(1941) Up at the Villa Page 6

  `There it is!’

  ` she cried suddenly. But Rowley had already passed it; he put on his brakes, and then backed till he could turn. They slowly ascended the hill. They peered into the darkness on each side. Suddenly Mary touched Rowley's arm. She pointed to the left. He stopped. There was a coppice on that side of what looked like acacias, and the ground was thick with undergrowth. It seemed to slope sharply down. He put out the lights.

  `I'll just get out and have a scout round. It looks all right.’

  He stepped out and plunged into the thicket. In the deathly silence that surrounded them the noise he made scrambling through the undergrowth seemed fearfully loud. In two or three minutes he appeared once more.

  `I think it'll do.’

  He talked in whispers, although there could not have been a soul within earshot `Help me to get him out. I shall have to carry him if I can. You'd never be able to get down. You'd be scratched to pieces.’

  `I don't care.’

  `It's not you I'm thinking about,' he answered roughly.

  `How are you going to explain to your servants that your stockings are torn and your shoes in a devil of a mess? I think I can manage.’

  She got out of the car and they opened the rear door. They were just about to lift the body out when they saw a light above them. It was a car coming down the hill.

  `Oh, my God, we're caught!’

  ` she cried.

  `Run. Rowley, you must keep out of this.’

  `Don't talk such rot.’

  `I won't get you into trouble,' she cried desperately.

  `Don't be a damned fool. We shan't get into trouble if you keep your head. We can bluff it out.’

  `No. Rowley, for God's sake. I'm done for.’

  `Stop it. You've got to keep cool. Get into the back.’

  `He's there.’

  `Shut up.’

  He pushed her in and scrambled in after her. The lights of the oncoming car were hidden by a turn in the road, but another turn must bring it in full view.

  `Cuddle up to me. They'll take us for lovers who've come to a quiet place to have a bit of nonsense. But keep still. Don't move.’

  The car came on. In two or three minutes it would be upon them and the road was so narrow that it would have to slow down to pass them. It could just scrape by. Rowley flung his arms round her and drew her closely to him. Under their feet was the huddled body of the dead man.

  `I'm going to kiss you. Kiss me as if you mean it.’

  The car was nearer now and it seemed to be swaying from side to side of the road. Then they heard the occupants singing at the tops of their voices.

  `By God, I believe they're drunk. I hope to God they see us. Christ, it would be bad luck if they hit us. Quick, now, kiss me.’

  She put her lips to his and they appeared to kiss as though so absorbed in one another they were unconscious of the approaching car. It seemed to be full of people and they were shouting loud enough to wake the dead. Perhaps there had been a wedding at the village on the top of the hill and these were wedding guests who had been making merry till this late hour and now, much the worse for liquor, were returning to their own home in some other village. They appeared to be coming down the middle of the road and it looked as though they must infallibly crash into the other car. There was nothing to do. Suddenly there was a yell. The headlights had disclosed the stationary car. There was a great screeching of brakes and the oncoming car slackened down. It might be that the recognition of the danger he had just escaped somewhat sobered the driver, for he now drove at a snail's pace. Then someone noticed that there were people in the darkened car and when they all saw that it was a couple linked together in a passionate embrace a great laugh arose; one man shouted out a ribald joke and two or three others made rude noises. Rowley held Mary tight in his arms; you would have thought that in an ecstasy of love they were unconscious of all else. One bright spirit conceived an idea: in a rich baritone he broke out into Verdi's song from Rigoletto, 'La Donna è mobile', whereupon the rest, not knowing the words apparently, but anxious to join in, bellowed the tune after him. They passed the car very slowly; there was but an inch to spare.

  `Throw your arms round my neck,' whispered Rowley, and as the other car came abreast of them, his lips still against Mary's, he gaily waved his hand at the drunkards.

  `Bravo! Bravo!' they shouted.

  `Boon divertimento.’

