no, Mama.’
Blanche was aware of a light-hearted atmosphere in the air as all around them the citizens of the town hurried about completing their business in preparation for the coming holiday, moving in and out of the shops on final shopping excursions or, their work finished for the day, getting down to the serious business of beginning their revels.
Beside the Duomo Blanche and Adriana stood and looked at the beautiful Fountain of Orion while inside the ancient cathedral itself they gazed in awe at the rows of magnificent columns. It being Christmas Eve there were many who had come there to worship, to light candles and say prayers. Blanche joined them. On her marriage to Alfredo she had, as a concession to him, embraced the Catholic faith, and now she and Adriana each put a few centimes into the offering box and lit candles and offered up prayers. Sadly, Blanche felt that the little prayer she offered up – that she and Alfredo could find some kind of peace that would eventually save them – had no hope of fulfilment.
Outside the Duomo again they gave a few centimes to a blind beggar who sat on the steps, and then set off again, wandering along the Corso Vittorio Emanuele. To their right beyond the shabby customs houses and the low buildings of the market lay the port and the sickle-shaped tongue of land that held the lighthouse; beyond these the waters of the Messina Straits stretched away to the distant shadow of Reggio di Calabria on the opposite shore. The left of the corso was flanked by a uniform row of palaces with soaring colonnades, magnificent still in their grandeur, but squalid now from the constant assault from the rigours of the harsh and humble life of the port.
Reaching the area of the Palazzo Reale Blanche hesitated, briefly considering going on to call again on Marianne. But there was no time. They must start back. Besides which, Adriana was growing tired.
They took an omnibus along the Corso Cavour, and not too long afterwards were back at the villa.
That evening there was no difficulty in getting Adriana off to bed and shortly after Blanche had returned downstairs from tucking her in, Alfredo returned.
Over dinner he said that he had invited a business associate and his wife for dinner on the 26th, and asked Blanche to make the necessary preparations. She said she would, adding that she had sent a message to Marianne declining her invitation. He merely nodded. A little later, as she anticipated he would, he got dressed and went out for the evening, as usual not saying where he was going or at what time he would return. Blanche did not care; she was glad of his absence, relieved to know that he was no longer in the house.
She spent the evening alone, first packing the gifts she had bought, and then trying to read. From time to time she would hear the sound of revellers going by on the street. Once, moving to the window, she drew back the curtain and looked out at them as they went straggling by, laughing and singing, the intermittent cries of ‘Buon natale’ ringing out in the cold night air.
That night as she lay awake in the silence of her room she thought back to her meeting with Marianne, and how she had unburdened herself to her – something she had never intended to do. And in doing so she had wept – wept not only at the misery she felt in her situation, but from frustration at her inability to change it. For she was sure now that it would never change.
Christmas Day dawned chilly and dull wit
h a light rain falling.
Soon after breakfast Blanche discreetly sought out Betta, Anita and Anna and gave to them the little gifts she had bought for them. She was touched by the warmth and sincerity of their thanks, while her happiness at bringing them each a little pleasure was blunted by the sadness of her conviction that come next Christmas not one of them would be serving in the household. At the rate that Alfredo’s fortunes were diminishing, by the time next Christmas came it was unlikely that she and Alfredo would have any servants at all.
Alfredo remained at home for most of the early part of the day, and for Adriana’s sake appeared for a while to make an attempt to relax. Anita had lit a fire in the sitting room and Adriana sat on the rug before it and played with her doll and cradle, her story book and her crayons and drawing pad. Delighted with her gifts she had thanked Blanche warmly and now went to Alfredo where he sat in the opposite chair. Reaching out to him she put her arms around his neck.
‘Thank you, Papa.’
As Alfredo warmly returned Adriana’s embrace he glanced up and caught Blanche’s gaze over the top of the child’s head. Their glances held for a moment and then his eyes fell away and he patted Adriana on the shoulder and released her. Blanche, also lowering her gaze, thought how sad, how strange it was, the obvious restraint that was within him.
At luncheon, which was accompanied by a mixture of Sicilian and English traditions, Blanche tried to create something of a spirit of brightness and – for Adriana’s sake – some feeling of camaraderie. Whether her efforts worked as far as the child went, however, she could not tell. She doubted it. Alfredo made very little effort towards creating any kind of jollity on which they might build and Blanche soon found her own light laughter sounding hollow in her ears, while her attempts to bring him into any casual, everyday conversation very swiftly sounded meaningless and false.
