by Anne Mather
Dinner was to be served at eight o’clock, as usual, and Jaime prepared for the meal, with even less enthusiasm than on previous evenings. Meeting Rafaello’s mother again in Nicola’s presence was not going to be easy, and determined not to let the older woman intimidate her again, she deliberately dressed in a bronze silk tailored pants suit. She had bought the suit on her last trip to Paris, and it was recognisably cut by a master hand, and with it she wore a matching silk shirt and a flowing buttercup yellow tie. She also coiled her hair severely back from her face, to expose her delicate bone structure, using a subtle eye make-up to hide the evidence of her disturbed nights. Examining her reflection before she left her room, she thought she looked cool and sophisticated, and ever-so-slightly masculine, unaware that the sensuous swell of her breasts pressing against the fine silk of her shirt and the unconscious sway of her hips left no one in any doubt as to her gender. Even so, she did achieve part of her objective, which was to convince Rafaello’s mother she had found the success she had sought at his expense.
After her outburst of the night before, Nicola was politely subdued, but her eyes widened at Jaime’s immaculate appearance. In a creamy-coloured cocktail dress, glittering with rhinestones, she was the feminine foil for her friend’s Amazonian elegance, and Jaime wondered if Rafaello’s mother was wondering how her son could have been attracted to two such disparate females.
This evening, the Contessa was dressed in black, her swarthy skin enhanced by a glittering diamond necklace. She looked every inch the matriarch she was, and during dinner she lost no opportunity to make her presence felt. The servants evidently deferred to her, as the senior member of the family, and although this was quite understandable, Jaime thought that if she was in Nicola’s position, she would not allow the old woman such free licence. But Nicola seemed indifferent to her mother-in-law’s presumption, and it was only as they were leaving the table that Jaime thought she understood why. Nicola had been drinking; the scent of alcohol on her breath was out of all proportion to the single glass of wine she had consumed with the meal, and the slightly glazed appearance of her eyes bore witness to a drugging quantity of some other spirit.
Ignoring Jaime’s gasp of impatience, Nicola shook off her friend’s detaining hand and followed her mother-in-law across the hall to the library. But after ensuring that the tray of coffee was waiting for them, she asked to be excused for a moment, and fifteen minutes later Jaime came to the conclusion that Nicola was not coming back.
‘You do not have to stay, signorina, Rafaello’s mother remarked, after Jaime had looked towards the door for the umpteenth time. ‘Go: do what you wish. I shall be quite content here. I have brought my sewing, see? It is an old woman’s pastime, and one which someone of your intelligence would not wish to emulate.’
Jaime expelled her breath on a sigh. ‘Why do I get the impression that my—quotes—intelligence—close quotes—is not something you regard in a complimentary light, contessa?’
‘Did you get that impression, signorina?’ The older woman bent to extract a white linen cloth and a handful of embroidery silks from a bag beside her. ‘It was not intended as a criticism, merely a statement of fact.’
‘I have sewn, in the past,’ Jaime commented briefly, despising the impulse to defend herself to this woman. ‘When I was young, contessa, my mother and I often made our own clothes.’
‘Indeed?’ Rafaello’s mother smoothed out the cloth she had taken from the bag and studied the design. ‘You surprise me, signorina. I should have thought you might have found some other way to dress yourself. Are the men in England blind?’
Jaime caught her breath. ‘That’s an offensive thing to suggest,’ she exclaimed, annoyed to hear the betraying tremor in her voice as she spoke. ‘I don’t know what you’re accusing me of, signorina, but girls in my country do not usually sell their bodies for the sake of ambition! My mother and I were poor, it is true. After my father left us, we did not find it easy to make ends meet. But to my knowledge neither of us was desperate enough to take to the streets!’
The vehemence of her denial must have made some impression on Rafaello’s mother, for when Jaime would have risen to her feet, the Contessa put a detaining hand on her sleeve. ‘Wait, signorina,’ she said tautly. ‘I am sorry. I should not have said what I did, and I ask you to forgive me. You must put it down to an old woman’s anxiety for her son. It is hard for me to forgive you, but as Rafaello appears to have done so, I must at least try.’
