
The Runaway Visitors
ELEANOR FARNES
Victoria thought she could look after her young brother and sister while her parents were abroad. They decided otherwise.
So Victoria found herself in Italy, entrusted to the care of the disagreeable Charles Duncan, who was anything but pleased at having these juveniles thrust upon him.
'According to this letter,' Victoria said, lifting her head to look at her brother and sister seated at the breakfast table with her, 'we're to be shipped off to Italy for the summer. '
'Italy?' said Amanda, astonished. 'Whatever for?'
'Italy?' Sebastien was even more unconvinced. 'I thought we were going to Aunt Catherine in Norfolk.'
'According to Mother,' went on Victoria, 'Aunt Catherine can't have us. She's having friends to stay with her, on and off, so won't have enough bedrooms; and she's having a very busy summer and won't have enough time for us.'
'In other words,' said Sebastien, almost too drily for a sixteen-year-old, 'Aunt Catherine doesn't want us.' They all looked at each other with a kind of unhappy resignation. They were always being shipped off to somebody or other, and had been for as long as they could remember.
'I see absolutely no reason why we couldn't stay here all together,' said Victoria. 'I'm nearly twenty and I keep house much more efficiently than Mother, even when she is here. She seems to think the responsibility of looking after a family is too much for me; so off we have to go to Italy.'
'Before the end of term?' asked Sebastien.
'Yes. She says it's all arranged. Your exams are finished and she doesn't think the rest of term is important.'
'What about my exams?' put in Amanda.
'She doesn't seem to think they're important either.'
'And I was going to camp from Aunt Catherine's,' said Sebastien. Victoria shrugged her shoulders. It was impossible to argue with parents who were on their way to New Guinea, impossible to contest the arrangements for air tickets and finance.
'And how do we know that these people in Italy don't want us either?' asked Sebastien after a troubled pause.
'It isn't people. It's a person. A man, a sculptor called Charles Duncan. He's got a rambling old Etruscan farmhouse in the hills
above Florence.'
'Oh, this Charles we're always hearing about?' asked Amanda. 'That one, yes. He's been a great friend of Mother and Dad ever since they bought one of his very first exhibited sculptures.'
'Do you know him?' asked Sebastien.
'I remember him. I wouldn't say I know him. I think I was nine when I last saw him, and since then he's become quite famous. Mother and Dad have seen him lots of times: in Florence and New York and here in London, but always going out to dinner with him or in friends' houses. I don't know what he's like now. '
'Well, what makes Mother think a man can look after us, if you can't?' asked Sebastien.
'Apparently, still according to Mother's letter, he once said to her when she was wondering what to do with us, that she could always send us to him, he'd be delighted to have us. And he's got a Scottish housekeeper, apparently.'
'She'll love having three strangers dumped on her.' Victoria folded the letter and replaced it in its envelope. She sensed the let-down and disappointment in Sebastien and thirteen-year-old Amanda, and she smiled at them both encouragingly. 'Oh, you never know,' she said with an attempt at cheerfulness. 'She might be a very nice person, and Charles Duncan will probably be too busy to take much notice of us; and I can always help the Scottish housekeeper, to keep her sweet. It may not turn out too badly.'
When Sebastien and Amanda had gone off to school, however, Victoria was not quite so cheerful. She cleared away the breakfast dishes and washed them in the light, airy, newly-decorated kitchen, looking out over the narrow London garden she tended so carefully, thinking that it would all go to pot while she was wasting her time in Italy. Sebastien had said, putting books into a briefcase, slinging another bag over his shoulder: 'I don't know why they don't stay home and look after their own children, like other boys' parents,' and sometimes Victoria too envied the young people who had their parents always with them, envied the warmth and security they must feel.
It was all very well to have such wonderful, interesting, talented parents, but should they want to have their cake and eat it too?
Should they have a family if they didn't have the time to devote to it? Friends were always saying to Victoria, Sebastien and Amanda: 'We saw your parents on television last night---they were awfully interesting.' Or: 'Your mother looked so beautiful, you can't imagine her grubbing about in all those jungles and things for new plants.' For their mother was a botanist, well-known among her colleagues at first, later well-known because of television which made her familiar to hundreds of thousands. She would appear, beautiful, elegant, charming---not at all like a blue-stocking---after each of her expeditions: to the Amazonian jungle or to the mountains of Nepal or some other exotic spot.
And it wasn't only Mother, for their father was now a big name among the conservationists, and as this was also a subject often aired 'on the box', he had his innings, too. He had been a mining engineer. All over the world, just like Mother. He had made quite a fortune, in a complicated way to do with mining shares which Victoria did not understand. And then, later, he had become seriously concerned about the destruction of the environment and had turned his considerable intellect to the problem of conserving it. So he sat on committees, and he went off to study the problem in the field, and now he was on his way to New Guinea to one of the largest copper mines in the world; and Mother was with him, not to look at mines but to look for plants; and once more, Victoria, Sebastien and Amanda would be 'shipped off '.
Victoria thought it was not so much that they didn't realise she had grown up, as that they didn't want to realise it. They wanted to keep the three together, wanted to know that Victoria was there to keep an eye on the other two. Not that Sebastien needed it. He was already fairly self-sufficient. In fact, there was often a dryness about his comments that bordered on cynicism, and Victoria wondered sometimes if he was losing his precious youthfulness by developing a hard shell around him. Perhaps he had been hurt by his parents' frequent departures (which nobody ever thought of calling neglect) and was determined that life was not going to have the power to hurt him.
Amanda needed a protective eye much more. She was a temperamental thirteen-year-old, and that was an awkward age enough without an added dose of temperament. She cried easily. She got depressed. Victoria was her prop and stay; and Victoria knew that, for Amanda's sake alone, she would go off to Charles Duncan's Etruscan farm for the summer, and put up with whatever awaited her.
For there had been all kinds of awkwardnesses and embarrassments in the various places that had welcomed them at first and then got bored by them, or resented the length of the visit, or the extra work. Victoria had had to keep the peace, or make herself useful, or try in one way or another to atone for the inconvenience they caused.
'For two pins,' she said to the neighbour's ginger cat exploring her herbaceous border, ' I wouldn't go to Italy. I'd stay home and run the house here and Sebastien could go to camp and Amanda could go on with her ballet classes. It's quite unnecessary for Mother to make any arrangements for us.' Although she knew that these arrangements, in some strange way, alleviated her mother's pangs of conscience. Mother would think---and say: 'The darlings are having a wonderful summer in Italy.' Even if the darlings felt unwanted and in the way and would rather be in their familiar surroundings in dear old London.
When Sebastien and Amanda returned at the end of the afternoon the three of them had another consultation over tea. Both Sebastien and Amanda were more cheerful, since their news had aroused interest and envy among their schoolfellows, and even interest from masters and mistresses at the news that they were visiting so eminent a sculptor as Charles Duncan.
'Well, I've been thinking too,' said Victoria. 'I think we've got to have some measure of independence. We don't know where this farm is---it might be miles from anywhere, away in the hills. You remember the Inneses' house in Scotland---four miles from the village, the car never available, hiring those old bikes to toil up all those hills? Well, I'm not having any more of that. We won't go by air. We'll go by car, and then we'll have it with us to get about in. And it will be cheaper---we'll have extra spare money.'
So she set about the formalities. Their passports were always in order. She booked the passage on the car ferry and wrote to Charles Duncan to give him an approximate date of their arrival. She had to select the clothes they would need to take, and wash them or see they were dry-cleaned; and ask their neighbour to keep an eye on the house; and turn off the boiler and leave messages for the tradesmen and do the many things any responsible housewife has to do; and pack up the car, taking the picnic gear and the dozens of things Sebastien and Amanda decided they could not do without. And yet Mother still thought arrangements had to be made for them!
The day came when they boarded the car ferry at Dover, and inevitably a feeling of adventure came with it. The queueing to go on board, the glitter on the sea, the receding white cliffs of Dover, the sudden clatter of the strange French tongue, driving on the right along the straight French roads, finding little inns to spend the nights in, or lovely spots for picnic lunches. Over the Alps and into Italy and along the motorways there: no dallying nowadays in the lovely, historic, mediaeval villages, but straight through on the autoroute to the sun!
Behind the interest of the journey, however, behind the colourful places they stayed in and passed through, they were aware of a faint anxiety that grew stronger as they approached their destination. Victoria, especially, upon whom the brunt of the visit usually fell. What was Charles Duncan like now? What sort of woman was his housekeeper?
Charles Duncan she remembered as a tall man and broad, with large strong hands and a shock of brown hair. He had come to their house several times when she was about nine years old, and he had had little time for the three children then, aged nine, six and three. Victoria remembered that he had said to her: ' What, is there another beauty in the family? Are you going to be as beautiful as your mother?' For that was really the first time she had seen her mother as beautiful in the world's eyes. Perhaps she remembered him as tall simply because she herself had been small then? Perhaps the brown hair was grey now? She thought he was younger than her parents, but realised that she had always thought of him as their friend and had not been particularly interested in him. Now she had to be.
The housekeeper, too. She could make their life pleasant, or distinctly unpleasant, she could make them feel unceasingly a burden. Victoria worried about it as they drove into Florence; and the others, sensing her anxiety, became quiet too.
'Read the instructions to me, Sebastien,' she said. 'We take the
Fiesole road, don't we?'
He began to read the instructions which Charles Duncan had sent to them. Yes, it was the Fiesole road, climbing and winding its way out of Florence, the scent of the lime trees in flower finding its way into the car. And at a certain point they turned off to the right along a rough, metalled road from which various private drives led away; and then over a rougher, country road for some distance that led them to a rambling old building of considerable size, constructed of the mellow golden stone of the area, touched by terra-cotta. Victoria stopped the car, so that they could take a good look at it.
'Well, we're here,' she said.
'Is that it?' asked Amanda.
'Undoubtedly. It answers the descriptions.'
'It looks awfully crumbling and old.'
'It looks absolutely beautiful,' said Victoria.
To her eyes, it did. Hundreds of years old, she thought. A complex of house and farm buildings, and a lovely small tower at one end that could only be in Tuscany. A real old Italian farm, she thought, with a lift of the heart. Sitting there under the warmth of the sun as it had for centuries. Considerably cheered, she re-started the engine, drove through the gateway and along a well-constructed driveway, and stopped at the entrance to the house.
There was no sign of life, although the door stood open. They got out of the car, the younger ones looking to Victoria for guidance. She marched boldly forward and rang the bell, which clanged somewhere at the back of the house. There was no immediate reply and they looked into a hallway which staggered them; for only the shell of the house was centuries old, and inside was a modernity such as they had never encountered. The marble-floored hall led straight to a living room, with low, soft couches, glass tables, marble shelves which ran the length of the room and could be used as seats or tables, pieces of sculpture in several places, modern art on the walls. From one corner of the room ran a narrow corridor; from another corner steps ascended into another room which subsequently proved to be an extremely modern dining room. Although the windows were small, the general effect was of lightness and whiteness with coloured glass which glowed and marble which shone, and ceilings which were domed and archways beautifully curved.
As they stood together, slightly awe struck, a tall, slim figure emerged from the corridor. Her hair was grey and her face looked uncompromising. She wore a dark blue dress and a white apron and had obviously just been cooking as she was still flour-sprinkled and was still rubbing her recently dried hands together. She stopped facing them and looked from one to the other.
'So you're here,' she said. 'You'll be the Fenn children.'
'Yes,' said Victoria. 'Good afternoon.'
'Children! Nobody could call you a child!' She looked at the tall Sebastien. 'Nor you.' Her glance passed over Amanda. 'Well, well, you'll be a surprise, I warrant, to himself when he gets back.' There was a touch of malice in her expression. 'I'm Jeanie Jameson,' she said, 'and you'll be answerable to me while you're here.'
'How do you do, Mrs. Jameson,' and Victoria held out her hand.
Reluctantly, it was taken and dropped.
'Miss Jameson,' she corrected. 'Miss Jameson to you at all times, remember. Where's your luggage?'
'In the car. We'll get it.'
'Right. Then I'll show you where you'll be sleeping.'
She stood and watched while everything was brought from the car. They had been travelling for several days and there were considerable odds and ends as well as the bags and the picnic gear.
'Well, you've brought enough litter with you,' commented Miss Jameson. 'I'll thank you to keep it in your own rooms and not to be scattering it all over the house.'
'Oh, we won't,' promised Victoria at once.
They struggled after her along the corridor with their own luggage and as much as they could carry. Miss Jameson did not offer to help them. She threw open a wide door into what proved to be a small guest house. It had two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a terrace on to which both bedrooms opened, which looked out over olive groves to Florence in the middle distance, with its imposing Cathedral, soaring campanile and the tall tower of the Palazzo Vecchio.
'Is that Florence?' asked Amanda of Victoria, but it was Miss Jameson who answered.
'Firenze,' she said, with a great rolling of the 'r'. 'Nobody will know what you're talking about if you call it Florence.'
'Firenze,' Amanda repeated.
'It's all very beautiful,' said Victoria, speaking of their rooms and
their view and everything.
'Ay, well, I daresay you'll make yourselves comfortable. Your supper will be at seven, but if you want a cup of tea I'll be making one in the kitchen in half an hour.' And she went out of the main door, closing it firmly behind her.
'That,' said Sebastien, when he was sure she was out of earshot, ' is what you call a warm welcome. '
'Perhaps she's got a heart of gold,' said Victoria, and suddenly they were all laughing because it seemed so unlikely that there was a heart of gold inside all that dourness. They were laughing, in fact, to relieve their tension, and when they stopped they explored their new quarters.
'Well, you must admit it's handsome,' said Victoria.
It was handsome accommodation. The large bedroom would be shared by the sisters, the smaller was Sebastien's. The bathroom was in travertine, beautiful and cool, with everything a guest could possibly want there. The terrace had a table, sitting up chairs and two lounging chairs.
'I expect it usually has much more important guests than us,' Sebastien said.
'I suppose Mr. Duncan isn't at home,' Amanda said.
'She said something about when he gets back . . .'
'He must be very rich . . .'
'I don't know,' said Victoria, realising that she knew nothing about him but that he was a sculptor and a friend of her parents.
'Are you going to the kitchen for a cup of tea?' asked Amanda.
'Doyou want to?'
They discussed it and decided it would look friendlier if they went, so they appeared at the end of half an hour, refreshed and in clean clothes, in Miss Jameson's kitchen.
This room, which seemed vast to Victoria after her neat, small kitchen in London, was a strange mixture of the old and the new. It had refrigerator, deepfreeze and electric cooker, but it retained the floor of terra-cotta tiles, its old baking range, numbers of deep, dark wooden shelves from which strings of onions, garlic and herbs were hanging, and an interesting selection of old pots and dishes. The well-scrubbed table would have seated eight farm hands. At the moment, on a cloth spread across one end, it held three thick mugs and plates, a dish of scones, butter and jam. 'Schoolroom tea,' thought Victoria, wondering anew what her position in this house was to be.
Miss Jameson brought the teapot and poured out the tea.
'Sit yourselves down,' she said, 'and help yourselves,' and went back to the sink where she was preparing vegetables, stopping occasionally to take a sip from her own cup beside her.
Her silence dampened down the spirits of the newcomers. In silence they helped themselves to scones, butter and jam and drank their tea. It became oppressive after a while. Victoria glanced at Amanda, and Amanda looked dolefully back.
'Tired, honey?' Victoria asked.
'Only a bit.'
'You must have an early night tonight after all that travelling.'
Another silence. Victoria looked out through the kitchen door, through a riot of bougainvillea, at Miss Jameson's attempt at a vegetable garden, then the hills rising above the house, dotted with olive trees and the tall, thin spires of Italian cypress.
'You have a lovely view from your kitchen, Miss Jameson,' she ventured.
'Ay, it's well enough,' was the terse reply.
Victoria gave up. Tea was finished in silence. She gathered the cups and plates together and took them to the sink.
'Shall I wash them?' she asked.
'No. Leave them.'
'Well, thank you very much for the tea,' said Victoria, and beckoned to Sebastien and Amanda to follow her from the room. They went back through their rooms, on to the terrace and down the steps that led into a paved garden with a small fountain in the centre of it. They sat down on the edge of the fountain's basin.
'Well, what do you think of it?' asked Sebastien.
'Too early to judge,' answered Victoria.
'She's a bit of an old stick,' he said.
'I think she's horrid,' said Amanda.
'Don't take too much notice of her, honey. We've always got each other, just the same as if we were in London. '
'Each other and nobody else,' said Sebastien sombrely, thinking of the friends he would have gone to camp with.
Each other, and nobody else, thought Victoria. Well, it wasn't the first time and probably wouldn't be the last; but there were times when she, too, felt a need of somebody else
That evening, Amanda went to bed soon after supper, tired out. Victoria stayed in the bedroom with her, tidying away their unpacked clothes, knowing that Amanda was feeling strange, unwelcome and lonely; and only when Amanda was settled down did she go into Sebastien's room, which had been the sitting room of the guest flat until it became necessary to make a bedroom of it for him.
'I think I might go to bed, too,' he said, ' and read for a bit. All right with you, Vicki?'
'Of course. I won't be too late myself. I'll just take a walk round outside and get some fresh air. '
She went out on to the terrace. It was now quite dark, a lovely, soft warm night. In the distance, the lights of Firenze twinkled like a star duster, and the lights of solitary houses sparkled here and there among the darkened hills.
She had been to Italy before two or three times, with her mother and Sebastien and Amanda: always at beach resorts in rented villas, usually with crowds of people on the beaches. This was not the Italy that Victoria was interested in seeing. Florence was a different matter, so rich in art treasures that it would take her longer than the summer to see them all. If only they could settle here without too much disturbance or any awkwardness, she felt that she would enjoy Florence.
She had wandered round the side of the house and found there a darkened patio, spacious and furnished in modern Italian style. There was enough reflected light from one or two sources in the house---the hall, Sebastien's room, the kitchen?---to show her that climbing plants clung to the walls of it, and that pieces of sculpture were placed here and there. There was also a large piece of sculpture in the garden and she went carefully down a flight of steps to see it better. Here, although there was some light on the sculpture, she herself was in darkness. She sat down on a stone bench to rest in the gentle night, relieved to have reached their destination after the days of travelling; glad to be rid of the driving (in a year or so, Sebastien would be able to take his turn at the wheel), of booking into hotels, of shopping in the markets, of speaking French and then trying to speak Italian.
The headlights of an approaching car swept searchlights through the air above her head, then she heard its engine as the car came towards the house. Silence for a moment, then car doors banging and cheerful voices through the night as several people made their way into the house. It occurred to Victoria that Charles Duncan might have other house guests. A few moments later, brilliant light flooded out over the garden from the patio, intensifying the darkness in which Victoria sat.
'God, what bores those Borgliascos are! ' said a woman's voice. 'But what a marvellous cook they have!' replied a man's.
'It was an Epicurean dinner, wasn't it?'
'Well now, what are you all going to have?' asked a fresh voice. Another man, with a fuller, deeper voice than the first one. ' Black coffee for everyone? and liqueurs?'
'Lovely, Charles. Oh, this is perfect here. So relaxed and comfortable. And how beautiful Firenze is from here! '
So that was Charles, thought Victoria; the host, sounding very assured. It occurred to her that she ought either to go away (but she was not at all sure of her way), or make her presence known (but she felt far too uncertain and shy to appear for the first time before his friends, who did not sound quite her kind of people, anyway). So she stayed where she was, while Charles went on:
'James, you get the drinks while I ask Jeanie to make us pints of black coffee.'
Jeanie! Victoria had to smile in the darkness, to think of anybody calling that gaunt and forbidding female Jeanie. The conversation above and behind her went on casually tearing these Borgliasco people to pieces until Charles apparently returned and began to supply his friends with coffee.
'When is it you get your invading army, Charles?' asked a lazy, slow contralto voice.
'My invading army? Oh, you mean the children.'
'The children, yes. I really can't imagine you with a houseful of children.'
'They were due to-day. I suppose they're all safely tucked up in their beds.'
'Whatever are you going to do with them?'
'Leave them to Jeanie as much as I can.'
'Who brought them here?'
'They drove down themselves.'
'Drove down? But you said they're children! '
'God, yes, of course one of them must be old enough to drive. That would be Venetia---no, what was it? Vivien? No, Victoria, that's it. Victoria. She'd have to be seventeen, wouldn't she, to be able to drive. I don't know how many years it is since I saw her. She was quite a little girl, Margarita.'
'Little girls grow up, you know.' Margarita's voice was suddenly cool, and somehow more aware. It had lost some of that slow, lazy drawl.
'You may find,' said James's voice, sounding amused, 'that she won't consent to being left to Jeanie. Charles, old friend, you've taken on some responsibilities, I can see.'
'Well, it wasn't of my choosing,' said Charles. 'You know Paul and Barbara Fenn, James. Charm the birds out of the trees. Charm a man out of his common sense. I did offer once, in an expansive moment, to take their children off their hands if they were in a jam; but I had the shock of my life when they took me up on it.'
'Weren't you furious, Charles? I know how you hate your work schedule being upset.' That was Margarita.
'I was a bit put out, I must admit. They're so damned casual, those Fenns. Because they think their work is so important, they don't stop to think that other people's work might be equally important. And then I remembered what enormous encouragement I had from them in the early days. They bought my sculpture and told everybody I was a genius, and introduced me to all kinds of interested people; so I decided that I could put up with it. Don't worry, this lot won't get a chance to upset my work schedule. I'm starting on the figures for the new building of the people in Manchester now.'
'Oh, darling, you got that? I'm so delighted. Congratulations. Of course, I knew you would ...'
'Well, I didn't know.' It sounded as if Charles was laughing at her. 'The Committee couldn't decide for months. I think it was only the fuss about the work I did in Washington that swung the balance--- they thought I must be good. '
'Surely everybody knows that by now.'
'Ah, you're too prejudiced in my favour, Margarita.' The voice of the first woman who had spoken---who had proclaimed
the Borgliascos bores---was heard again: 'Isn't it getting a little cold out here now? Couldn't we go inside,
Charles? I'm shivering.'
'Of course we can. Come along, everybody, Elsa's cold. Let's move inside. '
Victoria felt immense relief. When they had gone, she would make her way back to her room. Eavesdroppers never hear good of themselves, she thought; and although she had unintentionally, unwittingly, heard that conversation, the saying held good. 'This lot,' he had called them---herself, Sebastien and Amanda. 'This lot won't get a chance to upset my work schedule.' He had decided they were going to be a nuisance before he had even met them. And about her parents, he had said: 'They're so damned casual, those Fenns.' Perhaps it was true that they were casual, perhaps they did put more importance on their own work than on other people's, but he shouldn't have spoken so freely and in a somewhat derogatory manner about them to his friends.
She made her way back by the way she had come. She reached her room safely without being seen by anybody. Amanda was sleeping soundly. Victoria began to undress by the light of one shaded lamp.
'Well,' she concluded, 'we'll see how it goes. He needn't be afraid that we shall be a nuisance. If there's any bother, I shall pack up and we'll go home. I sometimes used to suspect---when we were all younger and had to do as we were told---that we weren't always exactly welcome; but I've never heard it plainly stated before, and I can't say that I like it.'
In the middle of the next morning, Victoria found herself on a hilltop above Charles Duncan's farm overlooking a wide panorama of olive groves, pines and Italian cypresses, with the sweet maquis-like smells of the cystus, the thyme and the rosemary all about her.
The sun was already very hot, but up here in the hills there was a cool breeze to alleviate it. Victoria wore a sleeveless dress in a cool sea-green colouring which went particularly well with the unusual colour of her hair. It was gold without being a true gold with a suggestion of auburn that could neither be called a true
auburn. There were bronze lights in it. It was, in fact, shining and bright, and had fascinated more than one young man of Victoria's acquaintance. Sometimes she wore it down and felt young and girlish; at other times, she piled it up on her head and felt dignified. To-day, it was tied at the back of her neck with a flowing sea-green ribbon.
She looked cool, poised and elegant, without realising that she did so. She never took seriously the remarks of her friends when they said: ' Oh, Victoria looks nice in anything,' but the fact was that she could transform the most ordinary, off-the-peg dress the moment she put it on. She had an air, a style about her, that was the more attractive because she was unconscious of it. She sat on the trunk of a cypress that had been uprooted in some long-ago storm, her ankles crossed, her hands at each side supporting her on the trunk, and thought about the present condition of herself, Sebastien and Amanda.
There had been no sign of Charles Duncan this morning, nor of any guests. Miss Jameson had walked into Victoria's room at half past seven with three cups on a tray, stating baldly: 'Here's your morning tea.' Victoria, refusing to follow such an example of bad manners, had said: 'Good morning, Miss Jameson, thank you very much. But Sebastien doesn't like morning tea.' Whereupon, Miss Jameson removed one cup and marched to the door. With her hand on the handle, she said:
'I suppose you've got this fad of having your meals out in the open air? You'll be wanting your breakfast on the terrace?'
'Yes, we'd like that.'
The closing of the door had been the only answer.
'Old curmudgeon,' said Victoria softly.
But the breakfast on the terrace had been exceptionally good. Warm rolls, splendid hot coffee, honey, marmalade; and boiled eggs wrapped up in a napkin. Sebastien cheered up at the prospect of good food: supper last night had been excellent too.
Miss Jameson had not mentioned Mr. Duncan or guests, nor would Victoria be the first to ask about them. When they had taken their breakfast tray back to the kitchen, they had started out for a long walk all together, but Sebastien and Amanda had long since raced away from her, and she had been content to let them go, to have herself to herself for a while.
She became aware of a rustling and of cracking twigs on the hillside behind her, and turned her head to see that a tall, broad man was walking towards her. She remembered him at once. Although it was so long since she had seen him at her parents' house, he did not seem to have changed much. Older, but not so much older: certainly not grey-haired, as she had thought he might be. She realised that he was much younger than her parents, something she had not been able to tell when she was nine years old. In his thirties still, she thought. The brown hair still seemed rough and unmanageable, but perhaps he did not bother about such things. There was a look of power and confidence about him.
He was watching her as he came closer.
'Buon giorno, ' he said, and the voice at once confirmed that this was indeed Charles Duncan: that rich, not quite smooth voice, deep, most satisfyingly cultivated.
'Good morning,' she replied.
He paused beside her, his glance taking in the cool, slim beauty, the burnished hair.
'You are English?' he asked, seeming surprised; and Victoria suddenly realised that he had not yet placed her.
'English, yes,' she said, and did not smile at him but regarded him with an appraising look. The fact that they were both English seemed naturally to give them the right to speak to each other on this foreign hillside.
'Enjoying the beauties of Florence?' he asked, nodding at the pale beauty of the city seen through the trees.
'Hoping to,' she rejoined.
'There are many of them to enjoy. But perhaps you know it well?'
'No, I've never been here before.'
'Then a real treasure trove lies before you. But only if you're interested in the arts, that is. ... Are you?'
'Interested but dreadfully ignorant,' said Victoria. She was not allowing warmth to creep into her voice. She was speaking politely, as to a stranger, but was keeping him at arm's length. 'That's a fairly happy position to be in,' Charles Duncan
commented. 'As long as you have a good teacher. You need somebody to show you all the worth-while things. 'But I expect you have somebody?'
'No.'
'No? That hardly seems possible.' The remark was meant to be flattering, but still she did not smile.
'I'm sure I shall be able to find my way around, she said. 'There will be printed guides, I can ask for advice.'
He looked at her again, so cool, so reserved, that she represented a challenge.
'I would be happy to give you some advice myself,' he said.
'I should never presume to take up your time,' she replied.
'Oh, a little time here and there,' he said casually. ' Nobody can work all the time. I would be happy to show you a few of the many wonderful things here.'
'I shouldn't dream of allowing you to,' she said.
'Oh.' There was amusement and perhaps a touch of sarcasm in his voice as he went on: 'We haven't been properly introduced. Is that it? Do such things matter anymore? Then let me remedy it at once. I'm Charles Duncan. I own and live in that large stone-walled house down there.'
'I've heard about you,' said Victoria.
'Then you've probably heard that I'm eminently respectable.' 'No, that didn't happen to be one of the things I heard. '
'Nothing too bad, I hope?' He still sounded amused.
'Nothing but good, in fact. Largely concerned with your genius.'
'Oh, that's going too far,' he said mildly.
'And your passion for work,' she said. 'Which I certainly have no intention of interrupting. So I'll say goodbye to you now, Mr. Duncan. '
'You haven't reciprocated,' he reminded her.
'In what way?' she asked.
'You haven't told me your name. '
'I don't think it's necessary. I'm quite sure we shall meet again.'
'Good news indeed,' he said. 'I shall look forward to it. And now, as you seem to want to get rid of me, though I can't think
why, I shall carry on with my walk. Arrivederci, signorina. ' 'Goodbye,' said Victoria, coolly, and watched him walk away. So that was Mr. Duncan's approach when he felt himself to be a free agent! She did not think he would want to show her the treasures of Firenze when he learned the truth.
She had been surprised, indeed, by his attitude. To hear her parents speak of him, one would imagine he was devoted to his work to the exclusion of almost everything else. Last night, listening unwittingly to his conversation with friends, this morning in this encounter with him, she realised that there was a social side to him also, that Charles Duncan liked the company of women and was appreciative of their beauty.
She continued her walk slowly, stopping to admire views and to study the wild flowers on her way, and came back to the house to find that Amanda and Sebastien were there before her, cosily settled on the terrace with a jug of lemonade and a tray of glasses. Sebastien immediately poured a glassful for Victoria.
'When we got back,' he said, 'we were so hot and thirsty, I went to the kitchen for something to drink; and Miss Jameson stopped what she was doing and immediately began to squeeze lemons with some patent little squeezer thing she has. I waited while she made the lemonade, and when she gave it to me, she said: "I suppose you'll forever be wanting something, morning, noon and night". Just about as sour as her lemons, but still we got it and it's delicious, so what the hell! '
'Perhaps Mr. Duncan told her she's got to look after us,' Amanda said.
'Perhaps she's got an awkward Scottish conscience,' said Victoria. 'And if she is as sour as her lemons, we'll just have to try to sweeten her up a bit.' But when it was time to take the tray back to the kitchen, she asked Sebastien to do it.
'Oh, you take it,' said Sebastien, 'you're better at sweetening people up than I am.' So Victoria took the tray, went to the door that opened on to the corridor to the kitchen, and opened it.
At once, she heard Charles Duncan's voice, and hesitated. She would wait until he'd left the kitchen, she decided; and in her moment of hesitation, she made out what he was saying:
'. . . well, you do keep your ear to the ground, Jeanie, and you do know all that's going on around here, so where do we have a new arrival?'
'You have three new arrivals in your own house, Mr. Duncan.' 'I'm not talking about them. Apart from them. This is a slender beauty with hair of burnished gold, a bit of an ice maiden. Subject for a painter more than a sculptor, with a wonderful tawny golden colouring . . .'
'Oh, you're interested in her as a subject for sculpture, are you, Mr. Duncan?' said Jeanie's sarcastic voice.
'Now that will do, Jeanie Jameson,' said her surprisingly indulgent employer.
'Well, don't blather about golden beauties, and tell me what I'm going to do about lunch. Are they to have theirs on the terrace and you stuck up in your studio, or am I to put it in the dining room for everybody?'
'Oh lord, have I got to be lumbered with juveniles every day for lunch? We'd better start as we mean to go on, Jeanie, and I'll have mine up in the studio. '
'You've got to meet them some time, Mr. Duncan.'
'All right, then. Lunch to-day in the dining room.' Victoria turned back into her room and waited for a decent interval to elapse before returning the tray to the kitchen. By then, she was more than indignant, she was really angry, although not quite sure with whom she was angry most. Charles Duncan? Her parents, for putting their three children into such an awkward position? Miss Jameson, for knowing full well whom Charles Duncan had met and saying nothing about it? Or the fall of circumstance, which was liable to do this to her from time to time? She went into the kitchen with a cold and reserved air, put the tray down on the table and said coolly: 'Thank you, Miss Jameson, it was very kind of you,' and walked straight out again. But not quickly enough to escape Miss Jameson's comment, delivered after a peculiar little snort: 'Ice maiden---that's just about right! '
Victoria prepared very carefully for luncheon. She still wore her sea-green dress, but she removed the sea-green ribbon from her hair, brushed it until it shone more than ever, and left it lying on her shoulders. She made up her face very carefully, and she wore her gold sandals that were little more than a few thongs woven together. Sebastien whistled when he saw her. Miss Jameson, setting cutlery and folding napkins in the dining room, raised her eyebrows and followed Victoria round the room with her eyes.
