Classic Love: 7 Vintage Romances (89 page)

The minute sounds of night insects soothed and comforted me. Little, living things strafing their tiny feet together. I was in love with life in all its forms, bewitched by nature and its magic. How beautiful, I thought falling asleep, was life.

• • •

I woke with a smile on my face, watching the progress of the sun. First tinging the bureau with gold, then the table between the windows, and at last making a resplendent tracery of the patterns of the carpet. “Come and kiss me awake,” I said to the sun, and it soon flooded over my bed and caressed my face with its fire.

I turned over in the bed, stretching, and when the knock came at my door, called out sleepily, “Okay, I’m awake, come in.”

The door opened and Lucrezia was there.

“Buon giorno,”
I said, smiling up at her.
“Come sta,
darling?”

And then I saw her face.

“What?” I asked, lifting my head from the pillows. “What’s wrong, Lucrezia?”

“It’s the signora,” she said quietly. “I think she’s dead.”

She was undeniably dead. I knew right away that there was no life in that still body. Her face was as white as the cliffs of Dover. Her mouth, opened, was ghastly … her eyes were not quite closed, either. There was a flick of spittle at the corners of her lips.

“I found this,” Lucrezia said, handing me a vial.

“Where?”

“On the table by the bed.”

It was empty. Lucrezia said, “There were many, many pills in there. Sleeping pills, signorina.”

“Yes I know.”

I recognized the bottle. The red and green capsules I had brought to her, only the other night. At that time there must have been fifty or sixty capsules in the bottle. It was empty now, the lid off. And the woman in the bed was as white as a fish.

Lucrezia looked up at me. Her face crumpled. “The poor darling,” she said, weeping. “She was lonely,
capisco?
Despondent. Oh, the poor signora …”

• • •

The house was suddenly filled with people, both the lawyers, Predelli and Pineider, and Peter Fox, whom I had called at his hotel. The coroner was there, and Elizabeth Wadley was carted off to, I supposed, the local morgue. Or a funeral parlor. I had no rights in the matter and, furthermore, was functioning poorly. For the first time in my life events seemed to be sweeping so rapidly beyond me that I had lost control. “What are they going to do with her?” I remember asking Peter, to which he answered, “All in good time. I’ve called a doctor for you. I want you to have a sedative.”

“Put me to sleep?” I demanded furiously. “And then what? They come and kill me too?”

“What do you mean by that?” he asked, his eyes probing mine.

“I saw the dust marks! Fingers prying! And the dog with blood on his muzzle … oh, you’re not fooling me, Peter, any of you! A handkerchief drenched with blood … are you crazy? Or do you think
I
am? She was despondent, crying her eyes out for Mercedes? Fiddlesticks! She was just starting to live! First you say you’re concerned about “dark events” and then you want to put me to sleep … and then they come in and leave marks in the dust and creep up to my bed and put a pillow over my head. Is
that
what you want? Can’t you see the whole thing is insane? She didn’t kill herself! I tell you, she — ”

“What makes you question it?” he asked, smoothing back my hair.

“I just know it, I just know it. She didn’t take the pills. Someone
made
her take them.”

“Barbara,” he said, kneading his fingers at the back of my neck. “God, you’re uptight Just relax. Doesn’t this feel good?”

“Yes, keep on doing it,” I muttered.

He did, and after a while, when he had made me drink some brandy, and waited until I had dressed, he took me down the hill to lunch, at Doner’s. My eyes were swollen and red and I kept my sunglasses on, but I was able to eat a little something and afterwards he took me for a long drive, through the Tuscan countryside.

We visited two estates of the
campagna
, cracked walnuts as big as hen’s eggs, drank the
vino
of the region and, at a little before five, had cognac on a rooftop garden. I said I was terribly tired, that I didn’t want dinner, but he was adamant. He insisted on a drink and a meal at the Trattoria Camillo in the old Medici Palace. He was a very comforting person and I wished I could feel more for him as a man. Here I was, at war, in my mind, with the Monteverdis, and all I could think of was dark-eyed Gianni.

