Roman Summer (19 page)

‘Now I don’t understand you, I’m afraid,’ said Ruth.
‘
What
do other people know about my engagement that I don’t?’

‘Why surely?’ Agnese qu
eri
e
d. ‘That it is—as his marriage to you will be—merely a refuge for Signore Nash, a bolthole from all the glamorous women who
are snapping at his heels, competing not only for his professional attention, but for the marriage that he has so far escaped. One hears of him that he is a man who insists on doing his own wooing; that he will not be pursued. But can you be quite sure, do you
think,
that his wooing of you was for the reasons that any woman must want?’

Ruth laid down her knife and fork, afraid that her shiver of apprehension had betrayed itself in her shaking wrists. She had feared that by some chance Agnese had learned that her engagement was only a false front. But this was worse. For it could—just—be true. In moments of misgivings she had allowed herself to question
Erle
’s insistence on the chivalry of protecting her name by engaging himself to her. At such times, as a motive it seemed too thin for belief. And though in killing the scandal it seemed to have worked, suppo
sing
it had never been his motive in the first place? Supposing he had only been seeking a temporary escape from, say, Stella Parioli’s assumption that he was her property; that she had only to call whatever tune she liked, and he would dance to it? Ruth had heard him
say
once that he knew very well what he was about in managing his own affairs. Was this then his way of heading off an importunate woman wan
tin
g marriage when he did not, by pretending engagement to another woman—herself?

Oh
no!
Not
Erle
! her heart protested. He couldn’t callously have made use of her so! Yet, while the doubt was there, the pain was and would be. Doubting, she could hardly face him, but, loving him, was afraid to know for sure. She needed time to
think,
to plan, to rehearse
—
She became aware that Agnese had
stubbed out her cigarette and was standing, ostensibly waiting for her bill, but really waiting for a reply to her question.

Ruth made a supreme effort. With a pride which, had Agnese known it, was only surface deep, she said, ‘As to that, I
think
I’d rather trust my own
fiancé
than all the people who may think they know differently.’

At which Agnese shrugged, ‘As you will. You should know, of course,’ and left her.

After she had gone Ruth made a show of continuing her meal. She was thinking that she might have confounded A
gn
ese by daring her to prove that she had not carried false information to
Lo Sussurro.
But that would be to sink to the level of Agnese’s malice, which she scorned to do.

She had a date for a party with
Erle
that evening. At such short notice she couldn’t break it without embarrassing him, but she rang his office and left a message with his secretary to ask him to call for her earlier
than
they had agreed. On such occasions she was usually ready to leave with him as soon as he came for her, but tonight, though she was dressed and waiting for him, she asked him in.

Except in public he never offered her any gesture of endearment, and tonight he went to lounge easily on the window-seat as she sat across from him, her hands clasped tautly in her lap.

He said, ‘You summoned me to a tete-
a
-tete?’

‘Yes. I decided today that all this’—she paused—‘can’t go on.’

He sat upright, staring at her, but clearly understanding her.

‘That’s nonsense,’ he said cur
tl
y. ‘It has to go on.’

‘You promised that the right to end it at any time should be mine,’ she reminded him.

He stood then and paced the room, across and back, past her chair. ‘But for heaven’s sake—within some bounds of
reason
!’
he exploded. ‘How long has it run now? Just three weeks—no more. What good do you suppose it’s had the chance to do in that time? On. Off. Blow hot. Blow cold—hardly before the ink has dried on the announcement in the papers! Why, we should be the laughing-stock of Rome, if not worse in store for you.’

‘And it matters to you that you shouldn’t be the laughing-stock of Rome?’

‘It matters that
we
shouldn’t, for a
whim
of yours which, at this stage, I dare you to justify,’ he retorted.

‘But you said
—’

He cut in, ‘All right. “I said” the privilege should be yours. But I stipulated there should be a decent interval before you claimed it, and do you really suggest that three weeks’ duration is either decent or sensible? Or fair?’

‘Fair?’

‘By the conditions which I thought you’d accepted. Even, if I may mention it, by a certain obligation to me.’

‘Meaning,’ Ruth said slowly, ‘that if you’d thought I would break it off as soon as this, you wouldn’t have offered me the protection of an engagement? But was that’—she paused, then plunged recklessly—‘was that really, or your only motive behind it?’

He halted opposite her chair. ‘And what are you implying by that?’ he demanded.

‘That it has occurred to me it wasn’t very credible
or sound reasoning on your part
—
’

‘What was wrong with it? So far as it’s been given a chance to date, it’s done the necessary, hasn’t it? But do you mean “occurred”, or “was suggested” to you, I wonder?’

‘It was suggested.’

His eyes glinted angrily. ‘Then you’ve confided the truth of it to someone? To whom?’

Thrust on to the defensive, Ruth expostulated, ‘No. No. It was someone who believed our engagement to
be a
real one—’

‘Who?
’

‘I’d rather not say. Don’t make me. But in talking about it they implied that you hadn’t been sincere in entering upon it with me.’

‘And what did you say to that?’

‘I—said I thought I could trust you. What else could
I say?’

‘H’m—lip-service loyalty to a man and a bargain you’ve since decided to ditch. This busybody’s argument must have impressed you. What was it?’

‘It wasn’t very creditable to you, but you must see that I had to defend you?’

‘Against what, for goodness’ sake?’

