by Angela Arney
Suddenly she saw him – a tall, fair-haired man, standing a good head and shoulders above everyone else – and her heart leaped with joy. She had been so busy telling herself that she was not missing England or anyone from Broadacres that she had come to believe it. But when she saw him, her father, her own little bit of England who had come all the way just to see her, she knew it was not true.
‘Daddy,’ she yelled, pitching her powerful voice above the level of noise, leaping up and down, waving frantically.
Nicholas heard her and turned. For the first time in months he smiled, a real smile that ended in a warm feeling inside him. She was beautiful, his daughter, and he felt so proud – young, beautiful, vibrant and obviously happy to see him. Elbowing his way through the crowds he reached her in a few strides and gathered her to him in a great bear hug.
‘Eleanora, darling. I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you. I’ve missed you. We’ve all missed you.’
‘Even Mummy?’ It was said with a flippant laugh, but Nicholas caught the serious undercurrent.
‘Yes, of course. Even your mother. But you know what she’s like. She would never admit it.’
He picked up his case and Eleanora linked her arm through his. She looked sideways at her father. He looked tired. There were lines at the side of his mouth she never remembered seeing before. He looked more than tired, she decided: he looked sad and weary. She stopped a moment and drew his hand up to rest against her cheek. ‘Mummy is giving you a hard time, isn’t she?’ she said.
‘No, she, I . . .’ Nicholas groped for the right words. ‘We are both finding life hard at the moment. And somehow it seems even harder without you and Peter popping up every now and then. Everyone misses you. Your grandmother wishes you were back to give that wicked Diabolus some really hard exercise. He’s getting too much of a handful for her now, although she still rides him. And Beauty misses you.’
‘Maybe I’ll come back for a weekend at the end of the summer. Then I’ll give both horses a run for their money. I’ll tire them out for a month.’
She loaded his luggage into her tiny Fiat 500, then they both squeezed into it. ‘My God, this is like getting into a sardine can,’ said Nicholas inching his long body into the minuscule car with difficulty.
‘Except that you are the size of a salmon!’
They both laughed. Nicholas sat back, watching Eleanora coax the little car through the busy streets of Florence, using the horn extensively and taking as many reckless chances as the rest of the Italian drivers.
‘You seem very much at home here.’
‘Oh, I am. As I told you in my letter, I’m not missing England at all.’ She would die rather than admit to the feelings that had swept over her at the sight of her father. That would only make him blame himself, and she knew he had done plenty of that already. ‘And from what I read, it seems Peter isn’t missing England either.’
‘What do you mean?’
She nodded briskly over her shoulder at a half-opened newspaper lying on the back seat. Nicholas stretched over and retrieved it.
‘Peter Chapman, the latest whizzkid to hit Hollywood,’ Eleanora translated for him. ‘Out on the town with Universal Studio’s hottest female property.’ She snorted derisively. ‘A blonde bombshell! And has probably got a brain the size of a pea! I wouldn’t have thought she was Peter’s type at all. But I’m glad for him anyway. It confirms the conclusion I came to some time ago.’
‘Oh?’ Nicholas remained non-committal. He remembered Peter’s unhappy face when they took tea in the Ramsays’ garden. The photo was almost certainly a publicity stunt. Surely Eleanora must realize that? He watched her hands on the steering wheel doggedly nudging the little car through the chaotic traffic. The knuckles were clenched a little too tightly. She did care. But he knew it would be the devil’s own job to get her to admit it. She was like her mother, proud and stubborn, regarding the necessity of admitting the need for other people as a weakness. ‘Tell me, what was your conclusion?’ he asked.
‘Oh, that.’ The Fiat screeched to a squeaky halt outside the Hotel Tosca. She turned and looked at her father, smiling gaily. ‘Nothing new, only what I said in my letter. You did us both a favour when you told the truth. We were too young to really be in love. I’ve found another man and Peter has found another woman. That proves it.’ Shrugging her shoulders expressively, she climbed out of the car, adding, ‘So, as Shakespeare said, “All’s well that ends well”. I’m sure Peter thinks the same. Don’t you agree?’
