(1941) Up at the Villa (3 page)

'Oh, I've reached an age when I prefer my alliances to be
temporary, returned the Princess.

`You see, I have no time to waste. That is why I have
such a soft spot in my heart for Rowley; his intentions are always
dishonourable.’

The colonel looked at his fish with a frown, which was
unreasonable since it consisted of scampi which had arrived from Viareggio that
evening, and his wife smiled with constraint. The restaurant had a small band.
Its members were shabbily dressed in a sort of musical-play Neapolitan costume
and they played Neapolitan tunes. Presently the Princess remarked: 'I think
it's about time we had the singer. You'll be astonished. He's really got a
magnificent voice, all macaroni and emotion. Harold Atkinson is seriously
thinking of having him trained for opera.’

She called the head-waiter.

`Ask that man to sing that song he sang the other night
when I was here.’

`I'm sorry, Excellency, but he's not here tonight. He's
sick.’

`How tiresome!
I particularly
wanted my friends to hear him. I asked them to dine here on purpose for that.’

`He's sent a substitute, but he only plays the violin.
I'll tell him to play.’

`If there's anything I dislike it's the violin,' she
answered.

`Why one should want to hear anyone scrape the hair of a
horse's tail against the guts of a dead cat is something I shall never
understand.’

The head-waiter could speak half a dozen languages
fluently, but understood none. He took the Princess's remark to mean that she
was pleased with his suggestion, and went up to the violinist, who rose from
his chair and stepped forward. He was a dark, slender young man with enormous
hungry eyes and a melancholy look. He managed to wear that grotesque costume
with a romantic air, but he looked half-starved. His smooth face was thin and
pinched. He played his piece.

`He's quite frightful, my poor Giovanni.’

the
Princess said to the
head-waiter. This time he understood.

`He's not very good, Princess. I'm sorry. I didn't know.
But the other will be back tomorrow.’

The band started upon another number and under cover of
this Rowley turned to Mary.

`You're looking very beautiful tonight.’

`Thank you.’

His eyes twinkled.

'Shall I tell you one of the things I particularly like
about you? Unlike some women, when one tells you you're beautiful, you don't
pretend you don't know it. You accept it as naturally as if one told you had
five fingers on each hand.’

`Until I married my looks were my only means of
livelihood. When my father died my mother and I had only her pension to live
on. If I got parts as soon as I passed out of the Dramatic School it was
because I was lucky enough to have the looks I have.’

`I should have thought you could have made a fortune on
the movies.’

She laughed.

`Unfortunately I had absolutely no talent.
Nothing but looks.
Perhaps in time I might have learnt to
act, but I married and left the stage.’

A faint shadow seemed to fall on her face and she looked
for a moment disconsolately into her past. Rowley looked at her perfect
profile. She was indeed a beautiful creature. It was not only that she had
exquisite features; what made her so remarkable was her wonderful colouring.

`You're a brown and gold girl, aren't you?' he said. Her
hair was of a dark rich gold, her large eyes deep brown, and her skin pale
gold. It was her colouring which took away the coldness which her regular
features might have given her face and gave her
a warmth
and a richness which were infinitely alluring.

`I think you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.’

`And how many women have you said that to?”

‘A good many.
But that doesn't
make it any less true when I say it now.’

She laughed.

`I suppose it doesn't. But we'll leave it at that, shall
we?”

‘Why? It's a subject that I find excessively interesting.’

`People have been telling me I was beautiful since I was
sixteen and it's ceased to excite me very much. It's an asset and I should be a
fool not to know its value. It has its disadvantages as well.’

`You're a very sensible girl.’

`Now you're paying me a compliment that does flatter me.’

`I wasn't trying to flatter you.’

`Weren't you? It sounded to me like an opening I've heard
very often before. Give a plain woman a hat and a pretty one a book. Isn't that
the idea?' He was not m the least disconcerted.