I must be crazy … or sick, I thought. Why couldn’t I forget about Gianni and think instead of Peter, this kind, wonderful man, who was being so
good
to me …

At shortly after ten he drove me back to the villa, which was blazing with lights on our side because, before I had left, I had asked Lucrezia to turn them all on, so that I wouldn’t come home to darkness. That dear woman, in consideration of my plight, had agreed to stay the night away from her family to be with me. I couldn’t have beared to be alone, and she knew it, had even offered her services before I asked.

Peter and I had a last cognac before he left, and it was agreed that he would phone me in the morning. “With whatever news I have about Elizabeth,” he said, as if she were a living person and he was waiting to hear her pleasure. And then he went off; I heard the chug of the car outside, and the wheels scraping across the gravel. I passed Elizabeth’s room, where Lucrezia was sleeping. There was a faint snoring, and nothing had ever sounded so good to me, that she was there, that I was not alone.

I went to my own room and made my preparations for bed. It came over me in waves, the tragedy, that Elizabeth was dead: I thought, no, it isn’t possible and, brushing my teeth, fought tears. Oh, how awful, how awful, my mind, going round and round, kept repeating.

Oh, how awful …

• • •

Peter called at a few minutes before eight. Lucrezia roused me. “It is signore Fox,” she said, and I got out of bed and went to the phone.

“Yes, Peter,” I said.

“You’re okay?”

“Yes, I’m okay.”

“When are you leaving?”

“Today. Or tomorrow.”

“Today,” he said.

“Probably.”

“I’ll call for you.”

“No, don’t. I’ll take my time packing and get a taxi. I’ll go back to the Continentale. I imagine they’ll be able to accomodate me.”

“I’ll call them and let you know. All right?”

“Yes, thanks very much.”

The lawyers showed up again just after I had finished showering and dressing. Signore Pineider had a quiet conversation with Lucrezia, while Signore Predelli took me aside. After asking how I was feeling, he said he had something for me.

“For me?” I asked, dully. I couldn’t imagine what he meant.

“Mrs. Wadley gave it to us, to my partner and me,” he said. “She told us it was to be opened only in the event of her death. Which was what started us thinking, because her behavior was so singular. She said a few things, equivocal things, that made us wonder about the death of the Contessa, your aunt. We first put it down to hysteria and grief. But in the light of certain other matters — ”

He lifted his eyebrows. “Well, as time went on,” he continued, “both Arturo and I had second thoughts. That perhaps the signora Wadley knew something of grave import. That there was indeed an aspect to your aunt’s death which — ”

He became brusque. “But it is now all in the past,” he said, and I saw that he was not unaffected by Elizabeth’s death. He took out a handkerchief and blew his nose loudly. Then he reached in another pocket and pulled out a small package.

“Signorina, she gave us this envelope, but a few days after you were here she called and said that she had changed her mind. That if something were to happen to her we were to give this to you. That it would be your decision.”

He handed it to me.

It was a manila envelope, about four by six, sealed. I took it, wonderingly, and in my mind his words echoed. I remembered someone else saying,
“It will be your decision …”

Elizabeth had said those words to me. Under the trees, in the garden, just yesterday. And then,
“When the time comes you might not do any more about it than I have.”

I turned the package over in my hands. Something rattled inside. “But what is this?” I asked signore Predelli.

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” he said. “And it no longer has anything to do with me, signorina. It is in your hands now.”

He smiled gravely, adding, “I have done what was asked of me. I hope you know, my dear young lady, that whatever my partner and I can do, in your behalf, we will gladly do, and most humbly. You have had a rough time of it. I hope you can put it behind you, and remember only the good things about our country. There was a smile on your face the first day I met you. Before you leave Italy, I hope the smile will return to your lovely eyes.”

“I hope so,” I said mechanically, and then Eleanora skipped into the room, coming from the garden through the french doors. She smiled, dimples appearing, and started babbling.

“Nonna saw the car,” she said. “She told me, tell them to come over for coffee.
Si
?”

She stood on one leg.

“She waits for you.
Prego?
”

“Ah, certainly,” Signore Pineider said, kissing the tips of the child’s fingers. “We can surely spare a moment to say hello to the Signora Monteverdi.”

“And you too, signorina,” Eleanora said to me. “
P’cere?
You come too, please?”

“Darling, I can’t just — ”

She seized my hand. “You come too,” she said, pleading. “You know, signorina, I saw some cakes, with frosting.
Bella, bella.
Good to eat. Beautiful. So if you please, signorina.”

