Last Train from Liguria Read online

  'Yes, Mamma?'

  'From next term you will no longer be a private pupil. You will be going to school with other children. Would you like that?'

  'I don't know.'

  'Good. You are to go to school in San Remo. San Giorgio's it's called. Also you will be joining the Balilla. Won't that be fun? Miss Stuart has been very clever and arranged it all for you.'

  'Will there be uniforms?'

  'Of course there'll be uniforms! This is Italy after all – there are always uniforms!'

  'But how will I get to school, Mamma?'

  'Miss Stuart will take you.'

  'The last time we went to San Remo we had to wait and wait, and the autobus was so late and—'

  'There will be no need to worry about the autobus. Goodness no. We will buy a motor car! Can you drive, Miss Stuart?'

  'I'm afraid not.'

  'Never mind, you can learn. Tomorrow we will go to San Giorgio's and book a place for Alec to start in October. Then we will find someone who can teach Miss Stuart how to drive. So we will have a female chauffeur – a chauffeuse as the French say! Are we not a modern household after all? And when Miss Stuart learns how to drive, we shall buy her a car – what do you say, Miss Stuart?'

  'I don't know what to say,' Bella laughs.

  It is not the only news Signora Lami has to break during her holiday. Her next and final bomba comes the day before she goes back to Sicily. They have just returned from lunch in the old town of La Pigna, walking all the way back to Bordighera, the Signora in her lemon dress, turning heads on every street and café terrace along the way. Signor Tassi, in cream linen, looking as if he could burst with delight.

  Then tea in the Bordighera tearooms is proposed, which Edward tries to squirm out of, just as Bella has been considering staging her own 'bit of a headache'. But the Signora is determined to 'make a day of it' as she seems to have done of so many days since her arrival. Boat trips and picnics; carriage jaunts and car hires; Monte Carlo, Menton, Nice. The Hanbury Gardens; jazz suppers and tea dances. They've had the lot. Not to mention clay-pigeon shooting, tennis matches, golf games, hill-hiking and a very close call in the trampoline competition, which mercifully they'd been too late to enter. There have been awkward dinners with guests the Signora appeared not to know all that well. Afternoon teas in the garden where the saucers and spoons seemed to do all the talking. That her companion should have a full and varied holiday seems to have been the order of each day. Even if it often appeared that poor Signor Tassi would rather sit on a terrace or stroll through town, watch and be watched, nothing else to do otherwise but prepare his bella figura for the passeggiata, and soundly sleep between meals.

  Now, after speaking mostly Italian for days, and eating lunch in a trattoria rusticana, the diners with gingham napkins tied round their necks like babies, and the sight of so much food making Bella's stomach crawl, it seems funny to be sitting on the lawn of the tearooms, at a table stiff with white linen and teacups, listening to English accents all around, talk of cricket and the Henley Regatta.

  'You are quiet today, Miss Stuart,' the Signora says as she pulls off her gloves. 'Have you something on your mind?'

  'I'm fine, just a bit of a head—'

  'I am glad to hear it. I thought perhaps you were worrying about something. Or perhaps your back was giving you trouble?'

  Then Bella, without thinking – or as she would decide later, without taking account of the wine she'd had at lunch – blabs out, 'Actually, I had a letter from my father yesterday. He's coming over in August.'

  'Really? Here to Bordighera?'

  'Yes, on his way to the Olympic Games in Berlin. I was just thinking, my God, I haven't seen him in over three years.'

  'But how lovely, Miss Stuart. Which date in August?'

  'The first week, I think. Just for a few days.'

  'Perfect! He must be our guest.'

  'No,' Bella says.

  'No?' Signora Lami laughs. 'What's the matter, Miss Stuart, don't you like your father?'

  'Of course I do, it's, well, I mean, you're very kind but he'll be staying at the Hotel Angst, it's all been arranged.'

  'The Angst? But that's only down the road. He may just as well be with us. You must write at once and tell him to cancel. Tell him I insist absolutely that he be our guest.'

  'Actually Signora, he'd probably prefer the Angst. You see, he'll be on his honeymoon.'

  'He's to be remarried! Oh my dear! Congratulations. Who is he to marry – do you know?'