`Aren't you a trifle caustic tonight?'

`I’m sorry you should think that. I merely wanted to make
it quite plain once and for all that there's nothing doing.’

`Don't you know that I'm desperately in love with you?”

‘Desperately is perhaps hardly the word. You've made it
pretty clear during the last few weeks that you'd be glad to have a little
flutter with me. A widow, pretty and unattached, in a place like Florence - it
looked just your mark.’

`Can you blame me? Surely it's very natural that in
spring a young man's fancy should lightly turn to thoughts of love.’

His manner was so disarming, his frankness so engaging
that Mary could not but smile.

`I'm not blaming you. Only so far as I'm concerned,
you're barking up the wrong tree and I hate the idea of you wasting your time.’

`Full of consideration, aren't you? In point of fact I
have plenty of time to waste.’

`Ever since I was sixteen men have been making love to
me. Whatever they are, old or young, ugly or
handsome,
they seem to think you're there for no purpose except to gratify their lust.’

`Have you ever been in love?”

‘Yes, once.’

`Who with?’

`My husband.
That's why I
married him.’

There was a moment's pause. The Princess broke in with
some casual remark and once more the conversation became general.

3

THEY had dined late and soon after eleven the Princess
called for her bill. When it grew evident that they were about to go, the
violinist who had played to them came forward with a plate. There were a few
coins on it from diners at other tables and some small notes. What they thus
received was the band's only remuneration. Mary opened her bag.

`Don't bother,' said Rowley.

`I'll give him a trifle.’

He took a ten-lira note out of his pocket and put it on
the plate.

`I'd like to give him something too,' said Mary. She laid
a hundred-lira note on the others. The man looked surprised, gave Mary a
searching look, bowed slightly and withdrew.

`What on earth did you give him that for?' exclaimed
Rowley.

`That's absurd.’

`He plays so badly and he looks so wretched.’

`But they don't expect anything like that!’

`I know. That's why I gave it. It'll mean so much to him.
It may make all the difference to his life.’

The Italian members of the party drove off in their
respective cars and the Princess took the Trails in hers.

`You might drop Rowley at his hotel, Mary,' she said.

`He's right out of my way.’

`Would you mind?' he asked. Mary had a suspicion that
this plan had been arranged beforehand, for she knew how the lewd old woman
loved to forward love affairs and Rowley was a favourite of hers.
but
there seemed no possibility of refusing so reasonable a
request and so she answered that of course she would be delighted. They got
into her car and drove along the quay. The full moon flooded their way with radiance.
They spoke little. Rowley had a feeling that she was occupied with thoughts in
which he had no part and he did not wish to disturb them. But when they came to
his hotel he said `It's such a gorgeous night; it seems a pity to waste it by
going to bed; wouldn't you drive on a little? You're not sleepy, are you?’

`No.’

`Let's drive into the country.’

`Isn't it rather late for that?’

`Are you afraid of the country or afraid of me?’

`
Neither
.’

She drove on. She followed the course of the river, and
presently they were going through fields with only a cottage here and there by
the roadside or, a little way back, a white farmhouse with tall cypresses that
stood black and solemn against the moonlight `Are you going to marry Edgar
Swift?' he asked suddenly. She looked round at him.

`Did you know I was thinking of him?’

`How should I?' She paused for a while before she
answered.

`Before he went away today he asked me to. I said rd give
him an answer when he got back.’

`You're not in love with him, then?' Mary slowed up. It
looked as though she wanted to talk.

`What makes you think that?'

'If you had been you wouldn't have wanted three days to
think it over. You'd have said yes there and then.’

`I suppose that's true. No, I'm not in love with him.’

`He's in love with you all right.’

`He was a friend of my father's and I've known him all my
life. He was wonderfully kind to me when I wanted kindness, and I'm grateful to
him.’

`He must he twenty years older than you.’

`Twenty-four.’

`Are you dazzled by the position he can give you?’