After a few moments, Victoria realised that Miss Jameson was prolonging her trifling tasks to take as long as possible; refolding already folded napkins, adjusting the well-laid cutlery and rearranging the white lilies and green leaves in the centre of the table: certainly not improving them in the process. So she was indulging her mordant curiosity to see what would happen when her employer encountered his guests for the first time. Victoria was on her guard more than ever.
'Isn't this a gorgeous room?' said Amanda, who was most impressed with the whole house.
'If you like a great slab of glass for a table, and steel and leather chairs and huge modern paintings, I suppose it is,' Victoria answered.
'I think it's super,' said Sebastien.
'I'm glad you do,' said the deep voice which Victoria immediately recognised, and Charles Duncan came into the room, casually dressed in fawn trousers and a thin, loosely-fitting pullover in sky blue. 'I'm afraid I'm a bit late,' he added, and it did not sound at all like an apology, but as if he expected people to understand immediately if he were late.
'Well, Mr. Duncan,' said Miss Jameson, 'meet the new arrivals.
The Fenn children. This is Amanda, and this Sebastien, and here
is the eldest, Victoria.' His eyes went from one to the other, becoming suddenly aware as they rested on Victoria.
'Amanda,' he said, offering her his hand. 'How do you do? And Sebastien,' shaking hands with him. 'Victoria I have already met,' he said, and looked into her eyes and met there a coldness, a withdrawal that checked his friendly overture. 'Well, Jeanie,' he went on, with scarcely a pause, 'now that I am here, perhaps you'll serve the lunch.'
So Miss Jameson left reluctantly for her kitchen and Charles arranged his guests round the vastly expensive table. Victoria could not help thinking of the sophisticated guests he would normally entertain there, and his words recurred in her mind over and over again. 'Have I got to be lumbered with juveniles every day for lunch?' She heard his polite questions to Sebastien, and heard Sebastien telling him how he had been looking forward to going to camp. 'A group of us were going to Snowdonia for rock climbing,' he said, 'and a famous rock-climber was coming to give us instruction. '
'You'll be sorry to miss that,' said Charles, and Sebastien replied fervently: 'You bet I am.'
'Well, I'm missing my ballet classes,' said Amanda, not to be outdone.
'And what is Victoria missing?' asked Charles, looking at her, at the burnished hair and the cool elegance, and the kind of complexion, delicate rose-petal, that only England or the most expensive make-up could produce. 'Or perhaps it should be not what is Victoria missing, but who?'
She evaded that easily enough.
'You don't want to hear our life stories, Mr. Duncan,' she said. 'And most people would think we were not missing anything, but gaining a great deal, to be able to spend a summer in such a beautiful house in such a beautiful place.'
'But not you,' he said.
'I didn't say that,' she pointed out. 'I hope to learn Italian. I hope to discover the treasure trove in Florence.'
He recognised the allusion. He repeated his words of the morning. 'I would be happy to give you some advice myself,' and she repeated her answer: 'I should never presume to take up your time.'
Sebastien was quick to recognise that there was an undercurrent although he did not know what it was. He looked quickly from one to the other, thinking it was a pity if they weren't going to like each other.
Charles thought she really was an iceberg. She had not wanted to come. Perhaps she had left a young man behind in England, and resented being here. Well, that was between her and her parents---it had nothing to do with him.
Miss Jameson served them with an excellent lunch. The formality of it was almost too much for Amanda, who had started by thinking it all beautiful and glamorous, and now was beginning to be slightly oppressed and then depressed. Victoria suspected that Miss Jameson was deliberately overdoing it--- perhaps to annoy Mr. Duncan, perhaps to embarrass themselves. She thought they would all be infinitely more comfortable if he had his meal in the studio when he wanted it, and they took theirs on the terrace.
Next day, he was again late for lunch. They waited in the dining room for him, and at last Miss Jameson served them without him, and he came rushing in, apologising, saying he had forgotten the time, he was starting an important new piece of work. Victoria suggested they should lunch separately. 'After all, Mr. Duncan, you don't want to be burdened with a group of young people, and we don't want to interfere with your work.' And these were so exactly the sentiments he had expressed, in slightly different words, that he looked sharply at her.
The following day, however, it rained; and it was impossible for the Fenn family to eat on the terrace, so once more they ate in the imposing dining room. After which, Victoria went to see Miss Jameson.
'Miss Jameson,' she said, without preamble, 'we have no wish to be more of a burden to you than we can help. There's no need to use the dining room for our meals. If we can't eat on the terrace, we can use Sebastien's room. It was a sitting room before we came and has a table and chairs for eating. We'll use that, and leave Mr. Duncan free. '
'Very well.'
'And I'll bring back our dishes and wash them up. I'll also keep our own rooms clean. '
'That's not suitable,' said Miss Jameson sharply.
'Why not? I do it at home, I can do it here. I'm used to keeping house. '
'Then what does your mother do?'
'When she's at home, she keeps house; but she's far more likely to be at meetings and discussions, or working in her study, or lunching with important people or speaking on radio or appearing on television. She happens to have a career.'
'And three children,' sharply.
'As you said yourself, Miss Jameson, we're hardly children, unless you except Amanda. And except for Amanda,' she added on impulse, 'we probably wouldn't be here.' Then she regretted that statement, and added: 'Then it's arranged, is it?'
'Just as you wish,' said Miss Jameson, and Victoria thought that she was not pleased at having a legitimate grievance taken away from her.
So they had partly cut themselves off from Charles, and Victoria thought: 'Well, now he can't say that he's lumbered with us at lunch every day; and nor will "this lot" interfere with his work.' She knew already that he had resented her parents' casual demands on him at first, and was determined to give him no more cause for resentment.
All the same, all three of them felt a little lonely. It was, as Sebastien had said, that they had each other but nobody else. He missed his friends, the easy come-and-go between them, the sport they indulged in, all the preparations for this camping trip. He felt protective towards Amanda, who was young for her age, and was genuinely fond of both his sisters, but he wanted the company of male friends. Amanda, too, was rather at a loss. There was a family not far away with two girls of about her own age, but they could speak no English and Amanda no Italian, so that shy smiles had remained the limit of their acquaintance. 'Then let's have Italian lessons,' Victoria proposed at once, 'and then you'll be able to say something to them, and they'll be able to help you.' And she herself was glad to begin Italian lessons, for even with the small amount of housework she had given herself to do, time was hanging heavy on her hands. They had taken several trips into Florence, but these were by no means the picnic they sounded; for the traffic was appalling, it was nearly always impossible to find a place to park the car, Italians were in such a hurry, with their hooting and swerving and almost scraping her car, that they unnerved Victoria. On one occasion, when she had driven into Florence alone to buy sandals, she parked at last, after driving round and round the centre, on a taxi rank. Immediately, two taxi drivers rushed at her to tell her in rapid Italian that she couldn't do that, by which time Victoria was so frustrated and annoyed that she turned on them in a fury, saying: 'Will you tell me, then, where the hell I can park?' and they, confronted by such beautiful anger, by flying gold hair and flashing eyes and an imperious voice addressing them in a strange language, fell back, surprised, softened.
'That's right,' said a familiar deep voice behind her. 'Tell them where they get off.'
She turned again swiftly, the burnished hair describing another arc round her head. Charles Duncan was standing beside her, his eyes alight with amusement and admiration.
'They're quite right, you know,' he said sympathetically. 'You can't really park there.'
'I can't park anywhere in this benighted city,' she said stormily.
'Yes, you can, if you know where,' he said soothingly. 'I'll show you.' He opened the door to the passenger seat for Victoria and took the wheel himself. 'After driving all the way down from London,' he said, 'you mustn't let yourself be put out by these vociferous Italians.'
'They're all mad,' she declared.
'No, they're not, but they love to make a noise, and they love to rush and to make their presence felt. The way you treated them was ideal; they'll always respect somebody else's noise and determination. . . . Now this courtyard is the property of a friend of mine. It's locked at night, but during the daytime I'm sure she'll allow you to use it. I'll ring her myself and arrange it.' He parked the car in the quiet and peaceful courtyard, now a mass of flowering oleander, and asked:
'Where were you making for when I found you?' and when she told him, he said: 'Well, you can't get them now, because the sandal shop will be closed for lunch; so come and have a drink with me and perhaps that will put you in a better frame of mind.' Victoria went with him, but she was already in a better frame of mind. The calm way in which he had taken over her car, the quietness of the courtyard he had discovered to her, the absence of the rushing traffic, had already smoothed her down. She felt sorry for her display of temper, and did not realise that it had delighted Charles Duncan, contradicting as it did the snow maiden impression she had so far created.
They went to a large open square, much of which was liberally covered with the tables and chairs from cafes on each side of it;
each cafe delineating its boundaries by a line of low green hedge planted in long wooden boxes which could be moved if necessary. Charles chose a table and seated Victoria where she could watch the coming and going of the crowd, and seemed surprised when she asked for a Martini to drink. What had he expected? she asked herself. That she would ask for lemonade or orange squash? 'Better now?' he asked her, when she had taken the first sips. 'Much better. Thank you for coming to my rescue.'
'You seemed to be doing all right for yourself, but you really were quite angry.'
'Well, they're all so rude,' said Victoria. 'The traffic practically jostles your car off the road, and they all shout and honk at you and wave their arms about. And just the same in the shops, the women push right in front of you. '
'It's just their extrovert nature. They don't mean to be rude, Victoria. They're a charming people. Don't make up your mind not to like them.'
'I'm not doing that,' she declared.
'Aren't you?' It was a pointed question and it gave her pause. 'Aren't you determined not to like anything about Italy?'
'Of course not,' but even as she spoke the words, she wondered if there was an element of truth in what he suggested. His next question, however, surprised her, for it seemed to be going completely off at a tangent.
'What do you do in England, Victoria?'
'What do I do? Work, do you mean? Well, at the moment I stay at home and keep house.'
'And how long have you been doing that?'
'This time, ever since Christmas. Mother had an invitation to do a lecture tour in the States, and she thought it too good an opportunity to miss, so she asked me to give up my job and stay at home to keep house; and when she came home, she knew this trip to New Guinea would be looming up, so she asked me not to get another job yet. . . . She worries about the family falling apart. She doesn't like Amanda coming home from school to find nobody in the house; Sebastien either for that matter, though now he's growing up he's not much of a problem. And she knows that if I'm there, I'll shop for proper food and give them good meals.
In short, keep the family together. '
'What about Paul---your father?'
'Oh, he thought it was a splendid chance to study the mining problems in the States, or rather, the problems of the aftermath of mining, so he was away, too. '
'You said: This time. You mean you've given up your job before?'
'Yes, more than once.' She tried to make her voice noncommittal, not to reveal what she thought of such an arrangement. 'And what is your job, Victoria?'
'Nothing remotely glamorous. Just secretarial work. But I believe I'm quite efficient at it, and I've worked for two wonderful bosses.'
Looking at her as she sat with her burnished hair shining in the sun, he could believe that her bosses would be wonderful to her.
'And naturally you resent having to give up your own work to do something so dull as to keep house.' She was thinking of a suitable answer to this---for she did not really resent it, but she often missed the friends she had made or the people she worked with---when he went on:
'I can understand anybody resenting that. I'm continually astonished by the little consideration people have for other people's work. One's time is the most important commodity one has, and other people waste it; one's work is the most absorbing thing and other people interrupt it.'
They were silent. Perhaps, thought Victoria, for him it was a restful silence. For her it was no such thing; for could he not see that he had just made an open avowal of his opinion of her parents, who had taken up his time, intruded upon his work by despatching a whole family to his house for a whole summer? She said coolly:
'Oh, there was nothing so absorbing about my work. It was too routine, and too spasmodic for me ever to get very far in it. And I too happen to think it's important to keep the family together. I suppose one misses the people more than the work . . . ' For when she went to work, she felt that she was living life; and often, staying at home, she had the feeling that life was passing her by. 'Of course,' he agreed. 'All the young people of your own age.' They sat in silence again, Victoria remembering some of her friends in London; not knowing that he too had a picture in his mind of the elegant young men in London with their beautiful modern clothes and their beautiful modern haircuts, all admiring Victoria of the burnished hair. 'Ah, youth,' he said at last with a smile. 'Will you have another drink, Victoria, or shall we go back to lunch?'
'Lunch, please. I'm not used to drinking, particularly in the middle of the day; and I don't want to sleep all the afternoon.' They walked back to the quiet courtyard for her car.
'Perhaps you'll take me back to my car,' he suggested. 'I left it near the Duomo.'
She was just about to get into the car when a voice from above hailed them in Italian. Victoria gathered that it was asking them what they were doing there, but the next moment the Italian changed to delighted English.
'Why, it's you, Charles. How very nice! Come up at once and have a drink with us. Margarita's here.'
'Coming,' called Charles, and turned to Victoria. 'We'll have to go up for a few minutes,' he said, 'and be polite. And it will be a good opportunity to arrange for you to leave your car here if necessary.'
So they went into the house, a house new to Victoria's experience, with its marble floors and stairway and columns, its faded tapestries on the walls, busts and statues and dark old pictures in colossal frames. The drawing room was on the first floor, the tall windows on one side overlooking the courtyard, on the other side opening to a wide terrace overlooking a garden.
Three people were in the room; the Contessa herself, who had spoken to them from the window, a tall, slim regal woman of about sixty; an elderly man who spoke little and who was, it transpired later, a cousin of the Contessa and dependent on her; and a young woman, startlingly and darkly beautiful. This was Margarita, of the low, slow contralto voice. This was Margarita, whose curves, at present contained by youth and careful dieting, could only be called lush; whose voice seemed to drip sex and allure and invitation. This was a woman quite as rare in Victoria's experience as the house itself.
'I do apologise,' the Contessa was saying, as the mixture of Italian and English settled down into English alone, 'for shouting at you from my window. ' (Though Victoria would not have called it shouting.) 'But you would be surprised at the number of people who put their cars in my courtyard without permission. Complete strangers! I even consider locking the gates during the daytime and giving keys to only the people who are my friends.'
'If you do,' said Charles, quite at his ease, 'I hope you will be so kind as to give a key to Victoria, who was quite unable to park this morning and had stopped on a taxi rank and was giving the taxi drivers a piece of her mind when I arrived to rescue her.'
'But of course I should give Victoria a key,' said the Contessa immediately. 'But, forgive me, I am not yet able to place Victoria. Signorina Fenn, isn't it? And you are staying in Charles's house?' Charles went across to the Contessa and sat on the arm of her capacious and doubtless very old and very valuable armchair. Victoria would have hesitated at such an intimacy, but it seemed that Charles was perfectly at home here.
'Victoria is staying in my house,' he affirmed. 'So is her sixteen-year-old brother Sebastien, and her thirteen-year-old sister Amanda. The whole family, in short; except for their glamorous parents, who are always travelling the world on the most important assignments, and dropping their children, like foundlings, on other people's doorsteps.'
'What a charming foundling to find on one's doorstep,' said the Contessa. 'Victoria, will you have a Martini, or can we get you something else?'
'I won't drink, thank you,' said Victoria. 'I've already been drinking with Mr. Duncan in one of the squares.'
The Contessa raised her eyebrows and passed her over to speak to Margarita. Margarita was distinctly annoyed: to find that one of the so-called children could be this attractive young woman, and to find that Charles could be lured from his so-important work to go drinking in the town's squares; but her anger was nothing to the fury of Victoria, who heard herself described as a foundling, in their light, non-caring, aristocratic voices. Was this how all their parents' friends looked upon them? as foundlings
dropped upon other people's doorsteps? She thought of the Innes family in Scotland, who had entertained them for eight weeks long ago, and how little entertainment it had been for hosts or guests: of Aunt Catherine, who had had them on three separate occasions and had baulked on the fourth: of General Stubbs and his wife, who had welcomed them with open arms and then been eaten up with jealousy because all their precious Labradors had transferred their affections as one man---or dog---to Sebastien, and wouldn't go anywhere without him. And now here was this wretch, this Charles Duncan, who had been encouraged by her parents at the outset of his career, who had sold his work to them and been helped to live that way, calling them foundlings to his aristocratic Italian friends (and who were they, anyway?).
She retreated into complete silence, afraid that, if she spoke, she would be rude to somebody; and when they went out to the car---and once more they would be hopelessly late for lunch---she would not speak at all, knowing that if she did, her resentment would come pouring out.
Charles Duncan, after one or two attempts, gave her up. He had no time for these temperamental modern misses.
Miss Jameson and the family had also given them up. Amanda and Sebastien were having their lunch on the terrace. Miss Jameson said nothing to her employer. Nor did she say much to Victoria, beyond:
'Well, if your lunch is spoiled, it's certainly not my fault.' But her looks were suddenly aware and suspicious. She had not missed the fact that the air between them was cold and annoyed, but that was not too significant between a man and a woman.
Nor had she missed the fact that they returned together. It gave her plenty of food for thought as she went about her accustomed duties.
Victoria and Amanda were sitting in the small garden with the fountain in the centre. Roses, considerably tangled together but in prolific bloom, were giving out a strong and heady scent, vying with the even heavier scent of the jasmine that tumbled from the pergola. Amanda was allowing the goldfish to nibble her finger
while she dutifully repeated her Italian exercises after Victoria; while Victoria was sewing gold galon on to what had been an ordinary day dress, to transform it into suitable wear for cocktails. Just in case, she told herself. In case it might be needed.
The tray was on a small table nearby, with empty coffee cups and plates. Miss Jameson had called out across the wall: 'Well, you two, there's coffee here if you want it,' and since Amanda was in awe of Miss Jameson, Victoria had gone to fetch it. The homemade scones were piled with real cream. However sour Miss Jameson's disposition might be, it had not affected her cooking, which continued to be delicious.
Into this very peaceful scene came Sebastien. His hair was blown all over his head, his hands were deep in his pockets and he was whistling a tune as he came. He was undeniably in a most jaunty mood.
'You're very cock-a-hoop,' commented Victoria mildly. 'Where have you been?'
'Where have I not been?' asked Sebastien. 'I've covered a few miles this morning, I can tell you,' and he reeled off the names of villages that Victoria had never heard of.
'How come?' asked Amanda, jealously.
'I met Giorgio Beltoni, who lives at that rambling old farm place at the crossroads. He speaks English pretty well, and he's got a stunning new bike, a really powerful one. He was just going off on it when I came up to him, so we got talking about it, and then he said would I like to go with him---he'd got a couple of places to go to for his father. So you bet I went like a shot. Gosh, he knows how to use that bike!' He saw that Victoria was immediately looking anxious. He knew that she thought all Italian drivers were mad, and he added: 'He's not a madman, he's jolly sensible, he knows what he's doing.'
'Well, I hope so. You know what I think about motor bikes. I hope he is sensible.'
'You can judge for yourself, because he's outside. He said he'd like to meet you both, but I wasn't sure if it was O.K. to bring him in.' It was true that Giorgio had said he would like to meet Sebastien's sisters, but there was little doubt in Sebastien's mind that it was Victoria he had in mind. All these dark Italians seemed to fall for blondes.
'Imagine keeping him waiting outside! Ask him in immediately. '
So Giorgio was brought into the garden by Sebastien, and was, without doubt, one of the handsomest young men Victoria or Amanda had ever seen. The thick wavy dark hair had obviously been combed into beautiful submission while Sebastien was inside. His features were as classically regular as any on the statues in Firenze's many museums, his dark eyes sparkled with life, his smile, revealing perfect, gleaming white teeth, would have charmed a Medusa. Victoria could not help reflecting that such a young man was bound to be conceited, and expect girls to fall for him like ninepins, but even so she was not proof against so much happy charm.
He bowed over Victoria's hand. He bowed over Amanda's, which enchanted her.
'I have seen you both, signorina, walking along the lanes together,' he said, and forbore to add that he had seen Sebastien as the most likely link with them. 'And you see I have brought him home safely. It was good, Sebastien, was it not?'
'It was super,' Sebastien agreed fervently.
'Well, we can do it again sometime,' said Giorgio. 'Don't forget.' There was a note of pleading in Sebastien's voice, very foreign to his independent spirit. Victoria knew that he was missing male company, and she came to his aid. She smiled ravishingly at Giorgio. Charles Duncan would have been astonished by that smile.
'Sebastien gets a bit tired of his sisters' company,' she said. 'All his friends are back in England.'
'You are always welcome to walk down to the farm, Sebastien,' said Giorgio. 'There is always much going on down there. Perhaps you would like to try the bike some time, eh?'
'I don't have a licence,' said Sebastien, dazzled by the prospect of driving such a powerful motor bike.
'On the farm roads that doesn't matter. Some time, you must bring your sisters.' He turned to Victoria. 'We grow olives and grapes and peaches and figs and melons; and of course the field crops. And you might like to see the house. On the outside, it is like Signor Duncan's, only smaller; but on the inside, not at all. It is still a very simple Italian farm.'
'I should like that,' said Victoria, and smiled again. The three of them were still smiling when Giorgio had gone, still irradiated with the blithe and sunny quality of his presence.
'Isn't he super?' asked Sebastien.
'Absolutely super,' agreed Amanda.
'Too gorgeous for words,' said Victoria, and laughed at Sebastien as she said it; but he knew her well enough to know that she had liked Giorgio too.
So it was inevitable that Giorgio should stop at the house next time he was going on a trip, to take Sebastien on the back of the bike; inevitable that an invitation would follow for all three of them to visit the farm; and in the mood of happy anticipation that Victoria and Amanda were in, almost equally inevitable that they would fall in love with it.
For there was nothing of Charles Duncan's interior-decorated modernity about the Beltoni farm. The sitting room of the house was so obviously the best room, not much lived in, that Giorgio soon led them out to the terrace, which was lived on. The rough concrete columns supported a shade-roof of bamboo, but a vine luxuriated over the whole place, and branches here and there were drooping under the weight of many bunches of the small, as yet unripe grapes, their tendrils brushing the concrete floor. A rough wooden table with benches each side was obviously used for meals, and some more comfortable chairs to one side offered rest from the heat of the day.
Further along the same terrace, another wide door led into the kitchen; a kitchen that delighted Victoria. No deep freeze here, not even a fridge that she could see; but simple, rough dark furniture, presses that she could only guess the use of, a dresser full of wildly painted Italian pottery and innumerable flowering plants in pots. 'How aseptic and bare our kitchens look beside this one,' she thought; and as if Giorgio had read that thought, he said:
'Not much like Signor Duncan's house and kitchen, signorina?'
'No, indeed, but I love this one.'
Giorgio's mother stood by beaming at the two pretty girls, without understanding what they were saying. She was, as almost all Italian mothers of families were, very plump; in her case, more than plump; wearing the customary black dress, her curling black hair worn quite long, her smile showing clearly where Giorgio's came from.
'Say it in Italian, please,' said Giorgio; and Victoria repeated what she had said in Italian to his mother. Signora Beltoni's smile turned into incredulous laughter; she answered in such rapid Italian that Victoria understood nothing, and for the next few minutes there was a wonderful, muddled interchange of polite cordialities, into which even Amanda was dragged so that she could prove she was learning Italian. The atmosphere was warm and filled with laughter. Suddenly, Victoria realised that this was the first time since they had left England that they had all been truly light-hearted and happy; and she turned towards Giorgio as if she would tell him, or show him, something of this. And he was looking at her, his eyes serious, and their glances met, and held; and for a moment or two, could not look away. It was Giorgio who roused himself first, asking his mother if there was not a glass of wine for the visitors; and immediately a bottle of wine was produced, in its straw-covered bottle, and several glasses. Chairs were unnecessarily dusted, they all sat down at the rough but well-scrubbed table, and Signora Beltoni produced small savoury rolls with caraway seeds on top, and homemade cheese to put into them, so light and so good that Victoria resolved she would ask for the recipe.
'May I have wine, Victoria?' asked Amanda.
'Half and half,' compromised Victoria, and Amanda drank half wine, and half water, happier than she could remember being in ages.
The spaghetti boiled over with a tremendous hiss, and the Signora leaped up with an agility surprising in one so fat, and went to see to it.
'You could stay and eat with us,' suggested Giorgio to Victoria, in English.
'Oh no,' she protested quickly. 'Your mother isn't prepared and lunch will be ready for us at home. '
He agreed at once, and Victoria wondered if she had crushed him.
Quickly, she said:
'We'd adore to, some other time.'
'Really?' he asked.
'Really.'
'Then we will arrange it, some other time. '
'How is it you speak such good English, Giorgio?'
'I seem to have a talent for languages. I got on with it so well at school that I decided to keep it up. I speak French also, and a little German. I read books in these languages, signorina, so that I don't lose them.'
'Why don't you call me Victoria? I call you Giorgio.'
'Victoria. It is a pretty name. For a pretty girl.'
'I used to hate it,' she said. Her parents, she thought, would never endure anything too ordinary; so that Sebastien had endured his name all through school, and neither she nor Amanda had liked their names: but did anybody?
They realised, as they walked back along the lanes, that to-day it was going to be themselves who were late for lunch; but after the wine and those delicious small rolls, it didn't seem to matter. Perhaps they were all slightly light-headed, for even the picture of an irate Charles Duncan waiting for them on their own terrace didn't daunt them too much. He watched them approach through narrowed eyes.
'Well,' he asked, as they climbed the terrace steps to face him, 'where the devil do you think you've been?' And perhaps it was the wine that helped Victoria to answer him as she did.
'We know quite well where we've been,' she said coolly. 'We've been having a drink with some friends.'
'You know you're late for lunch! '
'I don't know why that should disturb you. You're always late for lunch.'
'Miss Jameson has been nearly out of her mind with worry.' Victoria laughed, a clear peal of ringing laughter.
'I can imagine that,' she said. 'She doesn't care two hoots about us.'
'She knew Sebastien had been out on a motor bike. She thought there might have been an accident. She's never known you to be late before.'
'Perhaps we've been too good,' suggested Victoria. 'Perhaps we should take a leaf out of your book, Mr. Duncan; then, if she never knew when to expect us, she needn't worry. '
He looked at her keenly.
'I believe you're tight,' he said disapprovingly.
'No, I'm not tight, though I have been drinking Chianti. I'm just feeling happy, Mr. Duncan.' And she sat down at the table: on the terrace, waiting for her lunch, wondering if there might be some truth in his words, for she had been extraordinarily glad to sit down; and she noticed that Sebastien and Amanda were glad to sit down too.
Charles Duncan watched them all for a few moments, then he turned away and went to the kitchen to tell Miss Jameson they were back.
'I like that! ' said Amanda. 'He can be late whenever he likes, but we can't be late once.'
'I don't see that it affects him,' added Sebastien. 'It isn't as if we kept him waiting. We eat separately anyhow.'
'I suppose he feels responsible,' said Victoria, and said no more as Miss Jameson appeared then with their food.
The fact that Charles did feel responsible emerged only too clearly a day or two later.
Giorgio had kept Victoria to her word, and invited the three of them to lunch at the farm, an invitation which they all had pleasure in accepting. An hour before they were due to set out, Giorgio appeared at the house to tell them he was going into Firenze before lunch and to invite Sebastien to go with him. Sebastien was delighted, and the two of them went off on the motor bike, leaving Victoria and Amanda to walk to the farm at their leisure.
This they did, trying to time their arrival to coincide with the return of Giorgio; and in fact they had been waiting only a few minutes when he returned with Sebastien, who was windblown, flushed and excited.
'Gosh,' he said to his sisters, 'we simply flew along! Giorgio was showing me just what the bike could do.'
'I hope Giorgio won't run any risks,' said Victoria, giving the young man such a severe look that he promised immediately he would not run any risks, for her sake and Sebastien's, but also for his own. 'I like life too much to want to be dead,' he said, laughing.
Giorgio's father came in for lunch which was laid out on the terrace. For this day, the rough table was covered by a crisp red and white cloth, and a pretty vase of Italian pottery held a bunch of mixed flowers. The great dish overflowing with spaghetti was covered lavishly with a mixture of meat and tomatoes and herbs so savoury and so good that the Fenn family allowed themselves to be persuaded to eat too much; and it was followed by cheese and by peaches juicy and ripe.
Afterwards, when Giorgio's father went back to his work and his mother to her kitchen, refusing all help from her guests, Giorgio walked with them over the farm, to show them what was produced on it and how it differed from England. It was after four o'clock when they said their goodbyes, nearer five when they arrived back at Charles Duncan's house, pleasantly tired, still talking of their delightful day. They went through the garden and on to their terrace, dropping on to the chairs.
'What wouldn't I give,' said Victoria, 'for a good English cup of tea,' and as if in answer to this remark, Miss Jameson appeared from inside the house. But not with tea, nor any offer of it. She regarded them with a cool, dispassionate glance.
'So you're back,' she said grimly.
'As you see,' said Victoria.
'And I hope you enjoyed your lunch. '
'Immensely. All of us. Thank you.'
'Spaghetti, I'll be bound. That's all they know how to do.'
'Yes, it was spaghetti and it was delicious.'
'That's why they're all so fat,' said Miss Jameson with a spark of malice. 'You'd better watch it, you girls, or you'll get like them.'
Victoria made no answer to this.
'Well, what I came out here to tell you was that Mr. Duncan wants to see you in his studio.'
'All of us?'
'No, just you; and he'd like to see you straight away. '
'Then I'll go as soon as I've washed my hands and tidied myself up,' said Victoria, trying not to be put down by this grim-visaged woman.
When she set off for the studio, she wished she had pocketed her pride to the extent of asking Miss Jameson the way. She thought that disobliging lady might have volunteered the information, for she found herself in a part of the house she had not, so far, been invited to see. She had seen the studio from the garden, because the slope of the hillside had caused the house to be built on several levels, all of which Charles had taken advantage of when he restored it. It meant that, whenever he chose, he could enter or leave his studio on the top level. From inside the house, however, Victoria was at a loss to discover it. She opened one or two doors, to discover a spare bedroom, a small room stacked with materials Charles had a use for in his work, and then a third, which proved to be a library-living room. She looked round this, her hand still on the knob, and thought what a beautiful room it was; still very much in the modern manner, but lent comfort and cheer by the deep sofas, the warm colours, the shelves upon shelves of books.
'You'd better come up,' said that unmistakable deep voice, and Victoria lifted her gaze considerably higher, to see that a gallery ran across one end of the room, protected by a wrought-iron railing, approached by a delicately wrought iron stairway. Charles was looking down at her from what she now realised was his studio, clad in a clay-smeared smock from which he had cut the sleeves to give him greater freedom of movement, leaving the cut edges frayed.
He did not look pleased or welcoming. It had been on Victoria's lips to say: 'What a lovely room this is,' or: 'So this is the studio---how interesting.' But such polite phrases did not seem in keeping with his forbidding expression, so she remained silent, but went across the room and carefully up the narrow stairway. Even at the top, she had no opportunity of seeing just what the studio contained, for he started right away by saying: 'Now look here, Victoria, I gave you credit for being a person with a modicum of common sense; but if you do have common sense, you're not using it right now. '
'I don't understand you. In what way am I not being sensible? Are you angry because we went out to lunch?'
'Of course not. If you want to tangle with the local peasantry, I'm not going to stop you, as long as you know what you're doing . . .'
He got no further before Victoria interrupted him. She could not endure the patronising way in which he spoke of a family that had been so kind.
'There's no need to be so condescending,' she said hotly. 'The Beltonis are a very nice family---farmers, not peasants. And Giorgio is certainly not a peasant. He is educated and speaks several languages . . .'
' And is as handsome as the devil . . .'
'That has nothing to do with it,' exclaimed Victoria.