  And then, as they went by, the baritone began once more to chant: 'La Donna è mobile . . . .’

  They staggered dangerously down the hill, still lustily singing, and when they were lost to view their shouting could still be heard in the, distance. Rowley released his hold on Mary and she sank back, exhausted, into the corner of the car.

  `It's a good thing for us all the world loves a lover,' said Rowley.

  `Now we'd better get on with the job.’

  `Is it safe? If he were found just here . .

  `If he's found anywhere on this road they might think our being in the neighbourhood was fishy. But we might go a long way and not find a better place and we haven't time to scour the country. They were drunk. There are hundreds of Fiats like this and what is there to connect us? Anyway. it would be obvious the man committed suicide. Get out of the car.’

  `I'm not sure if I can stand.’

  `Well, you'll damned well have to help me out with him. After that you can sit around.’

  He got out and pulled her after him. Suddenly, flopping down on the running board, she burst into a passion of hysterical tears. He swung his arm and gave her a sharp, stinging slap on the face; she was so startled that she sprang to her feet with a gasp and stopped crying as quickly as she had begun. She did not even cry out `Now help me.’

  Without a word more they set about what they had to do and together got the body out Rowley picked it up under the arms.

  `Now put the legs over my other arm. He's as heavy as hell. Try to pull those bushes aside so that I can get in without breaking them down.’

  She did as he told her and he plunged heavily into the undergrowth. To her terrified ears the noise he made was so great that you would have thought it could be heard for miles. It seemed an interminable time that he was away. At last she saw him walking up the road.

  `I thought I'd better not come out the same way as I went in.’

  `Is it all right?' she asked anxiously.

  `I think so. By God, I'm all in. I could do with a drink.’

  He gave her a look in which was the flicker of a smile.

  `Now you can cry if you want to.’

  She did not answer and they got back into the car. He drove on.

  `Where are you going?’ she asked.

  `I can't turn here. Besides, it's just as well to drive on a bit so that there shouldn't be any trace of a car having stopped and turned here. Do you know if there's a road further on that will get us back on the main road?’

  `I'm sure there isn't. The road just leads up to the village.’

  `All right. We'll go on a bit and turn where we can.’

  They drove for a while in silence.

  `The towel is still in the car.

  `I'll take that. I'll chuck it away somewhere.’

  `It's got the Leonards' initials on it’

  `Don't bother about that. I'll manage. If I can do nothing else III tie it round a stone and chuck it into the Arno on my way home.’

  After they had gone another couple of miles they came to a place where there was a bit of flat ground by the side of the road and here Rowley made up his mind to turn.

  `Christ!' he cried, as he was about to do so. `The revolver.’

  `What? It's in my room.’

  `I forgot all about it till now. If the man's found and they don't find the gun he killed himself with, it'll start them guessing. We ought to have left it by his side.’

  `What's to be done?’

  `Nothing. Trust to luck. It's been with us so far. If the body's found and no gun, the police will prob
ably think that some boy had come upon the body by chance, sneaked the revolver and said nothing to anybody.’

  They drove back as quickly as they had come. Now and then Rowley gave an anxious glance at the sky. It was night still. but the darkness had no longer quite the intensity it had had when they set out. It was not yet day, but you had a sensation that day was at hand. The Italian peasant goes to work early and Rowley wanted to get Mary back to the villa before anyone was stirring. At length they reached the bottom of the hill on which the villa stood and he stopped. Dawn was about to break.

  `You'd better drive up by yourself. This is where I left my bike.’

  He could just see the wan smile she gave him. He saw that she tried to speak. He patted her shoulder.

  `That's all right. Don't bother. And look here, take a couple of sleeping tablets; it's no good lying awake and grousing. You'll feel better after a good sleep.’

  `I feel as if I'd never sleep again.’

  `I know. That's why I say take something to make sure you do. I'll come round sometime tomorrow.’

  `I shall be in all day.’

