Saddle the Wind (48 page)

Blanche told him that she was living in the city where she was employed as Clara’s governess. In return Pastore told her that he was in the area on business. ‘My father had several commercial connections in Bath and the surrounding areas,’ he said. ‘But they’re more or less finished now. I’m just here to finally wind them up.’ When his work was done, he said, he would be returning to London before returning to Sicily.

‘Palermo, isn’t it?’ Blanche said. ‘If I recall correctly, your home is in Palermo.’

He nodded, pleased. ‘I’m flattered that you remember so much about me.’

Blanche said, ‘The trip to London when we met was a very special occasion for me. It isn’t likely that I would forget it so soon.’

Pastore went on to say that he would be returning to Sicily in another month when he had finished his business in England. ‘January is not the time to be in Britain,’ he said. ‘I prefer a milder climate.’

The waitress appeared then with the order. When she had gone again Clara concentrated on her vanilla ice while Blanche poured the tea. As they ate and drank she
and Pastore chatted pleasantly together, until Blanche looked at the time and exclaimed that they had better be going.

‘Oh, please,’ Pastore said, ‘don’t go yet.’

‘I’m afraid we must.’ Blanche was taking coins from her purse to pay for their order – which payment Pastore refused, saying he wouldn’t dream of accepting it. As he got their coats he asked where they were going, and on being told insisted on accompanying them.

The bill paid, the three left the tearoom and joined the throng on the pavements again where Blanche, holding Clara by the hand, led the way through the streets towards George Marsh’s draper’s store. On reaching its doors Blanche and Clara glanced in and saw Marsh busy at the rear of the shop. Quickly Clara left Blanche’s side to go in to see her father. When the door had closed behind the child Blanche held out her hand. As Pastore took it she thanked him for the tea.

‘It was a great pleasure for me,’ he said.

‘Well …’ She smiled at him, releasing his hand. ‘I must go in …’

‘Oh, but – one moment …’ He stood aside to allow a customer to get by. Blanche waited. He went on:

‘I’d like to call and take you out – if you’re agreeable, of course.’ As Blanche hesitated he added: ‘It would certainly be a great kindness to me, you can be assured of that. I don’t know anyone in the area and I get rather tired of eating alone, and spending all my leisure time in my hotel room and taking long walks on my own.’ He grinned. ‘I enjoy my own company – but only up to a point.’

As he finished speaking the shop door opened and George Marsh appeared. Clara had told him of the man they had met in the tearoom and he had come to see
for himself. Blanche introduced the two men and after they had exchanged the necessary pleasantries and shaken hands Pastore added that he was an old friend of Blanche’s former guardian’s business associate, and that he was in Bath on business for a few weeks before returning to Sicily.

The brief meeting between the men ended with Marsh inviting the other to come for dinner one evening. Pastore accepted the invitation with a little bow, after which they passed some further words of conversation and then Marsh, saying that he must get back to his customers, took his leave and went back into the shop.

When the door had closed behind Marsh, Alfredo Pastore said, ‘Well – it appears that I have your employer’s approval – so will you agree to help me pass a little of my time while I’m here in the city?’

Still Blanche hesitated. She had enjoyed the meeting, but she could see no point in repeating it. Before she could say anything further, however, Pastore was saying:

‘You must have some free time. When is that?’

‘Well, tomorrow, Sunday, but –’

‘Then may we meet?’ He paused, smiling. ‘At least for the sake of auld lang syne – as you say.’

‘Signor Pastore, I –’

‘
Alfredo
– and say – at three o’clock tomorrow? I shall wait for you here.’

‘Oh, but –’

He was backing away. ‘I’ll wait for you tomorrow.’ Without waiting for an answer he was turning, and with a final wave, melting into the throng.

Blanche had no particular interest in keeping the appointment with Alfredo Pastore the next afternoon, nor any special wish to do so; but the engagement had
been made and she felt that she couldn’t really do anything else but keep it. When she had finished getting ready she left her room and started down the stairs – near the foot to be met by Clara who, seeing her dressed to go out, asked if she might go with her. For a moment or two Blanche was tempted to say yes, but even as she briefly pondered the question it was settled by Mrs Marsh who, coming into the hall and catching the gist of the matter, told Clara that Miss Farrar needed a little recreation and that they would see her later.