'No? I should have thought it had a great deal to do with it. Just remember this, Victoria, a lot of these young Italians have had a great deal of experience; and quite a number of them have the idea that English girls are there for the taking. No doubt, the invasion of holidaymakers has something to do with that.'
By this time, Victoria's temper was aroused.
'And you choose to think I'm one of them! '
'I think nothing of the sort. I'm giving you a friendly warning.'
'It doesn't sound very friendly to me. And I can only think you have a very low opinion of me, if you think I haven't my own standards of behaviour. If you brought me here simply to give me a lecture, you can save your breath. '
'That wasn't what I brought you here for. You started that by jumping down my throat in support of the Beltonis . . .'
'Because you were patronising about them . . .'
'All right, all right. I understand that you want young company; company of your own age. That's not what I want to talk about. The subject under discussion is Sebastien.'
Victoria sighed.
'And what has Sebastien done?'
'It's more what Giorgio Beltoni has done with Sebastien. How long has Sebastien been riding round on the back of that powerful motor bike?'
'He's had a few trips. Why?'
'Well, he'd better not have any more,' said Charles with implacable firmness. 'I was coming back from Firenze this morning when they passed me like a streak of lightning, and as far as I could see, Sebastien wasn't even holding on. If Beltoni wants to risk his neck, that's up to him. Sebastien is a different matter.' Victoria remembered Sebastien at lunch time coming back into the farmhouse with Giorgio, flushed and delighted and windblown.
'Oh dear,' she said, now wondering herself about Sebastien's safety. Perhaps Giorgio was too daring, perhaps Sebastien was at risk. 'He does enjoy it so much.'
'He wouldn't enjoy being in hospital with broken limbs, or a broken head. From now on, you can let him know, it's forbidden to ride on the bike.'
'But if Giorgio promised to be careful, not to go so fast?'
'Still forbidden,' said Charles firmly. 'You've got a car---you can take him where he wants to go.'
'That isn't the same thing at all. Giorgio could be a friend to him. The Beltonis are the only people who've been kind to us here.'
That gave Charles pause. He looked surprised. Then he put the thought away for future consideration and returned to the topic under discussion.
'Your parents have handed to me the responsibility for you all,' he said. 'To what extent they were irresponsible in doing so isn't the point at the moment. The fact remains that while you're here, I'm responsible for seeing that Sebastien doesn't run an unnecessary risk of being killed, that you don't run the risk of being raped, and so on.'
'As far as I'm concerned,' Victoria said stiffly, 'I absolve you of all responsibility. I'll look after myself.'
'And Sebastien? You'll tell him that I forbid riding on the back of that motor bike?'
'I'll tell him.'
'Then I think that's all,' said Charles.
Victoria was silent. So that's all, she thought. It was quite enough. He had set the cat among the pigeons with a vengeance. Sebastien wasn't going to like this.
She turned slowly round. While they had been talking, she had noticed the work he had been engaged upon when her arrival interrupted him. In front of him was standing a large armature of cables and wires, and on to this armature he was building up a mess of clay, presumably a full-scale model of the maquette which stood on a table to one side, which seemed to Victoria to represent a group of miners just emerged from the coal pits. The maquette was striking in its force and character. She liked it at once and wanted to look closer; but not only was the moment not opportune, but Charles had not, for a second, realised her interest or seemed to want it. He seemed to be concerned only with the responsibility he had been saddled with in bringing the Fenn family into his house.
So, in spite of her interest, and her longing to explore the multitudinous objects arranged on wide shelves along one wall, Victoria turned to the staircase to leave the studio. It would have been kind, she thought, had he allowed her to look round, had he explained what he was doing. At the top of the staircase, she looked back at him.
'I'm sorry you think my parents are irresponsible,' she said stiffly. 'Perhaps it would be better if we went back to England. I'm perfectly capable of looking after the family there.'
'Good God! ' he exploded. 'Now you've taken offence. My dear child, your parents are the most delightful people in the world. I know they're both doing useful work. They're my friends, and they've asked me to give you hospitality during the summer, and that's what I intend to do. But I don't want to send them news in New Guinea or wherever it is, that Sebastien is smashed up, or that any evil has befallen any of you. Do try to see my point of view, Victoria.'
'Oh, I see it,' she said. ' I see it very well.' And she negotiated the narrow iron stairway with care, crossed the room she had thought so welcoming at first, though it had given her no great welcome, and found her way back to her own part of the house. Sebastien was out again. Walking, Amanda thought. Amanda was
daydreaming by the fountain.
'Haven't you got anything to do?' asked Victoria with unaccustomed sharpness.
'Such as what?' asked Amanda, looking up.
'Well, you've got plenty of books with you. You've got your bird embroidery, and you've got your paints.' For Amanda was always said to be the artistic one of the family.
'Oh, I don't want to do any of those things,' Amanda replied. 'I'm all right. Don't bother about me, I'm quite happy.' And this was a surprise for Victoria, for it was rarely that Amanda was quite happy.
She sat down with her own book, but she did not read. She was dejected, almost despondent. Why had they come here? Why had she not followed her first reaction to her parents' plan, and stayed at home, to spend the summer in London? Charles Duncan did not want them, that was obvious. He thought her parents irresponsible, and he did not want the responsibility for their safety. If it were true that Giorgio had taken risks, had been travelling much too fast with Sebastien on the back, then Victoria too was worried. She never had liked motor bikes. Why, she herself had said to Charles when he came to her aid that other morning that Italian drivers were all mad. Well, she would have to tell Sebastien that it was forbidden in future, but he was not going to like it. That was certain.
Sebastien did not like it. He rebelled instantly, and remained in a state of rebellion. 'Why should we do what he tells us?' he demanded. 'He hasn't done anything to entertain us ever since we've been here.'
'He doesn't look on it like that,' said Victoria. 'He was asked to put up with us, and that's what he is doing. If we expect anything further, we're going to be disappointed.'
She remembered all too clearly the various things that Charles had said about them. On that first occasion, when she had unwillingly overheard his conversation with friends, he had said he would leave all of them to Jeanie. Jeanie, the redoubtable Miss Jameson, did what she had to do, and no more. She fed them, and she fed them well. In spite of Victoria's offer, it was nearly always Miss Jameson who insisted on cleaning their rooms and washing their dishes. Further than that, she did not choose to go. Charles himself had given them hospitality, and he also saw no need to do more. This was proved in no uncertain fashion on the night that he gave a party to his friends.
It was impossible for Victoria not to know that he was giving a party. Every time she went near the kitchen, something was going on in preparation for it. The enormous deep freeze came into its own as dish after dish went into it, to be produced on the night. There would be too many guests, apparently, for a sit-down dinner party; but a splendid buffet would be arranged in the dining room. When, on the morning of the great day, masses of flowers arrived to decorate the hall, living room and dining room, Victoria offered to arrange them for Miss Jameson, and rather to her surprise her offer was accepted. She took the greatest pleasure in making several arrangements of great beauty, taking most of the morning over the task.
She had taken it for granted that she would be asked to this party. Not Sebastien, who at sixteen was too young. Certainly not Amanda, on the eve of her fourteenth birthday. But Victoria was almost twenty, and probably several of the guests would be no more than that. So that it was a great surprise to her when Miss Jameson said:
'I'd be glad, Victoria, if you'd get your own supper tonight, with all I've got to do.'
This was quite a shock to her. Surely Charles wouldn't have a party right here in the house without inviting her to it.
'You mean for Sebastien and Amanda and me?' she asked.
'Well, you don't think I'd leave one of you out, do you?'
Victoria was suddenly deflated. At once, all her pleasure in the day was gone. She wished she could take all those lovely flower arrangements and throw them out on the rubbish heap. She said flatly: 'Oh yes, I'll get the supper; you needn't think you have to bother about us,' and was unaware that Miss Jameson was looking after her as she left the room, with a very strange and speculative expression.
It was the simplest thing in the world to prepare that supper, for the kitchen was so full of good things. 'You can have some of that, if you like,' Miss Jameson told her, indicating a dish of vegetable salad; 'and some of that,' and that was a rice salad with sultanas and apples and more exotic fruits; 'and you can have a few of the prawn vol-au-vents . . .' and went on until Victoria had on her tray a delectable cold supper for three. 'And you can come back for some of the sweet things when you've got through that lot,' Miss Jameson told her.
Victoria spread a cloth over the terrace table and set out their supper. She was emphatically reminded of several occasions when her parents had given dinner parties, and, to get the children out of the way, had arranged a small buffet for them to enjoy themselves in what was sometimes called the 'workroom' or the 'playroom' or simply the children's room.
She felt that, similarly, they were being kept out of the way tonight. In the case of Amanda and Sebastien it was to be expected.
For herself, she resented it bitterly. How could he possibly still think of her as a child, when girls were free to marry whom they chose at eighteen, free to vote for whom they chose? Or did he even think of her at all? That was more likely, she decided. He had his own circle of sophisticated friends, his own absorbing work, and the Fenn family hovered only briefly, occasionally at the edge of his consciousness: when he had to worry about them, when some small thing reminded him of his responsibility.
She had an excellent opportunity to see those sophisticated friends that evening. If she put her chair at one corner of their terrace, she could see the cars arriving at the main door of the house; and she was sufficiently interested, or curious, to do so. They had finished their delectable supper some time ago. Amanda and Sebastien were inside in his room, which had also become their living room, playing Scrabble with the usual amount of argument. Victoria waited. She knew that the house was looking its best, that the flowers lived up to the occasion; but she was too proud to ask Miss Jameson if she could go and look at the completed buffet.
The guests began to arrive, in a succession of cars that indicated the status of their owners; Ferraris and Aston-Martins, Rolls-Royces and Mercedes and Jaguars and Jensens. The light over the main door revealed them all too clearly to Victoria. The men rivalled the women in the beauty of their apparel. Italian men were very vain in any case, Victoria had decided, and here tonight there were plain white tuxedos, silk suits, velvet suits, and a perfect rainbow of silk, plain or ruffled or embroidered shirts. But if the men were groomed to the hilt, the women went one better with their make-up and coiffures and jewels. Victoria thought every couturier in Roma, Firenze or Milano must be represented here; in long dresses of gauzy billowing materials, masses of finely pleated silks or sheaths that were marvellous in their simplicity.
She knew only three of the guests. The Contessa, wearing a purple gown which emphasised her height and slimness, and a fine showing of diamonds; the elderly cousin, in orthodox black evening wear, trying to efface himself behind the Contessa; and Margarita, who arrived with a distinguished-looking man much older than herself, who might possibly be her father. Margarita wore white, cut daringly low, emphasising not only all those luscious curves but the dark quality of her dazzling beauty. She wore enormous emeralds in earrings that swayed and swung with every movement of her head, and a wide emerald bracelet. Her beautiful neck and bosom needed no adornment. Victoria could hear Charles's deep voice welcoming her, but she could not see him. She wondered what he wore on such an occasion; for he seemed to be at home in plain trousers and pullovers, or shirts with short sleeves or his working smock. Was he wearing a silk suit or a white tuxedo? Did he manage to tame that thick brown hair, or did he simply remain himself among so much peacock vanity?
She was obviously not to know. Cars ceased to arrive. A few chauffeurs gossiped together, the glow of their cigarettes showing where they sat in the darkened garden. The Scrabble game inside ended in heated argument, as it so often did. Amanda had lost again. She said to Victoria from inside: 'Well, I'm going to bed, Vicki, good night,' and did not come out on to the terrace. Sebastien went out to look at the cars, ambled around for a while, and then said he thought he'd go to bed too. So Victoria was once more left on the terrace alone, and the sounds of the party mounted in a steady crescendo. Surely there was nothing that emphasised one's loneliness more than the sounds of a successful party nearby? the hum of talk, the laughter, the sudden outbursts of merriment that made one wonder what was going on.
And she was lonely. She longed for somebody to talk to. Not Sebastien with his mind temporarily set on cars and motor bikes; nor Amanda, so naively adolescent. She felt cut off from her friends, with few opportunities in this rather remote spot to make new ones. Briefly, she resented her parents and this situation they had got their children into. This was the last time, she resolved, that she would be shunted around: she wouldn't have considered it this time but for Amanda. When would they realise that she had a life of her own to live? She felt excluded, abandoned, in this one quiet spot of the house; and against her will, tears filled her eyes and threatened to spill.
'Oh, don't be so damned sorry for yourself,' she told herself, but it was no good. She was miserable, and all the sounds of talk and laughter made her more miserable. She put her face into her hands, and wept; and after a few moments, leaned her arms on the railing of the terrace and her head upon her arms, trying not to give way to this fit of crying.
It was a step on the terrace that alarmed her, that caused her to jump up suddenly and retreat into the darkest corner to hide her tear-stained face.
'What's the matter with you?' asked Miss Jameson.
For a moment Victoria had thought it might be Charles; though why should he bother himself about her in the middle of his party? It was almost a relief that it was only Miss Jameson. 'Nothing,' she said, with a sniff that betrayed her. 'Nothing's the matter.'
'There must be something the matter for you to be sitting here grizzling.'
'No, there's nothing. Why should there be?'
'Ah, that's the question. Why should there? You're not ill, are
you?'
'Of course not.'
'Headache?'
'No, no.'
'Well then, what is it? You might as well cough it up.' 'Goodness, I keep telling you it's nothing. Anyone can have a fit of the blues, can't they?'
'Oh well, if that's all it is ... I thought you might like a cup of something, that's why I came. I'll bring you a cup of coffee and a liqueur and perhaps that will cheer you up.' And Miss Jameson vanished as quickly as she had come.
When she returned, she was carrying a small silver tray on which were a cup of coffee, a glass of liqueur and a small assortment of epicurean petits fours.
'And when you've had that,' she said, 'I should get to bed if I were you; and I expect in the morning you'll be as right as rain. ' Without a good night, she withdrew again. Just as one would give sweets to a child, Victoria thought. She drank the coffee and the liqueur, but she left the sweet things for Amanda and Sebastien in the morning. It was no good saying she would be better off in bed. With all the noise going on, she knew she would not get to sleep. Yet, even so, long before the guests began to depart, she could keep awake no longer and joined Amanda in their bedroom.
Next morning, while they were still at breakfast on their terrace, Giorgio stopped his motor bike outside the gate and walked through the garden to the terrace steps. He smiled up at them, wishing them 'Buon giorno." Standing there with his dark eyes screwed up against the brilliant sunshine, his sunglasses dangling from his hand, he seemed startlingly handsome. ' Buon giorno', they called back, and Amanda added:
'Come up, Giorgio, and have some coffee.'
Victoria glanced at her in surprise. It was not often that Amanda was so forthcoming. And what she saw surprised her even more, for Amanda was gazing at Giorgio with nothing short of adoration. Goodness, thought Victoria, I hope she's not going to get a crush on him. So far, Amanda had confined her 'crushes' to film or pop stars, and one or two others equally beyond her grasp. Those had been manageable because impossible. Victoria preferred that her sister's crushes should remain in the realm of the impossible.
But Giorgio was already on the terrace, smiling at them all, and Amanda was rinsing out her cup to pour coffee for him.
'I have to go to Poggibonsi to-day,' he told them, 'and I thought Sebastien might like to come along.'
'Oh, I'm sorry, Giorgio,' Victoria said at once, 'I'm afraid he can't.'
'That's too bad.' Giorgio was accepting sugar from Amanda and smiling down at her. 'Another time perhaps, but Sebastien hasn't been to Poggibonsi and I thought he would like the ride.'
'There won't be another time,' Sebastien put in gloomily. 'I'm not allowed to ride on the bike. ' Giorgio looked quickly at Vitoria.
'It wasn't I,' she said. 'Mr. Duncan won't allow it.'
'He says you go much too fast,' said Amanda.
'He saw us the other day coming back from Firenze,' added Sebastien.
'He did say you were going like a streak of lightning; and he feels responsible, you see.' That was Victoria.
'Ah.' Giorgio had the grace to look guilty. 'Yes, I shouldn't have done that. I'm sorry. So it is not permitted at all?'
Victoria shook her head. They were all silent as Giorgio finished his coffee. Then he stood up, looking at Sebastien.
'You can still come down to the farm, Sebastien?'
'Of course.'
'And your sisters? I wouldn't like to think they are not coming anymore because I was stupid. '
'We'd love to come,' said Amanda eagerly, 'and I think you ought to come and have lunch with us one day. We had lunch with you. Please invite him, Victoria.'
Victoria smiled at Giorgio, and he was dazzled as he had been dazzled at first.
'Yes,' she said. 'We invite you here and now, Giorgio. When can you come?'
A day was arranged; and as he went away, waving to them, Victoria thought they would arrange their own social life. Giorgio first; and Giorgio must have friends too. They would have a party of their own perhaps, seeing that they were excluded from Charles's parties. They sat back, finished their breakfast, once again basking in the happy atmosphere that Giorgio seemed to bring with him---except perhaps for Sebastien, who was following his friend in imagination on the way to Poggibonsi and was inclined to be morose.
'That was a good idea of yours, Amanda, having Giorgio to lunch. After the first time, we'll see if he has friends he would like to bring along too; though I suppose I'd better see if it's all right with Miss Jameson and Mr. Duncan. I don't quite know how we stand.'
Victoria paused for a moment, then went on: 'You could ask the Rimini girls too. They're the right age for you, and you're beginning to speak Italian. It would be good practice for you. ' 'Oh, Vicki, they're not the right age for me,' protested Amanda. 'And it's just too difficult, trying to keep up a conversation in a foreign language. ' (Though she often attempted it with Giorgio, Victoria noticed.) 'We don't want a lot of children. After all, I'll be fourteen next week.'
A very young fourteen up to now, Victoria thought. It would be easier for everybody concerned if Amanda stayed that way, at least until they went back to England.
That afternoon, Victoria went for a walk by herself. Amanda had re-started her bird embroidery and did not want to leave it, and Sebastien had slipped out alone, probably to the farm, not wanting his sisters with him. So Victoria set out, round the side of the house, intending to climb the hill above it and walk on the olive-clad, cypress-scattered, cystus-sweet slopes where there was usually a welcome breeze. She had not gone far, however, when a voice hailed her: a voice she could never possibly mistake for anybody else's.
'Hi there, Victoria,' it called, 'hi! ' and as she turned round, Charles called: 'Can you spare me a minute?' He was standing outside the wide double doors of his studio, wearing the same old clay-smeared smock with the large pocket across the front. She walked slowly back to him, noticing that there were faint smudges of clay on his brown hair also, giving it a fascinating effect of going grey.
'Come in,' he said, indicating the studio with a wave of his arm, and she went in by the unfamiliar way, with the wrought-iron railing now facing her. She saw that he was still working on the clay-daubed armature, but now it was beginning to take a form recognisable as the maquette of the miners which stood on a table nearby.
'Well now, Victoria,' he said, and his voice was noticeably less brusque than formerly. She realised that he was trying to be kind, and she preferred him when he was being completely natural. 'I hope you're settling down nicely here---hmm?'
'Settling down?' She shrugged her shoulders slightly. 'I don't think we actually feel very settled. '
'I hope you soon will. I thought it was high time I took you on a little tour of Firenze's more famous treasures. You might as well improve your education while you're here. '
'You mean all of us?' asked Victoria.
'Naturally. I suppose Amanda and Sebastien have to be educated, too.'
'I don't think Sebastien is very keen about art treasures. He prefers cars and boats and motor bikes at present. But I'll certainly ask him. Amanda and myself would like it very much.'
'Then what about tomorrow? We could have a look at the Duomo and perhaps the Accademia museum before lunch, have lunch in a rather decent place I know, to revive you and prepare
you for the Uffizi in the afternoon. How about that?'
'That sounds wonderful,' said Victoria. 'Thank you very much. '
'O.K.,' he said, with an air of dismissing her. 'I think ten o'clock will be early enough in the morning. Now you go off for your walk and I'll get back to my job.'
She hesitated. She wanted to ask him to let her wander about the studio looking at things. But he had already turned away and picked up a great handful of clay which he began to puddle about in his fingers, regarding the work in front of him. So she said:
'Ciao,' she stepped outside, and his answering 'Ciao' sounded absent-minded already, as if he had forgotten all about her.
Neither Amanda nor Sebastien received Victoria's invitation with much enthusiasm when she returned from her walk, but neither refused to go. Victoria thought it would be a waste of time for Sebastien. Perhaps, next morning, she would find an excuse for him to absent himself.
Sebastien did not wait for Victoria to find an excuse. As they sat at the breakfast table, the sun already very hot at that time of the morning, promising a clear, beautiful day in the country, but a very stuffy one in Firenze, he said, lavishly spreading a new roll with butter and honey:
'I don't want to look at art treasures, Vicki. I'd sooner stay here. Giorgio said he might come by this morning.'
'Giorgio can come by any morning.' She saw that Sebastien was taking on a mutinous look, and added:
'Still, I don't see why you should look at Michelangelo if it bores you. I'd be bored looking at old cars. I'll make an excuse for you.' 'Oh, good,' he said, infinitely relieved. ' As a matter of fact, I helped on the farm yesterday afternoon, and Giorgio said I could any time I felt like it---provided he was there. '
'And I don't want to go,' said Amanda. 'I hate trailing round stuffy old picture galleries. I want to get on with my bird embroidery, I've just got the urge again to go on with it. '
'Well, it's not very polite to Mr. Duncan when he's making a bit of an effort for us,' said Victoria, wondering if it was the mention of Giorgio's possible arrival that made Amanda want to stay here.
'He's taken his time about it,' said Sebastien drily. 'Do you
want to go, Vicki?'
'Yes, I'd love to. I want to see what there is to see; and it's much better to have a really knowledgeable guide. '
So Victoria only was waiting and ready at ten o'clock to go with Charles. Victoria in a sun-yellow dress with her hair tied back with a sun-yellow chiffon scarf, which wafted in the breeze. There was nobody to tell her that she was as pretty as a picture: her sister and brother were too used to her, Miss Jameson regarded her with detached appraisal, and Charles narrowed his eyes when he saw her, as if he were getting her into perspective, but said nothing. It was Victoria who spoke.
'I'm afraid Sebastien and Amanda have gone on strike.'
Charles looked at her questioningly.
'Art is wasted on Sebastien. He's at the stage where vintage cars are much more interesting. Amanda hasn't much enthusiasm and gets tired trailing round museums. I'm sorry.'
'What about you? Do you get tired, Victoria, trailing around museums?'
Was there a hope of relief in his question? she wondered. Was he thinking there was a chance that he could get back to his work? Victoria hardened her heart. He had invited her, and now he had to put up with her. She would not let him off.
'Oh no, I'm most interested. I'm really looking forward to it.' 'Right then. Hop in, and we'll be off.'
He opened the car door for her and she got in. The roof was down, and the passage of the car allowed plenty of wind to cool them. She was glad she had tied back her hair. They sped into Firenze and Charles parked his car in the courtyard of the Contessa's house. 'We'll thank her when we take it out again,' he said, and led Victoria into the streets of Firenze.
She soon found, as she had said to Sebastien, that it was much better to have a knowledgeable guide. It was a very different thing exploring Firenze on her own, from having Charles at her side, Charles's hand on her elbow guiding her across the streets and through the short cuts, Charles to find all the best things to show her and pointing out their finer points. In the magnificent Duomo or Cathedral, in the beautiful Baptistry with its famous bronze doors in high relief, Charles could resolve her doubts or relieve her ignorance. In the Accademia museum, the original David, as
opposed to the copy in the Piazza della Signoria, entranced her.
'It's fashionable nowadays to be patronising about it,' Charles told her. 'People pretend to believe it tedious. But one should never listen to fashionable people. '
'What do you think about it, Mr. Duncan?'
He began to talk to her quite seriously about the work in the museum there, admitting that a lot of it was larger than life, but why shouldn't art be? and certainly a lot of modern art was; and told her that she must go to Rome and see the ceiling of the Sistine chapel to see what he meant; but also to look at the Pieta in Rome (which some lunatic had recently damaged) to discover the marvellous tenderness and purity of the work. And they looked at sculpture where the figure was half emerged from the block of marble, imprisoned for ever in it, and Victoria admitted that she could not imagine how sculptors could ever bring their vision out of the rough blocks: 'It's wonderful how it comes out of the stone. I don't know how you can see to get it out. '
'In the same way as an artist gets his vision on to canvas.'
'I think it's much harder; and a painter can correct a mistake, but if a block of marble is wrongly split, it must be catastrophe. . . And you, Mr. Duncan, aren't cutting out, but building up.'
'Just two quite different techniques. Building up in clay is for casting in bronze. In marble or wood, one is hammering and gouging out the life and form that is there. Perhaps that's the more satisfying. And the marble in this country, of course, is marvellous. One sees exactly why Michelangelo chose so carefully and why Henry Moore comes here to select special blocks of marble . . .'
Victoria was so interested that she was surprised to find it so late when Charles said, looking at the flat gold watch on his wrist: 'Well, that's enough for this morning, I think. Let's find a taxi. It isn't worth going back for the car. We'll find a place for lunch.' He had the restaurant picked out. It was slightly up in the hills. It would be cooler, he said. Victoria thought she might have preferred to be in the city, where she could watch the Florentines at their lunch; but when they reached the restaurant, a great many Florentines had also decided it would be cooler in the hills, a great many of their cars were ranged on the car park, and it was obvious that Victoria would not be deprived of her treat. In fact, as they went to their table, Charles was twice stopped by friends, to whom he introduced Victoria and with whom he chatted for a minute or two; and soon after their arrival, the place was full up, and people arriving after that would have to wait some time.
'You are going to Washington?' Victoria asked, as they handed the menus back to the waiter and sat back to await their meal, for one of those friends had mentioned his visit to Washington.
'Not until the autumn. There's a possibility I may do an important monument there. Negotiations are in the early stages, but I have to go over about it. '
'Do you like the States?'
' What a big question, Victoria! There's no quick answer. There are things one likes and things one hates; places one likes and places one dislikes. The important thing is to do my work.'
'And have you done a lot in America?'
'Quite a bit. They're still the big spenders.'
'And is that what makes you rich?'
'Rich?' He threw back his head and laughed. 'I'm not rich, Victoria. What makes you think so?'
'Well, your beautiful house. And you have a flat in London . . .' 'Rented to Americans at the moment for a fantastic rent. '
'And all your friends seem very wealthy.'
'And how do you know that?' he asked, amused.
She was caught out. How could she say that she had watched his guests arriving at his party? She blushed and chose not to pursue that topic. Charles's expression as he saw that blush was slightly quizzical, and Victoria knew that he had guessed. She changed the subject by reverting to the marvels she had seen that morning.
'I don't think I ever realised how derivative all creative artists must be,' she said. 'Seeing some of the Michelangelo sculptures this morning, for instance, one sees how much Rodin derived from them ... '
'I suppose we are all derivative up to the point where we have the courage of our own convictions and begin to break away. ' 'Oh, I don't know. I feel that nowadays nobody wants to do the ground work and build a foundation, but start right off being as original as all-get-out. '
She had been pursuing her own line of thought, and had not realised with how much interest Charles was regarding her. He smiled at her.
'I didn't realise you were so interested in the arts, Victoria.' 'What, with my parents? We were fed the arts in our cradles. You must have understood that. However interested they were in their jobs, they always wanted to see the exhibitions and galleries; and as soon as my father had enough money, he bought pictures and sculptures---as of course you know. '
'Indeed,' agreed Charles.
'I remember, as a child, nearly always going to bed to the music of a symphony on records, or an opera, or my father playing the piano himself. When they were at home. And there were always books on every conceivable subject, and they were always available to us. We looked at pictures and were taken to museums, even to lectures. One either hated it, or liked it very much. I happened to like it very much.'
'Good. Then you'll like the Uffizi this afternoon. . . . What lucky children you were, Victoria, you and Sebastien and Amanda, to have parents like Paul and Barbara, who could make life so interesting for you, and so vivid. '
She was silent, pretending to look with interest about her, but Charles elected to follow up his observation.
'Don't you agree, Victoria?'
'We must have been lucky. Everybody is always telling us so.' 'Which hasn't actually answered my question,' he said, but he did not repeat it and Victoria did not answer it.
Lucky? she wondered. She supposed they had been, but she could not help remembering times when Amanda, as a very small girl, had cried herself to sleep night after night at the Innes' house because she wanted her mother, who was flying off to the jungles of South America to hunt for orchids. Or the time when General Stubbs had taken so violently against Sebastien and made his life a misery by snubbing him, simply because his precious Labradors adored Sebastien and became his slaves. She did not choose to remember all the times when she herself had had to refuse invitations because she was acting as guardian to her younger sister and brother; or, if a guardian was not necessary, was simply cut off from all her friends by being remote in Scotland or in the
wilder reaches of Norfolk. Lucky? Yes, in some ways, but unlucky in others.
'There's so much to see in the Uffizi,' said Charles, 'that we'd better get going, pleasant as it is to linger here. Come along, Victoria.'
On their way out, they were stopped yet again by a slender girl with splendid auburn hair who was lunching with a very fat man, both of whom were studying Victoria with great interest. Charles introduced them and said they had a pressing engagement and must be moving on; but before they left, the girl said to them:
'Do come into the Contessa's this evening. Masses of people there for drinks quite early. '
'Can't promise,' said Charles, 'but we'll see.' And he took Victoria's elbow in a possessive manner and led her out of the restaurant.
'Maria and Giovanni Notario,' he said. 'Her first marriage, his fourth. It won't last, of course. It's said she married him for his money---a first step up the ladder for her. She'll end up a princess, or a duchess at least. '
'You're very cynical,' said Victoria.
'Italian society makes one cynical.'
'Then why do you mix with it? It doesn't suit you.' Then she was horrified by what she had said and how personal she had become. 'I'm sorry,' she said immediately. 'I shouldn't have said that.'
'I don't mix with it in any real sense,' he said. 'I'm fond of a few people, the Contessa, Margarita, a few others. There are not many I invite to my house. Now am I forgiven for my cynicism? Must I do more to justify myself?'
'I'm sorry. You certainly don't have to justify yourself to me. It was impertinent of me. '
'Not at all. I'm interested in your opinions. . . . Ah, here's a taxi.'
The taxi took them down into the heat of Firenze once more to the Uffizi Gallery; and as Charles had said, there was so much to see that it was not long before Victoria was very weary. True, the pictures were wonderful, but the very richness and extent of the galleries were exhausting and Charles carried her off for coffee, saying there was no need to get mental indigestion, and there
were plenty of other afternoons for the Uffizi. And when they had had their coffee, they wandered over the Ponte Vecchio looking into the tiny shops lining each side of the bridge, and dawdled back to the Contessa's courtyard where they had left the car.
'Now,' said Charles, ' do we go up and thank the Contessa for the parking privilege, or do we drive away and ring her up when we get home?'
'I leave that to you,' said Victoria.
'If we go up, we shall be kept there for all these people who are coming for drinks. Which might be a bore. On the other hand, it could be useful experience for you, Victoria, and you might even find it interesting to study this layer of Italian society at first hand. Yes, let's go up.'
'I'm not really dressed for a drinks party,' she said.
' You look charming in your sunshine dress. Youth and beauty like yours, Victoria, don't need dressing up.'
She followed him into the elegant house quite stunned by his last remark. Youth and beauty like yours, he had said. Youth, yes, obviously there was no arguing with that. But beauty? From this so expert judge of what was intrinsically beautiful? A strange glow settled over Victoria as she went up the marble staircase with Charles into the salon where there were already a number of people gathered together. So much of a glow, indeed, that several people were struck by it without knowing its cause: a sunshine girl, with that burnished hair and an aura about her. The Contessa called her 'dear child' and a young man immediately attached himself to her and was not to be shaken off. It was the younger women who appraised her with criticism, Margarita who felt not only coldness towards her, but an implacable determination to keep between this unwelcome newcomer and Charles.