  `I thought you were lunching with the Atkinsons. I was asked to meet you.’

  `I shall call up and say I'm not well enough.’

  `No. You mustn't do that. You must go, and you must act as though you hadn't a care in the world. That's only common prudence. Supposing by a remote chance suspicion fell on you, there must have been nothing in your behaviour to indicate a guilty conscience. See?’

  `Yes.’

  Mary got into the driver's seat and waited a moment to see Rowley get his bicycle from where he had hidden it and ride away. Then she made her way up the hill. She left the car in the garage, which was just within the gates, and then walked along the drive. She crept noiselessly into the house. She went up to her room and at the door hesitated. She hated to go in and for a moment was seized with a superstitious fear that when she opened the door she would see Karl in his shabby black coat standing there before her. She was distraught with woe, but she couldn't give way to it; she pulled herself together, but it was with a trembling hand that she turned the handle. She switched on the light quickly and gave a gasp of relief when she saw the room was empty. It looked exactly as it always did. She glanced at her bedside clock. It was not five. What fearful things had happened in so short a while! She would have given everything she had in the world to put time back and be once more the carefree woman she had been so few hours ago. Tears began to trickle down her face. She was terrify tired, her head was throbbing and confusedly she recollected, in one rush of memory as it were, everything happening simultaneously, all the incidents of that unhappy night. She undressed slowly. She didn't want to get into that bed again and yet there was no help for it. She would have to stay in the villa at least a few days more; Rowley would tell her when it would be safe to go: if she announced her engagement to Edgar it would seem very reasonable that she should leave Florence a few weeks sooner than she had planned. She forgot if he had said when he would have to sail for India. It must be quickly. Once there she would be safe; once there she could forget. But as she was getting into bed she remembered the supper things that Rowley had taken into the kitchen. Notwithstanding what he had said she was uneasy and felt she must see for herself that everything was in order. She slipped on her dressing gown and went down into the dining room and so to the kitchen. If by any chance one of the servants heard her she could -say that she had awakened hungry and had gone down to see if she could find something to eat. The house seemed fearfully empty and the kitchen a great gloomy cavern. She found the bacon on the table and put it back in the larder. She threw the broken eggshells into a pail under the sink, washed the two glasses and the plates she and Karl had used, and put them in their proper places. She put the frying-pan on its hook. There was nothing now to excite suspicions and she crept back to the bedroom. She took a sleeping draught and turned out the light. She hoped the tablets would not take long to act, but she was utterly exhausted, and while she was saying to herself that if she didn't sleep soon she would go mad, she fell asleep.

  6

  WHEN Mary opened her eyes she saw Nina standing by her side.

  `What is 0' she asked sleepily.

  `It's very late, Signora. The Signora has to be in the Villa Bolognese at one and its twelve already.’

  Suddenly Mary remembered and a pang of anguish pierced her heart. Wide awake now, she looked at the maid. She was as usual smiling and friendly. Mary gathered her wits together.

  `I couldn't get to sleep again after you woke me. I didn't want to lie awake the rest of the night, so I took a couple of my little tablets.’

  `I'm very sorry, Signora. I heard a sound and I thought I'd better come and see if anything was wrong.’

  `What sort of a sound?'

  `Well, like a shot. I remembered the revolver that the Signore had left with you, and I was frightened.’

  `It must have been a car on the road. At night sound travels so far. Get me a cup of coffee and then I'll have my bath. I shall have to hurry.’

