Chapter 8
8
The next morning, I woke at seven o’clock feeling rested and much calmer than I had expected.
Since Greg and I divorced I had found it hard to find any sort of peace of mind to allow me to sleep properly. I suppose in the middle of those wakeful hours I had rehashed all his lies, the deceit and the disappointment so many times without ever finding satisfaction.
The same questions over and over again – why did he do it? And had he actually found happiness? And worst of all, was it somehow, as he had suggested, all my fault?
I honestly thought over the years I had done my best to support him and take on all the domestic tasks he refused to do, but whatever it was he wanted, it wasn’t me. I could still remember that bitter insult he had thrown at me the last time I had seen him: You’re fifty eight, face up to it, no one else is going to want you. Was that true?
And yet that night I had slept better than I had for years. I would not waste any more time thinking about my failures. There was a whole day ahead of me, a new day filled with new experiences. I would not just deal with mundane domestic chores, perhaps go to the supermarket to buy dull things. We were going to see the Contessa at eleven, and I had the feeling that if she said eleven o’clock, she meant it.
Meanwhile there was breakfast to think about, and what was I going to wear? I had bought a few new things in honour of the occasion, and I had deliberately left behind all the things I usually packed.
The safe, navy blue trousers, several washed out shirts and sweaters, all rivals in dreary predictability, and some dreadful shoes with (utter shame) Velcro fastenings, had all been dumped in the clothing recycling bin at the supermarket and instead I had splashed out on some maxi dresses and pastel trainers, which I saw were all the rage in the fashion magazines at my hairdressers. I might be past middle age, but that didn’t mean I had to dress like an old woman.
In the end after several false starts, I chose a smart pair of dark trousers and teamed it with a blue and white striped shirt and a bright blue sweater, which I tied around my neck. These choices were so unlike me, and I spent several minutes preening in front of the mirror, wondering why I didn’t dress like this at home. Why was I still keeping new underwear and clothes ‘for best’? What was the point of that?
Perhaps it was the weather here that made me feel so light hearted and optimistic, the sunshine and the clear air, plus of course the wonderful feeling of being on holiday and having few responsibilities.
Downstairs I discovered breakfast set out in the dining room and it was a splendid-looking buffet, with helpful handwritten labels, jugs of chilled fruit juice and artistically arranged ham and cheese platters. Outside, the sea sparkled and shone in the morning sunshine. The sky was forget-me-not blue and cloudless. It was perfection.
Susie was already there, sitting at a table by the window drinking coffee.
‘Oooh, hello. Sleep okay?’ she said. ‘I was out like a light the moment I got into bed and didn’t stir until seven thirty. Perhaps it was because Simon wasn’t driving the pigs to market next to me. Thank heavens I don’t have to put up with that any longer.’
I laughed. ‘Separate bedrooms, that’s all the rage these days.’
Susie wrinkled her nose. ‘I don’t think I would like that. But I’ll give that some thought. Although as I said, I have absolutely no intention of ever speaking to a man ever again.’
‘Apart from Raimondo?’
‘That doesn’t count. And I’m sure I didn’t say that. I was just being polite to a fellow guest.’
‘And do you intend being polite to him again?’
Susie blushed. ‘Stop making something out of nothing. Have you seen the buffet? I thought I would wait until you came down before I attacked it.’
‘Come on, I’m hungry,’ I said, ‘and how did your evening with Raimondo pan out? You definitely said you weren’t going to talk to a man again, except in an emergency.’
‘Don’t be silly, and it’s none of your business,’ Susie said firmly, ‘but I can see some fabulous pastries over there.’
There was fresh fruit, teas, and coffee. Bread and rolls of all sorts, including sweet Italian bread labelled maritozzi. Golden, glazed croissants, or as we were in Italy they were more properly called cornetti, some plain and others filled with custard or chocolate. Thin pastries filled with ricotta called sfogliatelle. Baskets of almond biscotti to dunk in our coffee, slices of a majestic panettone studded with candied fruits, a tray of bomboloni, doughnuts filled with whipped cream. Little tarts, or pasticciotto , filled with lemon custard. The choice was impossible.
‘There’s about nine million calories on this table,’ Susie said as we stood clutching plates in front of the display, dithering. ‘How do we decide?’
‘Let’s just go for the naughtiest-looking ones. We are on holiday, so the calories don’t count, and I bet the coffee is fantastic.’
Choices made, we returned to our table.