The young man was Giuseppe Orselli and he refused to leave Victoria's side. His English was eccentric, to say the least, and half the time Victoria could not understand him. As time ticked away, she began to be bored by him. He had inveigled her into an alcove by one of the windows, to keep her to himself and to avoid the crowd which was now becoming quite thick. It was from this vantage point, half hidden by a brocade curtain, giving up the struggle to cope with Giuseppe's English, that Victoria's boredom was suddenly penetrated by Margarita's voice from somewhere quite close by.
'No really, Charles, you are catching them young nowadays. One might even say cradle-snatching. Can you really find such ingenuousness interesting?'
'Whether or not I find it interesting, whether beauty is enough by itself . . .'
'Beauty?' sharply.
'You don't find her beautiful, Margarita?'
Margarita was not to be so easily caught.
'I hadn't thought of her that way, I suppose. Yes, of course, she has a kind of beauty . . .'
'Not your kind, admittedly. Not that southern kind of night-black richness, that mystery . . . but as I was about to say: Whether or not I find such ingenuousness interesting is quite beside the point. I am simply furthering Victoria's education ...' 'Charles, Charles! '
'By showing her what Firenze has to offer; by looking at Michelangelo for the thousandth time, by trailing round the Uffizi. The others would have been with her, and were invited to be with her, but the boy's passion is for cars, and the younger girl didn't want to be educated. '
'I'd like to know whose idea this was---this course of further education. Was it yours, Charles, or could it possibly have been Victoria's?'
Giuseppe spoke to Victoria at that moment, and she was guilty of snubbing him completely by turning her back on him, for she simply had to hear what Charles and Margarita had to say. Giuseppe stood somewhat crestfallen by her side, wondering what he had done.
'You may be surprised to know,' Charles was saying,
'that it was neither. The idea came from Jeanie Jameson. '
If Margarita was surprised, she could not have been more surprised than Victoria.
'Apparently,' Charles's voice went on, 'I've been guilty of neglect and inconsideration. When I agreed to the family coming here I took on the responsibility for their welfare, but must admit I didn't realise that included their social life. But on the night of the party, Jeanie discovered our fair Victoria in floods of tears because she hadn't been invited, and came along the next morning and read me a lecture on my shortcomings. So I realised that I had to make a gesture, and this is it.'
'But how ridiculous, Charles! You can't allow what Miss Jameson thinks to order your life. You know you regard your working hours as sacred. Why, your friends---I myself---would never dream of intruding. We never come without ringing up, and nearly always arrange to see you in the evening. I simply don't like to think your work is being interrupted. '
'I know, Margarita, you are always the soul of consideration; but what am I to do? I can't have my guests in floods of tears.' Giuseppe touched Victoria's arm and offered her a dish of canapes of caviare and smoked salmon. She took one and smiled at him automatically, but her ears were alert for Margarita's reply.
'Oh, if all she needs is a social life, we can supply that. If she feels excluded, that's soon remedied. The Contessa lives by parties, as you know; my father and I give quite a few. We will ask her to our parties and then perhaps she will not intrude on your work . . .' The voice faded away. Charles and Margarita had moved on. Victoria stood where she was, no longer trying to make sense of Giuseppe's increasingly broken English, smiling automatically from time to time; but her mind was alternating between threatening dejection and rising anger.
She was deeply hurt to find that this whole day, which she had found so wonderful until now, had been no more than Miss Jameson's idea; no more than a gesture on Charles's part. No voluntary act of kindness, but a prompting from his housekeeper. She was hurt to discover that the conversation which she had found so interesting had meant nothing to him. 'I might have known,' she thought, and the words repeated themselves over and over in her mind. 'I might have known. I might have known. He's found us nothing but a nuisance ever since we came. What I've overheard myself should be enough to convince me of that; and how do I know how much more he's said that I didn't hear?' All those unwelcome or derogatory remarks came slowly back into her memory, one by one. She remembered them all with painful clearness.
That first night, before he had even seen them, he had admitted that he had the shock of his life when her parents took up his offer, and had said of them:
'Don't worry, this lot won't upset my work schedule,' and had said he would leave them to Jeanie. The next day, speaking to Miss Jameson, he had asked 'Have I got to be lumbered with juveniles every day for lunch?'---which nobody could call welcoming.
And what next? Ah yes, it was in this very house, the Contessa's house, that he had said that her parents were always dropping their children, like foundlings, on other people's doorsteps. That had made her so angry. And then, laying down the law about Sebastien, he had called her parents irresponsible, and said that he was responsible for Sebastien not getting killed or herself not getting raped.
Yet even that wasn't the sum of it, for now she had discovered that this day---that had been such a marvellous day until now--- was nothing more than a duty, a gesture, prompted by Miss Jameson. Moreover, it sounded as if it had been a bore for him, for hadn't he talked of looking at Michelangelo for the thousandth time? of 'trailing' round the Uffizi gallery?
It was true that she had wept a little, but it was not true that she was in floods of tears, nor did she think that Miss Jameson would have used that expression. She was annoyed that Charles should have spoken of her in that way to Margarita. Margarita, with her 'southern beauty of night-black richness, of mystery'. If that was what Charles liked, her own colouring could not appeal to him.
Suddenly, she interrupted what Giuseppe was endeavouring to explain to her. She had not heard a word of it in any case.
'Could you possibly get me a taxi?' she asked him. 'I have a headache and I would like to leave. '
'But---but...' The poor young man was somewhat puzzled, interrupted in mid-sentence by this sudden request. 'You came with Signor Duncan, no?'
'I don't want to disturb him, or take him away too early. Please, could you get me a taxi?'
He went downstairs with her, offering to drive her up to the house, finally accepting that she would prefer a taxi; rather relieved, in fact, that her strange behaviour was due to a bad headache and not to anything that he had done.
Victoria sat in the taxi, not noticing where she was going, not
noticing the sweet smell of the limes that usually gave her such pleasure. Her instinct was to pack up and leave this place. They could drive back to London. There they knew just where they were: in their own place. And Sebastien could go to camp, it was still not too late, and there would be none of this turmoil of mind, none of this feeling unwelcome. She would find out what the others thought about it.
Victoria did not need to find out what her sister and brother thought of her plan to return to England. They anticipated her suggestion by revealing quite plainly that they were enjoying their life in Tuscany enormously. She returned to Charles's house in her taxi to find the two of them on their own terrace, the table between them holding a tray with a jug of Miss Jameson's freshly-made lemonade on it, and a plate of her famous Scotch shortbread. Amanda was working on her bird embroidery and looking exceptionally contented, and Sebastien was sprawled on one of the long chairs, hands behind his head, a picture of serenity.
'What happened to Mr. Duncan?' asked Sebastien.
'Have you lost him?'
'Why did you come back in a taxi?' asked Amanda.
'We went on to the Contessa's house---the one I told you about before---and there was a party going on. I wasn't dressed for it and I didn't know anybody, and anyway I was tired after all those galleries, so I decided to come home.'
'Well, I'm jolly glad we didn't go with you. We had a gorgeous day.'
'What happened?'
'Well, Giorgio came by this morning, we told you he might, and he invited us down to the farm this afternoon. And he let me ride the bike on the private farm roads. It was absolutely super.' 'Sebastien! You know Mr. Duncan expressly forbade you to go on the bike.'
'No, he didn't. He said I mustn't ride on the back of the bike with Giorgio. And I didn't. I went on my own, and Giorgio says I'm just a natural. And whatever you say, or Mr. Duncan either,
I'm going to do it again. It was wonderful.'
'I'm sure he meant you weren't to go on the bike.' Victoria was both anxious and distressed, feeling responsible for the keeping of the promise.
'He's just a spoilsport,' said Sebastien, shrugging.
'And what about you, Amanda? What did you get up to?'
'I didn't get up to anything. You needn't sound so bossy. I just didn't see why I should spend the afternoon by myself here, so I went along; and while Sebastien was racing round on the bike, I stayed with Signora Beltoni and we talked a lot of Italian together, and she thinks I'm getting along splendidly; and I took my bird embroidery and everybody thought it was beautiful--- Giorgio too.'
Amanda was obviously basking in the pleasure that so many compliments had given her. Victoria looked from one to the other.
'So you're not quite so fed-up with this place as you were when we came here?' she asked.
'No, I reckon it has its points,' Sebastien said, with the kind of charming smile that made people like him so much.
'I'm beginning to like it very much, Vicki, and of course it's because the Beltonis are so kind to us. Nobody could say the people in this house are very welcoming, but I adore the Beltonis' farm; and I believe I'll speak Italian quite well; it could be very useful to me. Giorgio says I must help him with his English, and he will help me with my Italian.'
'And,' added Sebastien, 'he says he's going to give a little party at their house to introduce us to some of his friends; and Mama Beltoni got quite excited about it and began to plan what she would cook for it. So you see, life's looking up.'
Yes, Victoria could see that for her brother and sister life was indeed looking up. Sebastien had found a friend and a powerful motor bike. Amanda too had found a friend and Victoria hoped that her sister would be content to leave it like that.
So she herself was the only one who wanted to pack her things and jump into the car and go back to England; and there was only one reason for her wanting to do it. Charles. He did not want them here. They were a duty, a nuisance, an obligation he had felt he could not avoid. Victoria did not see how she could uproot the other two now that they were accommodating themselves to the life here---more than that, even enjoying it. She decided she would simply have to keep out of Charles's way. Already, Amanda and Sebastien were shutting him o ut: they lived in a guest wing, they ate separately from Charles, they were making their own life. Victoria must do the same. She was determined about it.
Miss Jameson emerged on to the terrace from Sebastien's room.
'I thought I heard your voice,' she said to Victoria. 'So you're back. But Mr. Duncan isn't.'
'No, he's at the Contessa's house. She's got a drinks party. ' 'And he didn't take you?' There was a glint in Miss Jameson's eye and Victoria thought Mr. Duncan might be in for another lecture if she did not clear matters up quickly, so she said:
'Yes, he did; but I was tired and I didn't know anybody, so I came away. You needn't worry about my social life, Miss Jameson, thank you; I can look after myself.'
'And who says I am worried about your social life? Has Mr. Duncan been talking to you?'
'He has not---not on that subject anyway. But none of us have any desire to intrude on his working time. But while we're on the subject, Miss Jameson, is it in order for us to invite people here? We would like to know where we stand. '
'Who is it you're wanting to invite?'
'In the first instance, Giorgio Beltoni; but we might want to invite other people, and we don't know where we stand. '
'I don't know of any rule that says you can't ask your friends here,' Miss Jameson said drily. 'I've nothing against the Beltonis, they're a good, respectable family. Just let me know when you're giving out invitations, so that I can prepare. Now what about supper? Are you ready for it?'
'Yes, please,' they said in chorus.
'Well, there's one thing I'll say for you,' Miss Jameson said grudgingly, ' you all enjoy good food. And what about you?' to Victoria. 'Do you want an aperitif, a Cinzano or something? I suppose you've grown out of lemonade?'
Victoria was surprised. Apart from the liqueur on the night of the party, it was the first time Miss Jameson had offered her a drink, and she would not have asked for one. She smiled suddenly, taking Miss Jameson by surprise.
'That's very kind of you. Another evening I'd love one; but I won't now because I had a drink at the Contessa's.'
'Well, you can put the cloth and the cutlery on the table, and you'd better light the candles, and I'll bring your supper,' and Miss Jameson returned to her kitchen.
Victoria laid the cloth and lit the candles in their tall glasses against the evening twilight, while Amanda brought cutlery from the inside room.
'Could our Jeanie possibly be thawing out a bit?' asked Sebastien when she had gone.
'Sssh, Sebastien, you mustn't call her Jeanie.'
'One day I will, to her face.'
'That's just what I'm afraid of. '
'Then we'd soon know if she's thawing out or not. The other day, I caught up with her coming back from the little shop, and she'd got quite a basket full of stuff, so I insisted on carrying it. She said there was no need, and I said a gentleman always carried a lady's parcels, and she said what made me think I was a gentleman, and I said, the same reasoning that made me think she was a lady. And she actually laughed! Well, you couldn't really call it a laugh, it was more like a snort, but I think it indicated humour. Up till then, I hadn't even seen her smile. '
'Perhaps,' suggested Amanda, 'she finds that we're not such a nuisance as she thought we would be.'
'That would make a nice change,' Sebastien told her. 'Usually people find we're more of a nuisance when they've had us for a while.'
Victoria was silent. For their sake, she hoped that Miss Jameson might be unbending a little; but she knew that Charles found them a nuisance and she saw no way of improving the situation short of removing themselves from his house.
When Charles returned from Firenze, he stormed out on to the terrace where they were finishing their supper.
'What happened to you?' he asked Victoria without preamble.
'I came home,' she said simply.
'That is obvious, but why couldn't you have told me?'
'I told Giuseppe. He could have told you.'
'Giuseppe had gone too. You might have had the politeness to inform me of your plans.'
'You might have had the politeness to introduce me to some people. As it was, you were talking to Margarita and I didn't want to disturb you. '
'We searched all over the place for you, in the house and the garden, and nobody knew where you were. Another time, if you please, let me know what you're doing. '
'If there is another time, I will,' Victoria said heatedly.
Charles became aware of the fact that Sebastien and Amanda were watching and listening to this exchange, wide-eyed, surprised but interested. He forced himself to speak more reasonably.
'It was hardly a thoughtful way to behave,' he said.
'No,' she agreed, but in a very detached voice, 'especially after you'd put yourself out for me so nobly all day. Thank you very much for your patience, and for showing me such wonderful things.'
The words might have been all right, but the tone of voice most certainly was not. Even Sebastien and Amanda recognised the insincerity. Charles and Victoria exchanged a long, cold, almost hostile look, and then Charles turned on his heel and left them. There was a brief silence on the terrace. Then Sebastien said:
'Why do you quarrel, Vicky?'
'We don't quarrel, Sebastien.'
'You don't sound very friendly. Why don't you like each other?'
It was on the tip of Victoria's tongue to say: 'I'm tired, tired, tired of being an unwanted guest in strange people's houses.' And this would have been the truth. But she did not want to upset the others, particularly Amanda, when they seemed to be settling down so well; so she did what she was always having to do. She repressed her own feelings for the good of her sister and brother, and made excuses.
'Oh, it's my fault, I suppose. I'm tired and headachy, and it was rude to rush off and not say anything to him. Naturally he would be angry. It's only a storm in a tea-cup, Sebastien.'
She was not sure if she had reassured them. She thought Sebastien was much too sharp to be deceived. She must watch her tongue when she was with Charles.
When they had eaten supper, Amanda blew out the candles in the tall glasses, because too many moths and insects flew into their flame and were burned. They did not move from the table, however, but sat there lazily looking through the soft night towards Firenze.
This terrace, given over to any guest who might be staying with Charles, was a constant source of delight and entertainment to Victoria. By day, from the earliest heat haze to the later clearness, she could identify many places around and below: the Duomo and its tall campanile, the Piazza della Signoria, the church where Michelangelo was buried, the Piazzale Michelangelo high on the opposite hills: even, needlelike on his eminence there, the copy of David. By night, it was a fascinating fairyland of coloured lights spread below in the still, warm, peaceful nights; and the hotter the night, the more the lights seemed to twinkle and sparkle. And here they saw fireflies, Amanda for the first time in her life; hundreds of them darting and glimmering in the darkness like will-o'-the-wisps, each making quite a powerful small greenish illumination, lighting up a little space around it. They were all fascinated by these.
A day or two later, Giorgio came to lunch with them. Victoria and Amanda made a great thing of making the terrace table look festive; they knew they need not worry about the food. And when he arrived, he brought with him his usual bonhomie, his sunny disposition, and a pot of thick cream for Miss Jameson. She responded by bringing out a tray of drinks and canapes.
'Let's take it down into the garden,' suggested Victoria.
'By the fountain,' added Amanda.
Giorgio carried down the tray and set it on the stone edge of the basin. As usual, fresh lemonade was supplied for Amanda and Sebastien, but Giorgio and Victoria were accorded the courtesy of 'grown-up' drinks; while the canapes were so exotic that they all
hung over them, drawn by their picturesqueness and variety. 'Miss Jameson does us awfully well,' Amanda told Giorgio.
'I can see that. But you must say it in Italian.'
'Oh, I can't,' she protested.
'We should all speak Italian,' said Victoria.
'Not me,' declared Sebastien. 'I'm not nearly good enough, I'd never say anything.'
The sisters tried, however, making many mistakes, which caused a good deal of correction and laughter. Sebastien, who would not even try, hooted with laughter at their mistakes. They were a happy little party, gathered round the fountain, Giorgio and Amanda perched on the stone edge, Victoria seated on a bench, Sebastien making himself responsible for passing round Miss Jameson's delicacies; but it did occur to Victoria that they were making a good deal of noise and she glanced guiltily towards the house wondering if they were disturbing Charles. Immediately, she saw him at the open window in the end wall of his studio, drawn there no doubt by the outburst of laughter and conversation, to see what was happening. Her first reaction was to say: 'Sh, we're making too much noise,' but she repressed this, for why shouldn't they have a party?
At that point, Charles gave her a brief salute and turned away from the window. She was on the verge of calling out to him: 'Come and join us in an aperitif,' which would have been natural to her; but then she remembered her resolve not to be a nuisance to him. Besides, he was probably at work, up there in his studio; so she turned back to the others, trying to forget Charles, thinking he might even be relieved to know that they had their own friends. It certainly never occurred to her that he could be thinking: 'So that's what she wants, people of her own age. She is obviously bored by our stuffy, older society.'
Giorgio was full of plans for the party he would give for them. Music from his stereo for dancing on the terrace, the furniture there moved out of the way. His mother would probably insist on a sit-down supper--- that was the way she did things---and it would probably be in the kitchen where there was so much room.
'Oh, that will be fun,' exclaimed Amanda. 'I shall pretend it's my birthday party. '
'What, you have a birthday?' queried Giorgio. 'But that's marvellous, even more reason to have a party. We must have a birthday cake for you. '
'And I thought it was going to be such a dull birthday.'
'Well, it will not be,' he promised her. 'We will have it this Saturday.'
Later in the day, Victoria went along to the kitchen to tell Miss Jameson about this party.
'We shall all be out on Saturday evening, Miss Jameson, so won't need dinner that evening. I thought I would let you know as soon as possible.'
'Thank you.'
'Giorgio is giving a party for us, to meet some of his friends and as a birthday party for Amanda.'
'I see,' said Miss Jameson.
Victoria was slightly stung by what seemed like appalling indifference on Miss Jameson's part. She said in a slightly bitter tone:
'Well, it will be nice for her to have some recognition of the day. Signora Beltoni is going to make her a birthday cake.'
'I've already made a birthday cake for Amanda.'
'What?' Victoria gazed at Miss Jameson, wide-eyed.
'But how did you know about it?'
'The parcels came from your parents a week ago to Mr. Duncan, asking him to have them on the breakfast table on the big day. So I made the cake. You can see it if you like.'
'But how kind of you,' said Victoria, completely taken aback. 'I'd love to see it.'
The cake was brought out, a masterpiece of complicated icing, with marzipan roses on the top. 'They took me a fair time,' commented Miss Jameson.
'You made them yourself?'
'I should hope so! You won't catch me buying them from a shop. '
'But they're beautiful. It's a work of art.'
'Ay, well, I know my job.'
'It's a most gorgeous surprise. Well, I shall tell the Signora not to bother, we'll take our own cake with us to the party. It will be a prize exhibit.'
This pleased Miss Jameson. Victoria saw that she was glad that 'these Italians', as she always called them, should see her handiwork. Before she turned to leave the kitchen, she said: 'Thank you, Miss Jameson, for thinking of Amanda.'
She hesitated, as if she would like to say more. Miss Jameson hesitated too. There was an embarrassing moment between them, which neither of them seemed able to bridge. At last, Miss Jameson said brusquely:
'That's all right,' and Victoria went away, oddly unsatisfied with the way the conversation had ended.
So on the morning of Amanda's birthday, there were a great many parcels at the breakfast table: an Indian necklace from her father and a slender gold bracelet from her mother, a box of make-up from Victoria and an art book from Sebastien; a cameo brooch from Miss Jameson, obviously one of her treasures from the past, a pretty basket full of ripe peaches from Giorgio and an outsize box of chocolates from Charles.
'Gosh!' breathed Amanda, opening box after box, shedding gift wrapping around her, 'I never expected all these wonderful things . . .'
She could not wait to eat breakfast. She kissed Victoria and Sebastien, rushed off to the kitchen to thank Miss Jameson and was shown the birthday cake, darted off to find Charles, and finding him about to enter the library-living room, flung her arms about his neck and kissed him too. He promptly hugged her tightly and kissed her back.
'Thank you for the gorgeous chocolates, Mr. Duncan. I've had such super things . . .' and rattled off the list while he watched her with amusement. 'And Giorgio is giving us a party tonight and we're taking Miss Jameson's birthday cake to show off to everybody, and we're going to have dancing and a feast and everything.'
She darted off again, back to the terrace and breakfast, leaving Charles looking after her, reflecting that he hardly needed to make an effort to entertain these young people, when others were doing so much to make them feel at home---even his Jeanie
Jameson with her birthday cake!
The party was everything the Fenn family could have hoped for. Victoria wore her sunshine yellow dress, and helped Amanda to use her new make-up box, even applying a light green eyeshadow and a little mascara which Amanda was sure made her seem older and more mysterious. There were eight of Giorgio's friends, making twelve young people in all, who danced by candlelight on the terrace and hugged and kissed each other in the darkness of the garden below; and who crowded round the extended kitchen table for supper. A supper which consisted of two vast bowls of pasta of different kinds with rich savoury sauces and a dish of grated Parmesan; homemade bread and bowls of butter, a rough wine and heaped dishes of fruit. No refined elegance about this food, thought Victoria, but a fine, hearty supper for hearty appetites, tasting all the better for the convivial company with whom it was shared. And Miss Jameson's birthday cake in the centre of the table, much admired by everybody, though Victoria suspected that Mama Beltoni found it difficult to understand how anybody could spend so much time making marzipan roses. In the end, nearly everybody had one of them, and preferred taking them home as exhibits to eating them!
At the end of the evening, Giorgio insisted upon driving the Fenn family home.
'Nonsense,' said Victoria. 'I've got my car here, and it's no distance.'
'You've been drinking too much wine,' he insisted. 'I don't want you driving into a ditch and overturning everybody.'
'I'm perfectly sober,' she protested.
'But for my own peace of mind I'm going to drive you,' he said; and was quite firm about it, so Victoria shrugged her shoulders, got into the back of the car with Sebastien and allowed Amanda the honour of sitting in front with Giorgio. At the house, he drove the car under the carport allotted to it, and insisted on seeing them safely on to their own terrace.
'It was quite unnecessary, but thank you,' said Victoria.
'It was my pleasure,' he said. 'Buona notte, Sebastien, arrivederci. Buona notte, Amanda. '
'Buona notte, Giorgio, and thank you for a wonderful party. '
He took her hand, bowed over it and kissed it. As she went inside, walking on air, Victoria could see the shine in her eyes by the light which Sebastien had just switched on. She turned to say good night herself, but her hand was caught and tightly held by Giorgio, and he was pulling her across the terrace towards the narrow flight of steps that led down into the small fountain garden.
'Giorgio---' she began to protest, but he interrupted her.
'Sssh,' he said softly. 'Be quiet, Victoria,' and seemed not even to notice her effort to extricate herself. She had no option but to be led down the steps and towards the fountain.
'It's late, Giorgio,' she protested. 'You must go back and I must go to bed.'
'Victoria, Victoria,' he said, 'I never seem to have the chance of being with you alone. Always there is Sebastien or Amanda. I am always searching for a moment to be with you alone.'
'They are both so fond of you, Giorgio.'
'I know, I know, and I like them. But it's you I want to be with, lovely, beautiful Victoria ... Carissima ...'
He took her into his arms and Victoria, not altogether surprised by the turn events had taken, leaned against him, deriving comfort from his embrace, not understanding all his whispered Italian words of love, but certainly understanding their meaning. But when he turned her face up to his and began to kiss her, she struggled to free herself.
'Please, Giorgio . . .' she protested.
'No. Stay still,' he said. 'Tell me when we can meet each other without your brother and your sister. I cannot wait for the odd moments. Please arrange something now. Tomorrow is Sunday; can't we meet to walk on the hills together?'
'I think it might be difficult to get away,' she said softly. 'Please try. I want to see you so much, carissima . . .' and he began to kiss her hair and her cheeks again.
Suddenly another voice spoke out of the darkness.
'Victoria,' it said, quite clearly and so close that they both started violently, she and Giorgio.
'Victoria,' the voice went on quietly, 'I'm sorry about this, but
I can't get out of the garden without passing you, and I don't want to intrude by listening to your conversation. So, if I may, I'll say good night to you both and leave you. But don't let me disturb you.'
There was a silence filled with a great variety of emotions. Victoria and Giorgio had drawn apart, embarrassed. Charles had risen from the stone bench by the fountain, still only a dark shape indistinct among other darknesses, and began to make his way towards the steps.
'I do beg your pardon,' he said, and he sounded quite at his ease, which Victoria and Giorgio most certainly were not. 'I was already sitting in the garden when you all returned from your party, and I did not expect to be joined there. I'll say good night, but there's no hurry for you, Victoria or Giorgio. Goodnight.'
'Buona notte, signore!' Giorgio said, detaining Victoria still by tightly holding her hand.
'Goodnight, Mr. Duncan,' Victoria said in scarcely more than a whisper. How awful, how awful, she was thinking, to be discovered in this situation.
Charles passed them and went up the steps. Victoria and Giorgio stood motionless until the sound of his footsteps died away; but when he would have taken her into his arms again, she was resolute.
'No. No more, Giorgio, I must go in.'
'Then will you meet me tomorrow, at eleven in the morning, at the little barn on the hill? Do come, Victoria, promise me.'
'All right,' she agreed, because it seemed imperative at the moment to get rid of him. He kissed her once more and they went up to the terrace again, from where he could leave by the garden gate. Victoria stood alone, thinking. How embarrassing that Charles should have been there! He would probably think that she and Giorgio were more intimate than was really the case, and feel some responsibility about it. And he had not waited to eavesdrop, as she had once done. He had declared his presence the moment it threatened to intrude on something private. But she wished he had not been there to overhear.
She went into the room she shared with Amanda.
'You've been a long time,' Amanda said jealously from her bed.
'Mr. Duncan was in the garden,' said Victoria.
'Oh. Did he talk to you?'
'Yes, he did.'
This placated Amanda. She turned over, away from the light, sighing happily.
'It turned out to be a marvellous birthday after all,' she said, and gave herself up to remembering it.
Victoria finished writing her letters, enveloped them, affixed their Italian stamps and made them into a neat pile for posting. Briefly, thinking of the people to whom they were addressed, she felt nostalgia for places such as London, Cornwall and the south coast, wondering what Peter, Fiona or Julian would be doing, longing to talk to them again. Beautiful as Firenze and the surrounding countryside were, she still felt somewhat lonely and cut off there.
As it was hot here on the terrace, she decided to go for a walk in the hills, above the house, where there was usually a breeze and it was always much cooler than Firenze itself, which seemed daily to grow hotter and hotter. Sebastien was out, presumably at the farm, which was a magnet to him. Amanda, her embroidery abandoned, had also disappeared, saying she might meet Sebastien returning, but Victoria knew she was hoping to see Giorgio. Victoria suddenly rose, took her letters into the hall, and left the house for the hills.
As she climbed the tiered garden towards the studio level, she heard music which gave her pause. She knew she could not be seen from Charles's studio, which was her reason for coming this way, so she stopped to listen to the recording of Mozart's horn concerto which Charles was playing quite loudly with the double doors of the studio wide open. Oh, beautiful, mellifluous horn playing! Victoria sat herself on a low stone wall to hear it through to the end.
She missed music. It had not occurred to her to ask Charles's permission to listen to his records. They had Sebastien's radio, but it did not work very well here and the music was too distorted to be a pleasure.
She sat enjoying every note until the concerto came to an end; and then sat on, thinking idly; of Giorgio, who was becoming a problem because he seemed to be falling in love and Victoria knew she was a bird of passage: of Amanda, who was too guileless to hide the fact that she had a passion for Giorgio.
Suddenly, into her field of vision, Charles strode out of the studio, turned sharply away from her, walked with firm purpose round the corner of the house, out of her sight, and clattered down the outside flight of stone steps. His brief appearance startled her, but she relaxed as she heard his footsteps receding; and a moment or two later, temptation came to her swiftly as she realised that the studio doors were wide open, the studio itself empty.
She had always wanted to be able to explore it. Surely there was no harm in looking inside. Slowly she walked to the doorway and looked in: a moment or two later she stepped in, looking about her with enormous interest.
Full and heavy curtains were now drawn across where the wrought-iron railing bounded the gallery, from floor to ceiling. The group of miners, on which Charles was currently working, was completely covered with thick layers of damp muslin and then polythene, presumably to keep the clay moist. Another piece of sculpture, probably a head or bust, was similarly covered. But without these two, there was plenty to look at: an old Italian peasant, as full of character as he was of wrinkles; a man who looked like a scholar; a boy's head, shock-headed; and a young woman--- Margarita! This arrested her, as she tried to discover how Charles saw Margarita. It was certainly very beautiful, the flowing hair suggested rather than sculpted, the face and shoulders all voluptuous curves, the lips remembering a smile rather than smiling, the whole sensuous and intimate. Victoria thought they must know each other very well for Charles to portray her like that.
She had an irresistible urge to touch the sculptures, to stroke the smooth surfaces, to feel the rougher ones as if she were searching for the bones inside the head or the torso. She felt that this was a way of understanding the work. With the back of her fingers, she stroked the smooth, seductive cheek of the marble Margarita, and when she came to the model of a fifteen-inch-high horse, she immediately traced with one finger the long line from its head to its tail. Victoria gazed at it, realising what power was suggested in it, what grace, what an impulse to leap forward.
She felt that she was understanding Charles more with every moment. She felt almost awe that he should be able to model such beauty from lifeless clay, or chip out such marvels from blocks of stone. She passed on, almost reluctantly, to study the smaller objects on the shelves.
Here there were several small models used later for the full-scale sculpture; also children's heads, groups, abstracts: pieces of rock or marble which had interested him with their contorted shapes: a miscellany of objects which she too found fascinating. Then she saw the small group which her hands stretched out for instinctively. She picked it up, surprised by its heaviness; and it was no maquette but carved in stone so polished that one's hands wanted to caress it.
As she studied it, she realised that it was two figures inextricably entangled together, two children or young people. A chunky piece which appealed to Victoria enormously. She did not want to put it down. She stood stroking it gently with one hand, supporting its weight with the other.
'Don't drop it, Victoria,' said Charles's voice, which startled her so much that she almost did drop it. 'The stone is more friable than it looks and it could break.' He came into the studio and walked towards her. As usual, when he was at home, he was informally dressed, in a pair of fawn cotton trousers and a loose, short-sleeved shirt. His hair, as usual, was ruffled. His tanned face, with strong lines and an alert expression, was today unusually mellowed, kind-looking.
'I'm trespassing,' said Victoria, looking at him uncertainly.
'You are a guest in this house. You're not trespassing anywhere in it.'
'But this is your holy of holies, isn't it?'
Charles laughed, dispersing by his candid, matter-of-fact approach her almost devotional attitude.
'Well, that's a nice respectful attitude to have towards it; but it needn't exclude you.'
'I've wanted so much to come in and see all this.' Victoria
waved her hand round the studio. 'But I thought you wouldn't like it. '
'Rubbish, I'm flattered by your interest. . . . And you like this, do you?' touching the stone that she still held in her hands.
'Yes, I like it enormously. What do you call it? Does it have a title?'
'Yes. Simply---The Embrace.'
She began to replace it on the shelf.
'Would you like to have it, Victoria?'
'To have it? Do you mean to borrow it, for my room?'
'No. I mean for you to keep it, if you like it so much. '
'But I couldn't possibly. I expect it's worth a fortune.'
'No such luck. You seem to have an exalted idea of my worth. You can have it if you'll model for me. Only a few sittings. I think I can get that curve of neck and head in a few sittings.' 'Me? But why do you want to use me? I'm quite unremarkable.'