  As soon as Nina left the room Mary jumped up and went to the drawer in which she had hidden the revolver. For one moment she had been afraid that Nina had found it while she lay fast asleep and taken it away. Her husband Ciro could have told her at once that a chamber had been discharged. But the revolver was still there. While she waited for her coffee she reflected intently. She saw why Rowley had insisted that she should go to that luncheon party. There must be nothing in her behaviour that was not quite natural; for his sake now as well as for her own she trust be careful. She felt infinitely grateful to him. He had kept cool, be had thought of everything; who would have thought that that idle waster had so much grit in him! What would have happened to her if he hadn't kept his head when the drunken Italians in the car had come upon them at the most dangerous moment? She sighed. Perhaps he wasn't a very useful member of society, but he was a good friend; no one could deny that. When Mary had had a cup of coffee and her bath, when she sat at her dressing table and arranged her face, she began to feel much more herself. It was astonishing to see that notwithstanding what she had gone through, she looked no different. All that terror, all those tears had left no trace. She looked alert and well. Her honey-coloured skin showed no sign of fatigue; her hair shone and her eyes were bright. She felt a certain excitement steal over her; it gave her a kick to look forward to that luncheon where she would have to give a performance of high spirits and careless gaiety which would lead them all to say when she left: Mary was in wonderful form today. She had forgotten to ask Rowley if he had accepted the invitation he had said he had got; she hoped he would be there, it would give her confidence. At last she was ready to go. She took a last glance at herself in the mirror. Nina gave her a fond smile.

  `The Signora is looking more beautiful than I've ever seen her.’

  `You mustn't flatter me so much, Nina.’

  `But it's true. A good sleep has done you good. You look like a girl' The Atkinsons were middle-aged Americans who owned a large and sumptuous villa which had once belonged to the Medici, and they had spent twenty years collecting the furniture, pictures and statues which made it one of the show places of Florence. They were hospitable and they gave large parties. When Mary was shown into the drawing room, with its Renaissance cabinets, its Virgins by Desiderio de Settignano and Sansovino, and its Perugino and Filippino Lippi, most of the guests were already there. Two footmen in livery were walking about, one with a tray of cocktails and one with a tray of things to eat. The women were pretty in the summer dresses they had been to Paris to buy, and the men, in light suits, looked cool and easy. The tall windows were open on a formal garden of clipped box, with great stone vases of flowers symmetrically placed and weather-beaten statues of the Baroque period. On that warm day of early June there was an animation in the air which put everyone in a good humour. You had a sensation that no one there was affected by anxiety; everyone seemed to have plenty of money, every
one seemed ready to enjoy himself. It was impossible to believe that anywhere in the world there could be people who hadn't enough to eat. On such a day it was very good to be alive. Coming into the room Mary was acutely sensitive to the general spirit of cheerful goodwill that greeted her, but just that, that heedless pleasure in the moment, shocking her like the sudden furnace heat when you came out of the cool shade of a narrow Florentine street on to a sun-baked square, gave her a sharp, cruel pang of dismay. That poor boy was even now lying under the open sky on a hillside over the Arno with a bullet in his heart. But she caught sight of Rowley at the other end of the room, his eyes upon her, and she remembered what he had said. He was making his way towards her. Harold Atkinson, her host, was a fine, handsome, grey-haired man, plethoric and somewhat corpulent, with an eye for a pretty woman, and he was fond of flirting in a heavy, fatherly way with Mary. He was holding her hand now longer than was necessary. Rowley came up.

  `I've just been telling this girl she's as pretty as a picture,' said Atkinson, turning to him.

  `You're wasting your time, dear boy,' drawled Rowley, with his engaging smile.

  `You might as well pay compliments to the Statue of Liberty.’

  `Turned you down flat, has she?’

  `Flat.’

  `I don't blame her.’

  `The fact is, Mr. Atkinson, that I don't like boys,' said Mary, her eyes dancing.

  `My experience is that no man's worth talking to till he's fifty.’

  `We must get together some time and go into this matter,' answered Atkinson.

  `I believe we've got a lot in common.’

  He turned away to shake hands with a guest who had just arrived.

  `You're grand,' said Rowley in an undertone. The approving look in his eyes encouraged her, but notwithstanding she could not help giving him a frightened, harassed glance.

  `Don't let up. Think of yourself as an actress playing a part.• , I always told you I had no talent for the stage,' she answered, but with a smile.