Cast the First Stone: A stunning wartime story

by Angela Arney

  ‘It will be lovely to see Miss Eleanora again,’ she said. ‘I was wondering about dinner on Friday night. Shall I do roast beef and Yorkshire pudding? It was always one of her favourites, and I daresay she could do with a decent meal after living in Italy.’

  Nicholas smiled. Meg never ventured further than the county towns of Winchester and Salisbury, and like most country folk was certain that anyone living abroad must be dreadfully deprived of anything worth eating. Nothing could be more terrible than not being able to eat good plain English fare.

  ‘She’d love that,’ he said. He paused at the kitchen door and turned back. ‘I’ll ask Lady Margaret to invite the Chapmans and the Ramsays to dinner, and we’ll make it a splendid occasion.’

  ‘In the Waterford Room, Your Lordship?’ asked Meg hopefully. She loved setting out the table in the Waterford Room because it was so gloriously opulent. The family hardly ever used it; it was much too large and grand for ordinary occasions.

  ‘Yes, Meg, why not?’ said Nicholas slowly. ‘It will certainly impress Eleanora’s guest. Yes, we’ll definitely dine in the Waterford Room, with the best silver and crystal and the Coalport dinner service.’

  A slightly malicious thought struck him. With any luck the grandeur might even intimidate that strutting peacock of a man, Levi; that, plus a room full of Eleanora’s disapproving English relations! Nicholas knew that Anne and Richard disapproved of Levi as a partner for Eleanora, and not just because he had taken Peter’s place. The age-difference alone made him unsuitable in their eyes. As for his mother, although she had maintained a surprisingly discreet silence when informed that Eleanora and the new man in her life were coming to stay at Broadacres, he guessed she had probably discussed it at length with the Ramsays. Margaret was always fair, and he knew she would reserve making her final judgement until she had met the man himself. But once she had decided that Levi was unsuitable for her dearest and only granddaughter, Nicholas counted on her doing everything within her power to unravel the liaison.

  Wednesday and Thursday slipped by rapidly. Nicholas, busy helping with the harvest, almost forgot about the strange story still lying on Liana’s desk. An unexpectedly fine warm spell had settled over most of England and farmers everywhere were working long hours, desperate to get in the grain harvest before the weather broke. Bags of dry grain meant a handsome profit. Broadacres had just invested in one of the latest hi-tech combine harvesters, and the smaller farmers, who still hired their equipment from the estate, were panting to get their hands on it.

  ‘Not till we’ve got our own harvest in,’ said Wally firmly. ‘Just you remember that, Rolf, my lad. After this harvest, when I’m retired, it’ll be your door they will come a knocking at, and don’t you let them have it until you’re good and ready.’

  Rolf grinned. ‘I’m not daft, Grandad.’

  Nicholas overheard. ‘He certainly isn’t, Wally. You’ve got nothing to worry about, the home farm will be in good hands.’

  By Friday they were nearly finished. ‘Only the barley in Inkpen Acre to get in,’ said Rolf. ‘We ought to finish that by tomorrow.’

  ‘Tomorrow!’ Wally was indignant. ‘With this new-fangled piece of machinery, we’ll get that barley in by tonight. You mark my words.’

  Nicholas had his doubts. Inkpen Acre was a misnomer, being far more than an acre. The field was enormous and covered several hundred acres of difficult, sloping terrain. But by early evening, when the sunset burnished the sky with an autumnal lustre, they were halfway to finishing. It seemed a pity to stop, so they carried on. Nicholas glanced at his watch. Eleanora had telephoned the previous day and left a message with Margaret. She and Levi were due to arrive at seven in the evening. Liana should have already arrived; she was due back at Broadacres in the middle of the afternoon.

  ‘I must leave by seven-thirty this evening at the very latest,’ he told Wally. ‘We have a dinner party at eight-thirty. I shall need time to get ready.’

  ‘Don’t you worry, Your Lordship. We shall finish up here using the headlights if necessary. There’s not a bit of dampness in the air this evening. We’ll get the last ear of barley in, no trouble.’