'Such modesty would be refreshing if it were sincere, but I don't believe in it. Now, please, stand just as you were when I came in, holding the piece and looking down at it. No, not quite like that. Turn slightly away from me, bend your head a little more. Yes, that's it. Excuse me . . .' He stepped forward and untied the ribbon which was holding back her hair; then he put his hand under it and brought it forward over the shoulder farthest away from his point of view. He stepped back again. 'Yes, that's it, Victoria, a curtain of hair falling behind the profile. Bring your right hand round to lie on your left wrist. That's it, that's it. Yes ... Now can you stand like that while I take some photographs, so that I can get you into just that position when I'm ready to start. ' Victoria stood like the statue she was probably going to become, while Charles fetched his camera and took shots of her from various angles. Then he smiled at her.
'You can relax now, Victoria. What a piece of luck, your wandering in here this afternoon. ... I've been asked to do a Madonna for a village church, and to tell you the truth I was about to refuse the commission on the plea that I had a great backlog of work; because I didn't feel at all like doing it. Some benefactor has left this church a great deal of money with the
stipulation that some of it should be spent on a handsome Madonna. I felt it wasn't my style; but walking in just now and seeing you in that natural pose, so graceful, so flowing, I knew that I could do it, that I'd be interested in capturing just that perfect line from the head, the back of the neck, and down. It'll be a different Madonna. I'll do a maquette to see if they approve of it.'
He took the small sculpture from her hands at last and put it down on a table. 'You can take it when you go,' he said, and gave her back her ribbon, watching while she tied her hair back again for coolness. 'Now shall we have a tour of inspection?' he asked, and put his arm about her shoulders and turned her towards the centre of the room. 'Jeanie Jameson insists that I pull these heavy curtains across when I'm working to keep the dust from the library,' he said, 'but we can open them now.' He pulled the cord that swept them open, and then, with his arm still about her shoulders, proceeded to show Victoria his sculptures; and she did not say she had already made a tour of inspection because she liked this new friendly Charles, liked the comfort of his arm about her, liked to hear the deep, resonant voice explaining what he had done or had hoped to do. But at last he said: 'Well, I suppose I'd better get on, I've a lot to do.'
'And when do you want to start on the Madonna?' Victoria asked.
'When I get an idea for a new project, I always want to start at once, capture the idea immediately; but that I can't do. I must finish first what I'm on. But you'll be here a long time yet, Victoria. We'll see.'
'Then I'll leave you to your work, Mr. Duncan. Ciao. '
'Ciao, madonna, ' he said, with a friendly wave of his hand, and Victoria went out of the studio, no longer feeling energetic enough to walk on the hills, drifting back towards their terrace, her head full of new ideas, new emotions. Full, too, of the things he had said about her, certainly with no conscious flattery, but simply seeing her as his model. He had said:
'Seeing you in that natural pose, so graceful, so flowing . . .' and 'that perfect line from the head, the back of the neck, and down . . .' Pleasant things to hear about oneself, things that helped to counteract some of the less pleasant things she had heard from him from time to time.
She had picked up a book, but she gave it little attention. She sat on the terrace daydreaming, no longer with that feeling of loneliness and of being cut off, which had assailed her earlier this afternoon. She was back in Charles's studio in her thoughts, when her quiet was broken into by the arrival of the Beltonis' farm truck, which disgorged Giorgio himself and Sebastien and Amanda. They all came on to the terrace, and Sebastien and Amanda dropped into chairs at once.
'Oh, isn't it hot?' cried Amanda.
'I told your sister and brother,' said Giorgio, 'that it was too hot to walk the lanes this afternoon, so I brought them back on my way to Firenze.'
'All squeezed together in the cab in front,' laughed Amanda. Victoria guessed that Amanda was in the middle and that that had pleased her.
'I'd have ridden in the back,' said Sebastien, 'only it had had pig food in it. '
'Do sit down, Giorgio,' said Victoria. 'You have time for a cup of something with us?' For she knew that he did not drink tea.
'I do not have time really,' Giorgio told her, seating himself comfortably. 'A cold drink, if that is possible.'
They all wanted a cold drink, except Victoria who preferred her tea. She went to the kitchen to see about it.
'All right,' said Miss Jameson, 'I'll bring it out,' and Victoria had learned that it was best not to protest to Miss Jameson but to agree with whatever she suggested. She went back to the terrace, where Amanda was speaking Italian with Giorgio.
'You know, signorina, this sister of yours is very good,' Giorgio said. ' She is very quick to learn and has the good accent. She will speak the Italian much better than I speak the English. '
'That's because you're such a good teacher, Giorgio,' said Amanda, and he laughed at her and aimed an affectionate blow at her chin, which she ducked, laughing. Victoria reflected that she could not remember any time when Amanda had been so consistently good-tempered and approachable. At home she seemed always to be in the sulks about something or other. Victoria hoped it could last, but had an uncomfortable feeling that it all depended on Giorgio.
Miss Jameson came out with the tray and Sebastien immediately sprang up to take it from her. There was tea for Victoria, lemonade for Amanda, and scones for everybody. 'I brought ice-cold lager for you, Giorgio,' she said, 'and I suppose you wouldn't object to the same, Sebastien?'
Sebastien was pleased at this promotion from lemonade to lager. He said affectionately, still standing by the tray beside Miss Jameson:
'Bless you, Jeanie, that's just the job.'
The others expected the sky to fall. Sebastien himself was looking at Miss Jameson half in apprehension, half daringly. She eyed him sternly.
'I'll thank you to use a little respect, you impudent ragamuffin,' she said, and turned and went back to her kitchen. On the terrace, they all looked at each other in astonishment.
'Oh, there's no doubt about it, you've got on the right side of Miss Jameson,' Victoria said to her brother.
'It's the famous Fenn charm,' Sebastien said complacently.
'Indeed,' agreed Giorgio quite seriously, 'you are a charming family.'
This embarrassed them and reduced them to silence, until Victoria, seeking for something to break it, said:
'Not everybody finds us charming, not by a long shot.' And the others immediately backed her up, saying:
'Gosh, no, remember the Inneses . . .'
'And Aunt Catherine getting stiffer and stiffer every day . . .' 'And those awful Hunter-Keys . . .'
'And the General sulking about his Labradors . . .'
'We had some awful times,' said Sebastien.
'If it was always like this! This is the best yet,' said Amanda. Giorgio was completely lost now. He had no idea what they were talking about, so he finished his lager and said he had to get to Firenze.
'My friends are talking about another party,' he said. 'The last one was a success, no?' 'But we ought to have it here. It's our turn,' Victoria insisted.
'Oh yes! There's room to dance on this terrace,' Amanda supported her.
'And we could have a buffet---something quite informal.'
' And perhaps we could have lights in the little garden with the fountain . . .'
'Hey, hold on!' said Sebastien. 'Informal, remember.'
'I'd have to ask Mr. Duncan's permission,' said Victoria, 'but I'm sure it could be arranged. Perhaps we could even do it next Saturday?'
Giorgio departed, promising to find out how many of his friends would be available, leaving the Fenn family to their own thoughts on the terrace. Victoria, sipping her tea, now felt reasonably sure of Charles's indulgence. Amanda, following Giorgio in her thoughts, could only remember how close together they had been in the cab of the truck, as he brought them back to the house, how handsome he was, how fond of her he seemed to be, patient with her efforts at Italian, generous with his compliments. She thought that Italian girls grew up quickly; that Italians did not think fourteen as young as English people did. She must talk to Victoria about some new clothes. Her jeans were fine, but her dresses were too young. Victoria would understand---she had bought make-up for her birthday, after all. Amanda went on dreaming her dreams.
Giorgio sent a message by Sebastien a day or so later that he had eight friends who would love to come to a party, and Victoria decided she would ask Charles's permission before making any arrangements with Miss Jameson; so later that day, she returned to the studio where he was still working.
'I'm not going to be a constant nuisance to you,' she began, 'but can I have a word with you?'
He glanced at her briefly and then back at his work, carrying on without a pause.
'What is it?' he asked as briefly. Victoria was taken aback. She knew he was absorbed, but it sounded like a rebuff.
'I only wanted to ask your permission to have a little party here next Saturday. Giorgio Beltoni and a few of his friends.'
Charles did stop work then to turn and look at her. Victoria
hastened to explain.
'We thought we would have dancing on the terrace. Giorgio would bring his record player. But we don't want to disturb you with our noise.'
'Well, I was planning to have a dinner party myself on Saturday.'
'Then we'll put it off,' Victoria said at once, 'because it would disturb you.' She thought of those elegant friends of his, and the noise that their young fun-loving Italian friends would make.
'I don't mind in the least if you have a party,' Charles said, 'but it might be better not to have it on the same day; especially as I shall want you to be a guest at mine. '
'Me?' Victoria was pleased and surprised, but then immediately remembered his last party, and her own dolefulness, and Charles saying to Margarita: 'Our fair Victoria was in floods of tears because she hadn't been invited.' And she saw this as reparation more than any desire for her company, and she said with a return of her reserved manner: ' Please, Mr. Duncan, you don't have to include me just because I'm staying here.'
'Have no fear,' said Charles, 'that was not my reason. I'm being plagued by your young friend Giuseppe because he doesn't see you in Firenze or at the places he goes to, and he is desperate to meet you again. So I asked him to the dinner party, promising that you would be there too. . . . But it can all be quite easily arranged. I'll postpone mine, and you can have yours on Saturday. Giuseppe has waited this long, he can wait another few days.'
'Isn't that inconvenient for you?'
'Not at all. '
'Well, if you're sure . . .'
'Quite sure. I'll let you know the new date for the dinner when it's settled. Now run along, Victoria, because I'm busy.'
She left the studio this time in quite a different mood. He was only going to ask her because Giuseppe was plaguing him. He thought of her in the same bracket, young, ingenuous. She had thought, for the briefest moment, of asking him to their party, but realised at once that it wouldn't do. Her guests for Saturday were also too young for him; carefree, noisy. Victoria realised that her reason, and Charles's, for not inviting each other were the same, from a reverse point of view: not exactly a generation gap, for there was not enough difference in their ages. Perhaps a halfgeneration gap. She sighed quite unconsciously as she went to find Miss Jameson to make arrangements.
In the event, this second party was also a great success. The young people poured on to the terrace and Giorgio fixed up the record player. The exuberant and extrovert nature of these young Italians banished any reserve that the Fenn family might feel, and almost at once they were dancing in their modern fashion.
Victoria had stressed the informal nature of this party so emphatically that even Miss Jameson had restrained herself regarding the supper, although the food was more varied and more delicious than at the farm. The terrace furniture had been taken down into the fountain garden, where a dozen candles in their tall coloured glasses had been set round at intervals. The man who worked in the garden had succeeded in making the fountain work, and the gentle splashing of the water added to the atmosphere created by the points of coloured light in the darkness. It proved to be a very popular spot, as couples sat and talked on the stone edge of the basin, or took their supper plates and their wine glasses down there. Several times, Victoria was complimented on making life more fun for the young people of the locality, but she had an idea they were good at making their own fun anywhere.
Certainly, Amanda and Sebastien were having a good time. Victoria had driven Amanda into Firenze to buy a new dress for this occasion, and with her hair flying round her head as she danced, and wearing her new make-up, Amanda looked her age for the first time. Victoria hoped her growing-up would not be too painful an experience.
Yet that very evening brought one of the first painful experiences for Amanda, for nobody could miss the fact that Giorgio was unusually attentive to Victoria. Amanda did not miss it. Pretending to help her with the entertaining, he was at Victoria's side almost continuously, missing no opportunity of an arm about her shoulders, of leading her by the hand. True, he danced with Amanda too. He put his arm about Amanda's shoulders, and once in an access of cheerful high spirits, he whirled her round with her feet off the ground. But he went with Victoria to the supper table and when they had loaded their plates and filled their glasses, they went down together into the fountain garden, leaving Amanda alone and jealous. She filled her plate and went down too, refusing to join them but sitting with some other people. And it did not escape her that Giorgio chose one of the darkest places, that he seemed to be speaking urgently and passionately to Victoria. Yet when, by delicate manoeuvring and with apparent indifference, she managed to get close enough to overhear what they were saying, she was quite astonished that Victoria was saying to Giorgio:
'But you mustn't encourage her, Giorgio. She's so young and she misunderstands your affection.'
'Victoria, she's only a child.'
'She isn't such a child, Giorgio, she's fourteen. She's an adolescent, just at the most difficult age of all. Do be careful
Some other people passed and one of them looped an arm about Amanda, carrying her off with them to raid the supper table for a second time. She was quite furious. Victoria! Trying to spoil everything for her! Victoria was jealous, of course. He was the most handsome young man they had ever known, and the nicest and the gayest. Of course she would want him for herself. Pretending to be concerned about Amanda, indeed!
But she had missed the subsequent conversation which might have caused her even more heart-burning. For Giorgio was saying:
'I am quite sure, Victoria, that nobody could make such a mistake, not even Amanda herself. It must be that everybody can see it is you who matters to me. I am fond of Amanda, for your sake. For me, she is the little sister of the girl I love. Yes, it is love. You must understand that. I love you, Victoria.'
Victoria was distressed and began to point out everything that was unreasonable about this love. She would be gone from here in a matter of two or three months, to a different life. Their circles were so wide apart. His parents would not like him to have anything to do with a foreign girl. There were all kinds of things that could be troubles.
'I know all that,' said Giorgio. 'I know. I will meet them as they come. There is no hurry. Everything has a way of settling down; what is impossible one day doesn't seem so impossible later on. I just want you to know that I love you. I want us to meet and get to know each other better. I want my family to know you better. You will see, troubles will disappear.'
'What touching faith,' said Victoria, but he saw no irony in her words.
'Oh yes, I have faith in my stars,' he said blithely.
At this moment, in the reflected light from the terrace, they saw Miss Jameson coming down the steps with an empty tray and lighting her way with a torch. She shone it round the fountain garden, discovering two other couples before she saw Giorgio and Victoria.
'Come along, you two,' she said brusquely. 'Get some of these young people to bring back the empties. I'm running out of glasses and plates.' For she refused to risk the best glass and china in the garden.
Immediately, they jumped up to do her bidding, calling to the others to come and help. They carried plates and glasses to the kitchen and Victoria found Sebastien there with a large apron round him, washing up. He had two Italian girl helpers, darkeyed merry girls, both plump and slightly in awe of Miss Jameson's forbidding figure. Miss Jameson regarded everything with her usual detachment, but Victoria thought she probably noticed very much more than she appeared to. She would have been surprised to know that Charles would receive a report on the party when Miss Jameson took his breakfast next morning; surprised to know that Miss Jameson at times could enjoy a little gossip, just like ordinary mortals. She would say:
'Ay, not a bad bunch of young people. Nothing much rattling round in their heads! The pick of the bunch is that Giorgio, and he's got eyes for nobody but Victoria. All the darkest corners of the garden for them. A budding attachment there, or I'm much mistaken.' And Charles would say something like: 'Oh yes, I'm afraid Victoria is just what Italians like. There's young Giuseppe Orselli losing his head about her, too.' So that Charles would have a picture of Victoria which was not very near the truth.
When the party was over and everybody had gone, Sebastien and Victoria went to the kitchen to help clear up, but everything was already done there.
'Where's Amanda?' asked Victoria.
'Gone to bed,' said Miss Jameson, 'and that's where I'm going too. Goodnight.'
'Why did she go? Didn't she feel well?'
'I don't know. I expect she was tired. '
'Well, thanks awfully, Miss Jameson, for all your help,' said Victoria. ' It's really very kind of you.'
'It's just my job,' drily.
Sebastien went to her side and surprised his sister by putting his arm round Miss Jameson's shoulders.
'It isn't your job, Jeanie,' he said. 'Not putting on parties for us. It's just the goodness of your heart.' And he kissed her on the cheek.
For a moment she stood as if turned to stone. Then, again to Victoria's surprise, colour came up in her cheeks.
'My goodness,' she snapped, 'if ever a young man kissed the blarney stone, it's this brother of yours. Save your soft words for those that need them, my boy!'
She whisked out of the kitchen and Sebastien smiled impudently at Victoria, raised his eyebrows and then gave her the thumbs-up sign.
'I'll have her eating out of my hand yet,' he confided in a whisper.
'Oh, you! ' was all Victoria was capable of, wondering if it was good for him to be able to manipulate people so easily.
She went into the bedroom she shared with Amanda and it was in darkness. Amanda was either asleep or feigning sleep, and Victoria preferred not to know at the moment what had brought her sister to bed early; so she undressed in the darkness.
Several things happened in fairly rapid succession after that party to cause Victoria some anxiety. The first of them was the disappearance of Amanda's long-lasting good mood. She became sulky, silent and suspicious, and was often rude to her sister.
When she went out she would not say where she was going and Victoria hoped she was becoming a nuisance at the farm, or continually trying to meet or waylay Giorgio.
The second anxiety was Sebastien. One of the girls who had been brought to the party by Giorgio was his cousin Gabriella. She had been one of those helping Sebastien to wash the dishes and she was spending her holiday at the farm. There was nothing in this to cause Victoria concern: what she did worry about was that Sebastien continued to ride Giorgio's powerful motor bike on the private farm roads, and that Amanda let fall one evening at supper that he had taken Gabriella on the back. Victoria thought he had far too little experience himself to risk taking the girl. Sebastien did not agree and would not promise not to do it again. Suddenly, her family was becoming a problem to her.
The third thing was Margarita. Charles arranged his postponed dinner party, and the guests were the James and Elsa whom Victoria had heard but not seen on the evening of her arrival here, the Contessa and her dependent cousin, Margarita, and Giuseppe Orselli who had wanted to meet Victoria again. Two other people, an Italian writer and his American wife, completed the party.
Victoria had looked for a new dress for herself when she bought Amanda's; but everything she liked was far too expensive for her, and she fell back on the one she had brought with her from England: a pretty enough dress but completely eclipsed by the clothes of all the other women; and it was small comfort to know that her friends said: 'Oh, Victoria looks nice in anything! ' because these other women looked quite beautiful in what they wore. Nor did her humble pieces of jewellery bear comparison with the wonderful jewels of the others.
Margarita looked superb in a flame-coloured dress of some diaphanous material flowing about her in generous folds, and wearing rubies and pearls. She carried her plumpness with such assurance that she made others feel that this was the ideal way to be. She made a great deal of the fact that 'Charles had really arranged the dinner party so that Giuseppe could meet Victoria again', causing all the other guests to regard them with the indulgence accorded to young lovers; and then upset Giuseppe by
talking of the party Victoria herself had given.
At the table, Giuseppe looked at Victoria with reproachful eyes.
'You were most unkind not to ask me to your party, signorina. '
'I don't think it was quite your kind of party, Giuseppe. '
'Why not? All parties are my kind. '
'This was just for the young people around here: farmers' sons, young men who work in offices in Firenze and their girlfriends, my young sister and brother. It wasn't this kind of thing at all.'
'Then if you do not invite me, I invite you. Will you have lunch with me?'
She accepted because she had no good reason for refusing, at which he brightened up immediately, arranging time and place.
After dinner, Victoria escorted the American woman upstairs to a powder room, where they were joined by Elsa, and she waited for them while they leisurely saw to their make-up and flicked carefully at their hair, excluding Victoria from their conversation.
'How is the campaign going, Elsa?'
'Margarita, do you mean?'
'Who else? She's very persistent, isn't she?'
'Absolutely adamant. But so is Papa. I hear she told her father it was going to be Charles or nobody, and that if he wanted to see any grandchildren he had better give his consent. '
'And he won't?'
'Adamant, too, my dear. It doesn't matter to him that Charles is going to be one of the important names in world sculpture---or so everybody says. He doesn't have the right kind of family tree for Margarita's father. As if aristocracy really meant anything anymore!'
'Oh, but it does, my dear,' said the American Signora Giacomo. 'But I do see Margarita's point of view. I adore Charles myself. He makes me wish I were twenty years younger.' She turned to Victoria. 'I think we're ready,' she said. 'And, by the way, where do you fit in this entourage, my dear?'
'It's rather a long story,' said Victoria. 'Mr. Duncan says we are foundlings dropped upon his doorstep.'
'We?'
'My younger brother and sister and myself. Our parents left us in Mr. Duncan's care while they are in New Guinea.'
'How intriguing!' Signora Giacomo looked at Elsa, and Elsa laughed.
'No,' she said. ' Charles is fully engaged in one direction, and I hear that Victoria has two handsome young Italians keeping her busy.'
So they all know about Giorgio too, thought Victoria, leading the way downstairs again. She heard Signora Giacomo say behind her:
'Why doesn't Margarita simply please herself?' and Elsa replied.
'The usual thing. Money. Papa holds the purse strings, and what a fat purse it is too!'
Victoria thought she had the picture complete. Margarita wanted to have her cake and eat it: wanted Charles and her inheritance from her father as well. The conversation certainly led her to believe that there was an understanding between Charles and Margarita, and the way Margarita behaved seemed to endorse it. Victoria decided that it had nothing to do with her but still could not shake off the depression that it caused.
Elsa had said, 'Charles is fully engaged in one direction', and to Victoria this seemed all too true. Margarita scarcely left his side all the evening. Victoria was distracted from studying them by Giuseppe, who claimed her attention. He was a pleasant enough young man, but Victoria was simply not interested in him, and his English was so difficult to understand that it made conversation with him very hard work.
In fact, she told herself she was a dog in the manger. She had felt cut off when she was not included in Charles's party, and now she felt cut off when she was invited; for it seemed that she and Giuseppe were outside the charmed circle, looked upon indulgently, even slightly petted, but still regarded as children. And this was not at all what Victoria wanted. She was not quite sure what she did want. She had decided to do without Charles, to cut herself off from him; yet still seemed to be hankering after something. And it was so obvious that anything Charles had to give, Margarita was determined to get; and Margarita was indeed tough opposition.
At this thought, Victoria took herself to task. Opposition? What on earth was she thinking about? This implied a battle of some sort, and the battle had been won before Victoria appeared on the scene. Margarita was in possession.
Yet subsequent events raised a doubt from time to time. Margarita invited Victoria to a ladies' luncheon and was perfectly charming to her. She was invited to join Margarita and a few friends on an expedition to Siena. The Contessa and Margarita invited her to the private view of an exhibition of pictures, which Victoria remembered chiefly for one of the remarks Margarita made. Introducing Victoria to some people she had not met before, she had said: 'Victoria's family are very great friends of Charles, and of course Charles's friends are my friends too.' That, thought Victoria, was a fairly obvious declaration of intent. Yet occasionally she wondered. If Margarita was as sure of herself as she seemed to be, why did she bother about Victoria at all? They had very little in common.
Then came the day when Charles asked Victoria to pose for him. He appeared on the guest terrace when the sisters and brothers were having their lunch under the shade of the big coloured umbrella to spare them the greatest heat of the sun; and asked if Victoria could give him an hour in the studio that afternoon. She immediately consented, and when she joined him there later, he plunged straight in to what he wanted.
'Oh, good, good,' he said, as she appeared at the wide open double doors. 'Come in, Victoria. I won't keep you longer than I can help; but I've got you on my mind these days. I feel I must get going on the Madonna sculpture. I'll try to work it in with the other jobs. And I haven't quite got that particular elegant flowing line I wanted.' He was bringing a large envelope from one of the tables. 'The photographs were quite good, I expect you'd like to see them, but there isn't one that exactly captures what I want.' He brought out the pictures, one by one, passing them to her after examining them. Victoria thought they were extremely good, even flattering, and thought she would later ask if she might have copies for herself. 'You see, that one is the nearest to it,' said Charles, 'so if we can recapture that particular pose, but with the light somewhat stronger behind you, I'll make a sketch of it. In a sketch, I can remind myself of the precise details I need. Would you stand just here, Victoria? Good, that's fine, but bring the right hand round just as you did before---that's it. In fact, you'd better hold something, like the little group---what about this? Not too heavy for you? Good. Head down very slightly: no, that's too much, up a little. Good. And if you'll allow me, I'll arrange the hair as it was before. '
Victoria had left it loose, but Charles now arranged it exactly as he wanted it, and Victoria felt a strange pleasure and excitement at the touch of his hands among the strands of her hair.
'That's splendid,' said Charles. 'Tell me if you get tired.' And he stood at the drawing board that was already arranged, and began to work.
There was silence in the studio. And outside it. The silence of a hot and somnolent afternoon. Silent and still. Not even the wide open doors admitted a breeze. Victoria stood like a statue, not daring to change the pose by an inch, nor daring to distract his attention by speaking. Charles himself did not feel the need of speech, apparently. He worked on steadily in complete silence, complete absorption.
After a while, Victoria began to feel the strain of holding this unfamiliar pose for so long, and the small sculpture he had given her to hold proved surprisingly heavy. As she was holding her head at an uncharacteristic angle, her neck began to ache; and because she was standing so still, without even the small movements one always makes to be more comfortable, her legs ached too. She told herself that it was ridiculous to tire so quickly, but it did seem hot and airless this afternoon, and the light outside the window was extremely bright, almost dazzling. She began to feel a most unusual giddiness, but would not give way to it. It would pass in a moment and she would not humiliate herself by asking to rest so soon. Resolutely, she held her ground, until at last a stronger wave of dizziness caused her to give up. Her throat was dry and she gave a strange little gasp as she said:
'I think I shall have to . . .' and collapsed on to the floor, the sculpture rolling away from her.
She was only dimly aware of Charles's rush towards her, even more dimly conscious of being gathered up in his arms, and then knew no more.
When she opened her eyes again---after how long a time she had no idea---she had the feeling usual to such incidents, of not knowing for appreciable seconds where she was or what had happened to her; and when she did realise, that she was in Charles's arms, held securely against him, she promptly closed her eyes again, for she did not feel strong enough at the moment to be parted from him. She rested in his arms with the most complete sensation of comfort and content.
'Victoria,' he said anxiously. 'Victoria.' And she knew he had seen her open her eyes and knew she could delay no longer. She opened them again, trying to smile reassurance.
'Are you all right, Victoria?' he asked. 'God, what a clot I am! Letting you stand all that time. Are you all right?'
'Of course I am,' she said uncertainly.
'You look terribly pale.'
'What happened? Did I faint?'
'Yes, you fainted. And I, stupid fool that I am, was the cause of it. I should have remembered that you aren't used to posing.' He was carrying her to a big armchair, for there was no couch up here in what was so essentially a workroom; and he set her down very gently in it, standing beside her and looking down at her with concern. And in that moment, Victoria experienced such a feeling of loss at being released, at being separated from him, that she knew, without any shadow of doubt, that she was in love. All she wanted from life at that moment was to be gathered back into his arms, to have the right to be always there. Unable to resist it, she stretched a hand out towards him, and at once he knelt down beside the chair, taking the hand in his.
'All right?' he asked again, and she nodded her head.
'Only a bit shaky,' she said, glad of even the touch of his hand. 'I'll get you a brandy,' he said, but she did not want him to leave her even for that long, and protested quickly that she did
not like brandy.
'What can I get you, then?' he asked.
She hesitated, loving him for looking at her with such concern, seeing closely for the first time the lines etched on his brown face, wanting to smooth back the ruffled brown hair with her hands. Then she said:
'What I would really like is a cup of tea,' and was not without guile in asking for that, for he could hardly turn her out in her present shaky condition, and waiting for tea, and then drinking it, could keep her here for quite a while longer.
'Then tea you shall have, you poor child,' he said.
'Mr. Duncan, I'm not a child. I wish you wouldn't keep calling me one. '
'You are,' he insisted. ' A silly, silly child not to tell me you needed to rest.' But he said it affectionately, reproachfully. 'Maintaining a pose is an extremely tiring thing to do and I should have remembered it. . . . And if I'm not to call you a child, you're not to call me Mr. Duncan. It makes me feel like your grandfather.'
'What am I to call you, then?'
'Charles, of course. That's my name. . . . Now for this tea.'
He pulled an ornamental bell-rope, and after a few minutes, Miss Jameson appeared. Victoria was still relaxed in the big chair, but Charles was now back at the drawing board studying the sketches he had made.
'We want some tea, Jeanie, please,' he said. 'This silly girl has just fainted and needs a reviver.'
Miss Jameson looked intently at Victoria, then back at her employer.
'What made her faint?' she asked. 'She isn't the fainting kind.'
'I did, Jeanie. Mea culpa. I made her pose for too long.' 'Selfishness itself,' said Miss Jameson, and went to the drawing board to look at the sketches. 'Once you're at work you think of nothing else. Just like men! But I will say they're good. Especially that one.'
'With your usual confident good taste, Jeanie, you've picked out the best. Now go and get the tea before Victoria passes out again for lack of it.'
Miss Jameson disappeared. Charles turned away from the board to look at Victoria again.
'Your colour is coming back,' he commented. ' How do you feel?'
'Fine. I'm sorry I caused such a commotion.'
'Please don't apologise. It happens to the best people. Tough guardsmen sometimes faint on parade. '
'I don't think I ever fainted before. '
'And I'll see you don't do it again. Not on my account, anyway.'
'Mr. Duncan . . .'
'Charles,' he reminded her.
' Charles,' experimentally, 'you have a strange relationship with Miss Jameson.'
He laughed at that.
'You make it sound like a guilty one,' he said.
'No, I mean the way she sort of bosses you, and the way you take it . . .'
'We understand each other,' he said mildly. 'I know that she has a heart of gold, and she knows that I have one.'
Then Victoria laughed and he looked at her quickly. 'What's the joke, Victoria?'
'The heart of gold is the joke. When we first came here, we weren't particularly pleased at having to come and Miss Jameson seemed a dreadful old curmudgeon, strict and bossy and never very polite, and Sebastien and Amanda were both depressed. So I said, to cheer them up: "Never mind, perhaps she's got a heart of gold ", and that made us all laugh because it seemed so unlikely.'
Charles was looking at her with a speculative eye.
'And what do you think now?'
'Well, I've suspected for some time that there's a heart there somewhere. Sebastien seems to have found it, anyway.'
Miss Jameson arrived with the tea tray and arranged the contents on one of the tables.
'How are you feeling, Victoria?'
'Fine, thank you, Miss Jameson. It was only a little faint.'
'Do you want me to pour the tea?' 'I'll see to it, Jeanie,' Charles told her, and when Miss Jameson had left once more, he crossed to the tea table. 'Victoria.'
'Yes?'
'You said you weren't pleased at having to come here. Why was that?'
Victoria's silence was only momentary before she decided to tell the truth.
'We don't like being posted off like a lot of inanimate parcels,' she told him. She watched him pouring the tea. 'In fact, we hate it. We've stayed in too many houses where we weren't really welcome: or, if we were welcomed at first, people soon got tired of us. Even people we knew and liked, and we thought they liked us, resented the extra work we made and could hardly wait to get rid of us. And we didn't even know you.'
'Do your parents know you all feel like this?'
'Honestly, I don't know. I really believe that when people are so absorbed in their work, obsessed by it even, they can't enter into the minds of other people. Or won't. I suppose, if they really understood what we felt, their consciences might make them give up the work to stay at home. And that's the last thing they want to do, so they keep their eyes shut.'
'Don't you understand, Victoria, that that is a very strong condemnation?'
'I suppose it is,' she agreed.
'Then why, if you feel like that, don't you do something about it?'
'I almost did, this time.' She smiled faintly at him. ' I almost disobeyed orders and stayed in London. When we were younger, of course we had to do as we were told, go where we were sent; but now I'm perfectly capable of looking after the housekeeping, and Amanda and Sebastien, too.'
'I hope you didn't all feel that you were unwelcome here, Victoria?'
She took the cup of tea that he was offering her and did not reply.
'Victoria?'
She raised her eyes to his: clear, honest eyes. She would not prevaricate.
'I can't say we felt welcome. Miss Jameson was extremely off-putting; and you know that you were prepared to find us an awful nuisance.'
'Oh, God, was it so obvious? My dear child---no, my dear Victoria, I apologise. You must forgive me. Why, believe it or not, I'm enjoying having you around. Now please tell me that you don't feel unwelcome here now: that you don't resent me, or resent your parents for sending you all here.'