Nicholas did not answer immediately. Now was not the time to argue the point, not now when she was struggling to find her way, rudderless in an unfamiliar sea of emotions. Better to let the matter drop. The time to argue and to help would come later. Nicholas prayed that not only would he recognize the time but that he would be given the wisdom to know what to do when it arrived. ‘You are probably right,’ he said quietly.
‘I am right.’ Eleanora was adamant. The hotel porter came out for the luggage. ‘Oh, by the way, Daddy, I hope you don’t mind, but I have checked you in as plain Mr Nicholas Howard. There is a good reason,’ she went on hastily. ‘And that is, everyone here thinks my name is Eleanora Howard. No-one knows my full name or that my father is an earl. I have to put up with quite a bit of jealousy as it is because I’m English and I’ve landed an understudy part. It would only make matters worse if they knew I was a Lady. They would think I had been pulling rank with the director!’
‘And have you?’ Nicholas quizzed her.
‘Of course not. Not even he knows.’
It was the emphasis on the word he, that gave the game away. Nicholas guessed the director was the fantastic man she had fallen for. He followed the porter and Eleanora up to his room on the third floor. It was large and elegantly furnished and had a beautiful view of the Ponte Vecchio. After tipping the porter Nicholas closed the door and walked over to join his daughter out on the balcony. ‘I couldn’t have chosen a better room myself,’ he said. Should he ask her about this man now or would she tell him?
Eleanora was wondering the self-same thing. Would her father be shocked to know she was living with Raul? No-one had ever known that she and Peter had lived together for years and she presumed everyone at Broadacres thought they were a couple of virginal innocents. She smiled wryly at the thought. Even if she had been, she was certainly no innocent now. Raul had initiated her into ways of eroticism she had never even dreamed possible. Sometimes she had doubts and dissented a little. Were they not too lascivious? But Raul had a peculiar hold over her that she could never fully comprehend. He did not bully her but she was afraid to say no in case he turned away from her. And anyway in the end she never wanted to refuse him because he always managed to persuade her by arousing her physically until she begged him to take her body and do with it what he would. The end result was always the same, a physical gratification so intense that the right or wrong of the act faded into irrelevance, almost into irrelevance, not entirely. Sometimes Eleanora suspected that she was being drawn into a web of corruption but she always pushed such thoughts from her mind, dismissing them as fanciful nonsense. She was in the big wide world now, not in the narrow confines of Broadacres.
She decided to tell him. ‘Daddy,’ she leaned on the balcony, and studiously kept her eyes on the view, ‘I might as well tell you now, before you meet him, that I am living with Raul Levi, the director. He is the man I told you about. He is older than me and he is Jewish, but that doesn’t make any difference. I love him, and we are very happy.’
Nicholas tried to swallow his doubts. Instinct told him all was not well. ‘Being happy, darling – that is the most important thing,’ he said. ‘I look forward to meeting him.’ Eleanora continued leaning on the balustrade of the balcony, staring straight ahead at the Ponte Vecchio. He touched her arm anxiously. ‘Are you happy, darling? I mean really happy? You’ll never know how terrible I feel because I destroyed your hopes and dreams of the life you and Peter had planned together. To hurt someo
ne you love is the worst pain of all, and I do love you. So very much.’
Eleanora turned towards him. ‘I know you do, but I’m happy now, happy, happy. How many times have I got to tell you not to worry?’
She flung her arms around him and closed her eyes. It was ridiculous but suddenly she wanted to weep. Why? I am happy, she told herself, life with Raul is different, exciting and fulfilling. I am happy. Why, then, did she feel like a child who has had something precious snatched away? She held on to her father, buried her face in his shoulder and fiercely blinked away the tears.
The hot July sun of Tuscany beat down on her bare shoulders. It would not be so hot at Broadacres – the fields of wheat would be just turning from green to gold now and the blackberry bushes would be in full flower, much to the delight of the silver-washed fritillary butterflies. The leaves of the oak trees would be the distinctive brilliant green that only English oaks have, and beneath the copper beeches the shade would spread a tinge of purple on the moss. That was where she and Beauty always enjoyed a slow saunter after a mad gallop up the downs.
