Masquerade

Arturo shrugged. “Should you decide to stay in this country, signorina, I will inform your grandmother to that effect. You need not write or communicate with her in any way if you do not wish to do so. It is in your hands. You are of an age now to please yourself, one way or the other.”

Samantha ran a tongue over her lips. “Naturally, I am curious,” she said. “Do you know why my mother and father separated?”

“They divorced,” said Giovanni. “That is all we can tell you. Your father confided in us, but we do not know the whole story. You must find that out for yourself.”

“I see.” Samantha finished the brandy and stood the glass down. She looked thoughtfully at Benito. He looked solemn and very angry. She could tell this from the way his eyes flashed when he looked at her.

Samantha bent her head for a moment, twisting her fingers together, and then said:

“It is nearly lunch time. Will you stay to lunch?”

“That is very kind, signorina,” said Giovanni, smiling. “We would be most grateful.”

“And after lunch, I will give you your answer,” said Samantha firmly.

Matilde was in the kitchen when Samantha went in search of her, leaving Benito to entertain her guests. She perched on the board at which Matilde was working and slowly began to explain all that had happened. Matilde did not interrupt. She was a very comforting presence and Samantha knew she would miss her terribly if she did decide to go away.

As they washed and prepared a salad, Matilde looked questioningly at the girl.

“And you will go to England?” It was a statement more than a question, and Samantha looked surprised.

“Do you think I should?”

Matilde shrugged. “I do not know, Samantha. I only know that if you do not you will spend the rest of your life wondering whether you should. What is there for you here? Marriage with young Benito. Five years marriage and who knows? You may find your life is not as full as you had thought. There would be no escape. Our faith does not recognize divorce. Once married you stay married for many long years. Be sure before you commit yourself to such a sentence.”

“Oh, Matilde. You make it sound so dreary.”

“And isn’t it? When you are young, and have the world before you, is not anything humdrum dreary? Will you really be contented with half a dozen bambini to look after? Benito is a good man. You could do no better in this village. But Benito is Italian. You are not. Never forget that. Whatever you have done in the past. However much you speak the language and become one of us, you are still English. I am sorry to sound disparaging, Samantha, but I think you know I am right. Your mind is not really undecided. Only your heart is fickle. You want the best of both worlds. You would like to be married, for a time, but this is not what marriage is for. Marriage is giving yourself into another’s keeping for ever. For as long as you live. Always remember this. No matter where you go, or who you marry.”

Samantha looked pensively at the older woman. “As usual, Matilde, you are right. But what about you? What will you do?”

Matilde smiled. “I am getting old. Too old to mind giving up my work. My sister is a widow. She lives alone in Ravenna. She will be glad of my company. She is not a poor woman, we will not starve. Do not worry about me, Samantha. Worry for yourself. Go and get what you want and hold on to it. Never be content with ‘second-best’. Just tell yourself, you are as good as anyone else, and you cannot go far wrong.”

Samantha smiled. “All right, I’ll tell the Cionis. And thank you for your understanding. I’m going to miss you.”

“If you come back, come to my sister’s in Ravenna. We will make something out. Don’t worry. Be strong, and honest, and you will survive. In life, strength of mind and purpose, solve most things. Don’t be a child. You are a young woman. Act like one and be independent.”

Benito was sitting moodily on the verandah, when Samantha went to tell him that lunch was ready. He looked up dejectedly at her approach and she felt guilty that she should be the cause of his depression.

“You’re going, aren’t you?” he said accusingly.

Samantha shrugged her shoulders. “I’ve got to, Benito.”

“I don’t understand you, Samantha. I always thought I did. I was wrong.”

Samantha spread her hands helplessly. “Would you want me to marry you and spend the rest of my life wondering whether I had done the right thing?”

“Of course not, but before this letter came there was no doubt.”

“There was no alternative either,” she reminded him, awkwardly. “Please, Benito, try to understand. I’ve never left this country since I was four years old.”

“I have lived here all my life.”

“But you’re Italian.”

“So will you be, when you become my wife.”

“In name only. Benito, I’m English.”

“I’ve never known it bother you before.”

“Oh, Benito, try … try to understand. I do think a lot of you, but if I go away I will be able to see things in perspective. If I love you, I will come back. You know that. If you love me you must know that love does not die simply because the two people concerned are separated.”

