by Angela Arney
‘Yes,’ said Liana, struggling to regain her composure. ‘I do understand.’
That at least was true; she did understand, far better than Margaret thought. She was sure now in her own mind that there was something inherently evil in William’s character, and it had nothing to do with drink. Alcohol was merely the trigger which released the catch, unleashing his true emotions. Yet how ironic, she thought grimly, watching the baby’s jaws working rhythmically as she sucked, that William of all people, should have unwittingly provided the perfect camouflage for the birth. Because of the fall, I need give no explanations. The baby is assumed to be premature; no-one will suppose otherwise. Once again fate had worked in her favour. Welcome relief flooded over her and she relaxed. There was no need to be depressed.
‘Had you and Nicholas decided upon any names before you left Italy?’ Lady Margaret watched the baby suckling, entranced by the tiny child.
Liana smiled remembering what Nicholas had said. ‘If it is a girl, call her what you like, as long as Margaret is one of her names.’
‘Yes. Her name will be Eleanora Margaret.’
Margaret beamed, her bony features transformed into a kind of beauty with joy. Her first grandchild was to be named after her. ‘The most wonderful Christmas present I’ve ever had,’ she said.
Donald Ramsay, however, felt a sudden shiver run the length of his spine. ‘Eleanora?’ he said quietly. ‘Isn’t that your own name?’
Liana looked up quickly. Something in the tone of his voice worried her. For a moment, just a few brief seconds, she thought Donald Ramsay knew her secret. Then she relaxed again. She must learn to stop being ridiculously suspicious; no-one in the world knew except herself. Nicholas was Eleanora’s father. She smiled at him, her dark eyes shining, and Donald felt his fears disappearing as he smiled back.
‘Of course,’ Liana said softly. ‘It is my name, but as I never use it, I think it is only right and proper that the baby should have it. It is a family name.’ Suddenly the lies came easily again as she slotted herself and the baby back into their allotted roles. ‘It has been used for female children in my family for generations.’
Chapter Fifteen
The filming in Sicily finished ahead of schedule at the beginning of December 1944. Raul was pleased to return to the civilization of Rome. The journey back up through Italy by road had been long and uncomfortable, the southern half of Italy still being paralysed by post-war chaos. Simionato’s money had virtually run out, and it was difficult to organize funds from the remoteness of Sicily. Their journey back, loaded with the precious cans of film plus all the filming equipment, had been made in a series of totally unreliable pre-war lorries.
‘As soon as we get back to Rome, we can get on with the cutting and editing,’ Simionato told an impatient Raul, ‘and things will look up.’
‘And they have.’ Raul leaned back in his chair and lit a cigarette, enjoying the expression of amazement on Carmelo’s face.
He had met Carmelo Farzinni, an old university acquaintance, on the Spanish Steps the day before, and now they were sitting in a café in the Piazza del Popolo. Carmelo had thought Raul dead, along with the thousands of other Jews who had disappeared from the city. But I should have known better, thought Carmelo wryly, looking at the confident man sitting opposite him. Raul always had a certain air about him, a self-assurance verging on arrogance. To tell the truth, Carmelo had never liked Raul, and found that his opinion had not changed much with the passing of time. Nevertheless, Raul still exerted the same old pull on his contemporary – a grudging admiration for his sheer nerve, and a certain amount of envy in what he had apparently achieved.
‘You are actually living with Gustavo Simionato, in his house?’ Carmelo was impressed. Everyone in Rome knew where Gustavo Simionato’s villa was.
‘Yes, now it has been vacated at last by the American general who took it over. I suppose we must be grateful for small mercies. Both the previous tenants, the German and the American, were apparently quite civilized. They took care of the antiques and objets d’art, thank God.’ Raul flicked the ash from the end of his cigarette with worldly nonchalance. He was enjoying playing the sophisticated man-about-town in front of Carmelo.
‘You speak about the place as if it belongs to you.’
‘It will one day,’ said Raul with authority. ‘Simionato has no children, is not even married.’ He lit another cigarette and gave one to Carmelo. ‘I am like his son.’