Jaime moistened her dry lips. ‘I—I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Oh, I think you do.’ Rafaello’s mother assured herself that Jaime would not leave if she released her, and cut off a length of scarlet silk. ‘You cannot pretend that the past never happened. It did—I have Rafaello’s word for it. And the certain knowledge that had you not walked out on him, he would not now be suffering the results of his reactions.’
Jaime’s legs felt like water—with a comparable strength. It was just as well she had remained in her chair, she thought weakly. She doubted they had the ability to support her. But her brain was still active, and her tongue, and choosing her words carefully, she replied:
‘I did not walk out on Raf, contessa. He walked out on me.’
‘What nonsense is this?’ The older woman looked up from her work. ‘Are you calling my son a liar, signorina? He told me himself that you refused to marry him.’
‘Oh—well, yes. Yes, I suppose I did that,’ admitted Jaime unevenly. ‘But that’s not the same as—–’
‘To my son it would be,’ declared the Contessa stiffly. ‘We are a proud family, signorina. Are you suggesting Rafaello should have agreed to live with you without the blessing of the church?’
Jaime bent her head. ‘I knew he wouldn’t.’
‘So you chose to punish him for being an honourable man.’
‘It wasn’t like that.’ Jaime looked up. ‘You don’t understand, contessa. I wanted to be independent. I wanted to prove I was as capable of providing for myself as any man. And I have proved it. I have a good job, a good career—–’
‘—and no love!’ inserted Rafaello’s mother harshly. ‘I wonder—was it worth it? Five years on, would you still do the same?’
Jaime schooled her features. ‘I—think so.’
‘Then you are a fool!’ The Contessa’s needle attacked the cloth with angry strokes. ‘I see now what my son saw in you—why he wanted you, instead of that faithless creature upstairs. You have pride and integrity; you would not betray your principles and choose the easy way out; but you are a fool, nevertheless. And sooner or later you will realise it!’
CHAPTER EIGHT
IN spite of their differences, Jaime found her feelings towards Rafaello’s mother gradually mellowed over the next few days. Because Nicola chose to remain in bed most mornings until lunchtime, Jaime was thrown much into the company of the elderly Contessa, and not wanting to exacerbate the situation, she was obliged to make an effort to be sociable. She did not approve of the way Nicola was behaving, and she lost no opportunity to tell her so, but the other girl seemed determined to appear in the worst light possible, and it was left to Jaime to try and justify her behaviour.
Although she had not put much faith in Rafaello’s assertion that his mother would act as courier should she wish to see more of Tuscany, the old Contessa herself offered to take Jaime wherever she wanted to go. ‘You do drive, do you hot, signorina?’ she enquired, when she first broached the subject, and as Jaime’s reply was positive, she nodded her head equably. ‘Good. Then you can act as chauffeur,’ she declared, settling the matter. ‘I drive when I have to, but only then. I much prefer to be a passenger.’
‘I’m sure Lorenzo-’ began Jaime, getting ready
to suggest that perhaps her son would be more inclined to approve of his own chauffeur than herself, but the Contessa’s dark eyes glittered.
‘I would not permit that young man to drive me anywhere,’ she declared, before adding scornfully: ‘
But if you should prefer it—–’
‘Oh, no.’ Jaime was not going to be caught in that trap. ‘I only thought—–’
‘Where Lorenzo Costa is concerned, I would advise you not to think,’ the old lady stated grimly. ‘Now, where shall we go for our first outing?’
In the event, they went to Siena, spending the morning visiting the cathedral and the art gallery, and the Palazzo Pubblico, where they climbed the tower to get a view of the surrounding districts. Jaime liked Siena. She liked the town and she liked the people; and most of all she liked the architecture and the magnificent works of art which had made Siena famous.
Nicola was indifferent to her enthusiasm when she got back. ‘How you can spend so much time with that horrible old woman, I’ll never know,’ she declared, after Rafaello’s mother had retired for an afternoon siesta. ‘I intend to telephone Raf and ask him when he plans to come back. I refuse to go on being treated like a visitor in my own home!’
