by Angela Arney
‘You’d better stand here.’ Nicholas positioned Liana just in front of him for the final photographs. He was still aroused, and needed the camouflage of her body.
Hamish and Charlie were dragged in for the last photograph, but Charlie, methodical down to his last shiny brass button, was getting agitated. ‘We ought to be going along to the reception,’ he said.
*
There had been no warning of an air raid, just the familiar high-pitched whistle from above their heads seconds before the first bomb landed at the far end of the esplanade. The wedding party made it just in time to the palazzo on the Riviera di Chiaia, where Charlie had rented a room.
‘Shall we go to the shelter?’ The raids terrified Liana. It was the fear of being buried alive again, although she never mentioned it.
‘Hell, no,’ Hamish and Charlie answered together. They had no such fear.
The rest of the guests streamed into the room, all seemingly oblivious of the ensuing raid. The men descended on the wine like a herd of thirsty buffaloes, and soon the noise of popping corks vied with the rumble of falling bombs.
Nicholas fetched a bottle of wine and poured Liana a glass. ‘Drink this,’ he said gently. He had immediately noticed the fear she was so bravely trying to conceal, and wanted to convey some of his own self-confidence to her. Obediently she took a sip, and he smiled. ‘Now, go and get changed out of your wedding dress.’ He nodded towards one of the Italian girls with an English officer. ‘Lola has laid everything out ready for you in the next room.’ He brushed a hand tenderly against her cheek. ‘Don’t worry.’
Gulping back her fear, Liana managed a wan smile. If Nicholas could be brave, then so could she. ‘Yes, I’ll change,’ she said.
When she returned to the main room, the barrage of sound hit Liana like a physical blow. She looked around for Nicholas. He was easy to find, standing as he did a head and shoulders taller than any other man in the room. He was surrounded by Englishmen. Liana noticed they were drinking heavily, and as a result their laughter was over-loud and raucous. Hemmed in as he was, Nicholas could not move, but he caught her gaze, smiled, and shrugged apologetically. Liana smiled back, glad to see that he was not drinking heavily like his friends. She supposed he was too polite to mention the mess they were causing: empty wine bottles lay everywhere. An enormous amount had been consumed in the time she had been changing. Liana tightened her lips in disapproval. What a waste of good wine. She and Charlie had purchased it from a farmer who had had the foresight to bury his best wine before the Germans retreated, thus preventing them from taking it. Now it was being wasted. The English were gulping it down so fast it hardly had time to touch the sides of their throats, let alone linger on the palate. Nicholas made a move to join Liana, but his efforts were in vain; the wall of Englishmen remained solid.
‘They drink it like water,’ she observed sharply to Charlie, who was standing near.
‘Ah, but the effect is different.’
Charlie could not understand her disapproval. In his eyes wine was for drinking, the same as beer. He would have preferred beer; they all would. There was only one problem; the Italians could not make decent beer. At least the wine they made was usually drinkable.
Liana winced as a burst of tracer fire streamed crimson and yellow past one of the windows.
‘Firework display, especially for your wedding,’ said Charlie.
‘I hadn’t thought of it like that,’ answered Liana, trying not to sound nervous.
There was a muffled roar as a nearby building collapsed, and flakes of plaster drifted down from the ceiling. They eddied and swirled in the smoke-laden air like snow, finally settling in a fine film on the food and drink.
‘Christ, that was bloody close.’
Hamish, by now very drunk, lurched unsteadily towards Liana. She tried to hide her distaste as he attempted, but failed, to refill her glass, only succeeding in spilling a puddle of wine on to the floor. She was glad when he gave up the struggle, and putting the bottle to his lips drank the rest of the contents.
Another much louder thud rocked the room, and this time the walls bulged visibly inwards with the blast pressure.
‘’Nother bugger,’ said Hamish, braying with high-pitched laughter.
He sounds like a mad donkey, thought Liana, repulsed by his drunkenness, and glad when he staggered away to find another bottle.