He grinned, thinking of Simionato’s imposing house near the Vatican City – the circular staircase lit by exquisite Venetian glass chandeliers; the large salons; the imposing library; the smaller salons filled with priceless ceramics; and the cool, walled garden filled with ancient statuary set amongst lush greenery and ornately carved Bernini fountains. The garden and villa were a haven of elegant peace set right in the middle of vibrating Rome. Yes, it would all be his one day. He would see to it.
‘What about you?’ Carmelo asked. ‘Are you married? Do you have children? I am, I got married before I went off into the army. My wife’s name is Paola and we have a two-year-old son, Marco.’
Raul laughed, and signalled with an arrogant snap of his fingers for the waiter to bring more grappa and coffee.
‘You must be mad to marry so young,’ he said, the incredulous note in his voice annoying Carmelo. ‘No, I’m not married and never will be. If I want a woman, I find one. It’s no problem. But a lifetime commitment! To coin an Americanism, “that’s strictly for the birds”.’
The grappa and coffee finished, they went their separate ways, Carmelo to his job in the bank and his ordered, domesticated existence, and Raul to wander around the city looking for a suitable Christmas present for Simionato. He dawdled, breathing in the very essence of the Eternal City. Rome had been spared the bombing which had devastated other cities. As a result it had recovered from the hostilities very quickly and seemed the same now as it had been before the war. It had always excited Raul then, and it did now, filling him with nervous energy. He loved the crowds, the pigeon-filled piazzas, the domes and campaniles, the buildings old and new. He felt that he was a living extension of the city, that his roots, too, were buried deep in twenty-eight centuries of history.
His mind drifted back to the meeting with his old university acquaintance. Truly Carmelo must be mad to allow himself to be tied down by a wife and child. What mattered to Raul was to live life with a captial L, free to do what he wanted when he wanted, to sleep with a different woman every night, free from recriminations and responsibilities, free to pursue his goals in the showbusiness world without the need to think of any person save himself. That was the kind of life he needed and was determined to have, the exciting kind, which was denied to a man if his life included clinging women or children.
He lit another cigarette and wandered slowly through the picturesque Trastevere district then quickened his pace. December 17th, only a few days before Christmas, and the present for Simionato still to be chosen.
He was grinning as he strode off towards a shop he knew of where there was certain to be something suitable for his benefactor. Simionato had to be kept sweet – an unusual present, that would do the trick, keep the old man looking on him with a favourable eye. Raul did not believe in taking chances. Simionato was pleased with his work but Raul wanted more than that. He wanted the old man to look upon him as the son he had never had, if his boast to Carmelo were to come true. He thought of Carmelo again and laughed. ‘Do I have any children?’ he repeated softly under his breath. ‘As if I’d be fool enough. Huh! What a stupid question.’
Chapter Sixteen
‘Why, she’s beautiful.’
Nicholas, anxious to see the baby the moment he arrived at Broadacres, brushed past Liana and, hurrying into the nursery, bent over the cot. He picked up Eleanora. Liana noticed how fair his hands seemed in comparison to the tiny, olive-skinned six-month-old baby with the thatch of dark henna red hair. Baby Eleanora gurgled and kicked her tiny legs, lookin
g up at Nicholas with dark, sparkling eyes. Then she smiled. At that moment the lingering, niggling qualms Nicholas had been experiencing disappeared. It was true that Donald Ramsay had been very reassuring in answer to his anxious questions, questions he did not want to ask but nevertheless knew he had to. But still, until that moment, the vague doubts had lingered and not even Donald’s brusque no-nonsense words could brush them aside.
‘Oh, you fathers are all the same,’ he had said briskly. ‘Always worrying whether or not the child you’ve sired is a perfect specimen of the human race.’
‘Don’t tease me, Donald. It’s very important to me. You know that.’
‘As the family physician I’ve already given my opinion to your mother, as I’m sure she has already told you. But nevertheless I’ll repeat it. You are sane and healthy and so is Liana. There is absolutely no reason why your children should be any different.’
‘But there’s no guarantee that she’ll stay healthy.’