  'Yes I do. Mrs Jenkins is her name, she's a widow.'

  'How lovely for him. How lovely for you all.' She turns to Signor Tassi and translates.

  'Ahhh,' he beams, stands up and, taking Bella's face in his hands, kisses her on both cheeks. 'Auguri, auguri.' When he sits down again he leans into Signora Lami and, heads together, they exchange a few whispered words.

  'We may as well tell you our news now, as later,' Signora Lami laughs. 'We are also to be married! And we hope, if it can be arranged, in August. Can you believe it? August of the second weddings, we shall have to call it!'

  Signor Tassi reaches over and takes her hand, then they both bashfully laugh.

  Edward is the first to pull himself together, offering his hand and congratulations. Bella quickly follows. Alec, flicking through a deck of cards, appears not to have heard a word.

  'Well, Alec?' his mother says. 'Have you nothing to say to your mamma?'

  'No, Mamma.'

  'Well, to your new papa then? Have you nothing to say to him?'

  Alec stands up and, stepping up to Tassi, flings the cards at him. Then he juts out his neck and, opening his mouth as wide as it will go, silently growls at him, a look of hatred and hurt on his face.

  The table falls silent for a few painful seconds, each one avoiding the other's eyes until the Signora speaks. 'You may take Alec home now, Miss Stuart. I believe he must be overtired. In any case I don't wish to see him again this evening, or for that matter before I leave Bordighera.'

  *

  At the beginning of August Signora Lami, now Signora Tassi, hosts a house party over several days to celebrate her marriage. A small private ceremony has already taken place in the South of France. No guests from either Italian household were invited, not even Alec. Signor Tassi's elderly brother, along with a cousin of the Signora's from Turin, were the only witnesses.

  It made better sense, the Signora would later explain, to marry in France where there was less red tapes and fewer bustarelle to slip under the bureaucratic table. Nobody likes to ask why red tape and bribes should be necessary in the first place – after all, the Signora has been a widow for over three years. It is left to Rosa in the kitchen to utter the phrases 'mixed marriages' and 'godless France'.

  After the civil ceremony in France, the witnesses having been dispatched, back to Naples for Tassi's elder brother, and in the case of the Signora's cousin, to a watercolour painting course in Cap Martin, the honeymoon began. The first two nights were spent in the Hotel Negresco in Nice, which the groom had loved, but the bride found a little vulgar. Then another few days on a yacht, which had delighted the bride but occasionally caused the groom to be sick over the side. The yacht took them up the coast from Nice to Portofino and then returned them to Bordighera.

  *

  As they dock a photographer is waiting, along with the house guests, heavily armed with flowers and good wishes, as per the Signora's instructions.

  From Naples, the Tassi family – another of Gino's brothers, a widower, and his three adult sons. All high-spirited, hungry and fond of a drink. From Switzerland, a middle-aged couple that say little but smile all the time. A buck-toothed man from London, eager to discuss and observe fascism at any opportunity, and who refers to the British fascist leader, 'Sir Oswald Mosley or Tom – as he is known to his closest friends.'

  A few local residents are also present, none of whom Bella has ever seen or heard of before. Apart from Mrs Cardiff and her brother James, the manager of th
e English bank in Bordighera.

  The cousin of the Signora, who had been a witness at the wedding, is called Eugenia, and like the Signora is a beauty in her late twenties. Her father, the Signora's uncle, a soft-spoken, tender-eyed German aristocrat, who is extremely dull, but has impeccable manners and speaks perfect English as well as Italian, joins her in Bordighera.

  By the second evening Eugenia, who from the start has made it clear that she is utterly appalled by the unrefined table manners of Gino Tassi's nephews, can no longer contain herself. She stomps out of the dining room during the primo piatto. The Signora follows her, forgetting to close the door behind her, so that everyone at the table can hear Eugenia's complaints, which unfortunately are made in Italian. She cannot sit and watch men eat like monkeys, Eugenia says, spaghetti swinging out of their mouths. It disgusts her, that's all. Nor can she listen to another greasy slurp. She will not share a table with such selvaggi!