'As to that,' said Victoria, neatly evading his demand, 'there's one thing that I am quite determined about. If I have a family, I shan't leave my children, to go chasing off around the world. I shall stay at home and give them all the loving care they need; I won't drop my children, like foundlings, on other people's doorsteps, to feel humiliated or unwanted.'
'Oh, lord, I said that, didn't I?'
'You did, to the Contessa and Margarita.'
'But it was a joke, you stupid child. Sorry, I've said it again. It was a joke, Victoria.'
'Not one I liked much. It was too near the truth.'
'I seem to remember that the Contessa said what a charming foundling you were to find on one's doorstep. I endorse her feeling, Victoria. I'm fond of my foundlings. Now am I quite forgiven?'
She could not help remembering that this was not the only wounding thing he had said, but she would not go into that now. She said, consideringly:
'I'm not sure, Charles. I think you're on probation.' He smiled at her most charmingly, and the heart that had so recently given itself over to him swelled with fresh love for him.
'Then I see that I have to behave myself. Shall we make a fresh start, Victoria?' And there was no resisting that.
She smiled back and said: 'Yes, Charles, let's do that.'
She began to drink her tea, and they came down from such rarefied heights to more mundane matters; and when tea was finished, Victoria went away, reassuring Charles that she was now perfectly recovered, and leaving him to his work. She found Sebastien reading old motoring magazines on their terrace.
'Had your tea, Sebastien?'
'Yes, thanks. Lemonade and things to eat.'
'Where's Amanda?'
'I don't know. I came back from a walk and she wasn't here. ' 'Were you at the farm?'
'No. I don't want to wear out my welcome. But I bet that's where Amanda is. I told her she shouldn't keep on going there, but she told me to mind my own business. At least, if I go there, I do something to help, but Amanda just gets in people's way. She can't keep away, you know, Vicki.'
'I know.'
'She's got a thing about Giorgio.'
'I know.'
'Well, she won't do herself much good by dogging his footsteps.'
'She's too young to have much sense, unfortunately.'
'I hope she won't spoil everything for us as well, Vicki. You know, they're very busy just now, which is why I'm keeping out of the way. I have an idea that Mama Beltoni, and the old man too if it comes to that, are getting tired of the way Amanda runs in and out of the place, making free with it. '
'I'd better speak to her, I suppose,' said Victoria.
'Rather you than me. She's got right back to that irritable touchiness she used to have. I thought Italy was doing her good, but now I'm not so sure. '
'No,' said Victoria on a sigh. ' I'm not so sure either.'
'If you're going to talk to her, I'll take myself out of the way,' said Sebastien, and when Amanda returned, tired after her walk back from the farm, that was just what he did. Amanda had not had any refreshment, so Victoria went to the kitchen to get some for her, and took it back to the terrace.
'You went down to the farm, Amanda?'
'Yes. Anything wrong with that?'
'Of course not. Only Sebastien says they're very busy right now. He kept away because he didn't want to wear out his welcome. Perhaps it would be as well if you didn't go so often, just for the present. '
Amanda, who had in truth been disappointed by her reception at the farm to-day, and the way they had ignored her and not even
given her anything to drink, when it was so hot, immediately took umbrage.
'Oh, of course it would suit you if I didn't go,' she said bitterly.
'Now what do you mean by that?'
'Everybody can see you want to keep Giorgio all to yourself. The way you ran after him at the party . . .'
'Don't be silly, Amanda. '
'Oh yes, it's silly when I speak the truth. You're the only one who's always right. But I know you try to warn Giorgio off me, I heard you telling him at the party that I was too young. Well, in a year or two, I won't be too young; but you would get your oar in before then, wouldn't you? It's just not fair!' And Amanda, who had started off with a fine flow of indignation, burst into tears.
It was not a new situation for Victoria. She had coped with so many of Amanda's outbursts. They had not concerned young men. They had had to do with things that were often trivial, though they had certainly not seemed so to Amanda. Not being invited to parties when she thought she should be; not having new clothes for an occasion when she thought they were due to her; being sent off with other children to do or see things she thought were too young for her. They were nearly always sparked off by jealousy of some kind; as this one concerning Giorgio was.
Victoria tried to console her sister, but Amanda refused to be consoled. She persisted in believing that Victoria was trying to outdo her; in believing that Giorgio did like her, and would like her more if Victoria did not get in the way. She would go to the farm when she liked, because Victoria didn't really think they were too busy to welcome her, but wanted to keep her from Giorgio.
Victoria gave up. She must think about this problem, but her mind was strangely unwilling to concentrate on Amanda at all, but wanted to wander off to thoughts of Charles and what had happened in the studio that afternoon, and the problem of her own love. She thought she stood about as much chance of success with Charles as Amanda with Giorgio. If Amanda was in an unhappy state, so was she! Charles had been kind, very kind; and apologetic, and had made his peace; but he talked of his foundlings, in the plural, bracketing her, as he always did, with Sebastien and Amanda. He thought of them as a family block. Only as his Madonna sculpture did he think of her individually.
The situation was by no means improved that evening when Giorgio came to call on Victoria when Amanda had gone to bed, begging her to go for a walk with him. It was a wonderful, moonlit night, soft and cool, and Victoria went out with him for a while, knowing that it could do no good, but not liking always to refuse. She knew that Giorgio was falling more in love every day, and it gave her no pleasure to have to discourage him. Feeling as she did for Charles, she could understand Giorgio's feelings, even Amanda's youthful falling in love. But she could not honestly give him cause to hope.
'You know we'll be going back to England soon, Giorgio.' 'Yes, I know. But England is not so far away, and there are always letters. One keeps in touch, one goes for a holiday . . .'
He persisted in hoping. He would not take no for an answer. When Victoria went back into the house, she felt unusually sad. Sad chiefly for herself, because she could see no hope in her particular case; but sad for Giorgio too, and sad for Amanda. Did everybody fall in love with the wrong person? she wondered. Did things never go right for lovers?
Amanda was not asleep. Her restless tossing and turning told Victoria that. So Victoria switched on a bedside lamp to undress by, and saw almost immediately that Amanda had been crying again.
'What's the matter, honey?' she asked sympathetically.
'You know what's the matter. That was Giorgio, wasn't it, who came?'
'Yes.'
'Did you know he was coming?'
'No, I didn't.'
'I don't believe you. I expect you arranged it, waiting until I'd gone to bed. You knew I would have waited up if I'd known he was coming. Why did he come?'
'He just wanted to go for a walk,' said Victoria.
'To go for a walk! You must think I'm stupid. '
'Oh, Amanda, don't go on and on. In a matter of weeks, we'll be back in England and you'll wonder why you made such a fuss about all this.'
'I will go on and on,' began Amanda stormily; but Victoria was tired and not in a mood for more tantrums, so she pulled on her dressing gown and went to the bathroom, saying:
'Well, if you've got any more to say, you'd better say it in the morning. I've had enough for one day, thank you.' And she closed the door between herself and Amanda so sharply that the younger sister was surprised and promptly fell silent.
In the morning, however, they had other things to talk about, more important than Amanda's tantrums or even Victoria's emotional problems. Victoria had cleared their breakfast table and carried the tray back to the kitchen, and since Miss Jameson was not there, she washed their dishes too, and returned to the terrace to write letters there. Amanda was starting on her bird embroidery and Sebastien was swopping long grass for the gardener. They had settled down to their various pursuits when Miss Jameson hurried out to them.
'Well, here's a fine kettle of fish,' she said, without preamble. 'Why, what's the matter?' asked Victoria, thinking she must have done something reprehensible in Miss Jameson's kitchen. Amanda looked up from her embroidery and Sebastien looked towards them from where he was working, and then began to walk towards the terrace.
'Your young friend Giorgio---Giorgio Beltoni---has had an accident on that motor bike. The speed he goes at along these country roads, well, one can't say honestly one is surprised.' 'Giorgio?' exclaimed Victoria. ' Oh, he isn't hurt, is he?' 'Giorgio?' cried Amanda at the same time. 'Oh, no! Oh, no! ' 'What happened?' asked Sebastien, coming up the terrace steps.
'Nobody knows exactly at the moment. Apparently he was going round a bend and a lorry was coming the opposite way, too far on the wrong side, and there was a collision. '
'Oh, God,' said Victoria, thinking that Giorgio must have got the worst of such an encounter. 'Is he all right, Miss Jameson, is he all right?'
'I don't know.' Miss Jameson seemed surprised that they had all taken this so personally: but why wouldn't they, when he was almost their only friend here and they were all so fond of him? 'I only know they took him off to hospital and his parents have gone to see him there.'
Amanda was weeping and making no attempt to hide her tears. 'Oh, I do hope he's all right,' she said. 'Poor Giorgio, poor Giorgio. Can I go and see him, Victoria?'
'Of course you can go and see him,' said Victoria. 'We'll all go and see him, if it's allowed. We must find out first where he is and how he is. Don't worry, Amanda, it may not be too bad. Don't worry until we know.'
'I always knew,' Miss Jameson said, 'that no good would come of such a powerful motor bike.' She looked at Sebastien grimly. 'If Mr. Duncan hadn't put his foot down, you might have been on the back of it.' Victoria looked at Sebastien too, thankful that he had not been, knowing that pillion riders suffered most in accidents. That, at least, was something that Charles had done for them.
Victoria was uncertain what to do. None of the family could settle to anything now. All their thoughts were with Giorgio, and the uncertainty of not knowing what had happened to him was hard to bear. She knew that Giorgio's parents would be at the hospital, although his father would probably return home to see to farm affairs, but she felt it would be an intrusion to call now, even to make enquiries. All the Italian friends and neighbours would be welcome, she knew; and, without any intention of being cynical, she also knew that Mama Beltoni, all of them in fact, would take part in dramatic and noisy outbursts of Italian temperament; but Victoria did not think the new foreign friends of Giorgio would be welcome just now. It would be better to stay away.
They could not wait, however, without some news, and the one person who might be able to help them was Charles. He had fluent Italian, was an influential person, and was not likely to be put off by hospital Sisters in the way that Victoria might; so when all three of them felt they could wait no longer, Victoria said she would go and see if there was anything Charles could do.
He was at work, as usual, but on this morning, the moment he saw her at the outside studio door, he stopped what he was doing and came towards her.
'I'm very sorry to intrude when you're working,' Victoria began, 'but we wondered if you would help us to find out something about Giorgio. You know he's had an accident?'
'Yes, Miss Jameson told me. I'm sorry to hear it, Victoria.'
He did not say I-told-you-so, nor mention the motor bike at all. 'We know he's in hospital, but we have no idea how badly he's hurt, and we're all so worried. Could you possibly ring up the hospital for us and find out?'
'Of course I'll do that, Victoria. I'll do anything at all to help you. I know how you must be feeling, poor darling. I'll ring up immediately. '
He put an arm about her shoulders and led her towards the wrought iron staircase that descended into the library-living room. He went first, Victoria following.
'Sit down, Victoria, while I phone,' he said, and seated himself at the wide desk and took up the receiver. She waited until he got through, watching him with love, but too concerned about Giorgio at the moment even to think about her love.
The hospital would give no information beyond saying that Giorgio was 'comfortable', because Charles was not a relative, and there might, possibly, be a prosecution involved. 'I know,' said Charles, after a moment in thought, 'we'll get the Contessa to do it. She won't take no for an answer. I think they'll give her information. ' He began to use the telephone again and was soon speaking to the Contessa. When he rang off he turned to Victoria.
'She'll do it immediately,' he said. He smiled encouragingly at her. 'She will say in her inimitable fashion: " I am the Contessa of So-and-so and I would like information about . . ." and so on; and because Italians love a title, they will give it to her at once; and because Giorgio has such an exalted friend, they will think more of him. It's the Italian way. They're impressed by the big car, the big diamond, the display of wealth . . .'
Victoria realised that he was talking to her to distract her mind from her worry about Giorgio. She realised that he was once more seeing more in her relationship with Giorgio than ever existed.
At last, the bell rang and Charles answered it, and once more Victoria listened to a one-sided conversation until it ended. Then he turned to her.
'Well, it could be worse,' he said with a heartening smile, 'but it's bad enough, I suppose. Both ankles broken and a few superficial cuts and bruises. They'll make a more detailed examination when the swelling goes down and operate probably tomorrow. No visitors. He's being kept under sedation and won't want to see anybody for two or three days. So that isn't too bad, is it, Victoria?'
'Not if they can get the ankles right again. Ankles are awkward things.'
'I'm sure he's in good hands. Try not to worry, Victoria. At least he hasn't lost his wonderful good looks. . . . Now what you need, I'm sure, is a drink to pick you up.'
He brought her a drink and one for himself.
'Now let's drink to Giorgio's good health and speedy recovery,' he said, and they did so.
'Perhaps,' suggested Victoria, 'the Contessa could find out some time when visitors are likely to be allowed. We would like to go and see him. '
'Of course you would,' Charles agreed at once, 'and we'll certainly find out for you.'
'Then I must go and leave you to your work.' Victoria rose and put her glass down on the desk. 'Thank you so much for your help, Charles.'
'You're welcome.' He rose too and went to the door with her, and once more his arm was consolingly about her shoulders. Victoria knew he was consoling her on account of another man, but whatever the reason for it, it was bliss to be so close to him again. At the door, she paused.
'You didn't say I-told-you-so, Charles, but I've been thinking all the morning that, if it hadn't been for you, Sebastien might have been on the back of the motor bike, and that might have been a tragedy for our family. So thank you again, thank you.'
'Why, bless you, that's very handsome of you, Victoria,' Charles said, and he leaned down and kissed her cheek and gave her a hug before letting her go. 'Yes, I'm glad, too, that it wasn't Sebastien, but I'm sorry it had to be anybody, particularly such a great friend of yours, Victoria. And do try not to worry too much about him. I'll let you know, via the Contessa, when you can go and see him. All right?'
'All right,' she agreed, looking at him with shining eyes, and since Victoria could not know of the loving gratitude in her eyes, she could not prevent Charles from thinking that it was the prospect of seeing Giorgio that had put it there. She hurried away to find Amanda and Sebastien to put their minds at rest.
The accident to Giorgio made a very great difference in the lives of the Fenn family. It was not until he was absent from them that they realised how much they all depended on him, all in their different ways.
Victoria and Amanda had driven down to the farm one afternoon to express their sympathy to Signora Beltoni, but it was as Victoria had feared. The Beltoni family had little time for the young foreigners now. They stayed only a few minutes and went away depressed. Two of Giorgio's cousins had already arrived at the farm to help with the farm work at this busy season, and to allow the parents the occasional freedom to visit their son. They too made the English girls feel intruders. Nor was there any place for Sebastien there now: nor any real attraction, with Giorgio in the hospital and the motor bike smashed up.
They were all at a loss. Amanda returned to her state of apathy, sulking slightly, not interested in anything. Sebastien took to going off by himself, and even spent his allowance on a second-hand push-bike. He did not want to travel by car with Victoria always to drive him; and looked forward to his next birthday when he could start to drive himself. He liked to go off alone and did so on the old bicycle. The only time when all of them travelled together was when they went to see Giorgio, taking with them fruit, chocolate, newspapers, magazines and flowers. He was always delighted to see them, but nearly always had other friends at his bedside so that they had little chance of private conversation. And when the day came when Giorgio was sent to a hospital far away, to a special bone-surgeon, it seemed to them that their isolation was once more complete. Amanda was completely unapproachable and spent much of her time writing letters: Victoria could only suppose they were addressed to Giorgio, since Amanda kept them very much to herself.
It was Victoria only who felt a more complete isolation when she heard that Charles also was going away: it did not affect Sebastien and Amanda. It was business that took him to Paris, apparently, and he would be away for about a week, Miss Jameson said. A week is a very short time, Victoria told herself. She could endure for a week, knowing that he would soon be back again. But such complacency was punctured quickly when Miss Jameson added that Margarita was also going to Paris.
'Clothes, she says! ' But Miss Jameson was scornful. 'It's a funny time of year to be going to Paris to buy clothes, especially when she's so proud of all these famous Italian dressmakers who make her look so beautiful. Well, they may pull the wool over some people's eyes, but they don't pull it over mine.'
'Do you think she's beautiful, Miss Jameson?'
'Oh yes, she's beautiful all right. Especially to men's taste, I'd say.'
Although Victoria felt that she should not discuss Charles with his housekeeper, she could not resist the temptation to ask:
'Do you think they'll get married, Miss Jameson?'
'Married? Only Mr. Duncan knows that. I've never thought of him as the marrying kind myself.' (Which was not what Victoria wanted to hear). 'But I suppose it might come to that. '
The sunlight seemed to vanish from Victoria's sky at that pronouncement.
'How would you like that, Miss Jameson?'
'Oh, that would be the end of me, as far as Mr. Duncan is concerned. He might like to keep me, but she would never have it. She likes servants to know their place, but what she thinks is my place and what I think about it are two very different things. No, I wouldn't last long, have no doubt about that. '
'But what would you do then?'
'I might get a little house of my own somewhere. I'm not hard up. But I expect I'd miss the work. And a good housekeeper can pick and choose these days. . . . Not that I wouldn't be sorry, Victoria. I've got a great admiration for Mr. Duncan. There's not many like him about. '
Victoria agreed, but did not say so. It was obvious that Miss Jameson had thought about her future because she probably saw marriage between Charles and Margarita as a distinct possibility, if not inevitable. And there was the fact that they were in Paris together. 'They may pull the wool over some people's eyes,' Miss Jameson had said; but why should they do that? Did Miss Jameson think that business on Charles's part and clothes on Margarita's were merely an excuse? Did she think they had gone simply to be alone together? The thought was torture to Victoria. She saw them in a perpetually sunlit Paris together with none of their friends to intervene between them; and she thought there could be only one reason for their visit.
So there they were, the three of them, disconsolate now where they had been happy before. Victoria asked Miss Jameson if she might listen to music in Charles's studio, and sat there for hours, knitting and listening, solaced at being where he so often was. She asked Amanda to come, but Amanda preferred the terrace and her letter writing. Sebastien was always off and away on the bicycle. Giorgio wrote often both to Amanda and Victoria, but Amanda hugged her letters to herself and Victoria could hardly share hers since they were love letters.
On the day after Charles's departure for Paris, Victoria joined her sister on the terrace for lunch, but when Miss Jameson appeared with the meal, Sebastien had not arrived.
' Only for two to-day,' Miss Jameson said, removing the third place which Victoria had set. 'Sebastien took a packed lunch with him and said he might be away all day.'
'He didn't tell me,' said Victoria. 'Do you know where he went?'
'Only said he wanted to explore a bit further afield.' 'Well, I suppose that's all right. He can't come to much harm, I imagine.
Will he be back for supper?' 'He didn't say. I think that young man can look after himself. ' 'Would he have gone off to visit Giorgio?' asked Amanda jealously.
'I shouldn't think so. That would be rather far.'
'I know he misses him,' said Amanda. 'And so do I.'
'We all do,' said Victoria gently, ' but perhaps Giorgio will soon be back and you can visit him again.' They gave no more thought to Sebastien, not even when he did not return to supper,
and before they had
time to become really anxious about him, he rang up and it was Miss Jameson who answered the telephone and took the message. She went into the studio where both sisters were listening to music and glancing through a magazine on art.
'Sebastien is staying out tonight,' Miss Jameson announced. 'He's a bit too far away to get back to night, he says.'
'I wish he'd let me know when he intends to do these things,' Victoria said with a touch of irritation.
'Apparently he didn't intend to do it, Victoria. I shouldn't worry about Sebastien if I were you. It's probably better for him to stay somewhere than to ride through the night.'
'If he had enough money with him to do that.'
'I asked him that, and he said he had. '
'Well, I wish you had called me to speak to him, Miss Jameson.'
'Sorry, I'm sure. I'll remember next time.'
But there would not be a next time. The following morning, the local postman brought a letter for Victoria, posted in the village the day before, addressed in Sebastien's handwriting. She tore open the envelope in perplexity, wondering why on earth Sebastien should be writing to her.
'Dear Vicki,' she read,
'Don't die of shock when you read this, because I've thought about it very seriously and planned it all carefully and I know just what I'm doing. By the time you read this, I shall be on my way to England. There's just time to join the other fellows who are going to camp in Snowdonia, and I rang up Mr. Penberthy from Florence and he said that if I could get back by the 15th, I could go with them; and I think I can do it by then.
'I didn't want to go to Florence in the first place, as you
know. Giorgio and the motor bike made it bearable, but as soon as Giorgio had his smash-up, I was really fed up. There's nothing to do there, as far as I'm concerned; and the more I thought about the chaps setting off for camp and rock climbing and something really adventurous and exciting to do, the more I wanted to come back.
'I think I've made myself fit for this trip. I've been walking and cycling quite seriously, and getting back into form, and I'm sure I can do long distances, so don't be afraid that the Alps will get me down or anything like that. In any case, it's summer and all the passes will be open; and I shall have a fair amount of money with me, so if it all gets too much, I shall jettison the bike or put it on the train and finish the journey like that. So you see, there's absolutely nothing to worry about. I've got my passport, just as many clothes as I must have and enough money to get by; and if anything quite unexpected turned up, I can always ring you up at Mr. Duncan's.
'Pity that I couldn't let you know what I intended to do, but I knew what a fuss it would cause. You'd try to persuade me not to go, and my mind was made up. Or you'd decide that the whole lot of us should come back, and that would cut short your visit and separate you from Giorgio, and I know you wouldn't like that. So when I set off, I shall post this letter to you, and when you get it, I'll be well on my way.
'Mr. Duncan will also have a letter from me, thanking him for his hospitality. Not that I saw much of him, or think I will be missed! But I really would like you to thank Miss Jameson for me. I think she was really trumps. We were quite wrong about her at first, and the "lovely grub" she gave us is going to be sorely missed. Anyway, give her my love; and whatever you do, don't worry! It's high time I struck out on my own a bit, and to tell you the truth, I'm quite looking forward to biking right to the English Channel.
'I don't know whether you'll be back in London when I get back from North Wales. Perhaps not; in which case I'm sure I can always go to stay with Scotty Scofield in the New Forest---he's always inviting me. Or with Marcus Potter at Woodbridge.
'I'll be in touch, Vicki. Love to you and Amanda, and don't
forget my love to Jeanie! AND DON'T WORRY.
Sebastien. '
Victoria put the letter down on the table and stared into space. Why hadn't she foreseen something like this? She had been too engrossed with her own affairs, and with those of the more obvious Amanda, to realise that Sebastien too was unsettled.
He had started yesterday morning, so he couldn't have got very far. Perhaps, in the car, she could overtake him and make him see reason. If he wanted so much to go to camp (and she had known all the time how much he wanted it) it would be better for him to fly. But he doesn't want to fly, she cautioned herself. Sebastien wanted to do it this way; but he might run into all sorts of dangers. Mountain storms . . . losing his way . . . coming up against some sort of thugs. Victoria could not imagine many dangers lying in wait for him, but still felt anxious.
On an ordinary push-bike, the motor route was closed to him. He would take the old route that ran through towns and villages. If she went after him with the car, she could easily miss him in places like Pisa: and if he went off the road at all, it would be hopeless. She felt anxiety rising like a tide within her.
'Is that from Giorgio?' asked Amanda jealously, seeing her sister staring abstractedly into space.
'No,' said Victoria. ' No, it's not from Giorgio.' She would not tell Amanda for the moment. She must decide what to do first. But she could show the letter to Miss Jameson and see what she thought about it. She replaced the letter in its envelope, and when breakfast was finished and she took the tray back to the kitchen, she took Sebastien's letter with it.
'I've had a letter from Sebastien,' she told Miss Jameson.
'Now why on earth should he write you a letter? Isn't he coming back the day?'
'No, he's not. You'd better read it.'
She passed the letter to Miss Jameson and while that lady read it, Victoria washed her own and Amanda's breakfast dishes.
'Well, what do you think of that?' Miss Jameson took her reading spectacles off and looked at Victoria. 'I must say he shows plenty of spirit.'
'You don't mean you approve, do you?'
'No, I don't approve, but I do admire him. He's embarked on a long ride, and he's trained for it, and he'll probably be as fit as a fiddle at the end of it---provided he doesn't have any accidents in the meantime.'
'I don't see what accidents he could have on an ordinary bike. All the same, I don't like it, Miss Jameson. I'm anxious about him already and I know I shall get more anxious every day we don't hear from him. I did think of going after him in the car. ' 'Well, you might find him, I suppose, but he wouldn't appreciate it.'
'But I might persuade him to fly instead. He wouldn't appreciate that either, I suppose. What ought I to do, I wonder?' 'There's only two things you can do. Go after him, as you said; or let him get on with it. But there's one thing you must do, and
that's to let Mr. Duncan know.' 'What can he do, stuck in Paris? I haven't the slightest intention of letting him know. Time enough
when he gets back. '
'But he's responsible for you.'
'No, he's not really responsible. My parents are the ones really responsible, and, failing them, I'm responsible. I ought to have seen that Sebastien was unsettled. Mr. Duncan hardly saw him at all and wouldn't know whether he was unsettled or not. You can't just hand over responsibility as if it were a parcel you didn't want.'
'All the same, you should tell him. '
'To disturb his week in Paris? Why, he might feel he had to come back, and that wouldn't please him or the Signorina Margarita. No, we won't tell him. I won't, and you must promise me, Miss Jameson, that you won't either.'
'It would cost me my job,' said Miss Jameson.
'Ha,' said Victoria scornfully, recognising that for what it was worth. 'Please promise me and then I know I can rely on it.'
'Well, I don't know what he could do if he was here, so I'll make the promise for the time being, and in few days he will be back.'
'I wish I could be sure that Sebastien will be all right,' said
Victoria.
'So do I. I quite expect he will be . . .'
But they were both anxious. Victoria was surprised by the extent of Miss Jameson's anxiety and realised that she had become fond of Sebastien, as Sebastien, in his fashion, had been fond of her. She wondered what Miss Jameson had made of the parts of the letter referring to herself: 'She was really trumps, we were quite wrong about her at first. ' Perhaps they would make her understand just how forbidding she had been to them at first.
Victoria went to break the news to Amanda, who was thunderstruck and then oddly excited by the news. 'Sebastien has run away?' she exclaimed, when Victoria told her.
'Well, I wouldn't say run away, that's a bit dramatic. '
'But it's just what he has done! How exciting!'
'It isn't exciting, it's just troublesome. Now we shall worry about him, even if he does ring up, until he gets back to England. God, I wish I'd never left England . . .' but even as she said it, she realised that it wasn't quite true. She would perhaps never have met Charles again if she had stayed in England.
Sebastien was very much missed. He was astringent and often provocative; he had the ability to make them laugh, and always debunked anything phony or pompous. First, Giorgio had been taken away from them. Now Sebastien had taken himself away. Amanda was very quiet. Victoria suggested drives in the car, lunching in Firenze, coffees in the interesting squares, but Amanda did not want to do any of them. She said it was too hot down in Firenze, she couldn't stand the heat, it made her quickly tired. She preferred to stay here on their terrace, working away under the shade of the big umbrella on the bird embroidery, which was already emerging as a wall hanging of striking charm and originality. She answered when she was spoken to, but scarcely volunteered a remark to anybody; yet her silence was no longer a sulky and unfriendly silence. Victoria thought she had her head in the clouds, and was probably dreaming of Giorgio all the time she plied her needle and selected her brilliantly coloured threads.
In fact, Victoria was not worrying about Amanda. It was the absent Sebastien who occupied her thoughts. She was angry because he had not rung up to say where he was, and although Miss Jameson pointed out that he was probably nowhere near a telephone, Victoria would not accept this excuse. He could make it his business to find a telephone. No, the plain fact of the matter was that Sebastien was embarked on an adventure, had set himself a target and, having told Victoria not to worry, placidly assumed she would not. She began to wonder whether she should let her parents know of this escapade. If she did not, and something went wrong, they would think she was much to blame. But if she did, she might be causing them worry unnecessarily. She was still undecided when Giuseppe Orselli rang up two mornings after the arrival of Sebastien's letter to invite Victoria to lunch; and when Victoria explained that she did not want to leave her sister, he invited Amanda too, saying he would be delighted if both would accept.
Amanda, informed of the invitation, said she did not want to go.
'It's perfectly obvious that it's you he wants to see,' she said. 'But you'll enjoy it, Amanda, and it will do you good to get out.'
'I just don't want to go, I'd rather stay here.'
'But I don't want to leave you here by yourself. Do come. '
'I won't be by myself. Miss Jameson will be here. And anyway, I want to get on with my birds.'
'Then I don't think I shall go either.'
'Oh, don't be an idiot, Vicki. You'll just make me feel guilty if you don't go. And I won't find it much fun, playing gooseberry.' In the end, Victoria went without her. She left not long after breakfast, intending to do some shopping in Firenze, and to go to the market where so much leathercraft and handwork was sold, before meeting Giuseppe. She met him shortly before one o'clock and it was obvious that he intended to keep her as long as possible; for they spent over half an hour on their prelunch drinks, he selected the items from the menu in a very leisurely fashion, and dawdled throughout the luncheon and the coffee afterwards. Then he insisted on taking Victoria to buy flowers and a large box of confectionery to take back for Amanda, and was most reluctant to see Victoria to her car and allow her to drive away from him.
Victoria had enjoyed this break from routine. She drove up the winding ascent towards Fiesole feeling lighter-hearted than for several days past, turned off on to the side road for Charles's house, came to his gate and ran the car under the carport.
She went straight to the guest terrace, expecting to see Amanda there, probably still bent over her work; but the terrace was empty. Perhaps the studio, then, Victoria thought, for they had both discovered that Charles's studio remained cool and was a very pleasant place in which to relax. There was no sign of Amanda, so Victoria decided she had probably gone for a walk and that her lovely flowers had better be put into water right away. She went to the kitchen to find a suitable vase.
Miss Jameson was in a rocking chair outside the kitchen door in cool shade, knitting an unidentifiable garment in rich purple.
'Do you know where Amanda went, Miss Jameson?' asked Victoria.
'She went out to lunch with you, didn't she?'
'No, she didn't want to go. She preferred to stay here.'
'Well, she didn't have her lunch here, that's for sure. There's been nobody here all day. I thought you went out together. '
'Haven't you seen her all day, Miss Jameson?'
'Not since breakfast.'
Victoria stared at Miss Jameson. She was beginning to be alarmed.
'Well, she can't be far away, without transport . . .'
'I suppose not.'
'She probably went for a walk. '
'And not come back for lunch?' asked Miss Jameson. There was a slightly uncomfortable pause.
'Of course she could always get a taxi if she wanted to go anywhere,' added Miss Jameson.
'But she didn't want to go anywhere, she kept saying so.'
'Or, of course, she could hitch-hike.'
'Oh, God, I shouldn't like that,' cried Victoria, immediately distressed.
'No more should I. But you'll probably find that she's round the place somewhere. Don't go alarming yourself without any cause. Have you looked in the fountain garden?'
'No, not yet.'
'And she might just be strolling on the hills above the house. Because, if she wasn't going to stay here, why didn't she go with you?'
Victoria looked at Miss Jameson sombrely.
'I can think of one good reason,' she said. 'If she didn't want me to know she was going out. Or where she was going.'
'Now look here,' said Miss Jameson. 'You just go and look for the girl before you make up your mind you've got more trouble. Just because Sebastien took himself off is no reason for thinking Amanda's done the same sort of thing.'
'It's Sebastien who's responsible for this,' Victoria said with a strange fatalism. 'It's Sebastien who put the idea into Amanda's head. She was so excited, in an odd sort of way, when she heard about him: she thought it was thrilling that he had run away. And I bet that's just what Amanda has done too.'
'What a family!' exclaimed Miss Jameson. 'Are they in the habit of doing this sort of thing? Have they done it before?'
'No. Never.' Victoria's sombre look was still on her face as she said: 'Mind you, there have been times when I've felt like doing it myself, when I've been posted off to Aunt Catherine who didn't really want us; but I've always had a younger brother and sister to consider. But that's by the way. I'd better scout round looking for Amanda.'