‘Life doesn’t come with guarantees, Nicholas. If it did it would simplify everything, but unfortunately a child is not like a new watch or a radio, there are no guarantees.’
Nicholas sighed. ‘I worried tremendously when I first knew Liana was pregnant. I thought of past times and dreaded the future. But, of course, I didn’t mention my worries to Liana. I wanted her to remain as well as possible.’
‘And so she was and is.’ Donald became exasperated. ‘Nicholas if everyone thought like you, viewing the future with dread, as you say, the human race would have fizzled out by now because no-one would have had the courage to have children. But perhaps luckily for all of us the human race is reckless where the future is concerned, and we have survived. For God’s sake forget about the past. Your sister Anne has a son, Peter, who by all accounts is a perfectly charming child. Why should your own daughter be any different?’
‘I’d forgotten about Anne’s son.’ Nicholas relaxed. ‘Yes, perhaps you are right.’
Donald looked serious. ‘I am right, Nicholas,’ he said. ‘Your daughter is absolutely perfect. She’s beautiful, obviously intelligent even at this early age, and has a wonderfully sunny disposition. You have nothing to worry about.’
Now, looking down into her dimpled, smiling face, Nicholas could see for himself. What did it matter that his own father had been moody and violent and that William seemed much the same? This baby was like her parents, Liana and himself. She was serene and happy. Nicholas vowed he would never let one single cloud cast a shadow on her horizon. Every day of her life would be carefree and pleasure-filled. He smiled at baby Eleanora again and was rewarded by a wide, toothless grin in response.
‘She knows me,’ he said triumphantly, settling her comfortably in the crook of his arm. He turned back to Liana and smiled. ‘She’s perfect, darling.’
‘Yes.’ Liana gripped the rail of the cot. Her hands felt icy, the magnitude of her deception overshadowing Nicholas’s pleasure. The irrefutable knowledge that Eleanora was not Nicholas’s daughter seemed so obvious to her; surely he must see it, too. Sunlight splashed on the baby’s head and dark red, tiny corkscrew curls shimmered – Raul’s hair, Raul’s eyes, Raul’s colouring. Nothing like Nicholas, nothing at all.
‘Come here.’
Oh God, he knows, he knows. ‘Why?’ Liana tensed even more. What could she say? How could she explain?
‘Why? Darling, what a strange thing to say. Why indeed! Because I want my family to be all together with me, that’s why.’ Liana hesitated then slowly walked around the edge of the cot towards Nicholas. He stretched out a long arm as soon as she was within reach and drew her to him. ‘You look worried, darling. Tell me,’ he whispered, ‘what is it that’s worrying you?’
The gentleness in his voice was almost her undoing. It was so utterly wrong to cheat him, and yet there was no alternative, not now. Once on the long road of deceit there was only one way to go, and that was forward, ever onwards. For a brief moment she visualized deceit as a physical thing, like a huge ball rolling along gathering momentum as it gained in size over the years, a chilling vision. Then she pushed it from her mind and tried to concentrate on the present. ‘It’s nothing,’ she muttered in answer to Nicholas’s question and stared into Eleanora’s round, smiling face.
‘Something is worrying you. I know it.’
Liana looked up at Nicholas. ‘Well, it’s been such a long time. I . . . we were together for such a short time, and I wondered how . . .’ It was true she had wondered how their life would be when he returned. Would it be difficult being a wife again? At least it was possible to tell him part of the truth.
Nicholas pulled her head close, pressing her cheek against the roughness of his sweater. ‘Don’t worry, darling. It will be all right,’ he whispered. ‘I know we’ve been parted now for a whole year, but we’ll pick up where we left off. Just wait and see. I love you, darling. I’ve never stopped loving you. I’ve thought about you every single day, you, and my wonderful daughter. And now at last we are together. I’ve got you both in my arms.’
Liana felt doubly guilty. Nicholas had thought about her every day, but she had not always thought about him. Sometimes he had been conspicuously absent from her thoughts for days on end. She reached out and caught at Eleanora’s grasping starfish of a hand. ‘You like her? The baby, I mean.’
‘Like her? Darling! She’s my daughter, of course I like her.’