Signores Predelli and Pineider laughed. “Who could refuse such an invitation,” Pineider said, a cigarette dangling from his lips. And as we walked into the sunlight, making our way across the grass to the adjoining gate, both men inhaled deeply. “A fine property,” Signore Predelli said, glancing round appreciatively. “One of the best in Florence. I understand that Bernard Berenson called it La Divina Terra. And yes, it is all of that.”

We had strong coffee and some little iced cakes, served by the Principessa, in the living room of the Monteverdi’s part of the house. I saw at once that the room was much like that of my aunt’s, with vaulted ceiling, open hearth and mullioned windows. Francesca was there, and the Principe, and it was quiet and civilized. Eleanora gobbled up three sweet cakes and then reached for my hand.

“Signorina, I would show you my room,” she said.

The adults laughed, as the child tugged at my arm. I felt awkward, but the Principessa graciously indicated that I might take my leave. Francesca said she hoped her daughter’s room was not too disarranged. “Children, you understand. Please take into consideration — ”

“Come,” Eleanora said impatiently. “And you can see my puppets. A monkey and a Punchinello. Also, I have a tiger.”

“Excuse me,” I said to the others. “
Buon giorno
, Signore Predelli, Signore Pineider.”

“Come come,” the child exhorted.

“Yes, darling.” I was carted off, but before leaving, said to Signore Predelli, “About the package Mrs. Wadley left for me, thank you for it. I knew her for only a few short days, but she had become a cherished friend. To have something belonging to her makes me happy. Thanks again, and I’ll certainly be in touch with you before I leave for home.”

Signore Predelli was brusque. “Yes, signorina,” he said.
Arrivaderci, signorina. Buona fortuna.
”

“Thank you,” I said, and we climbed the stairs to the upper story. It was the first time I had thought about it, but now I reflected that it was strange, the Monteverdis having the lion’s share of the villa. My aunt’s part of it was one-storied, with only two bedrooms and two baths, but this half of the property had two floors. And then I remembered that Mercedes and her husband had been barren, whereas the Principessa, fecund, had borne children. Mercedes hadn’t needed the extra rooms: she had lived, as on an island, with her beloved, in the smaller part of the house. And had evidently been happy there, with her adored Conte.

“I wish I could have known her,” I said aloud.

“Per favore?”
Eleanora asked.

“Just thinking,” I said, and then we came to her room. It was the usual child’s chamber, with Mother Goose wallpaper and a youth bed, a small armoire and a
semainier.
She pulled open drawers and regaled me with glimpses of gauzy nightgowns and tiny little panties, opened the wardrobe and pointed out dresses and chic little pants suits.

“Oh, how nice, Eleanora.”

She manipulated her puppets, little bits of cloth in the shapes of apes, tigers and puppies. “Grr,” she cried, thrusting her hands into a cross-eyed animal, and laughed as I pretended to be frightened.

At last I said I must be running along.

“Very well,” she said graciously, and took my hand as we left her child’s room. In the hall she pointed. “That’s Mama and Papa’s room. You want to see it?”

She insisted. “Come, I show you.”

She guided me inside Francesca and Benedetto’s room. It was lovely, a suite really, with bedchamber, sitting room and bath. “Papa sleeps here,” she said, indicating the outside of the double bed.

“Oh.”

“And Mama sometimes sleeps there.”

She pointed to a chaise longue on the other side of the room. “When they are angry,” she said gravely.

“Oh?” Out of the mouths of babes, I thought, and her hand drew me on. “Now this is Gianni’s room. My dear Gianni. It’s small,
si?
But he doesn’t mind.”

She stood, just inside the doorway, on one leg. “I like this room,” she said “It has the most sun. See his bed? It is almost like mine.”

And indeed it was narrow, almost like that of a monk. Eleanora stroked the bedcover. “My Gianni,” she said softly. “I love him so much. This is not a very big room, is it? But he is happy here, he told me so. He said, “Nora, this is my castle. A castle, signorina? What does that mean?”

“It means a whole private life,” I said gently. “It means something of your own. If Gianni feels that way about this little room, we can both envy him. He’s lucky, can you understand that? That Gianni doesn’t need estate or title?”