  Nicholas wondered if he would have time to talk to Liana about the story before dinner. He hoped so, but was not unduly worried; there was always tomorrow. Then he forgot about it as they all concentrated on manoeuvring the efficient, but cumbersome piece of machinery up along the steepest part of the Inkpen ridge where the barley had yet to be cut.

  *

  Back at Broadacres, Meg, with Alice helping her, was setting out the dining table in the Waterford Room. Melanie, the new maid, had been relegated to the kitchen for the night to peel the vegetables. She accepted this change of duties with sublime fatalism. She knew she was clumsy, and the mere sight of all that sheer, sparkling Waterford crystal and the paper-thin bone china plates made her hands shake with nerves. No, she would much rather stay in the delicious-smelling kitchen with Dolly and Mary Pragnell supervising her, and where a dropped potato was not a crime of catastrophic proportions.

  Margaret was in her room on the telephone to Dorothy Ramsay. ‘What do you think? I’ve not told Nicholas that Peter is over from the States, and that I’ve invited him to dinner tonight along with his parents.’

  ‘I can’t see what you are worrying about.’ Dorothy was trying, without much success, to be reassuring.

  ‘But Peter will meet Eleanora’s new lover.’ Margaret forced herself to say the word although old-fashioned, ingrained prejudices made it difficult.

  ‘Well, my dear, it has got to happen sooner or later. I think in a way, it will probably be easier for him with all the family present.’

  ‘I only hope you’re right.’ Margaret was not entirely convinced. ‘If Liana were here, I’d ask her, and if necessary put Peter off. But she hasn’t arrived yet. Her flight back from France is late, so I can’t. Oh, how I wish you and Donald were coming tonight.’ There was a pause, then she said, ‘Why aren’t you?’

  Dorothy laughed. Margaret had become a trifle forgetful in her old age. ‘Because it is a family dinner party, and also because you haven’t asked us.’

  ‘Well, I’m asking you now. In fact, now I remember it, Nicholas did tell me to. Don’t know why on earth I didn’t. You and Donald are as good as family. There’s not a single skeleton in our cupboards not already well known to you both so you might as well come and see the latest one. Come and tell me what you think of this wretched new man of Eleanora’s.’

  ‘Hold on, I’ll have to ask Donald. He might not feel like coming out tonight. Although he is walking a little now, it is still such a struggle for him.’

  Margaret snorted unsympathetically. ‘I won’t take that for an excuse. If I can get around on the withered knobbly things that pass as my legs these days, he can certainly come over here this evening.’ Then she added plaintively. ‘I need you, both of you.’

  ‘One minute.’ Dorothy would not commit herself.

  To Margaret’s joy the answer was yes. ‘Bruno will come over and get you in the Rolls,’ she said. ‘Eight for eighty-thirty.’

  *

  Liana was feeling very irritated. There had been absolutely nothing in Lyons which could not have been sorted out by the local management if they had only possessed more guts and initiative. Men, she thought impatiently. Why are they so often afraid of a confrontation when it comes to words? I should have let them fight it out in a physical brawl, then they would have been satisfied! Jason Penrose had felt the sharp lash of her tongue on the homeward journey, and wished he had gone across to Lyons first and found out the lie of the land. The final straw was the flight delay because of engine trouble. It was not Jason’s fault, although he ended up feeling as if it were.

  Now she jumped from the train at Winchester, marched briskly along the platform and out through the exit just in time to see the last taxi disappearing down the hill into the city.

  ‘Should be another one along in a minute, Your Ladyship,’ said
the station porter who knew Liana by sight.

  ‘What do you call a minute? One, two three or ten?’ came the snapping answer.

  ‘Well, I don’t rightly know. ’T ain’t easy to say,’ he answered in his soft Hampshire drawl.

  Liana felt ashamed at herself for snapping his head off. He was doing his best and trying to be helpful. ‘I know that.’ She sighed. ‘I’m sorry to be so impatient but I am in rather a hurry.’