‘The suggestion that our engagement had been a way of escape for you from your entanglement with your other—commitments.’

She was completely unprepared for—disarmed too, by his shout of derisory laughter at that. ‘And you were
ready to believe that it was so?’ he qu
eri
e
d.

‘I didn’t want to. But when I thought about it, it seemed a more likely motive than the other. Or an additional one, perhaps.’

‘To juggle with a proverb—taking two stones to kill one bird? My dear girl, when I need to shelter behind one woman, in order to extricate myself from the toils of another, or from several, I’ll opt out from both public and private life, for I’ll have lost my touch beyond recall. Satisfied?’

‘Then it wasn’t true? Your only reason
was
to protect me from any further scandal?’ Ruth could not keep relief out of her tone.

He tilted his head, as if in thought. ‘Supposing I’d offered you any other which happened to occur to me, would you have co-operated?’ he parried.

‘I don’t know. What else could you have offered me? Such as?’

‘Well, say some motive which would be to my self
-
interest, rather than to yours?’

‘I—think so, if it were something which seemed worthy of you,’ she said gravely.

‘Ah—but worthy by your standards, or by mine?’

‘By mine, I suppose. Though wouldn’t you say the standards of most honest people are much the same?’

He laughed again. ‘One of those loaded questions to which I claim the right not to answer! In return, I’ll agree to leave my own “suppose” question
dangling.
Meanwhile you’re resigned to our continuing our compact?’

Ruth moved restlessly. ‘If you think it’s necessary,’ she hesitated.

‘You
know
it’s necessary for longer than this,’ he countered with vigour. ‘Necessary to give it a chance to complete the job it’s begun tolerably well. Necessary, when you decide its time is up, for it to appear like an engagement that has run reasonably long enough to have been found wanting. Necessary too—and here’s a test of your good faith—that at this particular stage of my business affairs, I shouldn’t be hounded by all the snoopers there’d be, chanting “Why?” and How come?”, and that
you
shouldn’t be harassed by your pet busybody’s snigger of “What did I tell you?” Well, fair enough? Anyway, what did you mean to do, if I’d agreed to your breaking with me now?’

So he had realised there wouldn’t be room for both of them in Rome when the break did come, thought Ruth. ‘I’d have gone away,’ she said. ‘I must still go when
—’

‘Where to?’

‘I hadn’t decided. Perhaps to
—
’ But at the thought
which struck her then, she checked. ‘Don’t you think it might be better if, when the time comes, you could tell people with truth that you didn’t know?’ she appealed.

‘Better?’

‘Easier, then.’

He looked at her thoughtfully, as if he were weighing the point. Then, ‘Yes, I daresay it would,’ he agreed, and utterly perversely Ruth could have burst into tears.

His facile agreement made her feel let down, abandoned. In that difficult time of their public parting, she would be alone, and he ought to want to know ...
care
where she went and what became of her! At least he could have argued the issue. She might have told him of her tentative plans, and confirmed whatever they were when, in the future, she did have to leave Rome. Or again, she might not.
But he should have wanted to know.

Before the news broke publicly the Opera House grapevine had it, and Signora Matteo brought it to Ruth. Clara Gancia was to star in the winter season in Rome; Stella Parioli would be going to the Metropolitan in New York. Both valuable contracts had been negotiated by
Erle
and both ladies were understood to be well pleased. There was now, Signora Matteo reported, no more talk of Imprese Baptisti. As always, there was more prestige for an artiste with Signore Nash than with any other impresario in the profession.

Ruth’s reaction was a glow of pride for
Erle
, mingled with speculation as to how Stella’s absence in America would affect his relationship with her. Probably very little. In these days it was possible almost to commute between Rome and New York; more than likely he would see her nearly as often as now.

As soon as the papers had the news Ruth rang h
im
to congratulate him. Beneath his nonchalant thanks she sensed an elation which she longed to have the right to share with him. As it was, her voice would be only one among the many there would be, praising the success of his coup.

A few days later he came to see her at the flat. ‘We’re going to have to give a farewell party for Parioli,’ he announced.

She questioned the ‘we’.

‘You and I,’ he explained.

‘You, but why me?’ With rare tartness she added, ‘Because, in the circumstances, it would look better?’

He glanced at her quickly. ‘Don’t be waspish. It isn’t in character. No, because that’—pointing to the antique ring on her engagement finger—‘makes us a team in people’s eyes, and it will be expected of us. Don’t worry, I’ll handle the whole thing from the office. All you’ll have to do will be to look charming and be gracious with our guests. Parioli has her own ideas as to the form the party will take. A
l
fresco and different, she stipulates.’

‘How—“different”?’

‘Different from the run-of-the-mill cocktail crush or the dinner-and-nightclub thing, I gather. Open-air, because she wants us to give it in the grounds of the Casa, and different by way of keeping it in period with the place.’

Caustically Ruth wondered who was giving this party—
Erle
or Stella.
Erle
went on, ‘She took the idea from some Watteau paintings in one of the gall
eri
e
s—of the
fetes champetres
the French aristocracy used to lay on. All pastoral simplicity, the guests playing at being shepherds and shepherdesses and dressing the part. Sounds crazy, I agree, but the lady must have her way.’

Ruth said drily, ‘It’s novel, at least. But can you
give it—
the party—until the Fontes have left the Casa?’