‘This is such a treat,’ I said, slicing into a bomboloni. ‘I must say, this beats a full English every time, or toast and Marmite which is what I usually have. I wonder what Alex is doing?’
‘Forget about him, I’m sure he will cope without you for a week,’ Susie said.
‘Probably, and I did tell him not to have any parties while I was away. Although he did have a friend from work staying last night.’
‘New girlfriend?’
I poured some coffee and took an appreciative sip.
‘He didn’t actually say. I’m sure it will be fine. And I can’t do anything about it after all.’
‘Of course it will. So what are we doing today?’ Susie asked.
‘Going to see the Contessa at eleven. And then I have no idea. Perhaps for once we don’t need to do anything? No one to worry about, no one to entertain. We could even sit in the garden and read. An actual book. I haven’t done that for ages.’
‘I read a lot these days,’ Susie said. ‘There’s nothing on television except reality shows and endless repeats and politicians shouting at each other.’
‘Perhaps we could just sit and think,’ I said. ‘I haven’t done much of that either. And sometimes I need to think more. About important things – what next, life and everything.’
‘No, nor have I,’ Susie said, looking pensive.
Yes, at the beginning I had entertained endless theoretical arguments I would have with Greg if our paths had ever crossed since he had left me. Which they hadn’t. I’d formed all sorts of withering put-downs and accusations ready for the eventuality. But that morning I realised it made things a lot more pleasant to just forget about him. Life was so much simpler without him, and quieter without his endless complaints about the council or the neighbours.
But in the past I had been lonely. There was no disputing that. And I had at least got into the habit of daily activity, but never really doing much different. Just doing what my mother would have called keeping body and soul together.
‘Are you really not going to tell me about Raimondo? I’m terribly curious.’
‘I can’t think why, nothing happened. He’s very charming and a good listener, which isn’t something one finds very often in a man these days. Raimondo and I had a brandy and a nice chat and then I went to bed. On my own, before you get any funny ideas.’
‘That’s disappointing,’ I said. ‘I thought you and he had a definite, you know, connection.’
Susie pushed her wayward hair out of her eyes.
‘Well, we did, but I’m not that sort of girl. I might see him later on today, and of course at the celebration lunch tomorrow. Or I might not.’
I made a childish oooh noise and Susie clicked her tongue.
‘I could just ask you the same question about Paulo,’ she said. ‘All those lingering glances and meaningful silences. What’s going on there, if we are talking about connections?’
‘You’re imagining it,’ I said. ‘Lots of water under lots of bridges. There’s nothing to tell. We are just old friends.’
Susie took a sip of coffee and put the cup down in the saucer, and then she leaned a little way towards me.
‘I remember the night of that party. I. Don’t. Believe. You.’
For a moment I wondered if she was right, and I couldn’t help myself; I was pleased. But also a bit rattled.
* * *
At ten to eleven we went to ask the receptionist where we might find the Contessa.
‘We have been invited to her rooms,’ I said proudly. ‘We’re just not sure where to go.’
‘Please, let me help you,’ said a voice behind us, and there was Paulo, looking ridiculously handsome in a white shirt and dark jeans. My heart gave a little unexpected flutter of excitement.
Had he looked that elegant when I knew him all those years ago? I didn’t think he owned a suit. Or a tie. And yet there had been something about him that was inherently stylish.
And then there it was, that moment, the one I had tried so hard to forget over the following months and perhaps even years. Maybe it was the white shirt; he had been wearing one that night. His tanned neck rising so perfectly out of the unbuttoned collar.
It was the second term after Paulo and Ellen had moved into our house. A bleak, cold Saturday in January when we had used Paulo’s birthday as an excuse for a fancy-dress party. I’d gone as Bo Peep in a blue linen dress and lace shirt. I’d had a toy lamb under one arm and a shepherd’s crook made out of a broom handle and a wire coat hanger. Paulo had dressed as a gangster in a pinstriped suit, his hair slicked back and a terrible fake moustache he’d bought from the joke shop. The memory of that evening was one that suddenly seared through me like a blade.
We had been sitting next to each other on the battered sofa, where one of the legs had fallen off and been propped up by a pile of textbooks by the previous tenants. Everyone had drunk quite a bit by that stage; we certainly had.
‘You look marvellous as a gangster. Happy Birthday,’ I’d said, and I had reached across and flung my arms around Paulo and I’d kissed him.
I hadn’t intended it, but suddenly that kiss had turned into something more. There was an unmistakeable and momentary magic between us in that moment, and I believed, I knew – he had felt it too. His arms had gone around me after a second, and nothing in that room had mattered as much to me as the feeling of his hands in my hair.