  The porter disappeared, leaving Liana waiting disconsolately, wishing she had rung Bruno from Waterloo asking him to meet this train. But it was a little late to think of it now; she would have to wait. The porter suddenly reappeared wreathed in smiles. He pointed to the road junction at the bottom of the hill. ‘I’ve got old Jock for you. There he is now, on his way up.’

  A black taxi was coming up the hill. ‘How did you do it?’ Liana was delighted and pressed a one-pound note into his hand.

  ‘Easy, I ’phoned the transport café from the station master’s office.’ He grinned conspiratorially. ‘He’s gone off duty.’

  The net result was that instead of arriving back at Broadacres rushed and in a bad mood, Liana was able to relax, knowing that she would have time for a bath before dressing for dinner. I might even have time to read that story Peter left with me, she mused. I ought to try and do it. He did ask for my reaction as soon as possible, and that was several days ago.

  On arrival at Broadacres Liana found everything well organized and under control. She was a little surprised to see that they were using the Waterford Room, but congratulated Meg on the table-setting which looked magnificent.

  ‘I see we have an extra large party for dinner,’ she said, noting the place numbers.

  ‘The Chapmans and Ramsays are coming. I think Lady Margaret wanted them to see Miss Eleanora’s new young man.’

  Liana pulled a wry expression. ‘I haven’t met him myself but I understand he is not all that young. So don’t look too surprised when you meet him!’

  ‘Forewarned is forearmed as they say, Your Ladyship,’ said Meg, wondering how old he actually was. ‘Shall I call you when Miss Eleanora arrives?’

  Liana looked at her watch. ‘Did Lord Nicholas arrange for drinks at eight?’ Meg nodded, and Liana made a quick mental calculation. There was still time to catch up on the reading for Peter before dinner. ‘No, don’t call me. I’m going to bathe and dress for dinner then work in my office for a little while. I’ll meet everyone in the Grey Room for drinks.’

  Liana chose her outfit for the evening with care, a simple dark green velvet evening dress which clung to her still youthful figure before flaring out into soft folds around her feet – a skilful blend of glamour without being too stark. An hour later she made her way down to the office. As they were dining in the Waterford Room, she wore the amethyst and diamond jewellery brought over with her from Italy; a room of such elegant beauty deserved the best. She fingered the necklace as she walked. Strange that she should be thinking of Eleanora tonight with such clarity. Her mind, in spite of her rigorous attempts at disciplining it to forget, did still dwell on the past, but although Raul’s image always remained clear, Eleanora’s had gradually faded with the passing of time. But tonight it was as if Eleanora were there with her, and she fancied she felt the touch of her hand and heard the last whispered words her friend had ever spoken. ‘Don’t cry, darling. I shall always be with you for as long as you live. Nothing can separate the indivisible.’ Liana shivered. That had been in December 1943 and this was September 1966, almost twenty-three years ago, a lifetime away and yet it could still touch her enough to make her want to weep.

  But her life was here now. And there was plenty to do. Resolutely pushing the memories back to where they belonged, she straightened her shoulders and quickened her pace. The present was the important part of her life, not the past.

  The sound of tyres crunching on the gravel filtered down the cloister corridor from the front of the house. Liana paused and listened. The sound of voices, greetings, Eleanora’s laugh. It was Eleanora and Levi arriving. Good, they had plenty of time to change for dinner, and she had plenty of time to read.

  *

  Before driving round to the front steps, Eleanora had stopped the hired car under the triumphal archway which led into the forecourt in front of Broadacres. ‘I suppose I had better tell you now,’ she said.

  ‘Tell me what?’ Raul was staring at the imposing edifice before them. The house was lit by the last glow of a fast-fading sunset, the faint purple of dusk blurring the edges of everything in sight. But nothing could blur the magnificence of the scene before him: the great square house; the manicured lawns; the huge cedars of Lebanon standing guard either side of the house; the lake and the Palladian bridge in the distance. The foreground was just as impressive, the boxed hedge of the formal garden with the fountain playing in the middle, every leaf of the hedge looking as if it had been carefully trimmed with nail scissors. Although Raul had worked in England, he had never been out of London; but he had no difficulty in recognizing a stately home when he saw one. The houses of the English aristocracy were always in Italian magazines. He turned towards Eleanora and smiled. Silly girl, she was going to apologize because her parents were servants here. ‘Tell me what?’ he said again.

