A Growing Moon

by Jane Arbor

  ‘Though by his reckoning, mightn’t that add up to loving you in his fashion?’

  She shook her head. ‘Not with him. I’ve been just part of the furnishing of his scene. Besides, a woman always knows when she is loved.’

  ‘Does she? Always? I’d doubt that very much,’ said Cesare. ‘You could go on hoping.’

  It wasn’t until she was alone that, ag hast, she realised the import of that. She knew now she had told Cesare about Trevor’s proposal

  because she had wanted to put the record straight about herself and Trevor. So what had she said, or rather, failed to say, which had left him thinking that, on her side, she was in love with Trevor; was still ‘hoping’?

  Instead of telling Cesare that she knew Trevor didn’t love her, it would have been so easy to say, ‘We don’t love each other enough.’ So why by some quirk of thought or intention, hadn’t she sai d it? Mentally, she rehearsed ways of bringing up the subject again; ways of telling Cesare that Trevor meant no more to her than she did to him. But even in rehearsal all the words sounded too bald, too pointed. And anyway, as she remembered she had thought before, what did it matter to Cesare whether she had hopes of a future with Trevor—or hadn’t? It had only been his innate need to analyse people’s motives —which perhaps lent him power with them—that had wanted to know.

  The next time he had friends to dinner at the Palazzo he rather unnecessarily asked if she were free to join them, and of course she was.

  ‘Don’t dress,’ he said. ‘The men are only business cronies, but one of them who is married, Enrico Rienzi, will bring his wife, who always complains if she hasn’t another woman for company while we talk shop. So will you come? ’

  Dinah was relieved that that sounded as if Francia Lagna would not be there. She didn’t quite know how to interpret ‘Don’t dress’, so she chose black-and-white—a sunray pleated skirt with a creamy deep-cuffed silk shirt worn above a belt of black and white plaited leather. Signora Rienzi, (‘call me Carla’), a plump young woman in her early thirties, was in even less formal dress of a pink linen trouser suit and clump-heeled sandals on bare feet.

  ‘You see what I mean?’ she demanded plaintively of Dinah when the men, all of them connected with films, went through the minimum of social attentions over the aperitifs, before plunging into the deeps of technical jargon and problems ov er dinner. ‘Enrico says to me, “Why do you come with me to business meals? If you do not

  like to hear me arranging our good future, why do you not go to bed with a book?” But I say to him, “And is then our marriage, not yet a year old, an affair of my bed alone with a book?’ So I come with him, though I am always bored, and in return I insist he takes me somewhere gay and expensive on at least one night a week. Which he does, knowing how I can sulk when I am not pleased,’ she concluded with some satisfaction.

  Dinah did see what she meant. The men’s talk was almost beyond any lay understanding, and they barely acknowledged Dinah’s and Signora Rienzi’s leaving the table at the end of dinner by rising per -functorily from their chairs before resuming whatever argument was then in progress.

  Over coffee in the salotto Carla Rienzi jerked her head in the direction of the dining-room. ‘They are at odds, those others, over more than their camera angles and their projections and their lightings,’ she told Dinah. ‘One of the bones they tear between them is the matter of Francia Lagna—the Principessa Lagna. You have met her, of course?’

  On Dinah’s saying she had, Carla went on, ‘Enrico will not have it that she can act. Bernini says, “She

  has a beautiful face and body, but -------------- ” I think Pedro

  Luiz is neutral. It is Sorensen, the Swede, and Cesare who believe in her talent and insist she must be developed and groomed at all costs.’

  Dinah nodded, ‘Yes, Signor Vidal told me once he thought she was bound for stardom. But she ha sn’t been in any films yet, has she?’

  ‘No. They count on her title and her looks to launch her in the big way. Sorensen wants to take her to Sweden or at least to Rome. But she has her own reasons for remaining in Venice—and her hopes of Cesare not the lea st of them, one hears.’

  ‘Is her home here in Venice?’ Dinah asked.

  ‘Oh no. She is Sicilian, and a princess only by out worn title, not by wealth. She stays now with a rich uncle, a retired silk merchant

  who has a villa on the banks of the Brenta, and of course it would do much for her own fortunes if she could capture Cesare Vidal, whether or not she ever makes the film scene.