Benito frowned. He knew she was right and yet he was also afraid of what the separation might do. He was not as sure of her as he was of himself. He could see that she genuinely did not want to hurt him, and yet if she did go, would he ever see her again?

“If you are determined, there is nothing I can do to stop you,” he said coolly.

“There is,” she said desperately. “You could give me an ultimatum. I don’t think I would dare to refuse you then.”

Benito sighed and shook his head. “No, of course you are right. I could not force you into such a position. You are a free woman, Samantha. But please come back to me.”

Samantha flushed. “Oh, Benito, when you look at me like that, I wish I had never even seen the letter.”

Benito pulled her to him. “So do I,” he groaned, as he pressed his lips to her hair.

“And now,” he said, at last, “you must tell the Cionis of your decision.”

“Yes,” Samantha nodded. “And soon I’ll know the secret of why my mother acted as she did. I only hope she is not as horrid as she sounds.”

CHAPTER II (#ulink_1f2ea91f-ed58-5cc1-94db-3a7ef9ed8b51)

PATRICK MALLORY crossed the smooth tarmac of Milan airport. Ahead lay the gleaming aircraft which was to transport him back to London and the busy life from which he had enjoyed a brief respite. He always regretted leaving Italy after staying there for some time. It was his mother’s country and he had spent four idyllic weeks with her in their villa on the shores of Lake Como, soaking up the sun and relaxing completely. His life in London was hectic and sometimes nerve-racking. This holiday had been a godsend. Now he had never felt better. He looked tanned and fit and was ready to assume the responsibilities which were waiting for him in England.

He was a tall lean, attractive man in his middle thirties. His hair was very black and his olive complexion owed much of its darkness to the fact of his being half-Italian. His eyes were hazel, tinged with tawny lights and his expression was rather cynical. He had not the kind of square-cut good looks that are generally called handsome, but he had a whimsical charm which in itself was much more magnetic. He was quite aware of the effect he had on members of the opposite sex and could use his charm to good advantage if it suited his purpose. He had not lived thirty-six years without knowing a great many women, but so far he had found them monotonously the same.

Running a restless hand through his short hair, he mounted the steps to the entrance of the aeroplane, smiling his warm, attractive smile and causing the young stewardess to become blushingly confused.

She directed him to his seat and putting down his briefcase beside him he stretched his long legs luxuriously. Now that he was actually almost on his way, as it were, his mind was already leaping ahead to London and to his immediate plans on arrival. There was the new play, for example. That might take some re-writing to fit the stage.

Reaching up a lazy hand, he loosened the top button of his shirt beneath his impeccable tie. It was hot in the aircraft. It would be cooler when they took off. At least the journey required no further effort from him. He could sit back and enjoy it.

His thoughts turned to the woman who had been occupying much of his mind during the holiday. She would be waiting for him in London. He wondered whether it was time he started thinking seriously about settling down. A bachelor life was fine, but the idea of having a settled home appealed to him. His mother had said much the same thing to him when they had discussed his life. She wanted him to have children. His sister was married with six children and had been married now for over eighteen years. Of course, Gina was ten years his senior, but he ought to be turning his thoughts in that direction, he supposed.

He looked casually out of the window, surveying the airport buildings. Already it was nearly time for take-off. He was glad his mother never insisted on coming to the airport to see him off. He detested long farewells, particularly those made in public.

His attention was caught by two young people by the gate which led over to this aircraft. The young man was obviously upset and was trying, rather unsuccessfully Patrick thought, to hold the girl tightly to him and kiss her. Eventually he succeeded in his objective, but the girl broke away almost immediately and darted from him, and across the tarmac to the waiting plane. Apparently the young man had come to wish her goodbye and things had got rather emotional and out of hand.

Patrick felt amused. The girl looked English, but you never could tell these days. It could have been a holiday romance that had blossomed swiftly in the hot sun, or she could be an Italian leaving home for the first time for some reason. They were too intense, thought Patrick cynically. Why did young people always seem to feel things so intensely? He never had, at least he could never remember having done so. Perhaps he was singularly lucky, or alternatively not the sort of person to feel emotion deeply. At any rate, no woman had ever made a fool of him. He lit a cigarette. Well, he was glad he was past the stage for hearts and flowers. If he married, and it was a big “if”, it would be for practical reasons, not emotional ones.