  ‘That my father is the Earl of Wessex and my full name is Lady Eleanora Hamilton-Howard.’

  It took a few seconds for the information to penetrate Raul’s brain but then he began to laugh. ‘Oh, Eleanora,’ he said at last, ‘why do you sound apologetic? And I thought you were going to tell me your father was a servant here.’

  ‘You are not put off? A lot of people think families like ours are snobbish, but we’re not.’

  ‘It would take more than a snobbish family to put me off you.’ Raul caressed her neck, then let his hand wander down to cup her breast. He rubbed her nipple with his thumb. ‘Just think, I’ve been screwing English nobility all this time without knowing it!’ His voice roughened and he slipped his hand inside her blouse and bra, releasing a breast. Bending his head he took the nipple in his mouth, biting it almost savagely. ‘I can’t wait to screw you again, My Lady,’ he said.

  ‘Raul! Not here.’ Eleanora pushed him aside and edged away irritably. ‘Promise me you will behave properly. And you can forget that.’ She pushed Raul away as he attempted to caress her again. ‘There won’t be time for making love before dinner. As it is we’ll just about have time to bathe and change before eight, when we all meet in the Grey Room for drinks.’

  ‘You sound like an Englishwoman already.’ Raul was annoyed at her very obvious reflex movement away from him.

  ‘Perhaps that is because I am!’ said Eleanora sharply. She buttoned up her blouse primly before driving the car around the semi-circular gravel drive.

  Raul slumped back in his seat feeling bad-tempered. This weekend looked as if it was going to be a complete and utter bore: Eleanora being snootily prim and English; no sex! And even worse, he would be stuck with all her relations, no doubt the ultimate in English stuffiness. It was going to be one long yawn.

  *

  Outside it was almost dark but it was warm. The sound of the combine harvester still working up on Inkpen Acre echoed down through the valley. Liana smiled, pulling the manuscript towards her, ready to read. The last of the grain harvest would soon be in, and not a single field flattened by rain this year. Broadacres would make a good profit with their top-quality grain.

  She started reading. The bright light of the desk lamp spilled out over the page, illuminating the neatly typed words. But gradually as Liana read on they ceased to be words. Instead the pages became a series of vivid images, images of the past, exact images of her own life in Italy during the war and after the Allied occupation. Everything was there: the early years before the war, starting with Eleanora’s father, the Marchese, being killed in Spain; the flight of Miss Rose; the dreadful death of her mother and her ineffectual fight to save her; her own life carefully documented; the steps
that led her into eventual prostitution in the desperate effort to keep herself and Eleanora alive; the death of Don Luigi and his lonely burial; and lastly the tragic death of Eleanora. Even the account of her ghastly burial on that cold wet day in December 1943 was there, nothing omitted, nothing at all. Except that instead of Raul’s helping the young Liana, it was an unknown young man from the village of San Angelo. That was the only difference, that and the fact that the writer wrongly stated that Liana had been killed during a bombing raid on Naples. Apart from those minor deviations, everything else was exactly as it had happened.

  Liana turned the last page and quietly closed the manuscript. Now she knew why Peter wanted her to read it. Not only because of the coincidence of the names, but because the descriptions of the pain and suffering, of the brief moments of happiness before the final tragedy were so vivid and had the ring of truth. But what Peter could not know was that only one person in the world knew such intimate details. That person was Raul Carducci. Was it possible that he was still alive and had written this story? Or had he told it to someone else, who had then written it down?

  Sitting completely still, as if carved out of stone, Liana stared straight ahead. Looking through the pool of light from the desk lamp, out through the open window to where the headlights of the harvester were moving slowly along the hillside, her eyes saw not the present, but the past. On and on went the vision tunnelling backwards through time until finally she was there, alone on the barren, arid hillside above Naples, the fragrance of wild thyme and rosemary and the sweet smell of ripe olives in her nostrils. The past had caught up with and overtaken the present.