And as we parted, we had stared into each other’s eyes. Neither of us seemed able to breathe properly; the noise from the party had faded away and then I had looked over his shoulder to see Ellen, frozen in the doorway from the kitchen. Her face, normally so serene and composed, had been a picture of anger and disbelief.
She had mouthed something at me. Don’t you dare.
And then the moment was broken when we realised Paulo’s fake moustache had fallen off and landed on my cleavage, and he had laughed. I had laughed. And mercifully after a moment everyone joined in. All except the young man who was supposed to be my boyfriend at the time. I couldn’t even remember his name.
He just looked at me, utter disgust on his face, snarled some insults in my direction and then he had grabbed his coat and left, slamming the front door behind him.
What have you been doing? How did that moustache get there? What a funny thing to happen. People laughed some more.
I looked again and Ellen had left the room as well. Moments later, Paulo went after her. I’d had another drink then from the punch bowl. Heaven knows what was in it, but it didn’t dull the utter despair I felt that evening.
* * *
I met up with him in the kitchen the following morning, both of us in need of coffee and an Alka Selzer.
‘I’m sorry about last night,’ I said, just as he spoke.
‘Joanna…’
‘Is Ellen very angry?’
‘Ellen is never angry.’
I tipped a load of foil cartons into the bin liner and started clearing the table, which was littered with empty bottles and the remains of a messy birthday cake.
Paulo took hold of my wrist and we looked at each other.
‘Why didn’t you ring me? After that night?’
‘I lost your address,’ I said miserably.
‘I looked for you.’
‘I looked for you, but I never saw you until that day you turned up with Ellen.’
We stood in silence for a few minutes, both of us thinking.
‘Joanna, Jo, do you want me to?—’
I interrupted him, terrified of what he might say. Was he going to offer to end their relationship? Tell her he had feelings for me?
I felt bad enough about what had happened; I didn’t want to make it any worse. And I had a pounding headache that meant I could hardly think straight.
‘I don’t want you to do anything. Ellen’s lovely.’
‘She is,’ he agreed. ‘I don’t want to hurt her. But you and I…’
‘Then don’t,’ I said, pulling away, ‘don’t hurt either of us. I couldn’t bear it. Forget it. I just want things to go back to how they were. For Ellen to forgive me.’
Had she ever forgiven me? Perhaps it was a case of keeping one’s friends close and one’s enemies closer. She never mentioned it again and nor did I. But I remembered it.
Had I been right not to listen to what he wanted to say, to find out what he thought? Had I turned my back on something that could have been so important?
The toy lamb had been found weeks later under the sofa, the moustache stuck to its face.
* * *
I took a deep breath and steadied myself against the wall for a moment, a bright smile plastered on my face.
We followed Paulo down a long corridor and he knocked on a door at the end. After a moment he went in, beckoning us to follow him.
‘ Sei pronto . You are prompt,’ Ceci said with approval. ‘I like that.’
She was sitting by the open window, elegant in a silk dress, a cashmere wrap around her shoulders.
‘Come in. I have ordered coffee; it should be here in a moment. Freddy has gone off for his morning walk. Paulo, you can leave us. Yes, off you go. If you see Freddy loitering by the kitchens, hoping for treats, you have my permission to shoo him away.’
Coffee? What I needed was a strong drink. Something like bourbon or Polish vodka, although I disliked the taste of both of them. I imagined myself for a moment, propped against a dark bar somewhere, downing a shot, wincing as the alcohol burned its way down.
‘My hairdresser will be arriving soon, but for now, come and sit down, tell me about yourselves. I never get the chance to find out about young people these days, and my hearing is poor, so when I am in company like yesterday I prefer to talk about myself. Then I don’t have to listen.’
Young people? It was a long time since we had been referred to as that. It made me feel unreasonably pleased.
‘We are loving being here,’ I said, ‘it’s absolutely beautiful. The only thing that could make things better would be if Ellen was here with us too.’
Ceci nodded, looking thoughtful.
‘She was an extraordinary woman. So calm and always so composed. Nothing seemed to upset her, which in a family like ours was strange. When I was younger there was always someone arguing about something. The house was filled with the noise of me and my sisters fighting. When I was bored as a child I used to pick fights with the two of them just for the fun of it. And so did they. We still do. Ellen would leave the room if people argued, if she thought the atmosphere was difficult.’