No amount of scouting round, however, discovered Amanda. She was not to be found strolling on the hills. She was not at the house of the Rimini girls, nor had she been to the Beltonis' farm for some time. Then Victoria found that she had taken a coat from her wardrobe, which she would certainly not need during the daytime, and that a small overnight bag was also missing, as well as her ordinary handbag. She imparted this news to Miss Jameson in the kitchen.
'So she's taken herself off somewhere,' said Victoria, 'but where the devil can she have gone?' She brooded over the question for a while. 'I suppose she's run off to see Giorgio,' she concluded at last.
'Giorgio? Giorgio Beltoni? But why should she do that?'
'She thinks she's in love with him.'
'Well, even so. Couldn't she have asked you to drive her there?'
'You don't know Amanda. That wouldn't be nearly as romantic,' said Victoria wearily, 'and she might have thought that I'd refuse.'
'She won't find it so romantic once she gets started,' said Miss Jameson.
'What can I do ? Wherever can she be? Suppose she did start to go to see Giorgio, I don't even know how she would go about it. Sebastien has a certain amount of sense. Amanda has precious little. I can't bear to think that she would hitch-hike, that she would get into somebody's car for quite a long journey; and it's already getting dusk now . . .'
'Now don't panic, Victoria. Did she have money of her own?' 'Yes, she gets her regular allowance, and there's nothing much to spend it on here. She's not short of money.'
'Then why can't she go by train from Firenze in a perfectly normal manner?'
'Because Amanda doesn't do things in a perfectly normal manner. She might, of course. In which case, would she be at the hospital yet?'
'Yes, I think so. It wouldn't take that long.'
'Then we can ring up the hospital and find out if somebody has seen Giorgio or tried to see him?'
'Well, we'll do that, but first of all, I'm going to make a call to Paris. Mr. Duncan had better know about this. '
So both calls were made. Nobody resembling the description they gave of Amanda had called to see Giorgio. The second call, to Paris, was less productive, for Charles was not at his hotel, either then or an hour later when the call was repeated and Amanda had still not returned.
By now, Victoria was imagining all kinds of horrors. 'It's quite a different thing,' she said to Miss Jameson, 'for Amanda to do this. Sebastien I don't worry about so much; but for Amanda to hitch-hike---oh, God, who knows what might happen to her?' And no amount of attempted consolation on the part of Miss Jameson could allay her fears.
'Do you think we should inform the police?' Victoria asked anxiously.
'I don't know. It might be a bit soon. For all we know, Amanda might come walking in at any moment, and laugh at us for the things we're imagining.'
'I could kill her for this,' said Victoria grimly. 'At least, Sebastien rang us up to stop us worrying, and then wrote a letter
'Perhaps Amanda will do the same. '
Miss Jameson was preparing a supper, although she wondered if either Victoria or herself would feel like eating it when it was ready; so that when the telephone bell rang from the hall, she said to Victoria:
'There you are! That's probably Amanda now. You'd better go and answer it,' and Victoria flew into the hall and snatched at the receiver.
It was not Amanda, however. It was Charles.
'Victoria?' he asked. 'Now what's all this? An urgent message to ring up the house. Have we been robbed? Are we on fire?'
'Oh, Charles,' she said, 'Charles,' and the despair in her voice must have reached him across the miles, for he said at once:
'Now steady on, Victoria. What's the matter? What's happened?'
'Oh, Charles, we think Amanda has run away. Well, Sebastien went first, and we were worried about him. Only we're much more worried about Amanda, because she's not very sensible ...' Her voice trailed away because she had a feeling she herself was not making much sense.
'Now take it slowly, Victoria. Are you telling me they've both run away?
' Well, not really. At least---yes, they've both gone, only Sebastien's wasn't so much running away as a well-thought-out campaign. And Amanda has only gone to-day, and we're not quite sure that she has run away; but she's taken her coat and her money and an overnight bag . . . And I'm so dreadfully afraid she may hitch-hike and perhaps meet with somebody unpleasant. And I do wonder whether I ought to inform the police. And honestly, I'm so terribly worried ...'
'They didn't go together, then?'
'No. Separately. I think Sebastien put the idea into Amanda's head.'
'Is Miss Jameson there, Victoria?'
'Yes.'
'Then let me speak to her, will you?'
'Hold on, then. I suppose I haven't been very coherent, have
I?'
'Don't worry about that. Get me Miss Jameson.' Victoria hurried to the kitchen, and Miss Jameson went to speak to her employer. At the end of the call, she turned to Victoria.
'Mr. Duncan is getting in touch with the police here. He'll carry more weight with them than I would. And he's coming back by the first available plane and should be here by the morning. I don't think there's anything we can do here, Victoria, except hope that Amanda will turn up. '
But this did not satisfy Victoria. She felt that she must be doing something. She would not eat supper, and she knew that she would not sleep. She walked about the house and the terraces; she started at every unfamiliar sound, and at the sound of a car on the road she rushed out to meet it, only to see it sweep past Charles's gate, along the road to the farm.
'I can't settle,' she told Miss Jameson. 'I'm going to drive along the road---there's just a chance that I might find her.'
'None at all. I should say.'
'I'm going, all the same. She could be trudging along, tired out, so the sight of me would be a godsend. '
'Then I'm coming with you. '
'You can't do that. She might come back, or there might be news of her and there would be nobody here.'
'I think it's a mad scheme. Still, do it if you want to do it; but I insist on your eating supper first; and make sure you have plenty of petrol so that you don't break down. And don't give a lift to anybody. But I'd much rather you stayed here.'
Victoria's mind was made up. She agreed to eat her supper, and Miss Jameson gave her a small parcel of food for emergency and a small bottle of brandy, and more injunctions, and saw her go with great reluctance.
It was a miserable night for Victoria. Quite early on, she realised the almost-hopelessness of her search. Her headlights revealed very few walkers on the country roads and nearly all of these were men, and the few women could not be mistaken for Amanda. Several of the men indicated that they wanted a lift, but she did not stop. Once, a swinging light in front of the car did cause her to slow down, and she saw with relief that it was a uniformed policeman; and discovered after some struggle with the language that he had been alerted about a missing girl. Further urgent questioning revealed that she was an English girl named Amanda Fenn. So Charles had been very prompt about his work. Victoria was advised to drive home, since there was nothing she could do that the police could not do better; and they assisted her to turn on the narrow lane and she began her drive back.
Firenze was an empty city when she drove through it on her return journey in the early hours of the morning. She was dog-tired. It was a relief to sweep up the winding hill towards Fiesole, to turn on to the lane and arrive at Charles's gate. She stopped the car under the carport, switched off her engine and dropped her tired head on to her hands on the wheel. Anxiety still gnawed at her. Troubled uncertainty as to Amanda's whereabouts, or what could have happened to her, filled her with despair.
Then she saw the strange car on the drive, and immediately hope surged up in her. Somebody had brought Amanda back! It could only be that. She got out of the car and hurried to the house, where lights were blazing at this unusual hour. Yes, Amanda must be here. Relief was almost overwhelming. She kept her finger on the bell until the door was opened.
It was opened by Charles. She stared at him in amazement. She had not expected to see him, and momentarily could not take him in.
'Amanda,' she said. ' Amanda. Is she here?'
He shook his head.
'No,' he said. ' Not yet, Victoria. But thank God you are.'
'Oh, Charles,' she said, and began to cry. 'Oh, Charles, Charles.' And fell into his arms, tired and despairing, and was held there closely, firmly, comfortingly.
It was such deep peace to be where she was, such a consolation to be supported by his strong arms, that for a few seconds she even shut out thoughts of Amanda; but not for long could her anxiety be allayed. She lifted her head from his shoulder, looking into his face with troubled eyes.
'How did you manage to be here so soon?' she asked him.
'By ringing the airport and discovering I could fly to Milano almost immediately if I stirred myself. And at Milano I got a hire car and scorched down here. '
So that was the reason for the strange car on the drive!
'And nothing has been heard of Amanda while I've been gone?'
'No, but you mustn't worry, Victoria. She's probably booked into some wayside hotel for the night. The police will find her. You shouldn't have gone tearing off into the night like that. What did you think you could do?'
'Oh, I don't know.' Her eyes filled again with tears which she tried to blink away. 'I thought of her trudging along country roads, tired and depressed and wishing herself home again . . . ' Victoria stopped speaking, unable to go on. She was drooping from weariness.
Charles, with a strong arm securely round her shoulders, was leading her towards the kitchen.
'You're going to have a hot drink and go straight to bed,' he said.
'No, I couldn't possibly, not until we hear news of Amanda. '
'You're to do as you're told. You've had no sleep and you'll be washed out all day if you don't snatch a few hours. If there's any news at all, I'll wake you at once. Probably when you wake up, Amanda will be waiting for the scolding she thoroughly deserves.' There was no gainsaying him. Miss Jameson produced the hot drink and two aspirins to go with it, but Victoria refused to eat anything. Charles took her to her room and made her promise to get undressed and get right into bed. Reluctantly, she promised.
'Victoria.'
'Yes?'
'I had no idea you were all so unhappy here. You must believe me when I say that I feel very guilty about all this, and think I could have prevented it with a little forethought. My only excuse is that I must be out of touch with young people. I hope you'll forgive me.'
'Oh, Charles, none of this is your fault. We haven't been so unhappy.'
'Happy children don't run away, Victoria. Why should both of them be driven away? As for you, I realise that you have a conscience about them both: but you've also had cause for unhappiness just lately, and I should have understood that too. . . . Well, no more talking. You get to bed and I'll wake you the moment it's necessary. Good night, sweet child,' and he leaned down and kissed her lightly, gently, on the lips; and all the things Victoria wanted to say to him vanished from her mind. And she was tired. Too tired to go into troublesome questions at the moment, or she might have explained that she had no cause for unhappiness apart from her anxiety for her brother and sister. She had no doubt he was referring to Giorgio and the accident. He thought she was worried about Giorgio and was missing him; and perhaps, remembering the tender scene he had been an unwilling witness to in the fountain garden, he had reason to think so. But she was too tired to tell him it was not true, and suddenly, now she wanted to be in her bed, to lie between cool sheets and to remember that gentle, consoling and rapturous touch of his lips.
She woke by herself, prompted no doubt by the anxiety that would not be repressed, even by sleep; and immediately wondered if there had been any news of her sister. She got out of bed, pulled on a negligee, ran a comb through her tousled hair and went directly to the kitchen and Miss Jameson.
That lady, although she too had had very little sleep, was at her post in the kitchen, immaculate as ever, cooking eggs, making toast and warming rolls.
'So there you are, Victoria. You didn't sleep long.'
'Any news, Miss Jameson?'
'Not yet, my dear. There's sure to be news soon. Sure to be.
I'm getting breakfast for Mr. Duncan, and I'll take yours in
too. It's ready right now, and you must fortify yourself for the day ahead. '
'All right. I'll just go and dress.'
'No time for that. You'll do as you are. Everything is hot and ready.'
She looked at Victoria as she turned with the tray before her; a Victoria completely unconscious of herself because her thoughts were so deeply with others; a Victoria in a knee-length nightdress and negligee of ice blue, with her burnished hair lying round her shoulders. Yes, Miss Jameson thought drily, you'll do as you are, Victoria. You'll do indeed.
Victoria followed Miss Jameson along the corridor. Charles was breakfasting at the drum table in the library-living room, and he rose to his feet at once at sight of Victoria.
'You shouldn't be up yet,' he protested.
'Miss Jameson says there's no news yet.'
'It's only a few hours since you went to bed. You must give them time, Victoria.'
'Yes, I know, but in a few hours anything could happen to Amanda.'
'It doesn't do to have too vivid an imagination,' said Miss Jameson, arranging the breakfast table.
'Well, it wouldn't do not to have any, ' said Victoria sharply. 'All right, all right,' Miss Jameson said quietly, and took her tray and left Victoria with Charles.
'I shouldn't have been so sharp,' said Victoria penitently.
'She understands,' said Charles. 'Now sit down, Victoria, and let's see you sensibly eat a good breakfast. I've been in touch with the police this morning, and there isn't any news yet, but we'll hope that no news is good news. They say there's nothing we can do, and they'll be in touch with us as soon as there's anything to report. '
She sat opposite him, the sun glinting on her beautiful hair and unable to find a blemish on her petal-fine skin. In her negligee and satin mules, she might have been a wife sitting there rather than a guest. This only very briefly occurred to her, as she thought how wonderful it would be to come and have breakfast every morning with Charles.
They were half way through their meal when the telephone rang. Charles immediately went to answer it and Victoria turned in her chair, breathless with suspense, apprehensive yet hopeful. They both thought it must be a message from the police.
'Hallo, hallo,' said Charles. 'Yes, this is. ... Yes, I'll wait. Oh. Oh, I see.' He turned to Victoria, shaking his head. 'It isn't the police,' he said, and turned away again. 'Hallo there. Margarita? Yes, this is Charles. Well now, darling, that needs a little explaining. Yes, I know. . . . Yes, I know. . . . My dear, it was an emergency. Yes, an S.O.S. You know I wouldn't have deserted you for anything less than an emergency . . .' He listened for some time. 'Now, Margarita, you don't mean that. No, I'm sure you don't, you're too kind-hearted. . . . Well, what would you have me do? shirk my responsibility? Just a moment, will you?' He turned towards Victoria, who had already risen to her feet. 'Would you mind, Victoria? This is going to be a rather private little quarrel. Now take your coffee with you, otherwise it will be cold.'
Victoria picked up her almost full cup of coffee and carried it to the door. Almost before she had closed the door behind her, she heard Charles's voice again, saying: ' N o w do be sensible, cara, I couldn't help myself . . .'
She took the coffee back to her own room and sat on the edge of the bed sipping it slowly. How could she have forgotten about Margarita? Even for one night ? Margarita was obviously very angry at Charles's desertion of her. Was Charles angry too that his time with Margarita had been so roughly disrupted? He would not show it, of course. He had been kind. No, much more than kind; he had been tender and considerate, but that did not mean that he was not sorry he had had to leave Paris; or that responsibility for the Fenn family was not a nuisance to him. Would you have me shirk my responsibility? he had asked Margarita; and Victoria thought it was a good thing she had been reminded that she was no more than a responsibility to him.
She felt miserable and dejected. She must not make a fool of herself about Charles, as poor young Amanda was making a fool of herself about Giorgio. If she got Amanda back (and she prayed fervently that she would) they would go back to England. They would relieve Charles of this responsibility and settle down in their familiar surroundings. They might have had rather unhappy times before in some of the moves their parents had planned for them, but there had never been anything cataclysmic like this. But they were all growing up now. They were becoming independent. Sebastien was a manly sixteen, nearly seventeen. Amanda, who had always been so very dependent on Victoria before, was old enough now to consider herself in love, and would not much longer do as her sister thought best for her. Victoria decided that, when eventually her parents returned to England, she must have the whole thing out with them. But that would not solve the immediate problem, and it was the immediate problem that engrossed her the whole of that day.
Charles came to find her after breakfast, not at all put down by his altercation with Margarita. Victoria was on her terrace, now dressed in a sober cool dress of navy linen, and if she was not actually wringing her hands in despair, that was the impression he got of her.
'I don't know what to do for the best, Charles,' she said to him. 'What can I do?'
They sat down to discuss the matter. No, she said, Amanda had no friends here other than the Beltonis. The Rimini girls were acquaintances, but Victoria had already satisfied herself that Amanda had not gone to them nor to the farm. There was nobody else, and Victoria was quite sure that it was Giorgio Amanda had started out to visit.
'Love certainly does complicate life, doesn't it?' said Charles, and Victoria wondered whose love he was thinking of. Amanda's for Giorgio, or her own supposed love for Giorgio? or his for Margarita? or Margarita's for him?
'Yes, it does,' she admitted sadly. She could not remain seated. She was restless, walking up and down the length of the terrace.
Charles had again rung the hospital at which Giorgio was recovering; but again there had been no visitor for him resembling Amanda.
'I keep seeing her lying in a ditch somewhere,' said Victoria unhappily. 'Unconscious---or even worse.' Charles was immediately on his feet and at her side. He took her into his arms consolingly, but spoke to her quite severely.
'Now, no more of that nonsense, Victoria,' he said.
'But it could be true,' she cried.
'It could equally be untrue. Victoria darling, you must try to be patient. '
'But she's been gone more than twenty-four hours now.'
'And we could get news at any moment.'
'Should I cable to my parents?' she asked him anxiously, putting herself into his capable hands.
Charles thought for a moment or two. His arms still held Victoria reassuringly, and she wondered how she would ever do without their support for all the future. Then he said:
'Well now, let's suppose the worst for a moment. Suppose anything dreadful had happened to Amanda, which is most unlikely, they would certainly arrive here too late for any practical use. And if Amanda turns up here after some adventure which we can't yet imagine, then we should have worried them unnecessarily. I suggest we wait to-day and see what happens by evening.'
She agreed to do what he suggested, wondering how she would get through the day; but Charles had no intention of leaving her alone. He carried her off to the studio.
'Now if you feel you could pose for a while, I'll get some more sketches of you. That's what I should like. If you don't want to pose, you can look at my books; or better still, being so capable at secretarial work, you could type some letters for me. '
He obviously thought it would be best for her to be doing something, so she agreed to pose for a while, listening to music (and he was almost too considerate this time in asking her constantly if she was tired), and then she did some typing for him; and if her hands dropped from the keys from time to time as she stared into space, he knew she was thinking about Amanda; but did not imagine for a moment that she might be studying him as he worked, loving his rugged face and rough brown hair and those strong, capable hands.
Immediately after lunch, which she played with, feeling that food would choke her, he drove her down into Firenze, and they had an interview there with the police, who had not as yet had success in finding Amanda, or anybody who had seen her. Might she have followed her brother to England? they asked, obviously thinking English families extremely undisciplined and allowed too much freedom that they should run off from each other in this fashion: but Victoria had Amanda's passport, so that was not possible. Charles and she returned to his house, both of them anxious now; and soon after their arrival, the ringing of the telephone sent them hurrying to it once more.
This time, it was Sebastien; cheerful, happy, triumphant.
He was already in England. He had cycled over the Alps, but that was the best bit of the journey; the rest promised to be flat and uninteresting, so he had sold the old bike for next to nothing, and taken the train and boat and was now in their own house, preparing for the camping trip to Snowdonia.
It had been in Charles's mind to read the riot act to Sebastien, but it proved to be not necessary, for Victoria went for her brother in such a fit of righteous anger, giving him 'hell for leather ', that anything Charles might have said paled into insignificance. He was amazed by her forcefulness. ' Utter lack of consideration '. 'Without telling a soul where you were going'. 'Putting ideas into Amanda's silly head, and God knows what's happened to her'. 'Attacked, or even raped ... lying dead in a ditch somewhere'. 'Well, you should think, you're old enough to use your brains, if you've got any'. 'No, of course not, what do you think you can do, if the police and Mr. Duncan can't do anything?' 'Go off to Snowdonia and your rock climbing, and for pity's sake, don't break your neck there to add to my worries'. 'Have the sense to do what your instructor tells you to do, and not anything mad'. 'All right, then. I'll let you know as soon as I know anything myself. '
When she rang off, Charles looked at her consideringly. Her face was flushed and her expression was determined. She was altogether different from the girl who had wept in his arms last night.
'Sebastien is going to have an uncomfortable half-hour,' he commented.
'If that's all he has, he's getting off lightly,' she retorted.
'I can see that you take your responsibilities very seriously. '
'Well, somebody's got to. But it doesn't get easier as they get older. I'd rather have Amanda crying for her mother in bed at night, although I didn't enjoy that, than have her chasing off after a lover.'
'She's hardly done that, Victoria.'
'You don't know Amanda. She would, if she thought Giorgio would have her.'
'But the competition is too stiff,' he commented; and before Victoria could cope with that observation, he went on: 'Of course, her instability is not really her own fault. I see that now.' 'Oh, don't let's start on that!' Victoria hovered between weariness of spirit and sarcasm. 'Don't let's start looking for causes or motives. I've lived with that particular devil just a bit too long.'
He looked at her for a long time, his face thoughtful, studying her intently. She was looking away from him, over the olive groves to the pink and white and ochre loveliness of Firenze, not really seeing the great Duomo or the tall towers. Lost in her own thoughts.
The afternoon seemed endless, and as evening approached Charles realised that Victoria became more restless and more anxious. She could not endure the thought that Amanda would be missing for another night. He said:
'Do you want to go out on another search, Victoria? I don't think you can really do more than the police are doing, but if you would feel more settled, we'll go out on a search of our own.' 'Well, I realise that it probably won't do any good . . .'
'But you'd like to do it.'
'I would, really.'
'Then we'll go. There is a secondary road which we could explore, not that I think for a moment Amanda would take it; but at least it will eliminate another possibility. Go and get your coat.' Victoria went. She knew that Charles was indulging her in what he thought a useless search, but it seemed more than she could do simply to sit and wait. She rejoined him on the terrace and they went together to his car.
As Charles opened the car door for her, they heard the sound of another car approaching. Both paused immediately, waiting to see if it would pass by or stop at their gate. When it did stop at the gate, they went forward together as if moved by a single impulse, to meet it. Its door opened and a police officer emerged, who opened the back door of the car for a passenger.
Victoria held her breath and then expelled it on a long sigh of disappointment as a well-dressed woman of middle age stepped out on to the driveway. She was followed, however, by a slight, familiar figure in a recognised grey coat, and at sight of her Victoria felt such a great surge of relief that she almost fainted. Charles's arm supporting her helped her to recover from that giddy moment.
'Amanda,' she said. 'Amanda! ' and next moment Amanda had rushed madly towards her sister, throwing her arms around her and breaking down into a storm of weeping. Victoria held her, swaying gently with her, saying over and over: 'Are you all right, Amanda? Are you all right?'
It took a little while for the confusion to sort itself out. Charles led them all into that sumptuously furnished hall that had so impressed the Fenn family on its arrival here. Miss Jameson brought coffee for everybody. Amanda continued to weep in Victoria's arms in the depths of the deep couch. Victoria, distracted by the weeping, was trying to give her attention to what was being said, in Italian too fast for her to follow, by the three others. She knew she would have to wait for Charles's interpretation of the interview, so that it was almost a relief to her when he suggested that Amanda might feel better in her own room and that Miss Jameson would bring them some coffee there. The two sisters left for their room, Victoria shaking the hand of the police officer and thanking him as best she could, still not knowing what the role of the other woman had been.
It took a long time for Amanda to compose herself and drink some hot coffee; still longer to give Victoria some account of what had happened to her in the past thirty hours.
She had, as Victoria had supposed, set out to visit Giorgio. She had thought that anything Sebastien could do, she could also do. She had thought of going by train, and then by taxi to the hospital; but it had been so easy to get a lift down to Firenze yesterday morning that she had supposed it would be equally easy to travel the whole journey by this method. But the first car to stop for her had taken her only two or three miles along the road and deposited her on a country lane; and she had gone on by a slow country bus, constantly stopping, which had tried her patience so sorely that she decided to hitch-hike again. But nobody had stopped to pick her up, and she had trudged on until she was desperately tired and it was growing dark, and she was becoming very frightened indeed. As Amanda had always been frightened of the dark, Victoria could understand this only too well.
Then, when Amanda was really beginning to panic, a car had stopped, and it was being driven by Signora Delmonte, the lady who had come with her in the police car. The Signora had been quite appalled to find this young English girl hitch-hiking, and had tried to get from Amanda her name and address, so that she could take her to somewhere safe. But Amanda too was appalled, at the thought of giving up her adventure so quickly and without a struggle. 'I knew Sebastien wouldn't,' she said to Victoria, 'so I wouldn't tell her where I was staying, only that I was going to see Giorgio in hospital.'
The woman insisted on Amanda spending the night at her house. 'It was a beautiful house,' Amanda said, 'and she was very kind, but I was quite determined to go on in the morning. But to begin with, I slept late---I'd been so tired, and then she fussed over breakfast. And at last she said if I would wait until the afternoon, she would drive me there herself. Only then she saw a piece in the morning paper; only she didn't get her morning paper until lunch time. About me being missing. So that was that. Instead of driving me to see Giorgio, she drove me to the police station at Firenze . . .'
'We were there this afternoon,' cried Victoria. 'We could only just have missed you! '
'Well, I had to answer a whole lot of questions, and they seemed to take a long time, and make an awful lot of fuss; and then they brought me home.' She looked doubtfully at Victoria. 'I suppose you're very angry,' she said hesitantly.
Victoria looked at her without comment. Angry? No, she wasn't angry any more. Despairing? Resigned? She wasn't sure.
The reaction from so much suspense, so much waiting and worry, left her now without feeling. She felt she could drop on to her own bed and sleep for hours.
'I'm sorry, Vicki,' Amanda said in a small voice. 'I'm really sorry. I won't do anything like it ever again. Only I did want to see Giorgio so much.'
'I'd have taken you to see him if you'd asked me,' said Victoria flatly.
'I'm sorry,' said Amanda again, tears flowing freshly down her cheeks.
'It's no good crying now you're safely back. And Sebastien is safely in London, ready to go camping. I suppose I just have to be thankful.' But Victoria was swept by a wave of wretchedness so forceful that she could have joined her sister in weeping. She knew it was simply reaction, and steeled herself against it.
'Now don't upset yourself, Amanda,' she said more kindly. 'You'd better get to bed and you can have your supper there; and after a good night's rest, you'll be your old self.' After a moment or two, she added: 'And if you want to see Giorgio, I'll drive you there myself. Don't go skipping off again.'
'No, I never will, Vicki.'
When Amanda was in bed, Victoria went to see Charles again. The story told by the police and Signora Delmonte tallied with Amanda's.
'So all's well that ends well,' said Charles. 'Cheer up, Victoria, don't look so glum. Your ewe lamb is back in the fold.' 'Yes. And very repentant---for the moment.' Charles looked at her searchingly.
'Poor Victoria, they have given you a tough time. You're feeling rotten, aren't you?'
'No. Just fed up. Just flat---flat as a pancake.'
'That's too bad, because I've just accepted an invitation to go out to dinner. I thought it was all right as you were reunited with your sister. But now I think I shall cancel it and stay here, and have dinner with you.'
Victoria looked at him expressionlessly.
'Margarita,' she said. It was a plain statement of fact, not a question, although she knew Margarita had been in Paris that
morning.
'Yes, Margarita,' he said, 'but I can have dinner with Margarita tomorrow.'
'Of course not,' she said sharply, thinking that Margarita had lost no time in following him back to Firenze. 'If you've made the arrangement you must keep it. I shall have my supper with Amanda.'
'Very well,' said Charles. He held out his hands to her, and she put hers into his keeping. 'I'm very happy for you, Victoria, that it turned out well. '
'And I'm very thankful to you, Charles, for all your help,' and she stood on tip-toe to reach his cheek and kissed him. He released her hands and held her closely in his arms for a few precious seconds. Closely and tenderly. Oh, why did it have to end so soon? Victoria wondered, when he let her go
Victoria did not have supper with Amanda. Miss Jameson took a tray into the bedroom quite early for Amanda. She had prepared an appetising light meal and arranged it meticulously, but as she presented it to Amanda, she said:
'What you want, my girl, is a good hiding.' Amanda flushed, but found the spirit to reply:
'If I were your little girl, I expect I'd get one.'
'And it would do you the world of good. Everybody spoils you. Victoria spoils you, and all you do is try to break her heart. She was worried nearly to death about you.'
Amanda had the grace to look ashamed and Miss Jameson relented.
'Well, eat your supper and get a good sleep; and try to be a bit more thoughtful of other people in the future.'
Victoria ate her supper alone. She told herself she ought to be feeling carefree and happy, having her sister back. In fact, she felt miserable and wretched. She knew the suspense of the last thirty hours and the near-sleeplessness of last night had told on her; but she also knew she could have made light of that if only Charles had been here with her, instead of dining with Margarita somewhere in candlelit luxury: Margarita of the night-black beauty, Margarita in diamonds and the glow of love, Margarita determined to get what she wanted.
Next morning, she was waiting on their terrace when Amanda came out to join her for breakfast. Amanda still looked shamefaced and a little apprehensive, as if she might be awaiting another lecture. Victoria decided they could dispense with all that.
'Hallo,' she said cheerfully. 'Sleep well?'
'Yes, very well.'
'Good. I'll pour you some coffee. Miss Jameson will be bringing breakfast in a few minutes. Isn't it a marvellous morning?'
Amanda looked about her, really seeing the morning for the first time. Firenze far below, slightly veiled in morning mist, the domes and towers rising pink and pearly out of it. Sun sharp and bright on the olive groves and the garden. She was enormously relieved to be here. She smiled at Victoria and took the coffee cup from her.
'You said Sebastien was safely back in England, Vicki?'
'Yes. He rode over the Alps, and as he thought that would be the best bit and the rest of it boring, he sold the old bike and went on by train and boat. I expect he was getting tired of all that exercise. Anyway, he'll get plenty more, rock-climbing.' 'Sebastien is so efficient,' Amanda said ruefully.
'Sebastien is nearly three years older than you, and has a lot more common sense. '
Just then, Charles came out on to the terrace, dressed so formally in a pale, light-weight suit, with immaculate collar and tie, that Victoria knew he must be going out; but he pulled a chair up to the table and sat down with a cheerful good morning to them both.
'You both look a lot better this morning. Radiant, in fact. All's right with the world?'
'With our world, yes, thank you.' Victoria smiled at him and offered him coffee.
'I'll have my breakfast here, if I may,' he said. 'Jeanie's bringing it with yours.' And when Miss Jameson had been and gone, he said; 'Why, it's so pleasant here, I wonder that I haven't done this before.'
'You're always welcome on your own terrace,' Victoria said.
'I wanted to reassure myself that you were both all right. I have to go out to-day and may even be out for dinner this evening. What are your plans?'
Victoria reflected that he had not hitherto been concerned about their plans in the slightest, and she wondered if Sebastien's unorthodox departure and Amanda's subsequent adventure were causing him worry.
'I thought I would drive Amanda to see Giorgio,' she said, causing Amanda's head to turn quickly to look at her with wonder. 'I even thought we might spend the night in a hotel and see him again tomorrow before coming back. '
There was a pause, each of them looking at this item of news from a different standpoint. Then Charles picked up his coffee cup as Amanda burst out:
'Vicki, would you do that? That would be marvellous! '
'I suppose that would be all right,' said Charles doubtfully. 'Don't forget I drove us all down here from England,' Victoria reminded him. ' Staying at inns and hotels.'
'I shall ring up and make a reservation for you myself,' Charles said. 'For my own peace of mind. Although I do realise, Victoria, how sensible you are.'
He did this, also ringing up the hospital to find out if the sisters might see Giorgio and at what times. Then, with what seemed to Victoria like reluctance, he left them. Watching him from the terrace, Victoria wondered how he would be spending his day. He had dined with Margarita last night: was he also spending the day with her to-day?
It was indeed a most beautiful morning. Miss Jameson gave them a picnic lunch and told them to be careful. They set off through the sunlit countryside in high good humour, travelling for some distance on the autoroute, then leaving it to find their way through lesser roads and country lanes, through villages little touched by the rush of civilisation, with the peasant women in their black, some of them sitting in their doorways working at the basket work and embroidery sold in the market places, many of them washing clothes outside their doorways in large tubs. Nearly every house in every village had its tomato pulp and tomato paste spread out on great boards to dry in the sun while strings of tomatoes, onions and pimentoes hung from the windowsills. A few of the streets were so steep and so cobbled that mules were used for transport, and Victoria wondered if her not-so-new car would manage them. It was amazing to find all this comparatively close to the rush of the autoroute to the sun.
