by Anne Mather
‘Oh—this and that.’ In all honesty, Jaime was finding it difficult to remember exactly what they had talked about, and her conscience was not eased to discover that Nicola showed no obvious trace of jealousy. On the contrary, the other girl seemed well pleased that Rafaello had apparently changed his mind, and although she must have been disappointed that Jaime had not taken advantage of her opportunities, she had not reproached her for it.
‘I suppose it must be strange for you and Raf to spend time alone together,’ Nicola ventured now, summoning the waitress to order another pastry. ‘I mean—after all these years.’ She paused. ‘I knew he wouldn’t be able to resist you.’
‘Nicola!’ Jaime felt the blood rushing up under her skin, but the other girl only shrugged.
‘Don’t look so shocked, Jaime. I’m not suggesting there’s been any indiscretion—–’
‘I should hope not!’
‘—but you have to admit you still find Raf attractive, don’t you?’
‘For goodness’ sake, Nicola!’ Jaime glanced impatiently round the small restaurant, but the other girl only made a resigned grimace.
‘Well, it’s true,’ she exclaimed. ‘Just because you’ve chosen to deny your femininity, it doesn’t mean you’ve taken a vow of chastity, Jaime.’
‘No, it doesn’t.’ Jaime drew a deep breath. ‘But nor is my life so devoid of human relationships that I need to turn to another girl’s husband for consolation!’
‘Oh, Jaime!’ Nicola accepted a sugared confection, oozing with cream, on to her plate. ‘I’m not suggesting you’d consider having an affair with Raf. I’m just being realistic, that’s all. Anyway,’ she licked her lips delicately, ‘if you and Raf do become friends, just think how much easier it will be for you to talk about me.’
Jaime cupped her chin on her knuckles. ‘You really are convinced that I can persuade Raf, aren’t you?’
‘If anybody can,’ the other girl agreed.
‘And if he refuses to talk about it?’
‘You’ll find a way.’
‘Nicky, I may not be able to.’
Nicola’s attention was briefly distracted from her plate. ‘If you care about me, you’ll do it.’
Jaime shook her head. ‘It isn’t a question of caring.’ She halted and then went on more slowly: ‘When was the last time you tried to talk to Raf?’
‘I don’t know.’ Nicola poured herself more tea. ‘Yesterday; last week; what does it matter? I’ve told you—–’
‘I can’t believe he’s so intractable—–’
‘Oh, can’t you?’ Nicola’s lips twisted. ‘How would you know? Have you asked him?’
Jaime sighed. ‘Nicola, listen to me—–’
‘No, you listen to me.’ Nicola leant tensely towards her. ‘I’m afraid, Jaime. I half believe Raf only married me to punish me.’
‘That’s ridiculous, Nicola!’
‘Is it? Is it? I sometimes think he doesn’t care about me at all.’
Jaime lay back in her chair, defeated, and Nicola consumed the remainder of the pastry. ‘I suppose you think I eat too much, too,’ she remarked, wiping her fingers on a napkin. ‘Well, you know what they say about eating to compensate.’
Jaime’s shoulders moved in a helpless gesture. ‘It won’t help if you start putting on weight, will it?’
Nicola’s eyes flashed. ‘I’m not putting on weight. I haven’t lost my figure yet!’
‘Lost your figure?’ Jaime sighed. ‘No, of course you haven’t lost your figure, but—–’
‘He won’t want me if I’m fat!’
‘All I’m saying is—–’
‘All you’re saying is that I should go on and on giving in to Raf’s selfishness,’ declared Nicola, through tight lips. ‘Could you do it? Could you be content with my life?’
Jaime bent her head. ‘We’re not talking about me.’
‘No, we’re not.’ Nicola sniffed. ‘But perhaps we should. Perhaps we should probe the reasons why you’re so unwilling to help me.’
‘Nicola!’
Jaime met the other girl’s eyes indignantly, and as if she realised she had gone too far, Nicola’s expression changed. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ she exclaimed, her narrow fingers fastening round Jaime’s wrist. ‘I didn’t mean that—I didn’t. I know you’re only thinking of me. But you don’t know what it’s like, day in and day out.’
Jaime pushed back her chair and got to her feet. ‘I’m not making any promises, Nicola.’
‘But you’ll think about it.’