She wished she were a child again, when everything had been so simple, when a hurt could easily be put right by her father’s taking her into the stables to feed a carrot to each friendly, snuffling horse. Why was it such simple things lost their pleasure when one grew up? Is it, she wondered, because we all become greedy? She and Raul were greedy. Lustful and greedy, they both took but did not give. Their affair was nothing at all like the innocent, loving pleasure she and Peter had found in each other. But that is because I’m grown up now, my needs are different. She persuaded herself that was the reason: it was all part of growing up. But why, then, did it often feel so unsatisfactory? She could find no answer to that.
Nicholas hugged her, holding her tightly. On edge and unhappy himself, he could sense some part of her doubts and longings. Although formless, wordless and intangible, they were there, and his heart bled for her. He held her close as he had when she had been a child, knowing part of her would always be a child to him, no matter how old she might be. Even when she was a mother herself, she would still be his child. The pity of it was he had lost the power of a father to always make things right; the simplicity of childhood had disappeared. Now he could only hope. My only beloved daughter, he prayed, pressing his face against the sweet perfume of her hair. I hope this man is good to her. Please, God, let her be truly happy.
*
Raul was on the telephone to Monika in Rome when Eleanora finally returned to their apartment. She caught the tail end of their conversation.
‘What? Oh, yes, good. Then there’s nothing to be done until we start rehearsals at La Scala in September. No, no I don’t need you here. As usual your organization has taken care of everything. What?’ he looked at Eleanora, and his black eyes sparkled wickedly. Holding out his free arm he beckoned to her to come over to him. She obeyed the summons and he pulled her close. ‘Monika is asking whether or not you are still with me.’
Eleanora took the telephone from his hand. She still could not analyse her feelings towards Monika Muller although she had wasted enough time trying – antagonism, uneasy dislike or plain simple jealousy at her closeness to Raul, she could never decide. ‘Yes, Raul and I are still together, Monika,’ she said coolly. ‘We seem to suit each other very well.’
‘I had a feeling you would.’ Eleanora could hear the knowing smile in Monika’s voice. ‘I look forward to seeing you in Milan at the start of the season. Goodbye.’
‘Goodbye.’ Eleanora handed the ’phone back to Raul. She was not looking forward to seeing Monika in Milan.
‘Oh, Monika.’ Raul had thought of one last thing. ‘When you come back from your holiday would you do a translation for me? It’s that story that has been languishing in my top left-hand drawer for years. Yes, The Two Girls, that’s the one. Into English, please. A friend of mine in Hollywood has told me he thinks he has found a good screenwriter for me. I’m going to send it off to him.’
‘A film?’ Eleanora was curious.
‘Perhaps, if my luck holds. Nothing to do with singing, and no part in it for you, my dear. Now,’ he changed the subject, ‘what are we going to do with this old father of yours this evening after the performance?’
Eleanora ran her fingers through his dark curly hair, as curly as her own but lavishly streaked with silver. ‘He’s not so old. About the same age as you in fact.’ Raul made a face and Eleanora laughed. ‘Don’t worry, I warned him. He’s not expecting a youthful Adonis. Anyway, back to this evening. I’ve booked a table at that lovely open-air restaurant near the baptistry. I thought we could all walk there after the performance. It will be cool enough to walk then.’
But after the performance Eleanora and Nicholas walked alone. Something went wrong with the lighting during the opera and Raul remained behind to supervise the repairs. ‘He never trusts the workmen,’ said Eleanora. ‘It would be utter hell for everyone if we turned up tomorrow and they went wrong again.’
Nicholas privately wondered if Raul was putting off the meeting but said nothing. ‘I enjoyed the opera,’ he said, which was partially true. He had been impressed with the awe-inspiring setting but the actual music, played on ancient wooden and reed instruments, left him cold as did much of the singing.