`I dare say. Don't you think most women would be? After
all, I'm not inhuman.’

`Do you think it would be much fun to live with a man you
weren't in love with?’

`But I don't want love. I'm fed to the teeth with love.’

She said this so violently that Rowley was startled.

`That's a strange thing to say at your age.’

They were well out in the country now, on a narrow road;
the full moon shone down from an unclouded sky. She stopped the car.

`You see, I was madly in love with my husband. They told
me I was a fool to marry him; they said he was a gambler and a drunkard; I
didn't care. He wanted me to marry him so much. He had plenty of money then,
but I'd have married him if he hadn't had a cent. You don't know how charming
he was in those days, so good to look at, so gay and light-hearted. The fun we
used to have together! He had immense vitality. He was so kind and gentle and
sweet - when he was sober. When he was drunk he was noisy and boastful and
vulgar and quarrelsome. It was terribly distressing; I used to be so ashamed. I
couldn't be angry with him; he was so sorry afterwards; he didn't want to
drink; when he was alone with me he was as sober as anyone, it was only when
there were other people there that he got excited, and after two or three
drinks there was no holding him; then I used to wait till he was so blasé that
he let me lead him away and at last I could put him to bed. I did everything I
knew to cure
him,
it was useless; it's no good. I
don't believe a drunk can ever be cured. And I was forced into the position of
nurse and keeper. It irritated him beyond endurance when I tried to restrain
him, but what else could I do? It was so difficult, I didn't want him to look
upon me as a sort of governess, but I had to do what I could to keep him from
drinking. Sometimes I couldn't help flying into a passion with him and then
we'd have an awful row. You see, he was a dreadful gambler and when he was
drunk he'd lose hundreds of pounds. If he hadn't died when he did he'd have
gone bankrupt and I should have had to go back to the stage to keep him. As it
is I have a few hundreds a year and the bits and pieces of jewellery he gave me
when we were first married. Sometimes he wouldn't come back all night and then
I knew he'd got blind and picked up the first woman he met. At first I used to
be furiously jealous and unhappy, but at last I got to prefer it, for if he
didn't do that he'd come home and make love to me with his breath stinking of
whisky, all hunched up, his face distorted, and I knew it wasn't love that made
him passionate but drink, just drink. I or another woman, it made no
difference, and his kisses made me sick and his desire horrified and mortified
me. And when he'd satisfied his lust he'd sink into the snoring sleep of drunkenness.
You're surprised that I should say I was fed to the teeth with love. For years
I only knew the humiliation of it.’

`But why didn't you leave him?’

`How could I leave him? He was so dependent on me. When
anything went wrong, if he got into trouble, if he was ill, it was me he came
to for help. He clung to me like a child.’

Her voice broke.

`He was so broken then that my heart bled for him. Though
he was unfaithful to me, though he hid himself from me so that he could drink
without restraint, though I exasperated him sometimes so that, he hated me,
deep down he always loved me, he knew I'd never let him down and he knew that
except for me he'd go all to pieces. He was so beastly when he was drunk he had
no friends, only the riff-raff that sponged on him and bled him and robbed him;
he knew I was the only person in the world who cared if he lived or died and I
knew that I was the only person who stood between him and absolute ruin. And
when he died, in my arms, I was broken-hearted.’

The tears were flowing down Mary's face and she made no
effort to restrain them.
Rowley, thinking perhaps that it
would relieve her to cry, sat still and said no word.
Presently he lit a
cigarette.

`Give me one too. I'm being stupid.’

He took a cigarette out of his case and handed it to her.

`I'd like my handkerchief. It's in my bag.’

The bag was between them and when he opened it to find
her handkerchief he was surprised to feel a revolver.

`What have you got a gun here for?”

‘Edgar didn't like the idea of my driving about alone. He
made me promise to take it. I know it's idiotic.’

But the new subject that Rowley had brought up helped her
to regain her self-control.