Cast the First Stone: A stunning wartime story

by Angela Arney

  But Nicholas had already left Broadacres and stayed up in London for the remainder of July, regularly attending sessions in the House of Lords until it rose for the summer recess. Then, instead of returning to Broadacres, he moved into his club in St James. Liana toyed with the idea of going up to London and seeking him out, but then decided against it. It would be better for both of them if they met again on home ground at Broadacres. Anyway, in spite of her good intentions, she still had not worked out what to say or even how to begin to approach him. They had been estranged for so long now, it would be like approaching a stranger.

  Nicholas, in London, thought of returning to Broadacres every day, and every day he put it off, unable to face Liana’s coldness and his mother’s growing dejection at the continuing absence of Eleanora. Sooner or later he knew he would have to tell them both about the man Eleanora was now living with, Raul Levi. But not yet. He would wait. Choose the right moment.

  The moment came. But it was not of his choosing.

  ‘A telephone call for Your Lordship.’ The elderly waiter creaked on his way after delivering the message. ‘I’ve had it put through to the corner table.’

  ‘Thank you, Jenkins.’ Nicholas rose and settled himself into the relative privacy of the corner and picked up the telephone.

  ‘Nicholas, is that you?’ It was his mother, and she sounded very upset.

  ‘Yes. What is the matter?’ A host of worrying possibilities ran through his mind.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me Eleanora was living with this director person, this Italian man?’

  Nicholas tried to make light of it, calm his mother down. ‘Mother, this is nineteen sixty-six. Young people these days do live with each other. I didn’t think it that important.’

  ‘Of course it’s important. I was hoping that she and Peter . . .’ she stopped and Nicholas could hear her sniffing, ‘that she would soon miss Peter and then come back. But I’ve had a letter, and she writes as if she is going to stay with this, this other man for good. As if it’s a permanent thing.’ Nicholas’s heart sank; his mother did sound very upset.

  ‘Look, Mother,’ he began.

  ‘And now I find you don’t even think it’s important. I told Liana about this man Levi, and all she said was that she was glad Eleanora was happy.’ There was a long pause, then she said. ‘Eleanora is happy, isn’t she?’

  Nicholas chose his words with care. ‘She appeared to be,’ he said carefully.

  Another long silence followed, and Nicholas visualized his mother’s face with painful clarity. ‘I wonder if I’ll ever see her again,’ she said softly. And he knew she was crying.

  ‘Don’t be silly. Of course you will. Whatever makes you say a thing like that?’

  ‘It’s the second part of her letter. It’s so . . . so . . .’ Margaret gave up any attempt at disguising her emotion. ‘It’s so final,’ she said at last. ‘She writes as if she’s never coming back, almost as if she’s afraid of something.’

  ‘Nonsense. She’ll be back,’ said Nicholas with more conviction than he felt. ‘And so will I. I’ll come down to Broadacres tomorrow. Stop worrying, I’ll get Eleanora back to Broadacres.’

  *

  Nicholas read the letter his mother handed him. She was right. It did sound final. Suddenly he felt afraid. Had he waited too long before making a move? The scrappy little letter from Eleanora worried him. She wrote that soon the Florence season would finish and she would be moving up to Milan, where she had already rented an apartment in the Via Sforza, right in the centre of Milan. She enquired briefly after the dogs, horses, Meg, and Bruno, and had Broadacres had a good season? And finally a brief sentence about Peter, saying that she could not fail to notice how well he was doing; if the Italian newspapers took notice of an English writer then it was a sure sign of success.

  Nicholas drew a different conclusion from that of his mother but said nothing. In his opinion it was the letter of a homesick girl who wanted to come home but was too proud to actually take the plunge and come. A way had to be found so that she could come with her pride still intact.

  ‘I’ll speak to Liana,’ he said.

  ‘When?’ His mother was anxious.

  ‘After dinner.’