Eleanora laughed, tucking her arm through his as they strode through the busy streets. She knew her father was no opera buff and only suffered it for her sake. ‘All of it?’ she demanded.
‘Well, some of it.’ Aware that she could not be fooled, he decided to be honest. ‘The best parts were when I was able to pick you out. You looked very lovely, but then, you always do.’
They reached the restaurant, and at the sight of Eleanora the proprietor rushed over and solicitously showed them to a discreetly screened corner table.
‘He probably thinks you are my new lover,’ said Eleanora with a chuckle as she scanned the menu.
‘Good God! What, at my age?’
She looked up frowning. For the first time Eleanora mentally placed Raul alongside her father. She had always realized they were much the same age. But if she was completely honest, she had to admit that Raul probably looked older. His face was rugged and lined and had a slightly rapacious expression which sometimes she found fascinating and other times a little frightening. She looked at Nicholas. His fair hair was greying but amidst the blond it hardly showed; his grey eyes were clear and honest; and his mouth was gentle. She knew some people thought her father weak, and in comparison to someone like Raul, he was. He was not a pushy, grasping man but in her eyes his weakness was a virtue. He would never harm a fly, let alone a person. He was a man who could be relied upon. He was so typically English, the kind of man always described in books as an officer and a gentleman, which he most certainly was. Suddenly she felt nervous. Her father was not going to like Raul.
‘Raul is two years younger than you,’ she said.
‘But you said he was a little older!’
She could tell her father was scandalized from the tone of his voice. Hastily summoning the waiter she ordered a bottle of wine so that they could have a drink while ordering the meal. ‘It feels that way to me,’ she said. ‘Honestly, Daddy, I haven’t even thought about it before.’ She waved the menu at him. ‘Come on, let’s order. I’m starving. What do you want? I know what Raul likes.’
‘Oh, you choose,’ said Nicholas.
Suddenly he did not feel hungry. His beautiful daughter involved with a man old enough to be her father. What a waste! He had always imagined her coming to Broadacres with a young husband, and lots of grandchildren, who would all keep their ponies there and be forever visiting. He had imagined the old house being given a new lease of life, being full of young people, love and carefree laughter. But it seemed that was not to be.
She had fallen in love with an old man who was hardly likely to want the bother of a young family. Nicholas was tempted to test this new love, tell her what Peter had heard from Dr Zuckermann, but then d
ecided against it. Now was not the right time. He must be patient and wait and pray that this new love affair would not last. But she seemed so confident and happy, and an even more worrying thought was that this man was part of a world she loved, the world of opera.
Unable to meet Eleanora’s eyes, Nicholas looked around the restaurant. Any other time he would have found it enchanting. Out in the open air of a piazza, an ancient vine formed the roof, the ripening grapes hanging in glistening fat bunches. The red-and-white checked tablecloths were each lit by a single candle in a glass holder. It was busy, the food smelt delicious and the atmosphere was vivacious and happy.
He looked towards the area where the restaurant opened out on to the piazza. A tall man was entering, his face craggy, and he had a large beaky nose. Nicholas eyed him with disdain. A vain peacock of a man, dressed too flamboyantly for his age. His open-necked shirt exposed a dark hairy chest, festooned with gold chains and medallions. He looked flashy and slightly seedy. Nicholas watched in distaste; it was obvious he revelled in attention. he stopped at almost every table, shaking the men’s hands and kissing the women. Nicholas reached over to point him out to Eleanora, about to laugh and say, mutton dressed up as lamb, when suddenly she stood up.
‘Raul,’ she called waving her hand. ‘We are here.’
My God! How could she fall for this man? Couldn’t she see what he was? In a blinding haze of bewilderment mixed with fury, Nicholas stood up and extended his hand. So this middle-aged Lothario was Raul Levi! He wanted to weep. How could she? How could she say she loved this self-centred, arrogant and vain man? How could she not see what was written all over his face? Nicholas wanted to shake Eleanora, to shout at her, ‘What can you see in a man like this? How can he take Peter’s place?’ But he did not voice the words out loud. He sat down and wished he were anywhere on earth but in Florence.
