by Norrey Ford
When the sad little tune had finished,, Jan looked up and saw Bianca leaning against the doorpost. Tears ran down her face, but she seemed unaware of them.
‘You’re unhappy too, Jan? Somehow I thought you were.’ Bianca crossed the lovely white floor and flung herself down on her bed, flat on her back and staring up at the ceiling. ‘Six months! This morning, before you came, it was for ever. So if Marco thinks six months is going to end our love, he’s mistaken. We can wait.’
‘You’re not angry with Marco?’
I could kill him—the horrible things he said to Paolo! I didn’t mean I don’t hate waiting, because I do. Every day will seem like a year. I meant Marco hasn’t won. We shall play the waiting game, and we shall win in the end. I have won, already. I am free of Rafaello, and I can marry Paolo. We shall have Christmas in our own apartment.’
Jan plucked a few strings, making an ugly sound. ‘You’re lucky, then. For me, it is for ever, I think. I recovered from my first eternal love, quite suddenly. One day it was there, and the next—gone. How can that happen, I wonder?’
‘Someone else comes along.’ Bianca sat up suddenly, eyes wide with fear. ‘You mean, someone else for Paolo? He travels, he meets people—they have lovely girls in those offices, you know. He meets them all the time. You don’t think he’ll fall out of love with me?’
‘Trust him, Bianca. What’s love, if you can’t trust? My problem is, where am I to sleep tonight? I’ve been using your bed.’
Bianca wiped her tears away on a corner of the sheet.
‘There’s a guest room always ready. Francesca will move your things. Why are you packed, so soon?’
‘I told you—tomorrow I go back to England. Already I feel sort of apart from all of you. I love your mamma, she’s so sweet and gentle.’
‘I know. She’s mad, isn’t she? I mean, all that about my father still being in the house, and forgetting everything one tells her. It’s awfully weird to live with all the time. And what will Marco do about her, when I’m gone? I hadn’t thought of that.’
‘Marco thought of it.’
‘He would. That man forgets nothing. He could get those nun friends of hers to come and live here, perhaps. But he’d hate having them around. They just sit there, with small smiles and their hands folded, and are so obviously terrified of him, he says. Or why don’t you stay? She likes you, and you’re good for her. She’s been so much better since you came. Oh, please do, Jan.’
‘That was Marco’s solution, but it won’t work. The Signora doesn’t need a qualified nurse, only an understanding companion. All my training would be wasted, if I didn’t use it to nurse people who are really ill. I explained all that to your brother.’
‘But he would pay you far more than you could earn anywhere else.’
Jan sighed. How wealth-orientated these Cellinis were! ‘Bianca, does it ever enter your head that there are things which are more important than money? Things which can’t be bought?’
‘It is entering my head that money is trouble. Trouble when you haven’t any, and trouble when you have too much. And one can never be sure whether one’s friends are truly friends and like you for yourself. I wish I knew more people like you, but I never get a chance to meet them. I will, when I’m married to Paolo. He and his friends belong to the real world, like you. And I shall belong, too, when I don’t have the Cellini money round my neck like a millstone. Jan, what do you suppose Marco meant when he told Mamma there was a girl who could have made a human being out of him again, as he used to be? Is he in love?’
‘I believe so. I think there is a woman he loves who won’t marry him; and that he intends never to marry anybody else—that is, not for love. He might—he might ask a girl to marry him for convenience’s sake, and if it suited him.’
Bianca shook her head violently, making the silken hair swing out. ‘He would never do that. Never. Why should he? What sort of convenience?’
‘Someone suitable, to look after his mother, for example?’
‘He wouldn’t be that crazy. He can afford the best nurses in Italy, or, as you say, a suitable companion to live with her. No, if my brother says he’s in love, he’s in love. And he’ll marry for that, or not at all.’