Left alone for a moment, she surveyed the scene. It was unreal. She felt as if she were standing outside looking in on something which had nothing to do with her – the noise of the raid, mingled with the chatter and laughter of the guests. This is my wedding reception, she thought, at the same time feeling coldly divorced from the proceedings. Was it because she had calculated everything with such fine and precise logic? Was it because it was only one, unimportant step towards her final goal, the consummation of her marriage? After that would she be able to relax? She tightened her mouth in a determined line and straightened her shoulders. Of course she would, because then, she and her secret would be safe for ever.
Liana hadn’t wanted a party, but Nicholas had insisted. ‘We can’t have a wedding without a reception,’ he said. ‘We must have something to remember.’
Without its looking churlish, or strange, Liana had no choice but to agree. Now she wished yet again that she hadn’t given in to his wishes, and that the two of them could have just gone away quietly. She felt exhausted physically and mentally. The strain of the last few weeks had taken its toll, and now she knew the emotions boiling beneath the surface were unstable and volatile. But I have kept my sanity so far, she thought fiercely. I mustn’t give in to maudlin sentimentality now. But sad, nostalgic thoughts flooded into her mind in spite of her determination to keep them at bay.
The wedding reception was the final straw, because never, never had she imagined her wedding would be anything like the scene unfolding now before her eyes. With a weary sadness Liana knew what she would really have liked. At that moment she would have given anything to have been at a village wedding just like the ones she had been to as a small girl before the war. There, everyone had their plates heaped with pasta. The tables groaned under the weight of fresh bread, plates of home-cured hams and sausages, and the huge wheel of sheep’s cheese which always took pride of place. No fancy bottles of wine either, but plenty of earthenware jugs full of strong red wine straight from the barrel. No drunkenness at those weddings, but music, singing and laughter. Most of all Liana remembered the music.
Her mind was dragged back to the present as the level of noise rose. She wished she was somewhere else, anywhere else. But, although she gripped her wine glass a little tighter and an observant person might have noticed the strain in her smile, to all intents and purposes she looked as though she was enjoying herself. But, oh, a despairing thought, everything is so different! These people, they are so different. Will I ever get used to the English?
Immediately she pounced on the traitorous idea, and drowned it straightaway, before she even had time to draw a second breath. Of course I will get used to the English, and this wedding is different because it’s war time, she told herself. As for the English, if this is the English way, and these are the English customs, then these are the ways I will adopt. Her dark intelligent eyes registered everything and stored it away for future use. She would soon become like them, on the surface at least. She would make everyone forget that Nicholas had married a foreign bride. Liana, the Countess of Wessex, would be more English than the English.
At the second bomb blast, Nicholas roughly elbowed his fellow officers aside and pushed his way through the crowd to Liana’s side. ‘Don’t worry, darling.’ His voice cut abruptly across her thoughts, and she felt him squeeze her arm affectionately. He was smiling, as unperturbed as the rest of them. The rattle of anti-aircraft guns, the constant drone of planes overhead and the regular thud of bombs might never have existed. ‘Everything is going to be all right. You trust me, don’t you?’
Liana forced herself to
smile. She was not going to admit to fear, not to her new husband, not to anyone. ‘Yes, of course.’ Her calm voice gave no hint of the tight knot of fear threatening to engulf her, nor did the still expression in her beautiful dark eyes.
Another bomb rocked the building to its already shaky foundations. Liana gripped the stem of her wine glass even tighter and concentrated on ignoring the wildly accelerating beat of her heart.
‘Good.’ Reassured by her calm appearance, Nicholas drained his glass and grinned. ‘Can’t have the Jerries frightening you. Here, have another drink, darling.’
Obediently Liana gulped back some of the wine and let Nicholas refill her glass. She knew the English had a reputation for staying cool and calm in any situation, and now she had seen it first hand. She must be like that. She would be like that.
Charlie came over to them. ‘Do you like my arrangements?’ He had organized the reception. Another bomb fell, and for a split second Liana let her guard down. Charlie saw the fear lick across her face and her struggle to control it. He waved at the inebriated wedding party. ‘They don’t notice the raid because they’re all anaesthetized by alcohol,’ he said, hoping to cheer her.