  Bella expects a terrible scene – humiliation followed by outrage. In fact the men from Naples turn out to be delighted by the insult, slapping the table and throwing back their heads to laugh (mouths wide open and full of food). At this moment the quiet German politely asks to be excused and goes out to the hall, where in his perfect Italian he tells Eugenia, if she doesn't gather up her manners and get back inside, he will put his fist through her face. This amuses the Neapolitans all the more and for the rest of the visit they repeat the phrase, by word or by mime, every time the shame-faced Eugenia comes within range.

  With all these guests to accommodate, it had earlier been decided that Bella, Alec and Elida should give up their rooms and move to one of the hotels in town and that Edward would accompany them. As it is August, and the better hotels are booked from year to year, they settle on the Jolanda. More like a guest house, it is favoured by Czechoslovakians with enough children between them to distract Alec rather than overwhelm him. He has not taken to the wedding at all well – nor to his new papa, nor to the intrusion of guests in his house. He cringes anytime he runs into the Neapolitans, who ruffle his hair and pluck at his stomach in an attempt to tickle him. Also Eugenia, forever kissing his face and telling him how much she loves him. Since the celebrations have started in fact, Alec has been whinging a lot and has hardly come out from behind Bella's skirt.

  The Jolanda suits him, with its quiet sitting rooms, and the table in the window where he can stay with his pencils and sketch pad undisturbed except for the landlady who pops in from time to time with caramelle and crescents of melon. Bella is happy here too: it's like being on holiday in England only with better weather. Sand in the hallway, the echo of strange voices everywhere, men drinking beer in the garden, sing-songs around the piano in the evenings with an unusually jolly Edward at the helm. It's nice having somewhere to escape to, even if it does mean using Alec's naps and shyness as a frequent excuse.

  Otherwise it's been beck-and-call throughout, but at least she gets to practise her driving. Up and down the via Romano, cabbying guests to the beach, the capo, the train station or wherever their whims take them, in her brand new car which the Signora has managed to get on approval from a garage in Ventimiglia. A Topolino – a baby mouse, named for its peculiar shape and non-descript colour. Bella did try suggesting to the Signora that something a little older and a lot less shiny might be in keeping for someone who is still a novice at the driving game. But, as Edward points out, the Signora is the Signora, and will always do and hear just as she pleases.

  On Friday morning of the wedding party, a telegram arrives from the American cousins.

  POSITIVELY OVERJOYED. HEARTIEST AUGURI. SIMPLY GOT TO VIEW THAT LUCKY MAN. STOPPING OVER EN ROUTED TO SWITZERLAND. LEAVE PARIS SUNDAY. EXCEPT MONDAY PM. BEST TO ALL, A & G NELSON.

  At this point Edward decides now might be a good time to take his annual leave.

  'But you never take annual leave, other than a weekend or two – at least not since I've been here,' Bella says when he tells her.

  'Well, I'm making up for it now. Six weeks in fact. A walking tour of Germany and Austria.'

  'Six weeks? Does the Signora know this?'

  'Yes, and she's all for it. She's staying here till the end of August anyway, and she's asked Cesare to move into one of the guest rooms until I come back. Just so there's a man about – her words, not mine.'

  'Cesare? Is he supposed to protect us from intruders?'

  'He can always breathe on them.'

  'Shut up, Edward, you're not funny. When do you go?'

  'When do the Americans arrive?'

  'Monday p.m., the telegram said.'

  'I'm leaving Monday, as it happens – a.m. Shame.'

  'Oh, very smart, Edward,' Bella says. 'Very smart indeed.'

  But not smart enough for the American cousins, who, having had their fill of Paris, arrive two days early. Storming in on the company on Saturday evening just at the hour of the aperitivo, with their slinky laughs and witty asides, loud as they ever were, all gesture and cosmetics, everyone running around in their wake, until luggage, cigarette lighters, ashtrays, drinks and places at an already over-full table have all been arranged, without either having to lift a finger.

  Grace has grown a little plumper and is, Bella decides, consequently dressed in a copious purple kimono, which only draws attention to the matter. Amelia, who has gone in the opposite direction, is skinnier than ever, and has obviously abandoned Katharine Hepburn and taken to styling herself on Wallis Simpson instead. She no longer has her athletic carriage and now seems to be leaning from her feet, rather than standing up on them. Between them they frighten Eugenia into a headache – making one extra place immediately available. A piano stool is brought in by one of the Neapolitans, who volunteers to sit on it himself, while his two brothers squeeze up to make room for Amelia.