Jan’s heart beat painfully. Why had she raised this subject, except for the eternal need of the lover to talk about the loved one, however much it hurt? Bianca had a naive confidence in her brother, and it would be wrong to upset it by betraying him. Let her keep her romantic notions while she was so young and inexperienced. Time enough, in the future, for her to discover her brother to be a much more hard-headed and less idealistic character than she’d thought.
‘One of us ought to go to the Signora,’ she reminded Bianca. ‘This has been a difficult day for her. She doesn’t always sleep during her siesta, and likes someone to read to her. Will you go?’
The girl pulled herself up, with a groan. ‘We can’t unload our burdens on you any longer, can we? This six months is going to be deadly dull, but at least I have something to look forward to, now. Do you think me wicked, to hate this place so much? It’s beautiful, but it can be a prison, Jan. Be thankful you’re free, like the birds, to leave it when you want to go.’
Jan rang for Francesca, and supervised the moving of her things into a guest room. This was very different from the bright modern suite Bianca occupied. Cool, austere, furnished in dark woods exquisitely carved. The long curtains were of rose-coloured embossed velvet, the pelmets gathered together in swags supported by gilded cherubim. The four-poster bed had a heavy canopy, the headboard was carved in high relief with a scene of horsemen and chariots. The lamps were of wrought iron.
‘You like it?' Francesca asked anxiously. ‘It is only for one night. I wish you were not leaving us, signorina.’
‘Thank you, Francesca. You’ve been kind and helpful, and I shan’t forget you, or any of all this. The Villa Tramonti will be often in my mind. Not that I like this room particularly. It will be rather like sleeping in a church, don’t you think?’
‘It is old and they say all this is valuable. The carvings are by a fifteenth-century artist—people come to look at them. But you should see the Signore’s suite, that’s truly beautiful. Not like this, old and cold. He loves the light, and warm colours. It’s a pity I can’t show it to you.’
‘Perhaps I’ll come again.’ One says these things, when one’s heart is aching. They mean nothing. But Jan wanted to be alone in this strange, silent room, and examine her thoughts.
Suppose—just suppose—she had been wrong about Marco?
Dinner was late because the Signora slept a long time and Marco gave orders that she was not to be disturbed. Then it was too chilly to eat on the terrace. A cool breeze blew off the sea, and with the sun gone, an outdoor meal was uninviting. So, after all, Jan’s last dinner at the Villa was in the long formal dining room, under the crystal-cut chandeliers and under the eyes of the portraits lining the walls.
Marco was the perfect host tonight. With formal charm, he took Jan on a conducted tour of the pictures. ‘Not the best artists, but not bad. This was my grandmother. As you see, a beauty. In her day, Italy had a king and a court. This is the dress she wore at the wedding of one of the princesses.’
‘Interesting,’ Jan murmured politely. A chapter was closing in her life. A short chapter, but full of importance; one which might have changed her entire future, had she been able to make any other decision but the one she had made two nights ago. In time, all this would fade into a past as remote as the world of the painted men and women on the walls. But there was the time between to be dreaded. The struggle for a personal peace, which could only be born within herself.
Until the talk with Bianca, she could have won through to that peace, given time. But now there was that tormenting, never-to-be-answered question—had she been wrong about Marco? What if she had been the woman he loved? What if, through lack of understanding, she had refused to marry him for the wrong reason?
She w
atched him discreetly during the long meal. He gave no sign. Never did he allow his eyes to meet hers. He seemed happy, released from the worries of Bianca’s disappearance. With laughter, he described to his sister his efforts to find her; his exploratory visits to their relatives which had led him into so many evasive conversations.
Bianca, too, seemed happy to be reconciled to her family, and laughed aloud at Marco’s descriptions. The Signora smiled from one to the other, serene now and remembering names and places as she could on her good days.
The waters will close over my head, Jan thought, and tomorrow evening it will be as if I had never entered the Villa Tramonti. For them—but not for me. I love him and I hate him—and I shall never know which is which.
After coffee, Marco disappeared as usual, to smoke a cigar on the terrace. Bianca sat by her mother, and presently embarked on a long monologue about Paolo’s merits and charm. Jan listened lazily, her attention only half engaged, and was startled when Marco touched her shoulder. She had not heard him come in.