Jaime, flushed and pleasantly tired after her morning in the sun, stretched slim bare legs on the couch in the salotto. This small sitting room opened on to a small patio that in turn gave on to the terraced gardens below the castle, and since the Contessa’s arrival it had been used for relaxing after meals. ‘I think you ask for everything you get,’ she said now, trying to be fair. ‘After all, you don’t make any effort to get on with her, do you? And as for allowing her to order the servants about—well, you don’t seem interested in household matters.’
‘I’ve told you, the servants turn against me,’ Nicola muttered resentfully, but Jaime shook her head.
‘I think you turn them against you,’ she countered gently. ‘You obviously don’t like them, and you let them know it. If you—–’
‘So you’ve turned against me, too!’ Nicola burst out tearfully. ‘I wondered how long it would take. What has that old witch been saying to you? What has she been telling you about me? It’s lies, all lies. She always hated me, always!’
‘Calm down, calm down!’ Jaime was perturbed and showed it, swinging her legs to the floor and regarding the other girl anxiously. ‘I haven’t turned against you, Nicola. Don’t start that again. I’m merely pointing out that you haven’t exactly endeared yourself to your mother-in-law, have you?’
‘Why should I?’ Nicola pushed her hands into the pockets of the baggy coveralls she was wearing, going to stand with her back against the frame of the french windows. ‘I know what she thinks of me. I know that if divorce was possible in their religion, she’d encourage Rafaello to seek his freedom.’ Her lips tightened as she turned to give Jaime a curiously feline look. ‘But divorce isn’t acceptable,’ she declared, not without a certain amount of satisfaction. ‘And the marriage could hardly be annulled when I’ve had one miscarriage, could it? No,’ her lips twisted, ‘Raf’s stuck with me. And the sooner he accepts that, the better.’
Jaime could feel every nerve in her body tighten. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked, disturbed by the sudden malevolence in Nicola’s tone. It was almost as if she was gloating over something, although ‘what Jaime couldn’t imagine.
‘It doesn’t matter.’ Evidently Nicola had decided she had said enough. ‘I’m going up to my room. Why don’t you join me? I’ve got something there that will definitely brighten this boring afternoon.’
‘No, thanks.’ Jaime remained where she was, sickened by Nicola’s obvious indifference to everything she had been saying, and the other girl shrugged.
‘Suit yourself,’ she said, sauntering towards the door. ‘But don’t blame me for being the way I am. Blame that self-righteous bastard I married. Blame him for the mess I’ve got myself into now!’
Jaime looked up at her. ‘What mess?’
Nicola avoided her eyes. ‘What do you think?’
Jaime shook her head. ‘You mean—your drinking?’
Nicola grimaced. ‘What else?’ she countered bitterly, and wrenching open the door made her exit.
During the days that followed, Jaime drove Rafaello’s mother all over the northern part of Tuscany. They went to Empoli and Certaldo, and Poggibonsi, famed for its wine, and the ferry port of Piombino, gateway to the island of Elba. But Jaime’s favourite place was Florence, the centre of European civilisation for hundreds of years, and home of some of the greatest works of art ever commissioned. The full day they spent there could not begin to encompass the scope of its churches and museums, its palaces and art galleries. Jaime thought she would like to spend at least a week wandering through its streets and squares and winding alleys, and remembering the way Rafaello used to talk about his homeland, she began to appreciate the love he had for it.
It was during the day they spent in Florence that Jaime attempted to talk to the Contessa about her daughter-in-law. She was in a state of some elation, having spent the afternoon touring the Uffizi Gallery, and when Rafaello’s mother suggested finding a caffe where they could buy a cup of tea and she could rest her aching feet, Jaime seized the chance of holding her attention.
‘What a pity Nicola isn’t with us,’ she ventured, using her own enthusiasm as an excuse to bring Nicola’s name into the conversation, but the Contessa refused to take the bait.