  Myself, I think she feels she would do better by going with Sorensen. But he is married and loves his wife.

  And two stones to one bird is a poor bargain ---------------------- ’

  Carla Rienzi stopped and giggled. ‘Do you not ex press it the other way about—one stone to two birds? Marriage with Cesare and film stardom!’

  Dinah’s wishful thinking could not resist the comment, ‘How hopeful is she that he will ask her to marry him?’

  Carla shrugged. ‘As hopeful, one supposes, as any of us can afford to be when we have chosen the man we want. If we are clever, we get; if we are too clever or not clever at all, we do not. But I should think Francia Lagna will not ma ke many mistakes.’ ‘She i s certainly very beautiful and p oised,’ Dinah’s honesty conceded.

  ‘And very sure of her success with men Which makes one wonder why she resents even the most ordinary of females who cross her path. Secretaries, file clerks, continuity girls, all of them harmless enough. But she greets them all with the arched back and wreathing neck of a pussy-cat on guard.’ Carla paused to consider Dinah thoughtfully. ‘Considering your position here in Cesare’s house, signorina, it is more wonder still that she tolerates you!’

  ‘Well, we have met very seldom, and she probably appreciates that Signor Vidal asked me to stay after I was burned out of my rented apartment,’ said Dinah, giving nothing away.

  ‘Or, more likely, Cesare has dared her to suppose there is anything to suspect of your relationship, and she knows better than to cross him by appearing to think otherwise,’ replied Carla, evidently to her own satisfaction, since, to Dinah’s relief, she pursued the subject no further.

  That was the first of two dinner-parties to which Cesare invited Dinah that week. On the second evening the Princess was among his guests, as were the wives of two of the men who were there. A third

  man came alone, and was partnered with Dinah at the dinner-table.

  At that party the men were more attentive to the ladies, possibly because there were more of them, possibly because, in any mixed company, Princess Lagna was the kind of woman who would never be ignored. But in the main it was a dinner of business associates, and much of the talk was of business matters.

  The men, it appeared, were interested in buying a chain of small tourist hotels which was about to come on to the market. In the course of the discussion someone suggested that as some of them had lost reputation lately, the price asked for the chain might be very attractive.

  ‘Reputation for what? Service? Cleanliness? The menus? What?’ It was Cesare who put the question.

  ‘I don’t know the details. It’s just a word that is going round. And it doesn’t apply to all of them,’ the other man said.

  ‘Which, then?’

  The man named four of the seven establishments involved. Of the four Dinah recognised two as middle-priced hotels to which Plenair sometimes sent clients. The man went on, if it’s true, and the chain goes to aucti on, it could keep the bidding favourably low.’

  ‘And it could work the other way. If the standards have dropped too far, having bought, we could find ourselves with no bargain at all,’ put in another of the guests.

  ‘We should only move on the results of confidential reports, of course,’ said Cesare.

  ‘Professional reports?’

  ‘Of the premises and so on, yes. But it occurs to me that for the really valuable and honest assessment, we could do worse than look to th
e actual users of the places—the ordinary clients.’

  The first man laughed. ‘And how do you propose to get those, amigo mio?’ he queried. ‘Station your self in the foyer with a clipboard of questions — “Per favore, signore, signora, how have you dined to night? How have you been served?” You would be popu lar with the management, I must say!’

  Cesare laughed easily with him, but his own wife scolded, ‘Do not exaggerate, Bertholde! Cesare is right. It is we, the customers, who know best what is service and what is food, and know which place we shall not patro nise again, and others where we shall return.’ ‘Except,’ Princess Lagna was heard to murmur, ‘that neither Cesare, nor you, Signora Lesogno, nor any of us would be likely ever to visit hotels of the level of those we have been discussing, much less to go back to them later?’