‘Too cold outside for you tonight, but find a wrap and come into my sitting-room. We need to talk about this preposterous journey of yours. We shall have to make an early start in the morning.’
Jan looked around Marco’s own special sitting-room with interest and approval. This was how a man’s room should look, an extension of his personality. She liked the deep white carpet, the comfortable leather chairs, the wall lined with books. There were several pieces of modern sculpture, and some modern paintings which were worth a closer look. It was a room for leisure, but for work too. Under a wide window she saw a vast desk covered in scarlet leather, and on it three telephones, black, white, and red. A stainless steel trolley carried suspended files in black leather, and on the wall there hung a large map of Europe, marked with red-topped pins.
‘You’re giving my room a critical look,’ he smiled. ‘Are you thinking it is much different from the rest of the villa?’
‘I’m thinking it must be very like its owner.’ I am printing it on my mind, she admitted to herself, so I can re-create it whenever I want. And I am a fool to do so. I should be planning to forget, not to remember.
He invited her to sit in one of the deep black leather chairs, and himself took a seat at his desk. ‘The train times are ridiculous. You’ll be travelling all night, with a Channel crossing to face in the morning.’
‘That’s right. It’s cheaper that way. I don’t waste money. Don’t worry, I shall sleep in the train and I’m never seasick.’
‘As you wish. That means you leave Rome at—’ his fingers flicked over the timetables, then suddenly he pushed them all away. ‘It won’t do, Jan. You’ll be travelling nearly forty hours. I hope you have first-class reservations.’
She smiled, with a touch of mischief. ‘Second. I’m a working girl, remember?’
‘At least let me change your tickets. Or better still, let me fix you up with a flight from Rome direct to London.’
‘Thank you, no.’
‘Please, Jan. I owe you that much, for all you’ve done here.’
‘All I’ve done? According to you, I have interfered, I’ve been disloyal, I’ve kept secrets I should not have kept. I borrowed your car without permission. One way and another, I’ve been a pretty fair nuisance. And let me remind you, you’ve already done a lot for me, apart from the original rescue. I will accept nothing more from you.’
‘Tell me why?’
‘Are you sure you mean that?’
‘Yes. Suddenly I am poison to you. We were good friends, part of the time.’
‘Very well. I won’t accept another lira from you because I now know how you regard anyone who conceivably might be trying to cash in on the Cellini money. After listening to you this afternoon, giving that disgusting performance with poor Bianca and Paolo, I know what you think of people like me. That boy genuinely loves Bianca, he wants to marry her just as if she were an ordinary human being; and she loves him in the same way. But you—you’ve got to treat the whole affair as if it were one enormous confidence trick. And even when you finally agree to their marrying after six months’ probation, you’ve got to make sure he never touches a penny of your hoarded gold; you’re so determined on that, that you even plan to cut Bianca off from it. I don’t happen to think money of your kind makes for happiness, but Bianca has never learnt to live without it, and it will go hard with her at first. But do you care? Oh, no, not Marco. Isn’t there enough to go round, that you’re so eager to cut her off?’
Her anger had swelled as she gave voice to all the unhappiness of the afternoon, till she ended what started as a simple statement as a tirade. Lord, I sound like a fishwife, she thought with shame, but it had to be said.
He was staring at her in amazement. ‘Is that what you think of me? A miser, a grasping animal, not caring how I hurt others in my greed for money?’
‘I didn’t, until I heard you this afternoon.’ Suddenly her anger collapsed. She said hopelessly, ‘What else could I think?’
‘You could perhaps have decided that girls like Bianca, who have lived a sheltered life, need some sort of protection. Look,’ he swept his arm across the wide desk, ‘tomorrow morning, every detail about that young man will be on this desk—his home, family, prospects, character, everything. Yes, even his love life, if he has one. We are nothing if not thorough in our business. He has been selected for special attention, special promotion. He has brains and ability. But what else, Jan? Marrying the boss’s sister can be a good route to the top for an ambitious man. I had to make sure of his true intentions.’