Approaching the shop – shuttered for Sunday – Blanche found Pastore waiting for her. Smiling as he caught sight of her he moved forward to greet her, and Blanche, seeing the warmth of his welcoming smile, felt suddenly glad to be there. She had spent too long confined to the house, and it was good to get out for a while. It was good, too, she felt as the afternoon wore on, to be with someone as attentive and solicitous as Pastore proved to be.

Although crisp and cold, the afternoon was bright, and together they wandered into the park and strolled slowly along the paths. Afterwards he took her to a café where they sat over steaming cups of coffee and toasted muffins. He talked to her of Palermo, where he lived – a beautiful city, he said – and something of his business interests – sulphur mining, a growing interest in shipping, and the export of citrus, olives and soap.

He told her a little, too, of his personal life. He had been married once, long ago, he said, but his wife had left him to go away with a singer. He spoke of the man as ‘a tenor with a second-rate opera company’. Some years after his wife’s departure, he said, he had learned that she had died in a train accident.

His face betrayed little emotion as he spoke of his wife, her desertion of him and her ultimate death.

‘You had no children?’ Blanche asked him.

He shook his head. ‘No.’

Having told Blanche something of himself he changed the subject and concentrated upon Blanche herself. He had been surprised, he said, not only to find her in Bath, but also to find her working as a governess.

Blanche said, ‘As regards my work you made the mistake of assuming that I was wealthy, that I had no need for employment.’

‘I suppose I did.’ He shrugged. ‘But – it doesn’t matter, does it?’

‘Not to me.’

Under some prompting from him, she told him a little of her own life. When she had finished he said: ‘And where are you going now?’

‘What do you mean?’

He shrugged. ‘Perhaps you have certain plans.’

‘Plans?’ She frowned. ‘What plans?’

‘I’m thinking of your employer, Marsh.’ He paused briefly, then observed: ‘He’s a widower.’

Blanche responded quickly: ‘Signor Pastore – Alfredo – Mr Marsh is my
employer
. Nothing more.’

‘Forgive me.’ He sounded contrite.

‘I have no plans or hopes of becoming the second Mrs Marsh.’

‘Please – forgive me. I was impertinent.’

There was a little silence between them, then he said: ‘But I still don’t have an answer to my question.’

‘Which was?’

‘Well – what is to become of you?’

When she didn’t answer he said:

‘You’re a very beautiful young woman, Blanche. And you’re obviously clever, too. But here you are, working as a governess, while burying yourself in the domesticity of some quiet English family. Is that what you
want out of life? You could obviously have so much more.’ Then quickly, before she could answer, he added: ‘Or am I being impertinent again?’

‘No, it’s all right.’ Avoiding his eyes she gazed down into her cup. He was right, she said to herself. Where
was
she going? Or could it be that she was already there? Could it be that everything that had so far happened had been leading her to this, the situation she was now in – that of governess to the draper’s daughter? The uncertainty of her own life seemed to be unending. Was this
it
? Or was there to be more? Was this the end of her particular road?

Over the following days Blanche saw Pastore on several further occasions. On one evening he took her to the Theatre Royal to see Anton Chekhov’s play,
Three Sisters
, which had opened in London so successfully earlier in the year. On another occasion he took her to a concert at the Corn Exchange where the pianist and orchestra performed the romantic, beautiful second piano concerto recently written by the young composer Rachmaninoff. When it was over Blanche had come away in a dream.

Now, on New Year’s Eve, Pastore was to call for her to take her to dinner at one of the premier hotels in the city.

She had just finished arranging her hair when she heard the sound of a motor car coming to a stop outside the house. Moving to the window she pulled back the curtain and peered down. Such vehicles were being seen more and more frequently on the streets of Bath lately, but she knew no one who owned such a vehicle. Now, as she watched, she saw the driver, dressed in cap and goggles, muffler and long coat, get down from the vehicle and move towards the house. The ring of the
front door bell echoed up the stairs, and a minute later the maid was knocking at the door and announcing to Blanche that there was a gentleman to see her.

‘It’s a Mr Harold Savill, miss.’