  After dinner he followed Liana into the office where as usual she had some paperwork she intended dealing with. From past experience Nicholas knew it would probably occupy her far into the night. He felt strong and determined. No matter how much of a mess they had made of their own lives, they both had to work together for Eleanora’s happiness. He would make Liana listen.

  Liana looked slightly surprised as he perched himself firmly on the edge of her desk and passed her Eleanora’s letter. ‘The director she refers to as her live-in lover,’ he said once Liana had finished reading, ‘is the opera director, an Italian Jew, called Levi.’

  ‘Is it because he is Jewish that you are against him?’ Liana asked, as usual tackling the obvious head-on.

  Nicholas had not actually said he was against the liaison, or even that he disliked the man in question. He had intended bringing up those points gradually. But Liana had guessed and jumped the gun. Hell, he never had been good at disguising his emotions!

  ‘No! Of course not.’ Nicholas felt irritated. How could she be so calm? ‘Do you really know so little about me that you can think that? The fact that the man is a Jew has nothing to do with it. It’s the man himself. He’s a . . .’ He searched for the right words to describe Raul. ‘He is a rake, a philanderer, a womanizer of the first degree, and he will only bring Eleanora unhappiness. I’m certain of that, and remember, I’ve met him, you haven’t.’

  ‘But Eleanora evidently sees him through different eyes,’ said Liana slowly.

  She did not sound nearly as perturbed as Nicholas thought she ought to be. She had to be shaken out of her complacency. He took the plunge, voicing at last what he had often thought.

  ‘Look, I know you and Eleanora have never been the closest mother and daughter. And in spite of those terrible things you said to her that night at the Ritz, she loves you very much. In fact, more than perhaps you deserve.’ Liana flinched, but Nicholas continued. ‘Because of that, I think you have a better chance than most of persuading her that not only is this man far too old for her, but also that there’s no chance of lasting happiness for her with him.’ He leaned forward and grasped her hands. ‘Liana, please help her. I beg you.’

  She looked up, and Nicholas’s heart lurched. However cold she might be towards him, there was something in her dark eyes which had a hold over his heart nothing could destroy. He still loved her in every sense of the word; and knew that whatever she offered, no matter how little, he would take and be grateful. But right now, his concern was for Eleanora. What would she offer her?

  Liana smiled sadly. Eleanora did love her; she knew it. Just as she knew she herself had never been able to push aside the tangled shreds of memory long enough to show Eleanora an open, loving affection. The longing had always been there, but so, too, had the ever-present memories. And just when everything was beginning to fall into place, James had . . . she closed her eyes against the memory of his death. Dear, darling James. But it was Eleanora she must think of now. She reached out and briefly touched Nicholas’s hand. ‘I do care about Eleanora, you know,’ she said slowly. ‘I love her. I always have. I know I’ve never been very good at showing it, but I really do love her.’

  Nicholas breathed a silent sigh of relief. She was going to help, thank God. ‘Then you go to Italy and talk to her. You see this man and persuade him to leave her alone,’ he said.

  Liana immediately drew back, the faint smile gone. How could she tell him she could not go? That she could never go back to Italy, not even to Florence which was miles from Naples? Despairing, she realized that Nicholas had no way of knowing the enormity of what he was asking, because, of course, he could not see the shadowy figure of Raul at her elbow, the man from the past who was always with her, day and night. She dare not risk going back
to the country of her birth and making him more real than he already was.

  But there was also another reason, one which had haunted her intermittently ever since William’s revelations about her past. She had told herself again and again not to even waste time thinking about it because it was an impossibility. But, nevertheless, the lurking fear was never completely eliminated. In Italy someone, somehow, might find out she was not a real marchesa. In England she was safe; but she was afraid to risk going back to Italy. But how to refuse Nicholas without seeming hard-hearted? How to give convincing reasons? Her mind raced ahead, feverish, anxious.