‘I already am,’ replied Jaime flatly, walking towards the cashier’s desk.
Dinner was a subdued meal that evening. Jaime guessed Nicola was endeavouring not to create any more disturbing situations, and Rafaello seemed absorbed with his own thoughts.
When the meal was over, however, he did have one announcement to make before he left the two girls to their coffee. ‘Mamma telephoned this afternoon,’ he declared, addressing himself chiefly to his wife. ‘I invited her to spend a few days with us while—Jaime is here. As she knows the area as well as I do, I thought you might welcome her as my replacement, as I have to go to Rome tomorrow.’
‘No!’
Nicola was on her feet before he had finished speaking, and then, as if realising her protest could be misconstrued, she added: ‘I mean, we’ll come to Rome with you, Raf, Jaime and I. I—I’m sure we’d both enjoy—–’
‘I think not.’ Rafaello shook his head sombrely. ‘You invited Jaime here for a holiday, Nicola. I do not think the hot streets of my nation’s capital are exactly what she had in mind.’
‘Don’t be silly.’ Nicola glanced impatiently at the other girl. ‘Raf, you can’t expect Jaime to welcome your mother’s company—she’s an old woman!’
‘Nicola, honestly …’ Jaime had to intervene, though not, she feared, in the way her friend had intended. ‘I—I shall look forward to meeting Signora di Vaggio. Please, don’t concern yourself on my account.’
The look Nicola flashed her then was one of wild desperation. Her clear blue eyes glittered with unshed tears, and Jaime, returning her stare helplessly, began to suspect she had underestimated the state of Nicola’s imbalance. Until then, she had not realised how precariously drawn the other girl’s nerves must be, but all of a sudden Nicola’s threats of self-destruction did not seem so unbelievable.
‘Nevertheless,’ said Rafaello, apparently indifferent to his wife’s distress, ‘the arrangements have been made, and we will adhere to them. It is time you started to consider someone other than yourself, and Mamma has been very patient with you in the past.’
Nicola’s lips trembled. ‘I don’t want her here! I don’t want that lying old woman here! She hates me, you know she does. Why do you do these things to hurt me?’
‘To hurt you?’ Rafaello’s voice had an edge of ice. ‘You do not know the meaning of the word!’
‘Oh, please—–’ Jaime could see Nicola was visibly swaying now, and she was very much afraid that Rafaello’s anger would drive her friend over the brink. ‘I’m sure Nicola didn’t mean what she said. She’s upset, that’s all—distraught! I’m sure if—–’
‘Keep out of this, Jaime!’ Rafaello snapped the words as he strode towards the door. ‘You are not one of the family! You have no right to interfere in matters which do not concern you. Please keep your opinions to yourself. You know nothing!’
The door slammed behind him, and watching Nicola as she subsided into her chair, Jaime wondered which of them felt the worst. Nicola was quivering, it was true, and her fingers clasped and unclasped with the intensity of her emotions, but the drained feeling Jaime was experiencing could hardly be surpassed. She felt sick and dizzy, stunned by the pain of his rejection, and weak with the knowledge that he could inflict such agony unheedingly.
‘It’s no use, it’s no use …’
Nicola’s groan of despair alerted Jaime to an awareness of where she was and what was happening. Whatever her own feeli
ngs, it was Nicola’s feelings she should be concerned with, and gathering her strength, she endeavoured to speak calmly.
‘What’s—no use?’ she asked, forcing a note of optimism to her voice. ‘Nicola, you mustn’t let these arguments upset you. All—all married couples have their differences. And besides, Raf’s mother can’t be that bad.’
‘She is, she is.’ Nicola’s jaw trembled. ‘She hates me!’
‘Oh, don’t be silly. Mothers-in-law don’t hate their sons’ wives. They may not—approve, exactly—–’
‘Approve!’ Nicola rubbed her nose with a shaking finger. ‘You don’t know, Jaime, you don’t know. She’s a terrible woman. She’ll turn you against me, too.’
‘She won’t. What are you saying?’ Jaime found talking was easier than thinking. ‘Are you trying to tell me that it was Raf’s mother who turned him against you?’
‘Yes! Yes!’ Nicola sniffed miserably. ‘Oh, Jaime, what am I going to do? If Raf’s in Rome and you’re here, how are you ever going to be able to talk to him?’