‘I think they are very brave,’ murmured Liana.
She took another sip of wine to disguise her nervousness and carefully composed her face into a smooth mask of tranquillity. Charlie watched her in admiration, having some idea of the effort of will this took. It confirmed his opinion that there was definitely something special about Liana, a kind of inner strength. He had glimpsed it several times when she was off guard. If he had been less of a gentleman, he would have used the word steely, but somehow the thought of steeliness didn’t seem to go with Liana’s fragile beauty. Now he watched her, demure and smiling, eyes huge and dark, little knowing that this was the impassive mask she would present to the world for many years to come.
The all clear sounded, and a great cheer rose from the assembled guests. Everyone breathed easier now, and the gaiety assumed a more genuine note.
‘You like the room I rented?’ Charlie asked again. ‘I thought a palace was suitable for a princess,’ he added shyly. Like all the men, and in spite of being happily married, he was more than a little in love with Liana himself.
Liana laughed, ‘I’m not a princess, Charlie. You tease me! But yes, the room and the food, everything. All of it is lovely.’
It was, and even though a few moments ago she had been nostalgically hankering after a village wedding, Liana knew that, considering the war and the shortages, the reception could not have been bettered.
For Liana’s sake, Charlie had thrown his scruples overboard and had haggled, bluffed and bullied his way through the underground network of the thriving Neapolitan black market. The hired room in the eighteenth-century palazzo was still beautiful. It had an intricately moulded ceiling and baroque wall mirrors heavily encrusted with flaking gilt. A crystal chandelier hanging from the vaulted central ceiling rose, showered a glittering sparkle of light over the assembled company. True, there was a hole in the end wall, caused by a wildly off-target ack-ack gunner. Originally patched over with a makeshift arrangement of cardboard and wood, it had looked ugly and intrusive. However, now even that was disguised. Inspired by an unexpected streak of artistic awakening, Charlie had placed a huge arrangement of wild broom in front of it, so that the ugly patch was almost invisible. He could not resist boasting. ‘Do you like my flowers?’
‘I noticed them the moment I came in,’ Liana said. ‘And the food. I don’t know how you managed to organize such a quantity. It’s quite marvellous.’
‘A veritable banquet,’ agreed Nicholas, joining in the conversation.
The old chef, who had once worked in one of the most prestigious restaurants in Naples before the war, had attacked his task with enthusiasm and zeal. His food was prepared and arranged with all the artistry of Michelangelo. Quite amazing fare had been concocted with standard packs of army rations, supplemented with a few local delicacies. There were dishes of cecinciella – tiny sand eels fried in batter – plates of spicy aubergines and the biggest luxury of all, fresh white bread.
‘Courtesy of the United States Army kitchens,’ whispered Charlie out of the side of his mouth when he saw Liana’s amazed expression.
When everyone had finished eating, Charlie produced his pièce de resistance, sugared almonds, smuggled into Naples from Egypt. Any doubts he had entertained concerning the shady dealings involved in obtaining them, were vanquished by Liana’s delighted expression. She moved amongst the guests, distributing them in the traditional manner, and Charlie suddenly realized that for the first time he could remember the smile on her lips was truly mirrored in her eyes. ‘I hope they bring you luck,’ he said gruffly as she handed him a tiny parcel of the almonds.
‘Oh, they will. I just know it.’
It was ridiculous to feel happy over something so unimportant, something as trivial as sugared almonds. Liana knew that, but all the same they made her day. The tiny sugar-coated nuts, the height of luxury in war-time, assumed a symbolic significance. Everything was going to be all right, she was sure of it.
‘Hey, don’t spend all the time talking to the best man while you neglect your husband.’ Nicholas caught at her slender waist, impulsively pulling her towards him.
Liana laughed, feigning obedience. ‘Sorry, sir.’
