To Marry a Tiger (6 page)

Ruth relapsed into silence. She was being railroaded with a vengeance
!
But she wouldn’t have it
!
Sooner or later, some time during the morning, she would escape the custody of Mario’s aunt. There must be some way of getting off this island, and she would find it if it was the last thing she did!

Meanwhile, there was a certain excitement about going to a top-class hairdresser. She had never been able to afford such luxuries on her salary at home.

“Luigi is very clever!” Signora Verdecchio told her, here whole being glowing with enthusiasm. “We must have you looking your best for your wedding, musn’t we?”

Ruth nodded, for it was quite useless to argue with the older woman.

“Tell me about Mario’s mother,” she suggested instead.

Signora Verdecchio was inordinately pleased at this sign of interest in The Family. She gave Ruth a look of such complete approval that Ruth felt guilty. She was interested in Mario’s mother, but not at all as her future mother-in-law.

“Why is she in New York?” she asked.

Signora Verdecchio was surprised. “She lives there!”

“In New York?” Ruth exclaimed.

Signora Verdecchio apparently thought that this interesting fact did need some kind of explanation. “She married the elder brother and I the younger,” she said. “Her husband died a few years ago and she couldn’t stand living in Sicily with all the family dispersed. At that time, Mario was in Milan looking round for suitable small industries that he could bring to Sicily, and my husband and I were living in Tunis. She was dull by herself—”

“But what about her family?” Ruth objected.

Lucia Verdecchio looked very well satisfied with herself. “That’s why she went to New York,” she said slyly. “Mary-Anne is an American.”

“And was she kidnapped too?” Ruth asked dryly.

“She was very much in love with her husband!” Lucia retorted. “And with Sicily too. The family—especially her son—means a great deal to her.”

She sounded an odd kind of person to Ruth. What woman in her right mind would have tied herself down to this narrow, old-fashioned island, when she had been bo
rn
an American?

“Her husband must have been very different from Mario!” she observed.

“In what way?” the Signora asked, laughing.

“Mario expects a woman to have no views of her own at all!” Ruth burst out. “I’m sure he wants a wife who will keep the house running smoothly, and bring up his children, and do
exactly
what he says—”

The Signora laughed. “My dear, Mario is
modern
compared to his father! Now he was an autocrat of the old order. But Mary-Anne wouldn’t have had him any different. Her freedom, since his death, hasn’t brought her any happiness.”

“Well, I don’t intend to put myself in the position of being a doormat to any man!” Ruth said briskly.

Signora Verdecchio laughed again. “You are so exactly right for Mario!” she exclaimed.

Ruth was startled into an uncomfortable silence that was only broken by their arrival in Palermo at the hairdressers. Signora Verdecchio parked the car with a gay abandon as to the parking rules and allowed herself to be bowed into the
salon
with all the charm and dignity that Ruth was beginning to associate with all the Verdecchios.

“I want you to meet my niece,” she said in cool, clear Italian so that even Ruth could understand her. “Today she gets married and, as you can see, her hair-style is not in the fashion. I think a good cut, no? A manicure? And it is necessary for her to have make-up to improve her face!”

“At once,
signora
!
If the
signorina
will pass this way—?”

Ruth was led away into a perfumed cubicle
w
hile chattering Italians hurried back and forth, tu
rning
Signora Verdecchio’s vague instructions into reality. A pretty young girl shampooed her hair, marvelling at Ruth’s good fortune in getting married that very day. And to Mario Verdecchio
!
There was no man who had been more sought after! He was rich, good-looking, and doing all that he could to improve the local conditions of his people! How flattered Ruth must feel! How she must die at the very thought of being loved by such a man!

Ruth assured her that she was managing to bear up, though she had to admit to herself that she did feel weak inside if she allowed herself to dwell on the thought of Mario as her husband. Not that he was going to be! But she felt a definite sinking feeling when she thought of his relief when he discovered that she had escaped him.

By the time the master hairdresser himself came into her cubicle she was decidedly depressed. She was as plain as she had ever looked, with her hair dripping around her shoulders and her face innocent even of the modicum of make-up that she customarily wore.

“Mmm. You must look beautiful,” the tall, elegant man said thoughtfully. “It is not easy. No, not easy at all!”

Ruth’s self-confidence took another dive. The
man
pulled her wet hair over her eyes and back again.

“I like my hair the way it is,” Ruth said crossly.

But the man paid no attention to her. “Ah yes! I have it!” he exclaimed. “Now we shall cut it!”

In a flash he had produced his razor out of his pocket and had taken a wild slash at a lock of her hair. Ruth winced, not daring to look at what he was doing. She had to admit that he was quick, though. In a few seconds most of her hair was lying in piles around her chair.

“Isn’t that short enough?” she asked him timidly.

“It is not so short,” he cajoled her. “It is to give it shape. It has enough curl to make it easy to keep and that is necessary for someone who takes so little trouble. If you have the shape, you have everything!”

He clapped his hands and yet another assistant brought a trolley full of curlers and pins. His fingers flew over Ruth’s head and the style he had chosen for her began to take shape.

“We will have the manicure under the drier,” he told her softly. “The artist who does the make-up will
come along later, when we have finished with your hair and you can see the results better. You have something to read?” He handed her a couple of copies of
Oggi
and departed, leaving her to her lonely thoughts.