  ‘But, Nicholas, I can’t go charging off to Italy at a moment’s notice.’ Inspiration struck and she pushed a copy of the Financial Times towards him. ‘You know sterling is under severe pressure. Things have gone from bad to worse recently, literally in days. Sterling is at its lowest for nearly two years against the dollar, even Stock Exchange War Loan stock has slumped. Now the government has announced a massive deflationary package which is going to hit us all. I’m not even going to be able to move money abroad for Eleanora so easily in the future: they’ve slapped a fifty pound-a-year limit on overseas holidays, and I’m waiting to hear what the limit is for students abroad.’

  ‘Perhaps that will make her come home.’ Nicholas grasped eagerly at straws. ‘Eleanora will hate being short of money.’

  ‘I doubt it.’ Liana smiled grimly. ‘Eleanora possesses a streak of stubbornness. If anything, it will make her stick it out. However, money is not an immediate problem. She won’t be hard up by any manner of means; she already has plenty of money in her Italian bank account. No, the real problem is here, at Broadacres. Unless I move swiftly to protect our interests, we stand to lose much of what we’ve gained since the war. At the moment Broadacres must be our priority.’

  ‘Your priority,’ said Nicholas, exploding into uncontrollable anger. He levered himself off the desk and stormed towards the door. ‘At the moment, I don’t care whether we keep Broadacres or not. There seems to be no point.’

  ‘Of course there’s a point,’ Liana cried passionately, wanting to make him appreciate the urgency. ‘I don’t understand you. How can you not care about this place? One of the most beautiful parts of England, and you don’t care whether or not we keep it.’

  Wheeling round Nicholas said coldly. ‘That seems to be the fundamental difference between us. You care about a place and I care about people, especially the people I love. Our daughter, for example.’

  Liana flinched at the harshness of his words. ‘That’s not true. I do care about people.’ She slumped down at the desk, head between her hands. ‘Broadacres and people are all one to me, all mixed up together. I can’t separate them.’

  ‘Eleanora needs your help,’ Nicholas persisted. Even at the risk of alienating Liana for the rest of his life, he had to try to help Eleanora.

  ‘Nicholas.’ Liana’s voice was very quiet, her head still clasped between her hands, her eyes lowered. ‘It was an excuse, I admit it. But I can’t go back to Italy. Not even for Eleanora. There are too many memories there, bad memories, things I have never told you and never can.’ There, she had said it, part of it anyway. She prayed that he would not probe and start asking too many questions.

  There were no questions, only silence. Nicholas remembered his mother’s saying years before that she was sure Liana had suffered more than they could ever imagine. For the first time in all their years of marriage she was admitting that there were things in her past he knew nothing about. Unless she wanted to tell him, he knew he would never know. Voicelessly he prayed that she would take him into her confidence. If she did, it would bring them closer and, perhaps, he could even help lay the ghosts of the past. But out of the silence, he heard his mother’s voice, ‘Some things are best left unsaid.’

  Let them stay unsaid if that was what she wanted. All he wanted was her peace of mind. He walked back slowly and took her beloved, stubborn, strong, agonized face between his hands, lifting her head so that she was forced to look at him. ‘Why didn’t you say that in the first place?’ he said gently. ‘Then I would never have forced the issue.’

  Liana reached up, holding on to his wrists as if to draw strength from him, her dark eyes unnaturally bright. ‘You are a good man, Nicholas,’ she said. ‘Much too good for me. I have never been the wife you ought to have had.’ And I can never love you the way you deserve to be loved, but those were words she added silently.

  Nicholas continued looking at her for a long time. ‘You are all I want,’ he said. Then he smiled. ‘So, now we must think of another way to help Eleanora.’

  ‘I’ll write to her,’ said Liana decisively. ‘I’ll invite them both here. I’ll suggest a weekend. She can’t say no to a short weekend. Then I can talk to them both and see for myself what this man is like. And if he is as you say he is, then surely she will see that he doesn’t fit in with her life. And when I write, Nicholas, I will apologize, and I will tell her how much I do love her.’ It was the best scheme she could think of. Although what on earth she would say when they did come, she had no idea. That would have to wait until they arrived.