Looking up into his adoring face, Liana acknowledged that, whatever his faults, she had married a good man. He was intrinsically honest, and would never let her down. It was a pity she couldn’t return his love; another time, another place in another life perhaps she would have loved him. But not now, not in this life. Too many memories intruded, blocked the way. But I will make him a good wife, she vowed, and I’ll not defraud him completely. I may not love him as he loves me, but he has my gratitude, and I’ll honour him for ever; and later I’ll give him a son to carry on his name. No, he’ll not regret marrying me. I will make him happy.
Impulsively she raised her glass to Nicholas. ‘To us,’ she cried, setting a mental seal on her vow.
‘To us,’ he echoed.
Their glasses touched. The lead crystal rang like a bell and a prism of rainbow light sparkled. Suddenly a tension coiled between them, a taut, expectant, but secret, mutual elation.
I’ve got her.
I’ve got him.
Their unspoken thoughts were simultaneous. They stood silently regarding one another, oblivious of everyone else, each wrapped in their own secret triumph. It enveloped them like a protective mantle, holding them together and yet at the same time irrevocably separating them.
Charlie watched them, aware that something unusual existed between them, but unaware of the form it took. A vague doubt fluttered in half-submerged form at the back of his mind. In spite of his fondness for the young and beautiful girl, he could never completely eradicate the nebulous disquiet he felt whenever he thought of his visits to the castello. The same question consistently reared its head. Had she always told them the truth?
‘Thank you,’ Liana smiled, accepting compliments and chatting easily to a group of officers.
At the instigation of Nicholas, who was anxious to leave, they were now moving through the assembled guests. Charlie admired the assured and gracious way Liana thanked them for coming and accepted their good wishes for the future. She was a lady all right; she had all the right airs and graces.
But still the doubts persisted. Although it’s too late now, Charlie thought. Nicholas had the wife he wanted. And it would be for better or for worse, as it said in the marriage service.
He lit a cigarette and exhaled, still watching her through the blue haze of smoke. In fact, if he were honest with himself, he could not take his eyes off her. She was undoubtedly the most fascinating woman he was ever likely to come across in his lifetime.
Nicholas thought so as well. His heart swelled with pride as he looked at her. She was wearing a going-away outfit of olive green silk. The dress was pre-war and sec
ond hand. Stretched and shiny at the seams from wear, it had definitely seen better days, but Liana wore it as proudly as if it were a haute couture model. There was something indefinable about the elegant, fluid movements of her body and the regal tilt of her beautiful head. She was unique, set apart from other women.
‘Charlie.’
He jumped, startled out of his daydreaming by her voice. Still in a trance he watched as Liana turned and walked across to him.
She put her arms around him and planted a soft kiss on his cheek. ‘Thank you, thank you so much, Charlie.’ Her tremulous voice was like a caress. ‘All your work has made my wedding day so special.’
She drew back and smiled up at him. The unexpected sight of tears shining in her huge luminous eyes almost demolished Charlie’s inbuilt British reserve.
He swallowed the unaccustomed lump in his throat and muttered awkwardly. ‘Glad you like it.’ What a fool you are, he told himself. How could any man doubt her?
Nicholas, at her side, smiled at Charlie. He was feeling a little crazy, annihilated by love, the wine, and his sense of good fortune. ‘I’m a lucky man to have met her, Charlie,’ he said. ‘Don’t you agree?’
‘I do indeed.’
Their eyes met across the dark cloud of Liana’s hair. I wonder which meeting he’s thinking about mused Charlie. The first time, eight months ago? Charlie remembered it vividly – but it could have been eight years, so much had happened since then. It was dark that night, but the city was illuminated by the fires of a living hell. Buildings were falling; bodies were everywhere, some moving, some still, never to move again. In the split second that his eyes met those of Nicholas, Charlie saw it all. So did Nicholas, although it was oddly out of focus, like looking down the wrong end of a telescope. Memory was a strange thing.
Chapter Two
October 1943
The mound of bedclothes on the other side of the cramped room heaved to be followed by a sound of retching which filled the room. A claw of a hand reached out to retrieve a chamber pot from beneath the narrow bed into which the occupant disgorged a mass of vomit before retreating, coughing and choking beneath the pile of filthy blankets and finally lapsing into gurgling silence.