It was difficult, though, not to be excited when she saw the final results. Her hair formed a soft frame to her face in a way that did not lessen the character of her face, but somehow made her look more feminine and gave her personality a warmth. It had always been there, she knew, but she had suppressed any ideas she might have had in that direction so that she would look older in the classroom. Now, looking at herself in the glass, she couldn’t help being pleased with
th
e transformation he had achieved.

“It’s just as well I’m not teaching anyone anything this afternoon
!
” she remarked with wry amusement to Signora Verdecchio who had come to inspect the result.

“It is a step!” the other lady congratulated herself. “We have you—almost beautiful, and you see, already you are less stern! Soon you will feel quite gay that you are a woman!”

She beckoned to the middle-aged woman who was to teach Ruth how to put on her make-up and the two of them went into a huddle together, deciding
w
hich of Ruth’s features should be brought into prominence, and which rigidly suppressed. But about this, Ruth suddenly discovered she had very definite ideas of her own.

“I have quite nice eyes,”
s
he said bravely.

“Indeed!” they all agreed in an admiring chorus.

“Well then, I’d like (to make them more obvious,” she went on.

The make-up artist nodded in complete agreement.

“Someone has told you this, yes?” she teased her customer gently. “He is quite right! In two moments you will see it for yourself
!
”

Ruth remembered with a blush that it had been none other than Mario who had remarked about her eyes. She began to wish that she had said nothing, but had left it all to Signora Verdecchio
.
She had no ambition to make herself pleasing to Mario
!
Or had she? The sudden doubt as to her own motives unnerved her.

The Italian lady was definite. She set out her tray of cosmetics with deft fingers, explaining simply the purpose of each item as she laid it down.

“Now, any questions?” she said at the end of her dissertation.

Ruth looked at the selection in horror. “But I can’t put on all that!” she objected.

“No, no, not all of it. Some eyelashes, I think, though, you must have!”

Ruth was surprised to discover how easy they were to apply. Once her unaccustomed fingers had mastered the art, she could put them on in a matter of seconds and they looked quite natural. It was the same with the eye make-up that her mentor insisted on her using.

“Before you look,” the lady said at last, “we will have a touch of rouge on the cheeks and a quite pale lipstick. There! Now you may look!”

Ruth stared at herself for a long moment. She was not almost beautiful any longer. She
was
beautiful. And she wasn’t the only person who thought so. She could tell by the sudden silence amongst the group that had gone to work on her. Looking at herself, she felt that the difference between beauty and mere prettiness had been drawn pretty clearly. She was very glad that Pearl was not there to see this transformation, for Pearl wasn’t used to being second to her sister.

“I look nice, don’t you think?” she said hesitantly to Lucia Verdecchio.

“It is just as Mario said it would be!” that lady claimed firmly. “You are quite lovely, my dear!”

Ruth blushed at the mention of Mario’s name. She could scarcely tear her eyes away from her reflection in the glass. It was as though she were looking at a stranger, with whom she had something in common, but not very much. This stranger, this beautiful stranger, had a vulnerable look that Ruth had never detected in herself.

“Mario will be pleased
!”
his aunt was saying.

“I didn’t do it for Mario!” Ruth retorted.

Their laughter told her that nobody there believed her, not even Signora Verdecchio. Ruth watched her as she paid the extremely large bill without a blink, showering her approval on everyone in the
salon
.

“My niece will be coming here regularly from now on,” she told them happily. “I can promise you that! You will look after her, won’t you? I can’t stay in Sicily for long this time. My husband needs me in Tunis.”

They promised that Ruth would always receive the very best attention from them whether the Signora was there or not. The tips were large enough to encourage the proprietor to escort Signora Verdecchio and Ruth right to the car.

“It is always a pleasure to serve any of the Verdecchios,” he bowed.

Lucia glowed with content. “It has been very successful
!
” she smiled. “I am very well pleased
!
”

She glanced at her watch as soon as they were alone. “It is eleven already. That allows us half an hour to get ready for the ceremony if we go home now—”

Ruth gave her a desperate look. “Signora, we can’t go back immediately,” she pleaded. “I can’t! Besides,” she added, “I haven’t any of my things with me—”

“I have seen to all that,” Lucia Verdecchio assured her. “You have no need to worry.”

“I haven’t even got a present for Mario,” Ruth put in guiltily. She felt awful saying such a thing when she knew quite well that she would never give Mario
anything
.
But she couldn’t allow herself to be driven meekly back to Mario’s house either. She had to go back to Naples—and to Pearl.

The Signora’s eyebrows rose. “Do you want to give him something?” she asked in a deliberately neutral voice.

Ruth felt the burning colour leap to her cheeks. “It’s—it’s customary,” she mumbled.

The Signora came close to grinning. “What a good idea! What did you have in mind
?
”

Ruth cast about in her mind, feeling more and more miserable by the minute. “I don’t know,” she said at last.

“A gold pen?” Lucia suggested. “You must forgive me for asking, but have you much money with you?”

“Enough for that,” Ruth grunted. “Could we go somewhere more central and have a look at some?” The Signora was only too glad to fall in with such a plan. Ruth felt like a traitor. If only the older woman didn’t look quite so much like the cat who had swallowed the canary! If only she could bring herself to dislike her! And if only, oh yes, if only she could bring herself to dislike Mario instead of feeling weak in the stomach every time she thought of him!

“I saw a shop near the harbour,” Ruth made herself say just as if she had only just thought of it.

“That’s where we go!” the Signora agreed eagerly. “Wherever you say!”