She gripped the arms of her chair. ‘You mean, it’s nothing more than a test? No more than that? You didn’t mean that part about cutting her off from the family?’
‘Could I do that to my sister? If Paolo still wants Bianca in six months’ time, they will marry with my blessing and he will become part of the family. As her husband, he will take his proper place in the management as soon as he can take the responsibility. If I’m satisfied with the reports I get, his promotion will start at once. Don’t you see, I dare not risk a girl like Bianca being exploited by a fortune-hunter? Once I’m satisfied, she’ll have no grumble about my treatment of my brother-in-law.’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t understand. You are a difficult and devious person, Marco. One could never come to the end of trying to know you.’
He said, with a pretence at petulance, ‘Bernini understood. So did Mamma.’
‘Ah yes, I saw they approved. I see now why they did. They have lived in your world and know about its ways. I thought it was because everything Marco does is perfect in their eyes.’
He laughed at that. ‘What? After you’d heard the pair of them scolding me for the fiasco of the Alberghi affair?’
‘That was embarrassing for me. I shouldn’t have been there. They shouldn’t have done it, in the presence of a stranger.’
There was a silence. She heard him sigh lightly. Then, pulling up a chair to face hers, he took her hands between his.
‘Jan, look at me. Two days ago I asked you to marry me. Do you remember?’
‘One doesn’t forget a thing like that. I shall always remember.’
‘Unhappily for me, you preferred your career. You made that very clear. But I want you to know that a man never regards the woman he loves as a stranger.’ Jan began to tremble. She tried to speak, but words would not come. Time ceased. Slowly, she raised her eyes to meet his.
‘Love?’ Her voice quivered. ‘You didn’t speak of love.’
‘Does a man invite a woman to become his wife, unless he loves her? I thought in your country you believed in marrying for love. I thought you would understand.’
Tears trembled on her lashes. ‘Oh, Marco, I was such a fool. I thought you’d never be able to marry such an ordinary girl, from an ordinary sort of family. No dowry or anything like that. I thought you couldn’t possibly want me for a real wife.’
‘Then why on earth did you suppose I asked you? Jan
, there’s something behind all this. You’re an intelligent girl. So how could you believe I didn’t mean exactly what I said?’
‘It was the Alberghi affair. You were so downright about who married whom, and the joining of great estates and fortunes, and properly arranged marriages—it was all new to me. How was I to know nothing of that applied to you? I imagined you’d be looking for a girl with a title, or vast fortunes; a father-in-law with a great commercial empire. I never saw myself in that context at all.’
‘So?’ His dark eyes questioned her.
‘I thought you wanted someone to look after your mother, mostly.’
‘But I spoke of a family—children. At least I think I did.’
‘I know.’ She was crying openly now. ‘That’s what made it so awful!’
He took out a fine linen handkerchief and blotted away the tears tenderly. ‘Another thing I’m not good at—proposing marriage to the girl I love. I seem to have made a pretty grim mess of it, don’t I?’
She gave a shuddering sigh, and blinked away the last of the tears. ‘You never said about loving me. That was the trouble. You said you were rich, and could give me things. And money doesn’t count at all—not with loving. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cry. I feel so terrible about not understanding everything about you. I kept hating you, and loving you at the same time, and being so mixed up.’
‘Loving me? You did say that? Is there some hope for me, then? Come, cara, please stop crying. It’s my fault. Let us wipe out the last two days and start all over again. Let’s begin where I fell in love with you.’
‘I can’t believe you ever did. Mostly you were scolding me.’
‘I? What nonsense! Do you know you’re the only woman in my whole life who ever dared disagree with me, and tell me I was wrong? Do I remember complaining to you that all the girls I knew were exactly the same little dears, turned out by the dozen in the same pattern?’
‘I remember your saying so. Do you mean nobody ever told you you were talking rubbish, or that you’d made a mistake?’