  The Signora's pain is written all over her face. She shows no interest in opening the wedding gift they have brought her from Paris, but simply instructs Rosa 'to put it away somewhere'. Even her new husband, who had initially been fluttering all over the cousins, senses her mood and withdraws his attentions. Edward, apart from a discreet weary roll of the eyes, keeps his dismay to himself. Bella, who tries not to gloat over his botched plans, is surprised at how pleased she is to see the American cousins again.

  Not far into dinner, however, it becomes clear that there will be some sort of a scene. Amelia, who has been drinking non-stop and playing up to the Neapolitans on either side of her, has eaten nothing at all, except for some ice cream which one of them has fed her from his spoon. Every now and then her eye flicks towards Edward. The less he seems to notice her, the more agitated she becomes. Grace meanwhile has homed in on the German uncle, laughing her head off at everything he says. This seems to surprise him, as much as it does everyone else.

  Throughout the meal Amelia addresses Edward on only one occasion. 'Is that water you're drinking, Edward? My God, don't tell me you still don't drink alcohol?'

  'You know I don't, Amelia,' he says. 'I've told you often enough.'

  'Well, so you have. Remind me again – why you're such a good boy?' She puts her elbow on the table, rests her chin in her hand and sends a seductive eye down-table.

  'He had jaundice when he was a child,' Bella says without thinking.

  Amelia widens her eyes at her. 'Oh, and what are you now – his nurse?'

  'I'm only saying,' Bella mumbles. 'It damages the liver.'

  'I'm sure Edward can speak up for his own liver,' Amelia says, turning back to her glass.

  A short time later, just before coffee, it comes out that the cousins will have to stay in the Jolanda.

  'Really?' Grace begins. 'There's no room for us here in the house? Oh my goodness. I mean to say, how mortifying – we are such a pair of nuisances. To have presumed on your hospitality – what must you think of us? Do please forgive.'

  'There is nothing to forgive,' the Signora says, 'except a house that is not large enough.'

  'Uh-huh. The Jolanda, you say?' Grace continues.
'Remind me, isn't that the one with the yellow sign on the corner of via what-you-call-it? Yes, I think I know it, in fact I'm certain.'

  'The Jolanda is convenient at least,' the Signora says, 'and we will be taking care of the bill, naturally. You can return here on Monday. Rosa should have your old rooms ready by the afternoon.'

  'Well, that's kind,' Grace says, taking a spoonful of ice cream, and playing it around her mouth, then: 'What about that interesting hotel back along the road? Hotel Angst – I've always liked the look of that, I must say. Despite its unfortunate name!'

  'The Angst is booked out,' Bella tells her. 'Everywhere is except the Jolanda.'

  'Oh, I think you'll find, Miss Stuart – if you forgive my saying so – that the better hotels, they often keep a V.I.P. suite in reserve in case anyone important turns up unexpectedly. Of course, I don't mean to imply that my sister and I, we are in anyway important – good heavens, no. But, given the late hour, it is quite possible that it still is available, in which case—'

  'Actually,' Bella says, 'I've already booked you into the Jolanda, your luggage is in your rooms and everything.'

  'But how? I mean when?' Amelia then asks her.

  'Before dessert, I went out.'

  'You did? Were you gone long?'

  'About half an hour.'

  'How extraordinary – I didn't even notice you were gone! But then I didn't even notice you were here!' Amelia bursts out laughing.

  The Signora glares at Amelia. 'Is that intended as an insult to Miss Stuart?' she coldly asks.

  'Why, of course not!' Amelia cries. 'As if I would insult our dear Miss Stuart.' She lifts her glass in Bella's direction. 'She knows I have nothing but the utmost for her.'

  'If you mean respect, then I'm very glad to hear it,' the Signora returns.

  Later on the terrace Amelia takes a final swipe at Bella. Edward has just announced that he'll be absent for the rest of their visit and shouldn't be included in their plans.

  'Good heavens, Edward,' Amelia says, her speech, by now, beginning to thicken, 'we've only just arrived. Are you trying to avoid us? Where are you going anyhow?'