  Signora Lesogno turned on her. ‘Speak for yourself, Princess,’ she advised tartly. ‘These places are all of good, medium standard. If they were not, our syndicate wouldn’t be interested in adding them to its other properties.’ She turned back to Cesare. ‘You have a good idea there,’ she told him. ‘And how do you carry it out? You send into each of the places where you suspect the service is not all it should be —someone whom you can trust to report fairly on them, and you act on what he tells you about them, good or bad.’

  Cesare said, ‘The honest judgment of an ordinary client, h’m?’ ‘Exactly.’

  Cesare looked round the table. ‘I think Clara may have something, gentlemen. What do you say?’

  There was a murmur of assent, and Cesare went on, ‘Then we send someone in, as Clara suggests. It shouldn’t be too difficult to find a suitable man for the job.’

  ‘Or a woman.’

  They all looked at Signora Lesogno, who repeated, ‘That is what I said—a woman. And in every case, a woman alone. For that is the test of the attitude of any management towards its clients —the way in which it treats any woman of ordinary appearance without an escort. Isn’t that so?’ she appealed to the other women, two of whom nodded agreement, while Princess Lagna murmured, ‘I really don’t know that

  I have ever had the experience.............’

  ‘I said, “of ordinary appearance”,’ Clara Lesogno reminded her. ‘By which I meant—a little shy-mannered, not readily noticed,

  lacking the glamour which would have any staff falling over themselves to serv e her, escorted or not.’

  ‘Oh.......’ said Francia, sitting back and making

  the monosyllable express her satisfaction that no one expected her to have had the experience of dining alone, unremarked. And the other woman went on, ‘So you see it calls for a woman, not a regular client of any of these places, but one who would not look out of place to their particular class of custom. Preferably of the tourist type they cater for. A foreigner, perhaps. But one who understands our language well enough to appreciate whether she is being well or dis gracefully treated. You see?’

  With thoughtful nods the company indicated that it ‘saw’, and Bertholde Lesogno looked his approval of his wife’s shrewd grasp of the situation. It was Francia who said to Cesare, ‘You know, it seems to me that if you take up Clara’s suggestion, you haven’t any problem. Of someone suitable for your purpose, I mean. For here, at your own table, you have the

  very girl -------- ’ her brilliant glance went to Dinah and

  back again. ‘She doesn’t dress flashily; she speaks and understands

  our language well; from her job, she must know what service to

  expect of any hotel, and she should fit in with the clientele of these

  places without any difficulty at all! ’

  Cesare said, ‘You mean—Dinah?’

  The Princess nodded smiling assent.

  Cesare looked at the other men. ‘It’s a thought,’ he said, and turned to Dinah. ‘And what does Dinah say?’

  Dinah hesitated. By anyone other than Francia she might have felt complimented. But as things were between them, she found that lady’s enthusiasm suspect and full of hidden barbs. At last she said to Cesare, ‘I don’t quite know. It depends on what you would want of me; what I should have to do?’

  ‘Of course,’ he agreed, and then, ‘We’ll talk about it later, if we may.’ His glance went to S ignora Lesogno, the senior lady there. Reading the signal in his look, she rose; the other women followed her lead and they went out of the room, leaving the men at the

  table.

  Later, in the salotto, Cesare drew Dinah aside. ‘We’ve given Clara’s suggestion the works, and if you would co-operate with us, we’d be grateful,’ he ' said, it shouldn’t prove very onerous, I think—very little more than you’ve been doing voluntarily for some time, in order, you said, not to incommode me.’ ‘Dining out alone, you

  mean?’

  ‘Or lunching, though dining would be preferable, as a girl alone in the evening is more vulnerable to neglect by staff, if any is intended. And making a report afterwards on your experience at each place, that’s all.’

  ‘Would you want me to stay the night?’

  ‘We discussed that, but I think not, unless you can’t get a clear picture by spending an evening and dining by yourself. Would you mind going to the bar alone?’

  She smiled wryly. ‘I don’t do so usually, and I shouldn’t much care to.’

  ‘Then don’t,’ advis ed Cesare, just as the Princess came within earshot and paused by his side. ‘Are you briefing Dinah for her mission?’ she asked archly.

  ‘We were just agreeing that it shouldn’t be neces sary for her to run the gauntlet of the hotel bars, which she might find embarrassing.’