  ‘Yes, I suppose that is the best way,’ Nicholas reluctantly agreed. The sooner he could separate Eleanora and that damned man Levi, the better as far as he was concerned. ‘Suggest they come in September. There must be a gap between finishing one opera and starting rehearsals for the next.’ Perhaps it would work out. Once Eleanora was on home ground, the situation might be easier to manage. He leaned forward and gently planted a brief kiss on her cheek. ‘I’ll leave you to write that letter,’ he said.

  Liana sat for a moment, then her mouth softened into a faint smile. Miraculously, she and Nicholas had taken a few tentative steps towards each other, and she was glad. They had miles and miles of difficult terrain yet to cover but at least they had started. She pulled a sheet of notepaper towards her and began to write to Eleanora.

  A tap at the door disturbed her. It was Margaret. ‘I just had to come,’ she said, breathless from the effort of the long walk down the passage. ‘But Nicholas tells me you are inviting Eleanora and that . . . that . . .’ words failed her.

  ‘Her lover?’ said Liana, hiding a smile at Margaret’s old-fashioned embarrassment.

  ‘Yes, him,’ said Margaret, managing to endow the word him with all kinds of evil connotations. ‘Tell her that I’m longing to see her and that we’ll have a party.’ She paused. ‘I suppose you’d better say a party for them both. We don’t want her to think we’re not keen on this Italian fellow. It’s a pity that Peter will still be in America. If only she could see them side by side, she might change her mind.’

  ‘From what I’ve heard,’ said Liana, ‘Peter has been out with other girls in America. Perhaps he’s fallen in love with someone else by now.’

  ‘Stuff and nonsense.’ Margaret banged her stick on the floor for emphasis. ‘Peter is a one-woman man. If he can’t have Eleanora, he’ll remain alone.’

  Liana was silent. There was nothing to say because deep inside she knew it to be the truth. Peter would never change. He would write, be successful, but he would not switch to another woman. In that respect he was very similar to Nicholas. They were both steadfast. Perhaps if Eleanora knew there was now a different medical opinion . . . perhaps. But no, there was nothing she could do. Whatever she did now would be wrong; because she had gone so far Liana was desperately afraid that the truth might slip out, and that would be like removing one domino from a carefully constructed pile – the whole lot would come tumbling down. There was nothing for it, the status quo had to be preserved.

  She started to write, hoping Eleanora would accept the invitation to Broadacres. Whether or not it would solve the problem with Peter was in the lap of the gods, but it might help to get her away from the man Nicholas disliked so much.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  In California it was always sunny. The citrus trees in the garden of Peter’s rented house hung heavy with e
normous, vividly coloured oranges and lemons. The swimming pool, shaded by oleanders, glinted turquoise in the sun and the lawn was a smooth, even green, a colour achieved by the rows of well camouflaged, strategically placed, sprinklers. But perversely Peter longed for rain, the soft summer rain of England, the misty drizzle which was a pleasure to walk in, and which fed the vast, verdant, undulating valley of some of the richest pastureland in England – the place he loved best, the Itchen Valley in Hampshire.

  He thought of Eleanora. More than six thousand miles of land and ocean separated them but he could see her as clearly as if she were standing beside him. Why had she run away; why hadn’t she waited just a little while, been just a little more patient? But he knew why. She was rash, impetuous, never stopping to think things through. I should have been firmer, should have made her stop and think. Useless recriminations, he thought wretchedly. But he knew he could not accept that she was in love with someone else, no matter what he had said to the folks at Broadacres. It was too soon, she could not be in love again. He wondered what the man in question was like. Was he good and kind? Did he understand how vulnerable Eleanora was in spite of her superficially brash exterior? Peter hoped so.

  With an effort he looked at the work on his desk. If he worked hard, he estimated that he could finish the screen adaption he was writing in about five to six months, and then he could go home. Then, and only then, he decided, would he seek out Eleanora and try to salvage something of their previous relationship. I must be patient, he told himself.