Jaime moistened her lips. ‘He won’t be in Rome for ever, will he?’
‘You mean—you’ll stay?’ Nicola grasped her hands and stared at her through wildly tearful eyes. ‘But I thought—you said—–’
‘Yes, well—–’ Jaime hesitated, already half regretting the impulse which had made her offer to stay on. ‘I could stay another week—–’
‘A week?’ Nicola gulped. ‘Oh, Jaime, you don’t know how grateful I am! Wait until Raf finds out. He’ll be so—so—–’
‘—furious?’ enquired Jaime flatly, the sickness she had succeeded in dispelling returning to plague her, but Nicola shook her head.
‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘Why should he be? He asked his mother here for your sake.’ Her lips twisted. ‘Or so he said.’
‘Yes—well—–’ Jaime got to her feet, suddenly desperate to get away from Nicola, away from Raf, away from this room which had seen the disintegration of her belief in herself. ‘I’m tired, I’m going to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.’
Nicola watched her leave, an expression of relief having taken the place of her previous hysteria, and Jaime envied her her ability to change moods so swiftly. Looking at Nicola now, it was almost impossible to believe that only minutes before she had been swaying on the edge of an emotional precipice. Now it was Jaime who could feel the narrowness of the path she was treading, and the instability of her position seemed unlikely to improve.
Rafaello’s mother arrived in the early afternoon. She drove herself in a huge, outdated Mercedes, that nevertheless succeeded in retaining its air of power and elegance.
Jaime might not have witnessed her arrival had it not been for Lorenzo Costa. She had decided to go for a walk after lunch, when Nicola said she was going to rest, and the handsome young chauffeur had encountered her in the courtyard and offered his escort.
‘No strings,’ he declared humorously, holding up his hands, when Jaime’s expression questioned his integrity, and glad of the distraction, she had agreed. The disturbing trend of her own thoughts had long begun to weary her, and it was with a sense of relief that she gave herself up to his uncomplicated companionship.
Leaving the castle behind, they climbed a slope starred with daisies and bluebells, to where a spring burst out of the hillside. Around the stones nearby mosses clung, making the way slippery, and Jaime kicked off her sandals and dipped her feet into the cool water. From here it was possible to view the whole sweep of the valley, and she perched on a ledge and drew up her knees.
‘You look—anxious,’ remarked Lorenzo quietly, adopting a squatting position beside her. ‘Is something wrong? You seem—intense. Are you not enjoying your holiday, after all?’
‘What?’ Jaime glanced his way quickly. ‘Oh—oh, yes.’ She had no wish to get involved with personal relationships again. ‘I was just admiring the view. It’s quite spectacular.’
‘Quite,’ he agreed, quirking a dark eyebrow. ‘And il conte is king of all he surveys.’
Jaime refused to take the bait, and instead pointed to the undulating curve that wound away into the hills to their right. ‘That’s the road to Santo Giustino, isn’t it?’ she commented. ‘There’s a beautiful cathedral at Santo Giustino. But I suppose you know that, having lived here all your life.’
‘How do you know where I have lived all my life?’ Lorenzo countered quickly. ‘Did Nicola tell you? Did Nicola talk about me?’
‘Nicola?’ Jaime repeated the name to give herself time to think. ‘I—why, no.’ She paused. ‘Why should you think she might?’
Lorenzo shrugged. ‘Bene, she could hardly talk to il conte, could she?’
‘Why not?’ Jaime knew she ought to go no further with this, but Lorenzo’s complacency was infuriating. ‘What couldn’t she talk to—to the count about?’
‘Why, the cognac I get for her, of course, signorina,’ he declared blandly, but Jaime had the distinct impression that was not what he meant.
Shaking her head, she rested her chin upon her knees, wondering as she did so why Lorenzo’s attitude towards Nicola troubled her so much. After all, if Rafaello suspected there was anything between his wife and the handsome chauffeur, he would have dismissed him long ago, and it was obvious from Lorenzo’s behaviour that he did not think this was imminent. The man was over-confident, that was all, but likeable with it, she decided, else why had she agreed to his company herself?
‘You have a job in England, signorina?’ he asked now, subsiding on to the grass and resting back on his elbows. ‘Let me guess: you are a modella, no?’