  ‘Oh, but’—the brilliant eyes widened—‘surely that is where she could best learn just how embarrassed some hotels could make a homely kind of spinster feel?’

  ‘Though weren’t you claiming at dinner that you had no experience whatsoever of how a lone woman could be treated ? ’ Cesare challenged indulgently.

  The Princess’s finger and thumb flicked his sleeve coquettishly. (In an eighteenth-century drawing-room she would have used her fan just so, thought Dinah.) ‘You! You have too good a memory!’ she chided him. ‘But do you think that, even without the ex perience. I have no imagination either? Could I act —as you tell me I can—if

  I couldn’t get into the skin of people less sheltered than I seem always to be?’ She turned to Dinah with a smile which went no further than her lips. ‘So brave of you, I think, to take this on! Or do you perhaps feel that you owe Cesare too much to be able to refuse him?’ she purred.

  Not returning the smile, Dinah looked straight at Cesare. ‘Yes, perhaps that’s it. I do owe him a great deal,’ she said.

  She kept her first assignment at one of the seven hotels of the chain the following evening. When she returned to the Palazzo she told Cesare she had found nothing to criticise. The atmosphere of the place was welcoming, the menu excellently varied and she had been attentively served. Afterwards, in her role as wallflower, she had gone alone to the dance-floor, where the master of ceremonies had introduced her to a most correct young man who had seen her to her motoscafo when she had wanted to leave.

  On her second excursion, to one of the four of which there had been earlier complaints, she was less fortunate. At her third, to one of the places recommended by Plenair, she was as well received as at the first. There she had gone rather late; people were leaving, rather than arriving, and across the dining room as she took the seat the waiter held for her, she saw Trevor with Etta on their way out.

  Dinah smiled to herself, having no pangs, no regrets. Thank goodness he doe sn’t seem to regard Etta as “junior staff” whom he can’t afford to be seen escorting! ’ she thought, and wondered whether, or how soon, she might expect Etta to confide progress to her.

  Since she had been promoted to handling Day Tours she had been less in the office, and in consequence had seen less of both Trevor and Etta. But the next day a glowing Etta waylaid her in the cloakroom.

  ‘Lately I h
aven’t liked to stop you to talk to you,’ the girl confessed. ‘You always seem to be on your way somewhere, b ut I really have wanted you to know how sorry I was about you and—and

  Trevor.’ Trevor.’

  Dinah smiled. ‘You needn’t be,’ she said. ‘Our break-up was mutual, and I’d told you, hadn’t I, that I was sure neither of us was convinced that we wanted to marry?’

  ‘Yes, but........’

  ‘Well, it had to come out into the open some time, and after it had, I couldn’t be as glad as I am about you and Trevor if I had loved him or if he had really loved me.’

  Etta blushed. ‘Then you know about us? I was dreading having to tell you.’

  ‘Let’s say I’ve hoped,’ said Dinah. ‘You had told me how you felt, and I’ve hoped that he would come to it as soon as he admitted to himself that he hadn’t ever loved me. So I’m sure he isn’t just on the rebound from me. He’s all yours! ’

  ‘I begin to think so,’ Etta agreed happily. ‘Work ing together as we do, we have so much to talk about. In fact, we hardly ever stop, even out of office hours. He takes me about a lot; we picnic at weekends, and he has been home with me, and once a

  week we have dinner at an hotel -------------- ’

  ‘Yes, I saw you last night—at the Regale,’ put in Dinah.

  ‘You did? We didn’t see you there with anyone.’

  ‘I was alone and rather late, and you were just leaving, looking totally engrossed with each other. So wrapped up that I wouldn’t have dared to call out “Hi!” ’ Dinah laughed.

  ‘But you could have dared. You, of all people, could,’ Etta assured her earnestly. ‘Because if Trevor does love me—and he says he does and—and shows it, I think, it will be you who will have helped to work the magic.’

  ‘Not me,’ Dinah denied stoutly. ‘Whatever magic here may have been around, you’ve worked it for yourselves.’ She looked at her watch. ‘I must go.’