After their picnic lunch, they came in mid-afternoon to the hospital where Giorgio was impatiently awaiting yet another operation on his ankle. He was overjoyed to see the sisters, particularly as. at this distance from his home, visitors were now few and far between. He seemed more handsome than ever, his dark eyes still alight with life and laughter, but Victoria thought there were lines of strain under them. He said there was nothing the matter with him, he was not ill, but he was not allowed to put any weight on the ankle. 'The little bones were so smashed, I believe they are making me new ones,' he said. 'They think, at least, I am very interesting. They like me so much that they will not let me come home for a long time. But I miss everything, Victoria. I miss the farm and my work, and my beautiful Mama and Papa, and my beautiful English girls.' He smiled at them so charmingly that Amanda could have swooned with delight. 'And how is Sebastien?' he asked.
'Sebastien has gone back to England, to join a rock-climbing party. '
'Oh, how I wish I could go rock-climbing!' Giorgio said.
Victoria reflected that, if Charles had not forbidden Sebastien to ride behind Giorgio on the motor bike, Sebastien might also be wishing at this moment that he could go rock-climbing, instead of actually doing it.
'And you?' asked Giorgio. 'When do you have to go back to England?'
'We have a little time yet,' she reassured him. She saw that there were many things he wanted to say to her which he could not say in front of Amanda; but there seemed no way of having even a few minutes alone, and Victoria was not altogether sorry. Amanda certainly did not want to leave him for a moment. He began to tell them of all the work the nurses gave him to do, since he could sit in a wheelchair with his leg extended before him on a long plank. They made him roll bandages and wait on bed-bound patients, gather and deliver the mail, even feed the patients who could not use their arms. He soon had them laughing, and Victoria realised that this quite beautiful young man carried his blithe spirit with him wherever he went. He must be a boon to the hospital.
As soon as he discovered that they were staying in a hotel that night, he persuaded them to come again in the evening, and then set about persuading the nurse in charge to permit it; so that, after an early dinner that evening at their hotel, they went once more to Giorgio; but by this time he had gained the cooperation of his nurse, and as Victoria and Amanda sat with him in the room he shared with four other patients, the nurse passed through in a hurry, smiling at Amanda and saying to her:
'Signorina, would you like to come and get Giorgio's pill for him? And perhaps you would bring them for the others too?' Amanda understood all of this and jumped up at once, delighted to do something for Giorgio.
'Do you have to have sleeping pills, Giorgio?' asked Victoria. 'No, I think they are antibiotics. It doesn't matter, I wanted to speak to you alone. Victoria, carissima, I think of you so often, so often; and sometimes my ankle is painful and I don't sleep and I think of you in the empty night time. Can you not come and see me alone?'
'I don't think so, Giorgio. We are here this time because of Amanda. Do you know she ran away by herself to come and see
you?'
'I saw it in the paper,' he said impatiently. 'Why should she do such a silly thing?'
'Because she's mad about you, of course. But don't let that worry you. She'll get over it.'
'But you could have brought her, as you are bringing her now. If only you, Victoria, were mad about me. For sure, I am mad about you. And all this time is being wasted. By the time I am coming home, you will be in England. It is too much.'
'Do you really have to stay here so long, Giorgio? What do they say about your ankles?'
'One is mending without much trouble. For the other, they have to take pieces of bone from here and there. It is all very
difficult. I worry about the farm and my papa . . .'
'But your cousins are there helping. Don't worry, Giorgio.' 'Most I worry about you, Victoria, and what I am missing. When will you come and see me again?'
'Tomorrow morning,' she said, smiling at him. Amanda came hurrying back, straight to Giorgio. Their opportunity for private conversation was over. Amanda was in a seventh heaven of her own. Victoria thought she was really very pretty when anything caused her to sparkle, when thought for others banished the sullenness that was often there. A happy Amanda, she reflected, might be a very charming one; and apparently Giorgio thought it too, or perhaps he wished to be kind to the girl who was suffering for him, for he said:
'I am the most proud man in the hospital to have two charmers to visit me,' and he smiled straight at Amanda. 'I feel I should share.'
'Then let's lend Victoria to somebody else,' Amanda said promptly, and they all laughed, happily and gaily. For the first time, Victoria thought that if Amanda were sixteen or seventeen, she might possibly make it; might succeed with Giorgio if her campaign was a right one, and if she, Victoria, were out of the way. Unfortunately for her, at fourteen one was not taken seriously; and in two or three years' time, Giorgio might have married somebody else. No, the most sensible thing would be for Amanda to get over this sudden and intense passion.
The two sisters stayed until the nurse came to turn them out. They spent a comfortable night in the same bedroom at their hotel, and after breakfast next morning went back to see Giorgio again, and were greeted like long-lost relatives by the other four patients in the ward. They soon had Amanda practising her Italian with them, but she would not leave Giorgio' s side to do it; and when they had to leave, the only way in which Giorgio could kiss Victoria's hand with a close lingering kiss was to do the same thing with Amanda, which filled her with delight. With a grace that became her but was rather unusual, Amanda went round the small ward shaking hands with the other patients, who took advantage of Giorgio's example to kiss her hand too; and then Victoria's. Victoria could take this gesture for what it was worth, but Amanda was young enough to find it utterly romantic, and left the hospital treading on air. The long drive back to Charles's house passed in a happy dream for her; and she had the promise of a visit to the farm tomorrow, for Giorgio had given them a parcel and various messages for his family, and Victoria had said that Amanda could take them.
They had been away only two days, yet there was for Victoria a lovely feeling of homecoming as she ran the car under the carport. Usually they walked round the house to their terrace, but today she wanted to walk in by the front way into that beautiful hall and living room, to savour it all afresh. For a moment, she indulged herself in a dream of being mistress of this house, which vanished as soon as Miss Jameson appeared, looking almost pleased to see them and saying:
'Well, you've got yourselves safely back, I see; and now Mr. Duncan will be able to relax. He's been like a cat on hot bricks about you both.'
'I'm sorry we're such a nuisance to him,' Victoria said, with a touch of her old stiffness. Miss Jameson matched glances with her for a moment or two, and then relented.
'You're dying for a cup of tea, I'll be bound, Victoria. Well, if you like to have it in the kitchen, you can tell me all about our friend Giorgio.'
While they were in the kitchen, Charles appeared, still wearing an old, clay-daubed smock.
'So there you are! Good, good, good. I could hear the chatter miles away.' He surveyed them both. 'Yes, both looking very pleased with life. Cats that have been at the cream, don't you think so, Jeanie? Have you got a cup of tea for me? Thanks. Well now, how was the beautiful Giorgio?'
And there they all were, happily drinking tea in the kitchen, even Amanda gossiping away in a manner to surprise Charles and Miss Jameson. Charles very relaxed, Miss Jameson unbending. Victoria thought they were all acting as if they were delighted to see each other again, almost like a real family.
It was true that Charles went out to dinner again, but even that did not worry Victoria, since he said:
'I'll have to go and change now. Quite an important client and I don't want to keep him waiting.' So it was not Margarita, and nobody else mattered.
A day or two later, Charles flew back to Paris, ' for some unfinished business,' he said, which he hoped to conclude very quickly, to be back in Firenze by the weekend.
'Was it something we interrupted?' asked Amanda apologetically.
'It was. So please don't do it again, will you?'
'No, we'll do our best to behave ourselves until you return,' Victoria promised him.
Amanda spent the morning writing a letter to Giorgio while Victoria was in the kitchen with Miss Jameson bottling peaches and making peach jam; but in the afternoon, Victoria drove her sister in to Firenze to buy materials for her embroidery; silks and wools, peacock blue and emerald green sequins. Victoria drove round the centre for some time looking for a parking place and finally decided to use the Contessa's courtyard as a refuge. One or two cars were already parked there.
Back in the shopping centre, they bought Amanda's materials and then a pair of golden sandals each, and then repaired to the Piazza della Signoria for coffee and ices. Amanda was in a sunny and friendly mood and both sisters were enjoying their expedition. They strolled back to the Contessa's courtyard well pleased with themselves, their purchases and with Firenze itself; both of them relaxed enough to be receptive to the city's beauty, history and romance.
'Shall we just drive away from the Contessa's house and ring up when we get home to thank her?' asked Victoria. 'Or shall we go in and say thank you?'
'I'd quite like to see the house. You always say it's so marvellous.'
'All right. We'll see if she's at home.'
They did not need to find out. The Contessa's manservant came out to them as they walked across the courtyard, to invite them inside. They followed him up the marble staircase to the salon, and there Victoria saw that Margarita was ensconced comfortably with the Contessa.
'Ah, Charles's charming foundlings,' smiled the Contessa. ' You all know each other, don't you?' Margarita and Amanda had not met before, but the fact was overlooked. 'Come and sit down, my dears. You have been shopping? You like our shops in Firenze? And I expect you would like some coffee?'
'We have just had some, thank you,' said Victoria.
'Then a little later we will give you a drink. Unless of course you have been drinking with Charles again?'
'Mr. Duncan has gone back to Paris. '
'Ah yes---our naughty little girl here brought him back in a hurry before he was ready to come.' Amanda blushed scarlet. Apparently everybody knew of her escapade. 'Oh, don't be embarrassed, my child. We haven't quite forgotten what it was like to be young.' The Contessa was smiling at Amanda quite kindly.
Victoria was glad to see Margarita sitting there, although she was never comfortable with her and knew that Margarita did not like her. It proved at least that she was not with Charles. But her pleasure in Margarita's presence was not to last long.
The Contessa had taken Amanda to the long windows overlooking the garden to show it to her. Margarita began to ask Victoria about Sebastien, and Victoria realised that Charles must have talked over the Fenn family situation with her. She hardly noticed that the Contessa and Amanda had gone out on to the balcony, and that from there they went down the flight of steps into the garden to look at the plants and the statuary there. But it was the opportunity that Margarita was waiting for; and it was only afterwards that Victoria realised that the opportunity had been prearranged between Margarita and the Contessa.
'Victoria,' said Margarita, in a voice quite unlike her usual social voice, quite without the slow husky drawl that people seemed to find so attractive. 'How long are you intending to stay in Charles's house?'
'No definite date has been set for our return to England. Why do you ask?'
'Because I am sure you will never hear from Charles himself what a great deal of inconvenience you are causing him; and how much you have upset all his plans for the summer.'
There was a sudden vindictiveness in her words that shocked Victoria into awareness.
'I'm very sorry to hear that---if it's true.'
'Oh, it's true. Many things were arranged which he has cancelled for your sake, yours and your sister's and brother's. A yachting trip, to which my father and myself were also invited, and which would have been good for him because he had been working so hard: an exhibition of sculpture in Germany at which many of his own works were on show: other minor things. . . . And it is not only Charles who has been put out. It has affected my life too, and this is why I ask you how much longer you intend to stay.'
So now they were coming to the point, thought Victoria.
'Your life, signorina? In what way have we upset you?' 'Charles will not announce our engagement until you have gone. It would mean a great many visits, a great many celebrations, and he doesn't feel free while he has to worry about such a troublesome family. Your brother first, rushing about on motor cycles, then going back to England without telling anybody of his plans. Your sister, who is only a child, running off to a man . . .'
'You mean to visit a sick man in hospital,' said Victoria stiffly. 'Why does she have to do it that way? To ruin the visit Charles and I were enjoying in Paris, and bring him racing back here? And not only the stupid things your brother and sister do, but you yourself. ' And now she made no attempt to hide the spitefulness in her voice. 'Making him feel guilty if he so much as invites his friends to the house. Making a fuss because you were not invited. You, a newcomer; and the rest of us his dear friends for a long time. Aren't you ashamed to intrude? Aren't you old enough to look after your family yourself? Must your parents shirk what is their work to send you off to upset other people's arrangements?' 'I think you are bitter for your own sake more than for Charles's.'
'Of course I am bitter for my sake. For both our sakes. We want to be together; but in my home there is my father who is still not quite reconciled; and in Charles's house there is this troublesome family always on the spot. Why should we run off to Paris to have privacy? And even then he is called back urgently, by you! Of course I am bitter. I want you gone every bit as much as Charles does. We long for our peace and quiet again.'
'Mr. Duncan has never indicated that he wants us gone,' said Victoria, hurt beyond measure to think that it might be true. 'Because he is too much of a gentleman. Because he thinks he owes your parents gratitude. How long must one be grateful? All one's life? If your parents encouraged him years ago and bought his sculptures, they did themselves a good turn, for his work becomes more valuable every year.'
'They didn't know that it would, when they bought. And I'm sure they don't expect Mr. Duncan to go on being grateful.'
'Then why do you expect him to? Why don't you go, and let us live our lives? When I heard you were coming, I thought you were all children; but you drove here from England, perfectly capable of arranging the journey. Why then aren't you capable of arranging the journey back? Why outstay your welcome?' She flung up her hands in anger and despair. 'My God, if I were in your shoes, I wouldn't stay a moment longer . . .'
She broke off. She was very resentful and angry, and her voice had risen from its usual contralto to a shrill, unpleasant tone. Victoria wondered if Charles had ever seen her like this: if, whenever she did not get her own way, Margarita would turn into a shrew. Her dark eyes were now hard and full of hatred. No night-dark, mysterious beauty about them now. Victoria said:
'As soon as Mr. Duncan returns from Paris, I shall tell him that we're going back to England.'
'And no doubt you will tell him it is because of what I have said. '
'And you wouldn't like that?'
'I would not, because I am sure you would misrepresent it. And also because he would be sorry I fought for our privacy, although it is what he wants too.'
'Well, you needn't worry. I shall simply say we have stayed
long enough. '
Margarita exclaimed in exasperation.
'And his feeling of responsibility will make him insist that you stay; even though he regarded you all as a nuisance from the very first. Oh, it is hopeless . . . hopeless . . .'
Both of them were silent now. Neither of them made an effort to break the silence. When the Contessa and Amanda came into the room, apparently on the best of terms, smiling pleasantly, they came into an atmosphere stiff with dislike, resentment and the bitter words spoken. But the Contessa ignored it. She said: 'Now for our drink. Amanda, my dear, press that bell, will you?'
Victoria rose to her feet.
'I'm so sorry, Contessa, I'm afraid we can't stay for it. Amanda and I have to get back. '
'You have time for one drink, I am sure.'
'No, really, thank you. We have another engagement.'
The manservant had appeared.
'The signorinas are just leaving,' the Contessa told him.
Victoria extended her hand to the Contessa.
'Thank you so much for letting us park in your courtyard, Contessa. '
'You are always welcome.'
'I think we shall not be intruding on your hospitality much longer. Goodbye, Contessa. Goodbye.' The last word was apparently intended for Margarita, although Victoria did not even look towards her. 'Come along, Amanda.'
They followed the man downstairs, and drove away in Victoria's small car.
'We haven't got another engagement, Vicki, have we?' asked Amanda.
'No, but I couldn't stand another moment of that Margarita. '
'I didn't like her much either.'
'Well, Charles does. Apparently they're engaged to be married.' This astonished Amanda, and she showed an inclination to talk it over, but as Victoria became more and more silent, answering in monosyllables or not at all, Amanda also fell silent, happy to sink back into her own thoughts and her own daydreams about herself and Giorgio. They came to the house and Amanda went at once to the terrace to continue the work that had stopped for lack of materials. Victoria said she would take a walk, but she had not gone far on the slopes above the house, where the tall slender cypresses rose dark from the mass of cystus rose and maquis, before she sat down on sun-warmed stone to think about the problem that Margarita's spiteful diatribe had presented her with.
To begin with, she did not believe everything that Margarita had said. Margarita was too bitterly prejudiced to be presenting the case in its real light, but there was, all the same, enough evidence on her side to make Victoria consider it seriously. It could be that Margarita was anticipating the engagement--- Victoria had no way of knowing---but she would hardly state the fact so baldly if there was not some element of truth in it. She knew already how much Charles enjoyed and appreciated Margarita's beauty, from his own lips. She knew they were often in each other's company and that they had gone to Paris together. She knew, too, that Charles had considered them a nuisance at first. From the little she had overheard, and that might be only the tip of the iceberg, she knew that he had been reluctant to take them in, that he had determined to leave them to Miss Jameson and not let them disturb him, that he had taken her out to Firenze simply to console her for not being invited to his party. She heard the words he had spoken, in his own inimitable deep voice: 'They're so damned casual, those Fenns, but don't worry, this lot won't get a chance to upset my work schedule.' And again: 'Have I got to be lumbered with juveniles every day for lunch?' 'Their glamorous parents are always dropping their children, like foundlings, on other people's doorsteps.' 'The fact remains that I'm responsible for seeing that Sebastien doesn't get killed, that you aren't raped, and so on . . .' 'Jeanie discovered our fair Victoria in floods of tears, so I realised I had to make a gesture, and this is it.'
Yes, there was no doubt about it, he had found them a nuisance; and all of that was before her brother and sister took it into their heads to behave in such an irresponsible fashion. No doubt that made them more of a nuisance than ever; and it was, as
Margarita had pointed out, only his kindness and consideration that hid his feelings from Victoria. That; and the fact that she had fallen in love with him, and been only too willing to blind herself to anything she did not want to see.
She concluded that there was no real reason for them to stay on. It would be indulging herself, probably at the expense of Charles. She had dragged him back from Paris, and, since Margarita was now in Firenze, he probably did have business there, however much business might have been mixed with pleasure before. She could not honestly say to herself that they had been ideal guests. Perhaps he would be glad to have his house to himself. Reluctantly, she decided that she and Amanda would go back to England.
Her decision made, she went back to impart it to her sister. It would be best to go before Charles returned. Otherwise, he might feel in duty bound to insist on their staying, and Victoria would not be able to tell what his real wishes were. If they had already left, it would save a deal of unwanted argument.
'Amanda,' she said, 'the time has come for us to go back to England. '
Amanda looked up in astonishment.
'Why?' she asked. 'Have you heard from Mother and Dad?' 'No, not since that letter about ten days ago. No, I just feel sure we've outstayed our welcome, which is not a feeling I like; and it seems we're upsetting Charles's plans, and I think it better if we go while he's still in Paris.'
'That makes the third of us running away,' commented Amanda.
'I'm not running away. I shall tell Miss Jameson we're going and I shall leave a letter for Charles. It's been a long visit, and any longer would make it an intrusion.'
'Yes, I suppose if he's engaged, there'll be a lot going on. But what about Giorgio?'
'What about him?'
'I won't be able to see him. '
'You can write to him, as often as you please. And visiting Firenze is not like going to the moon.'
'Aren't you sorry to be leaving him?' asked Amanda curiously.
'Giorgio?' Victoria looked straight at her sister. 'No,' she said. 'No. I'm fond of him, I think he's a darling, but I can live quite happily without him. '
'Well, I can't,' said Amanda, ' and I'm not going to. But I'll come back with you to England, for the time being. It looks as if Giorgio is going to be in that hospital for quite a while. ' But the fact that Victoria could be so cool about Giorgio gave Amanda a wonderfully contented feeling. She had not liked to think that her beautiful sister was a rival. 'When do you want to go?' she asked.
'Tomorrow morning is as good a time as any.'
'Without even saying goodbye?'
'We can say goodbye in a letter. Oh, I know it's not very gracious, but it will save a lot of argument. We'll get packed up tonight, Amanda, after supper; and I'll tell Miss Jameson in the morning.'
'I wonder what she will feel about it. She didn't want us here at first, but I bet she misses us when we go.' And Victoria thought that might well be so.
When the time came to tell Miss Jameson, however, that lady was her usual inscrutable self. Victoria gave no reasons for going, beyond the fact that she thought the visit had lasted long enough, and that they would not wear out their welcome. 'Hmmm, so you've chickened out,' said Miss Jameson.
'I'd hardly call it that. '
'I don't know what else it is, running off when he's in Paris. ' 'Well, please don't disturb him by letting him know we've gone. We dragged him back before, and I would appreciate it if you'd let him finish his business this time. After all, there's no need for anxiety. We drove down, and nobody was perturbed. So we drive back.'
'Very good,' said Miss Jameson. 'You don't want me to let him know. I'll give him his letter when he gets back, and then I shall bear the brunt of it for letting you go.'
There was a lengthy pause. Then Victoria said: 'You've been very, very kind to us, Miss Jameson. We have appreciated it, honestly. We've given you a lot of extra work.'
'You've been useful about the place yourself, Victoria. I daresay I shall miss you---all. '
Victoria leaned forward and kissed Miss Jameson's cheek. 'Perhaps we'll see you again some time.'
'Ay, well, remember me when you settle down yourself and need a housekeeper.'
'You mean when Mr. Duncan gets married.'
'I mean if he gets married. I'd have expected you to have a bit more fight in you, myself. '
Victoria stared at Miss Jameson in puzzlement.
'What do you mean by that?' she asked.
'Think it over, Victoria, think it over,' said Miss Jameson. Victoria thought it over, worrying the subject almost to death. As she drove the autoroute northward, her mind kept reverting to Miss Jameson's oracular words. As she put her head on the pillow in her room in the first strange hotel, and then the second hotel, she went over and over the possibilities. What was she supposed to fight about? What had she thrown away by leaving Charles's house? Why had Miss Jameson said: 'If he gets married?' But then she mustn't imagine that Miss Jameson was in Charles's or Margarita's confidence---although she did seem to see clearly and far with that dispassionate eye of hers.
They crossed the Channel on the car ferry and drove the London road homeward. They came to the house to find a huge pile of mail swamping the doormat, both front and back gardens dismally overgrown, and a trail of confusion where Sebastien had prepared himself for his camping trip. Dust and an air of neglect represented a challenge which Victoria would not take up until next morning. She had brought in a loaf, milk, butter and eggs, but the fridge was woefully empty, and she realised that they were going to miss Miss Jameson's meals, served so well and so punctually and always so delicious. The reins of housekeeping must be taken up again: but not this evening.
'Let's go out to supper this evening, Amanda,' she said. 'We seem to have lots of cash in hand. Work can wait until tomorrow. '
Work was the one thing, in fact, that kept her from brooding. Each morning she swept through the house with vacuum cleaner and polisher, dusters and polish, pressing Amanda into service too. After an hour or so of this, she went to the shops, then prepared a light lunch. In the afternoon she worked in the garden, swopping grass herself to bring it down low enough for the mower, weeding the beds, trimming the edges. Plants put out from the conservatory before they left for Italy were trimmed up and taken back in again, fed and watered. Victoria rang up her friends and arranged a buffet supper party for the first Saturday, trying not to remember Charles's party with its elegant men and women, or Giorgio's with its fun-loving young Italians. And when they came on the Saturday, all so delighted to see Victoria back, she found to her dismay that they all seemed too young for her now. Unconsciously, she had raised her sights in Italy. It was an older man who appealed to her now. But she gave every appearance of enjoying herself, as did Amanda; but afterwards as they were clearing away and washing up, Amanda said:
'They do seem to giggle an awful lot, about things that aren't really funny, Victoria.' So perhaps Amanda had raised her sights too.
She had written to her parents about her return, and had written to the address she had for Sebastien. She wanted to write again to Charles, for now she felt that the letter she had left behind had not said all she wanted to say. Besides, she knew that there was an ulterior motive here: she wanted to keep in touch with him. She kept composing the letter in her head, but the fact that Margarita might have been speaking exact truth kept her from writing it down.
For, if all that Margarita had said was right, they might both by now be feeling greatly relieved, and thankful that they could settle down to the life that had been disturbed by three unwanted guests; and when Victoria's letter arrived, they might smile indulgently at reading between the lines her desire to keep in touch. So she continued not to write it.
One afternoon, she was at the bottom of the long garden swopping grass around the trunks of the trees that gave them privacy from the garden opposite when Amanda called her from the house.
'Vicki, Vicki, you're wanted!'
' W ho is it?' called Victoria, but Amanda had disappeared back into the house, and Victoria, thinking she was wanted on the telephone, dropped her sickle and hurried inside. There, standing by the sitting room window where he had been watching her return, was Charles! Amanda, her hair dripping water on to the towel around her shoulders, said:
'You'll have to excuse me, I'm washing my hair. I wasn't going to answer the door, but Charles rang and rang and rang . . .' and she hurried from the room, closing the door behind her.
'Well,' said Charles, 'what do you mean by all this, Victoria?' He looked and sounded quite dispassionate. Victoria thought he was making a last bow to conscience by coming here, making sure that they were all safe and sound. Or perhaps he even had business in London and was killing his two birds.
'I told you in my letter. I thought we'd stayed long enough. I'm a free agent, aren't I?'
'I should have liked to think you weren't entirely free; that there were a few threads tying you to Tuscany. Didn't you owe me more than a mere letter to hospitality? Your continued help with the Madonna, for instance?'
'Oh, is that your reason for coming? You miss your model?'
' N o . That was not my reason. . . . May I sit down?'
'I'm sorry.' This brought Victoria quickly to her senses. 'Of course, sit down, and I'll make you some tea.'
'Don't bother about tea, not just now. Victoria, there's something here that I don't understand. I thought you were settling down very well in my house. I grant that there wasn't a great deal to keep Sebastien there when he had a tempting opportunity here; and Amanda's little excursion was no more than that---a rather silly little adventure which we can all forget about now. But you---I expected more from you than a curt letter of goodbye and a hurried, unreasonable departure. Now what went wrong?'
Victoria was silent for long moments. This did not sound like a demand for privacy, which Margarita had said was so important to him. This did not sound like salving his conscience. There was something sincere about his whole approach that was so different from Margarita's that Victoria did not see how two such people could be compatible. She said at last:
'Charles, tell me honestly. Isn't it nicer for you to have your
house to yourself? not to have to bother about us?'
He looked at her directly, in her jeans and her open necked shirt with the sleeves rolled up above her elbows; with her cheeks flushed like roses by her exertions in the garden, and her glorious hair tied back by a floppy ribbon; and suddenly he smiled at her, such a warm and intimate smile that Victoria felt herself melting in the glow of it.
'No, I can't say it's nicer, Victoria, Why, I was getting used to you all about the place. It was beginning to feel like a home. ' 'Charles, what a nice thing to say. Wasn't it a home before?' 'No, it was a house. A nice house, one that I was rather proud of. I didn't actually realise there was anything missing. Now I do.'
'I thought,' she said slowly, taking the bull by the horns, 'that somebody else was going to make a home of it for you---not us.' 'Did you now? Do you mind telling me who it was?'
'You don't need me to say it. It was Margarita. She said you were engaged, although I didn't know whether to believe her. And she made it quite plain that I was not welcome. She also tried to make me believe that I was unwelcome to you.'
'I wondered if Margarita's somewhat clumsy hand had been at work. Jeanie thought it might have been, too.'
'Jeanie? Miss Jameson? What has she to do with it?'
'A good deal. There was, actually, never any likelihood of my marrying Margarita . . .' (at this point, fireworks seemed to explode in Victoria's sky in a great burst of radiance) '. . . but it seems that Jeanie saw it as a possibility, and didn't like it. She also saw another possibility which she preferred; and believe me, my darling Victoria, it's a possibility that I prefer too; for Jeanie would much rather be your housekeeper than Margarita's. And from Jeanie Jameson that's about the finest compliment you'll ever get. '
Victoria was looking at him with some doubt mixed with the dawning wonder in her eyes.
'I'm not quite sure what you're saying, Charles.'
'I suppose it's a proposal of marriage,' he said, smiling.
'A very roundabout one, all wrapped up in Jeanie Jameson.'
'A genuine one, all the same.'
'I can't believe it. Are you proposing to me to keep your housekeeper, to please Miss Jameson?'
'Let's leave her out of it. Except that she did harass me to follow you. She said: "You're not going to let her get away, are you? You won't find another like her in a hurry ". I didn't need to be told, I knew it already. You are one in a thousand. But although I was sure about my feelings, I was a bit doubtful about yours. Giorgio caused me some qualms. Something went on between you two, didn't it?'
'Not really. He wanted there to be something, I never did.'
'Good, good. Then there might be a chance for me, Victoria. Marry me, darling? I do adore you, I think you're the loveliest girl---and I don't mean just the outward you, the copper-gold hair and the rose-petal skin and the grace that always goes with you; but the real you, that puts other people before itself; the grace that is inside as well as outside. Do you think there's a chance for me?'
'Oh, Charles . . .' Victoria went to his side and was pulled down beside him, and next moment was wrapped in a close embrace. 'Of course I'll marry you,' was all she managed to say before his kiss prevented her from saying anything more for some time.
It was the opening of the door that caused them to draw slowly apart.
'Sorry,' said Amanda, but did not withdraw. She stood gazing at them in astonishment, so that they disentangled themselves and Victoria rose to her feet to face her sister. She was smiling.
'Amanda, I'm going to marry Charles,' she said proudly.
For a few moments, Amanda did not seem able to take it in. It was on the tip of her tongue to say: But Margarita is going to marry Charles. Then suddenly she smiled brilliantly.
'Marvellous,' she said. 'I'll be able to come and stay with you, perhaps come and live with you, and then I can see Giorgio.'
Victoria and Charles broke into spontaneous laughter.
'Well, it was an honest reaction, if not exactly tactful,' said Charles, and went to Amanda's side and kissed her. 'As my sister,' he said, 'you'll always be welcome to come and stay with us. Your parents will have something to say about how you run
your life, I daresay.'
'Well, when they go rushing off to Alaska or Tierra del Fuego, they'll be able to send me to you, and that will be lovely. Of course, I do hope you'll be very happy,' she added belatedly.
'Amanda, you're impossible,' said Victoria, laughing. 'Go and make us some tea, darling, and we'll all have it in the conservatory,' and Amanda departed for the kitchen, her head (at the moment wrapped up, turban-wise, in a brightly coloured towel) beginning to be full of rose-coloured dreams concerning Giorgio.
'I begin to be sorry for Giorgio,' said Charles. 'He's a marked man. '
'She's very young, Charles. The future could hold anything for her.'
'At the moment, darling, it isn't Amanda's future that I want to discuss. It's ours. You know that I'm going to Washington soon. Can we be married in time for you to come with me?'
'Oh, I don't know!' Victoria went back into his arms with delight. 'I haven't savoured the present moment yet. I can't think ahead. '
'You'll have to, darling. You have to think about Washington. You have to think about coming back with me now.'
She struggled out of his embrace and detached herself. Unwillingly, she went to stand by the window, unwillingly allowed plans and problems to enter her mind.
'Of course I can't come back with you, Charles,' she said. 'Sebastien will be coming back from camp, and then getting ready for the autumn term. Amanda, too, has school to think of. They both go to day school. No, I have to stay here, at least until my parents come back.'
'You see what I mean,' Charles told her. 'Everybody else comes before you do. Well, from now on, your problems are mine too. Barbara and Paul will have some re-thinking to do; and they'll have to make different arrangements. I have no objection to keeping an eye on Sebastien, or to Amanda coming to stay whenever you want her; but I'm not having you responsible for the whole family. I'll agree to you staying here for the moment if you agree to marry me in time for Washington.'
'It sounds just too marvellous to be true, Charles. '
'I feel rather like that too. Washington with you will be much better than Washington without you. '
'And your lovely, lovely house at Fiesole. I'm really marrying you for your house, Charles. '
'And I'm marrying you to get a free model, Victoria, so we're quits. '
Amanda called to them from the conservatory that tea was ready. Charles and Victoria exchanged a long kiss before they went to join her.
'We must send a cable about this to Mother and Dad,' said Amanda.
'And write to Sebastien and let him know,' added Victoria.
'And I shall ring up Jeanie and let her know the outcome,' put in Charles.
'Won't everybody be surprised?' from Amanda.
'I don't think Jeanie will be, but she'll be delighted.'
'We thought she was so horrid when we first arrived, didn't we, Victoria?'
'She was a bit unbending,' admitted Victoria, 'but we know her better now.'
'We thought it was going to be one of our bad visits,' Amanda told Charles. 'We had had some miserable ones before, hadn't we, Vicki?'
'Yes. Do you know,' she said, turning to Charles, ' that I almost didn't come to Florence and Fiesole? I almost disobeyed my parents, almost decided to stay in London. It really was touch and go. So we might not have met at all this summer, Charles. ' 'And I might not have met Giorgio,' said Amanda.
'Perish the thought,' said Charles, his hand extended to Victoria. 'Perish the thought,' said Amanda and Victoria together, united in thankfulness for their summer in Tuscany.
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