Yes, I remembered that aspect of her character only too well.
‘But what are you hoping to do while you are here?’
‘Just meet Ellen’s Italian family and friends. And relax I suppose and enjoy the scenery. There is something about overlooking the sea that is so wonderful and restful.’
‘I must warn you, my younger sisters Sylvia and Lucia will be arriving sometime today,’ Ceci said, and she gave me a look. ‘That will be interesting. There is nothing restful about them, I can assure you.’
‘How do you mean?’ I asked.
‘Sylvia is una donna molto anziani – a very old woman,’ Ceci replied after some thought. ‘You will see.’
‘Brave of her to make the trip then,’ Susie said, ‘if she’s that old.’
Ceci snorted. ‘She is three years younger than I am. But every time I see her, in her head she is an invalid. Always fussing and complaining. Wanting attention. Too hot, too cold. Feel my hands. Do I look pale. Where are my pills, my medication. No way to be. There is a cliff not far from here, Salto di Tiberio, where the Emperor Tiberius threw his enemies off, so that their bodies were smashed on the rocks below. After five minutes Sylvia makes me feel like that. I must take her up there one day. She is also colour blind. She will be wearing turquoise, although she thinks it is orange, I can guarantee it. It’s bad enough losing my youth, I refuse to accept old age as she has. Not yet anyway. You must keep her away from me, in case she depresses me.’
‘We will do our best,’ I said. ‘What about Lucia?’
‘Now, Lucia was the baby of the family and she was always very silly. She still is. You will see. It will take her perhaps five minutes to throw a tantrum about something, and she’s seventy-eight and should know better.’
Susie and I exchanged a delighted look. This sounded very promising indeed.
A waiter came in with a tray of coffee at that point, which he settled on the sideboard.
‘Leave it, Mario. We can manage,’ Ceci said, and he left with a little bow at the door.
The next few minutes were taken up with serving the coffee and remarking on its wonderful taste.
At last, Ceci patted my hand. ‘ Eccelente. Now then, what to wear tomorrow. I would like your opinion. Although I may ignore it. I have a choice.’
She stood up with none of the usual effort of accompanying noises that many older people make and led us towards her bedroom where several very flamboyant cocktail dresses were hanging from the picture rail on padded coat hangers.
‘Wow, these are lovely, so bright and vibrant,’ Susie said, reaching out to touch them. ‘This beading is wonderful.’
‘I refuse to wear black. It drains all the colour from my face, and I look like an old crow,’ Ceci said. ‘I am much more myself in bright things, pretty things. They lift my spirits and my soul. People wear too much black and call it fashion. Chanel had a lot to answer for. It’s lazy. Black is for mourning and death. And pretending one is svelte when one only has to look properly in the mirror, preferably side on, to see one isn’t.’
‘This red cocktail dress is gorgeous,’ Susie said.
‘Valentino,’ Ceci said with a wistful sigh. ‘I wore that to a party in Rome where I met the Conte. He loved that colour, but I don’t wear it now. I just like to look at it. It’s a work of art. I was very poor when I bought it.’
‘I don’t think you can have been,’ I murmured.
‘Poor in money but not in spirit,’ Ceci said firmly.
Thinking about it, there wasn’t much spirit displayed in my choice of clothes. Even with my new purchases; they were pretty safe. I was never going to sashay into a party and catch the attention of a titled nobleman.
‘You should wear it tomorrow,’ Ceci said, her face brightening, ‘that would be fun.’
Susie gasped. ‘I couldn’t possibly, it must be worth a fortune. It should be in a museum somewhere.’
Ceci snorted. ‘So should I. But that’s foolish. And I think it would suit you. You are not fat like so many women these days.’
We all stood up a bit straighter then and pulled in our stomachs. That was something else about Ceci: her posture. Not slumped over as we often were. I would try to do something similar from now on. I was aware that I had adopted a rather round-shouldered look recently. Was this because my muscles were slack or because I was old and lazy? Probably the latter.
There was a timid knock at the door to Ceci’s apartment and she motioned me to open it as I was closest. It was a small worried-looking woman in a floral overall, whose face tensed up at the sight of Ceci holding court to guests.
‘ Signora, posso tornare se non è conveniente? ’
She was clutching a canvas holdall, which she held defensively in front of her.
‘Nonsense, Gina, it is perfectly convenient,’ Ceci said, ‘and as I am now in the mood to have some fun, I have una sfida – a challenge for you.’
The woman looked even more worried at that point, and well she might.