His daughter; he accepted her. Limp with relief, Liana clung to him. ‘I was afraid,’ she confessed, skating perilously near the truth. ‘I was afraid that you wouldn’t like her.’ She raised her face to his, eyes bright with unshed tears. Joy, thought Nicholas as he kissed her. Relief, knew Liana, pure, unadulterated relief.
It was their first real kiss since his return. Nicholas wanted to prolong it for ever, but at last, reluctantly, he drew his mouth from hers. She still had the power to send the blood coursing like fire through his veins. It was difficult not to take her to bed there and then. He looked at her thoughtfully, seeing the uncertain tenseness showing in her face. He would have to wait, take his time: ease his way gently back into her life. He looked back down at the baby. ‘She’s like you, but she has my mother’s hair.’
‘Your mother’s?’ Still nervous, Liana wondered why Nicholas should say that. Eleanora’s dark red curls could not be more different from Margaret’s iron grey wisps. Was he trying to trap her?
Nicholas laughed gently, this time mistaking her nervousness for surprise. ‘Why, yes. My mother’s hair was red before she turned prematurely grey. A mousy red, it’s true but with the addition of your genes we have a daughter with mahogany-coloured hair.’ He kissed the top of the baby’s head.
Liana relaxed. ‘I didn’t know.’ It was difficult to envisage Margaret with red hair. Reaching up, she drew Nicholas’s head down to hers and kissed him with grateful passion. The first hurdle of Nicholas’s homecoming had been successfully negotiated. He was convinced the baby was his.
After a moment, Nicholas put Eleanora back in her cot then turned to Liana. Knowing what he wanted, she took his hands, pulling them towards her until they cupped her full breasts. Then, appropriating his mouth, she kissed him, a long, slow, delicious kiss, her tongue slipping between his lips with calculating, consuming ardour. Nicholas felt his penis rise and harden. If she went on kissing him like this he knew he would not be able to wait as he had planned. Liana felt the stirring in his groin. Good, he wanted her! She was about to overcome the second hurdle, the resumption of her role as wife to Nicholas. Pressing her pelvis invitingly against the rock hardness of his now rigid organ, Liana kissed him with increasing fervour. Nicholas held her, marvelling at the way her body became fluid so that it almost melted into his own. Desire overwhelmed him, could not be denied, and, smothering a cry of urgency, he picked her up and carried her into their bedroom. The months apart fell away into nothingness as Liana’s beautiful body seduced Nicholas into the timeless realm of unthinking bliss once again.
‘I love you,�
�� he breathed, prolonging the moment before at last he entered her, knowing the pleasure of that fleeting ecstasy was almost unbearable. She was his, his, no-one else’s, only his. ‘I love you, I love you, I love you,’ he whispered in time to the increasing urgency of his thrusting body. Then awareness itself disappeared as mindless urgency reigned supreme.
Liana wrapped her sleek legs about him, binding his body to hers. Her husband had returned and claimed her. All was well.
*
Glad to be back in the peace of Broadacres after the horror and turmoil of war, Nicholas was happy. Although at first he was a little surprised to discover that Liana had been transformed into a hard-headed young businesswoman, quite different from the timid, soft creature he thought he had married, it did not bother him. In fact, he admired her purposeful ambition and was amazed at the changes she had achieved at Broadacres in such a short time. Sometimes he wished, for her own sake, that she did not insist on working such long, hard hours but he could see that she enjoyed it, thrived on it in fact, and as each day passed he could see her becoming more and more integrated into the life of Broadacres and its people. So much so, that sometimes even he forgot that she had come from Italy. But in spite of the estate taking up much of her time, work was never allowed to interfere with their married life. Liana was the perfect loving wife.
There was one minor hiccup to begin with. Clara Maltravers, as interfering as ever, raised the subject of a nanny.
‘That baby should be taken away from its mother now,’ she said, not long after Nicholas had returned to Broadacres. She had come over to take tea and welcome Nicholas home. ‘It’s high time you advertised for a nanny. The Lady is still a very reputable magazine; you should be able to find someone suitable through that.’