‘I do not think I have walked so much since Tonio grew out of his carrozzina—his baby state, you know,’ she admitted, rubbing the toes of one foot against the ankle of the other. ‘But I have enjoyed it, Jaime. And I am grateful to you for that.’
‘Oh, please—–’ Jaime shook her head, relieved that her attempt to introduce Nicola’s name had not encouraged the Contessa to revert to her previously formal address of signorina. For two days now, she had been Jaime to her companion, and their relationship had warmed accordingly.
But it was useless to pretend that Nicola did not exist, and taking another deep breath, Jaime took a second plunge. ‘She’s not a happy girl, you know,’ she tendered, stirring her tea with more vigour than necessity. ‘I wish you would try and understand her position, Contessa. She desperately wants to do the right thing.’
‘You think that?’ Rafaello’s mother’s eyes flashed impatiently. Then, as if realising their association had gone beyond the bounds of mere acquaintances, she added more feelingly: ‘I do not want to quarrel with you, Jaime. These past days—they have been pleasant for me, more pleasant than I could have imagined. Do not spoil them by talking about Nicola. She is not your concern. Regrettably, she is Rafaello’s, and Rafaello’s alone. It is up to him to decide what must be done about her.’
‘What must be done about her?’ Jaime blinked uncertainly. ‘I’m afraid I don’t understand.’
‘But you know what is wrong with her, do you not?’
Jaime’s tongue circled her lips. ‘What is wrong with her?’ she echoed, playing for time, and the Contessa’s thin lips drew down at the corners.
‘Do not lie to me, Jaime. You have been here—what? A week? Eight days? Surely in that time Nicola has confided in you, in her best friend?’
Jaime shook her head. ‘Perhaps.’
‘So.’ Rafaello’s mother shrugged her shoulders. ‘What more is there to say?’
‘You mean—Raf knows too?’
‘Do you doubt it?’ The Contessa gazed at her aghast. ‘My child, my son may be many things, but he is not a fool. Of course he knows. I imagine the whole castle knows.’ Her fingers gripped the edge of the table. ‘I will never forgive my husband. Never!’
‘Your husband?’ Jaime had the feeling she was losing the threads of this conversation. ‘I’m afraid I don’t see what your husband has to do with it? He died so long ago.’
‘The sins of the fathers,’ declared Rafaello’s mother bitterly. ‘You know that saying, I am sure. It was never more true than in this context.’
Jaime sipped her tea helplessly. Evidently, the Contessa thought she saw some connection she did not. But whatever the outcome, she had to make one final effort on Nicola’s behalf. ‘Don’t you think,’ she suggested, ‘Raf might give her another chance?’
> ‘Another chance?’ The Contessa snorted angrily. ‘What are you saying? That Rafaello should forgive and forget? Oh, no, signorina, you ask too much. When—when the child died, he might have forgiven her then, but she was not content. She had only herself to blame for the result.’
Jaime bit her lip. ‘But is it so wrong to want a baby?’ she exclaimed. ‘I should have thought you—–’
‘You ask that! The Contessa stared at her in contempt. ‘Dio mio, take me home, signorina. I do not wish to discuss the matter again.’
Rafaello arrived home that evening.
Jaime could have wished he had chosen some other evening to return to the castle. The atmosphere between the three women was decidedly chilly, and she was sorry about that after the pleasant few days she and the Contessa had spent. But no doubt Rafaello would have been suspicious if he had returned to find his mother and Jaime the best of friends, so perhaps it was fortuitous anyway.
During dinner, he spoke almost exclusively to his mother, and Jaime told herself she was relieved. But after the meal was over, he did not retire as he usually did, joining Jaime and his mother in the salotto for the ritual pouring of the coffee.
Nicola, who had been silent throughout dinner, joined them, too, seating herself on a pale green buttoned sofa, and accepting the cup of coffee her mother-in-law handed to her with carefully-assumed politeness. All evening she had been throwing malevolent glances at the old lady whenever she was not looking, catching Jaime’s eye with mocking indifference, involving her in a situation that was far from transparent; but now she sat there demurely, like a child at a special treat, her innocent appearance belying what lay underneath.
