(1941) Up at the Villa Read online

  `I was a fool to go,' Mary said out loud.

  `I ought to have cried off when Edgar was called away.’

  But of course that would have been silly. Still, she would have given a good deal to have that evening to herself so that she could think things over quietly. Though she had long guessed Edgar's intentions she had not till that afternoon been quite sure that he would ever bring himself to the point of speaking, and till he did she had felt it unnecessary to make up her mind what she should answer. She would leave it then to the impulse of the moment. Well, now he had, and she felt more hopelessly undecided than before. But by this time she had reached the city, and the crowds of people walking in the roadway, the string of cyclists, forced her to give all her attention to her driving.

  When Mary reached the restaurant, she found that she was the last to arrive. The Princess San Ferdinando was American; an elderly woman with iron-grey. tightly waved hair and an authoritative manner, who had lived in Italy for forty years without ever going back to her native country; her husband, a Roman prince, had been dead for a quarter of a century and she had two sons in the Italian Army. She had little money, but a caustic tongue and great good-nature. Though she could never have been beautiful and now, with her upright carriage, fine eyes and determined features, was probably better-looking than she had ever been in her youth, she was reported to have been very unfaithful to the Prince; but this had not affected the great position she had made for herself; she knew everybody she wished to know and everybody was pleased to know her. The rest of the party consisted of a couple of travelling English people, Colonel and Lady Grace Trail, a sprinkling of Italians and a young Englishman called Rowley Flint. Mary during her stay in Florence had got to know him pretty well. He had indeed been paying her a good deal of attention.

  `I must tell you that rm. only a stopgap; he said when Mary shook hands with him.

  `It was unusually nice of him,' the Princess put in.

  `I asked him when Sir Edgar called up to say he had to go to Cannes and he broke another engagement to come to `You know quite well rd break any engagement in the world to come and dine with you, Princess,' he said. The Princess smiled dryly.

  `I think I should tell you that he wanted to know exactly who was going to be here before he accepted!’

  `It's flattering that we met with his approval,' said Mary. The Princess gave him another of those quiet smiling looks of hers in which there was the indulgence of an old rip who had neither forgotten nor repented of her naughty past and at the same time the shrewdness of a woman who knows the world like the palm of her hand and has come to the conclusion that no one is any better than he should be.

  `You're an awful scamp, Rowley, and you're not even good-looking enough to excuse it, but we like you.’ she said.

  It was true that Rowley was not much to look at. He had a tolerable figure, but he was of no more than average height, and in clothes he looked thick-set. He had not a single feature that you could call good: he had white teeth, but they were not very even; he had a fresh colour, but not a very clear skin; he had a good head of hair, but it was of a vague brown between dark and fair; his eyes were fairly large, but they were of that pallid blue that is generally described as grey. He had an air of dissipation and people who didn't like him said he looked shifty. It was freely admitted, even by his greatest friends, that he couldn't be trusted. He had a bad record. When he was only just over twenty he had run away and married a girl who was engaged to somebody else, and three years afterwards he had been co-respondent in a divorce case, whereupon his wife divorced him and he had married, not the woman who had been divorced on his account, but another, only to leave her two or three years later. He was now just over thirty. He was in short a young man with a shocking reputation which he thoroughly deserved. You would have said there was nothing to recommend him; and Colonel Trail, the travelling Englishman, tall, thin, weather-beaten, with a lean red face, a grey toothbrush moustache and an air of imbecility, wondered that the Princess had asked him and his wife to meet a damned rotter like that.

  `I mean he's not the sort of feller' - he would have said if there'd been anyone to say it to - `that a decent woman ought to be asked to sit in the same room with.’

  He was glad to see, when they took their places at table, that though his wife sat next to Rowley Flint, she was listening to the civil remarks he was making to her with a cold look of disapproval. The worst of it was, the Teller wasn't an adventurer or anything like that; in fact, he was a cousin of his wife's; so far as family went he was as good as anybody and he had quite a decent income. The mistake was that he'd never had to earn his living. Oh. well, every family had its black sheep, but what the Colonel couldn't understand was what the women saw in him. He couldn't be expected to know, this simple, honest Englishman, that what Rowley Flint had which explained everything was sex appeal, and the fact that in his relations with women he was unreliable and unscrupulous seemed only to make him more irresistible. However prejudiced she might be against him, he had only to be with a woman for half an hour for her heart to melt, and soon she would be saying to herself that she didn't believe half the things that were said against him. But if she had been asked what it was she saw in him she would have found it hard to answer. He certainly wasn't very good-looking, there was even no distinction in his appearance, he looked like any mechanic in a garage; he wore his smart clothes as if they were overalls, but as if he didn't care a hang what he looked like. It was exasperating that he seemed to be serious about nothing, not even about making love; he made it quite clear that there was only one thing that he wanted from a woman, and his complete lack of sentimentality was intolerably offensive. But there was something that swept you off your feet, a sort of gentleness behind the roughness of his manner, a thrilling warmth behind his mockery, some instinctive understanding of woman as a different creature from man, which was strangely flattering; and the sensuality of his mouth and the caress in his grey eyes. The old Princess had put the matter with her usual crudity:

  `Of course he's a bad lot, a thorough wrong 'un, but if I were thirty years younger and he asked me to run away with him I wouldn't hesitate for a moment even though I knew he'd chuck me in a week and I'd be wretched for the rest of my life.’

  But the Princess liked general conversation at her table and when her guests were settled down she addressed Mary.

  `I'm so sorry Sir Edgar was unable to come tonight’

  `He was sorry, too. He had to go to Cannes! The Princess took the rest of the party in.

  `It's a great secret, so you mustn't any of you tell anybody, but he's just been made Governor of Bengal.’

  `Has he, by Jove!' cried the Colonel `A damned nice job to get’

  `Did it come as a surprise?”

  ‘He knew he was one of the people who were being considered,' said Mary.

  `He'll be the right man in the right place; there's no doubt about that,' said the Colonel.

  `If he pulls it off, I shouldn't be surprised if later on they didn't make him Viceroy.’

  `I can't imagine anything I'd like better than to be Vicereine of India,' said the Princess.

  `Why don't you marry him on the off-chance?' smiled Mary.

  `Oh, isn't he married?' asked Lady Grace.

  `No.’

  The Princess gave Mary a shrewd, malicious look.

  `I won't conceal from you that he's been flirting with me outrageously during the six weeks he's been here.’

  Rowley chuckled and from beneath his long eyelashes threw a sidelong glance at Mary.

  `Have you decided to marry him, Princess? Because if you have, I don't think he's got much chance, poor blighter.’

  `I think it would be a very suitable alliance,' said Mary. She knew quite well that both the Princess and Rowley were chaffing her, but she had no intention of giving anything away. Edgar Swift had made it sufficiently plain to his friends and hers in Florence that he was in love with her; and the Princess had more than once tried
to find out from her whether anything was going to come of it `I don't know whether you'd much like the climate of Calcutta,' said Lady Grace, who took everything with complete seriousness.

  '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.