When the maid had gone Blanche stood quite still for some moments. What did Harold Savill want with her? She had seen nothing of him since the day she had left Hallowford House sixteen months before – though on her rare trips to Trowbridge she had heard various reports about him – reports of his often being seen in the company of various doubtful women in the area, and of his spending less and less time at the mill. Blanche might have gained some real knowledge of him through the occasional letters she exchanged with Mrs Callow. The housekeeper, however, obviously guided by loyalty and awareness of her position, had never volunteered news of her new master and Blanche had not been interested enough to ask.

Blanche made a final brief check on her appearance then left the room and went downstairs. On the hall table she saw Harold’s cap and gauntlets. She found him standing in the library. He had not taken off his coat. As she entered he gave her a small bow. She nodded in return.

‘Mr Savill …’

‘Hello, Blanche.’

She did not ask him to sit. He studied her as she in turn studied him. He looked more dissolute than ever; his nose had taken on a purplish hue, his fleshy cheeks now covered with a mesh of broken veins. While she gazed in distaste at him he said:

‘I must say you’re looking well, Blanche.’

‘I am – thank you.’ She had no wish to do more than be polite. She was still wondering why he had come.

‘A letter came for you at the house,’ he said after a
moment’s hesitation. ‘Mrs Callow sent it on to you. I hope you received it all right.’

‘Thank you, yes.’ She did not want to share any joy with him, but she could not stop herself from adding:

‘It was from my brother Ernest.’

‘Good.’ He nodded. ‘And he is – safe, I hope?’

‘Yes. I trust he is. I’m in touch with him quite regularly now.’

There was a little silence, then she added, ‘I saw your motor car from my window. I couldn’t think who would be calling here in a motor car.’

He nodded, pleased. ‘Ah, yes, the motor car. The transport of the future. You know, in London they even have motor-run omnibuses now.’

‘Yes, I know.’

He smiled. ‘But that’s not why I’ve called to see you.’ Delving into one of his capacious pockets he drew out a roll of notes. ‘Marianne,’ he said, ‘she’s written to me from Sicily – asking me to see that you’re all right – financially.’ He held the money out to her. Blanche made no attempt to take it but instead stepped back half a pace.

‘No,’ she said. ‘No, thank you.’

‘Please.’ He flourished the notes slightly. ‘Take it.’

‘I don’t want it.’

‘It’s not from
me
, Blanche. I told you – it’s from Marianne. I’m simply carrying out her wishes. I’m only her messenger. She’s going to make some legal financial arrangement with her lawyer, she says. In the meantime I promised I’d bring you this. Please, take it.’ When she still hesitated, he said, ‘It’s thirty pounds; it’s not a huge fortune.’

After another moment of hesitation, she stepped forward and took the money from his hand. ‘Thank you.’ Then she added: ‘I’d better give you a receipt.’

He waved the idea aside. ‘Don’t bother. It’s not necessary.’ Already he was moving past her towards the door. ‘I must go.’ His mouth twisted in irony as he added, ‘I don’t want to wear my welcome out.’

Blanche followed him into the hall where she handed him his cap and gloves. Then she stood aside as he opened the door, let himself out and moved towards the front gate.

After she had closed the door she heard the car’s engine throbbing into life and then the sound of the vehicle being driven away.

Five minutes later Alfredo Pastore had arrived in a cab to take her to dinner, and after first joining George and Mrs Marsh in a toast to the new year he escorted Blanche from the house.

Dinner at the hotel restaurant was a bright, festive affair, and Blanche enjoyed herself. They remained there till after midnight, on the first stroke of which they joined in the singing of ‘Auld Lang Syne’ and then toasted one another in champagne. Afterwards, with the first bells of 1902 ringing over the town, they set off to walk back to Almond Street. Pastore was soon to leave for London and Sicily.

‘I shall miss you, Blanche,’ he said, turning to look at her as they walked.

Looking up at him she saw the intense look in his eyes.

‘Will you miss me too?’ he said. ‘Just a little?’

He had not spoken of, or even hinted at, any kind of special regard for her, and for a while she had naively told herself that his interest in her was as a result of knowing Edward Harrow. She had soon become aware of her naiveté, though, and had come to see him with new eyes.