‘I’m a model, no,’ agreed Jaime drily, giving him a sideways glance. ‘As a matter of fact, I have an office job. Nothing exotic, I’m afraid.’
‘Ah …’ Lorenzo nodded, ‘that is a shame. You would make a good model, I think.’
‘So would you,’ retorted Jaime crisply, and Lorenzo’s laughter was loud and spontaneous.
‘I think, perhaps, you are a feminist, signorina,’ he exclaimed sobering. ‘Is that why you have never married? I cannot believe no man has ever asked you.’
‘How do you now I haven’t been married?’ Jaime responded, using his own argument against him. ‘And divorced? I may have been, for all you know.’
‘This is true.’ Lorenzo lifted his shoulders in acknowledgment. ‘But I do not think you have been married, signorina. A lover, yes. Perhaps, more than one. But no husband.’
Jaime pushed herself to her feet, controlling her colour with the utmost difficulty. The last thing she needed was to be reminded of her affair with Rafaello, and Lorenzo’s eyes were too intent, too knowing. It crossed her mind that perhaps he had suspicions, too, and it was this as much as anything that prompted their return to the castle.
So it was that Jaime and Lorenzo entered the courtyard just as the Dowager Contessa di Vaggio was emerging from her car. A small woman, somewhat overweight in middle age, Rafaello’s mother nevertheless possessed a formidable presence, and her dark eyes alighted instantly on the two young people still flushed from the exertion of their walk. Jaime was taken aback by the expression of hostility that crossed Rafaello’s mother’s face as she took in their somewhat dishevelled appearance, and her nerves tightened uncomfortably at the unwelcome notion that the older woman knew exactly who she was. It was possible that she should remember, Jaime thought with some trepidation. After all, Rafaello had wanted them to meet. But if his mother resented that previous relationship as much as he did, then in God’s name, why had Rafaello invited his mother here at this time?
‘It is—Signorina Forster, is it not?’
In the few seconds Jaime had taken to ponder this new development, the Dowager Contessa di Vaggio had left her car to approach them. Lorenzo, with a polite inclination of his head that included both women, swiftly made his departure, and it was left to Jaime to face this redoubtable little woman alone.
‘I—yes, contessa,’ she answered, wondering why she felt the urge to curtsey.
‘Er—how do you do? Did you have a good journey?’
‘I enjoy driving,’ Rafaello’s mother agreed, without warmth. ‘So—we meet at last.’ She held out her hand. ‘You are not at all as I imagined you.’
Jaime expelled her breath weakly. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Do not be.’ The older woman’s brows arched above well-fleshed yet patrician features. ‘My thoughts of you were never charitable, signorina. But I am bound to say that Rafaello did not exaggerate your beauty.’
‘Thank you.’
Jaime did not know what else to reply, but the Dowager Contessa only shrugged. ‘It was not a compliment, signorina. I was merely commenting on the reasons for Rafaello’s infatuation. An infatuation that ruined his life, I might add, and for which he is still paying!’
Before Jaime could make any response to this damning pronouncement, the Contessa turned away, and ignoring the girl’s open-mouthed indignation, she summoned Giulio to take her bags.
‘Comé sta?’ she enquired, following the servant into the castle. ‘Dov’è la signora?’
Jaime followed more slowly, unwilling to be involved in Nicola’s reception of her mother-in-law. But she had to admit her friend was right: Rafaello’s mother evidently disapproved of her son’s choice in women.
To her relief, there was no sign of the visitor when she entered the hall. Giulio had no doubt taken his erstwhile mistress up to her apartments, and abandoning her tentative idea of examining the books in Rafaello’s library, Jaime followed suit.
In her own room, however, it was not so easy to dismiss thoughts of the new arrival. Rafaello had left that morning for an unspecified stay in Rome, and she very much suspected that his decision to invite his mother to the castle was simply another way to tell her to leave. After all, he must have known how his mother would react to her, and if Jaime had any sense at all, she would go now before she got any deeper into this mess. But she couldn’t leave Nicola, not without making some effort on her behalf, and it crossed her mind swiftly that perhaps Rafaello’s mother might be more sympathetic than her son. Surely she must want a grandchild from her eldest son? Rafaello used to say so. Jaime shivered. She had once considered providing that child herself …
