Fifteen

 

The train was crowded and Edward was crammed into a compartment with a large family and two priests. The evening was stiflingly warm and the mother of the family produced bread, sausage and wine and offered it round.

The newspaper he bought carried a warlike leader that challenged Turkey to do their worst. ‘Italy Must Act,’ the headlines screamed. ‘The Nation Demands North Africa.’

The train was full of young conscripts heading for a depot in the south, all wearing scarves bearing the date of their call-up. One of them started singing. He had a high clear tenor such as only Italians seemed to possess and before long others had joined in.

Edward barely noticed. He was seething with anger. All his genuine hopes that the navies of the world would be eager for his boats had come to nothing. He hadn’t even considered the idea of Rafaela as a buyer.

He was sure the sale hadn’t gone through to make Orlandos more efficient or to satisfy some whim of Rafaela’s. The secrecy precluded all that. He couldn’t even imagine her ever using it to cross the strait to the mainland. She had bought it to help him. It was charity.

As dawn broke, the train reached the coast and Edward saw some of the unrepaired damage from the earthquake – houses with collapsed roofs, mule carts still carrying away rubble, forests of roof timbers, and dozens of workmen slapping mortar and bricks down as though their lives depended on it.

Heading for the ferry at Reggio di Calabria he bumped into Carlo Zoparella. His face lit up with pleasure at the sight of Edward.

‘Capitano. You’re going to Messina? You’d better hurry. The ferry leaves in a few minutes.’

‘How is the Signora, Carlo?’

‘Magnificent, Capitano. I would not have believed it possible for anyone to grasp the details of a business so quickly. She exhausts us all.’

 

The ferry was packed with people, most of them Sicilians returning home. The deck was stacked with sacks of grain. There were several sheep and a number of goats, bleating as if their hearts were broken, and exuding a stink that made its way even into the crowded saloon.

As the ferry slipped round the Peninsula of San Rainieri and the Forte San Salvatore into the harbour station, Edward realised he was feeling rather nervous.

The gateposts of Casa Orlando had been set straight again and the gates, freshly painted, hung in place. The new house was rising like a phoenix from the ruins of the old. The ornate nineteenth-century decorations had vanished and the surviving statues had been consigned to the garden.

Stepping down from his carozza, Edward saw Rafaela in the doorway. She ran towards him and grasped his hands.

‘You’ve come, Edward. How wonderful. I thought you might not. We’ve waited so long. There’s so much to talk about.’

She kissed him warmly on both cheeks, but drew back as she became aware that he had not responded with equal fervour. And looking into his face, her eyes suddenly filled with tears.

‘Come inside,’ she said briskly, taking his arm. ‘You must be tired from the journey.’

Zia Monica met them in the entrance hall. To Edward’s surprise she was smiling. Good God, he thought, Rafaela wasn’t the only one who had been liberated by the earthquake.

Signorina Cremoni walked briskly down the stairs, with an armful of papers.

‘Not today,’ Rafaela said. ‘Today I shall stay at home.’

‘But–’

‘No.’ The word was sharp and commanding. ‘Not today. Appointments can wait. Everyone can wait. I have business to attend to here.’

They chatted inconsequentially for a few minutes then Zia Monica appeared with a tray of coffee and rolls.

‘I take it you haven’t breakfasted,’ Rafaela said.

‘I’m not hungry.’

She stared at him for a while, suddenly wary. ‘Why are you here?’ she asked sharply.

‘Why did you buy the Bourdillon?’ he demanded.

She stared at him, at a loss for something to say, a hand clutching at her heart. ‘Because I wanted it.’

‘Have you ever used it?’

‘No. It’s too wet for a woman. It’s a man’s boat. Why are you asking me these questions?’

‘You bought it out of charity. Because you had money and thought I needed help.’

She was growing angry and her eyes blazed. ‘Well, you did. You were good at telling me what to do but you weren’t doing very well for yourself. I was watching.’

‘You did it to help me.’

‘Yes.’

‘To encourage others to buy.’

‘It did, didn’t it? Commandante Matschek’s name is good enough to make people interested. I did it through him to save your pride. Pride is important to a Sicilian.’

‘It’s important to me, too. I would rather sell on my own.’

Her voice rose. ‘You could well have gone on trying for another year.’

Signorina Cremoni kept moving in and out of the room as once or twice did Zia Monica, and they were obliged to keep switching their conversation to other subjects.

‘It was Montesi’s initials on the contract that told me what had happened,’ Edward said.

‘I told him not to sign anything,’ she snapped. ‘But I suppose he had to put his name somewhere on the document.’ Her eyes blazed. ‘It was wrong of you to come here. It was wrong of me to come to Naples. But I wanted to see you. To see how you were. My eyes ached to see you. But I realise now it’s not possible. You have your life to lead and I have mine. I had things to tell you. They were beautiful things.’

‘Then tell me.’ He was growing tired of this litany of how much she had to say to him.

‘How can I?’ she snapped. ‘When we face each other with angry words and bitter tongues.’ Just then, with her fierce eyes, she was pure Sicilian. ‘That isn’t the mood for what I have to say.’

‘For God’s sake, Rafaela, spit it out.’

‘No.’ Her eyes glittered back at him, sharp with Sicilian hauteur. ‘Not now. There are other, harsher things to think about now. There is a war coming. And the country isn’t ready for it. The politicians as usual were in too much of a hurry. They have had to hire horses, carts, motor vehicles from us. They have even asked us to find them ships. They came to see me. Fortunately Evrone and Zoparella were here. They still refuse to deal with a woman. We showed them all the documents they wanted. They couldn’t argue. But I am frightened. So much money is involved.’

He stepped forward but she drew a deep breath. ‘It won’t concern you, though,’ she said. ‘You are English, secure in your Empire, safe in the knowledge that you’re powerful. I am part of a small country struggling to be noticed in the world. We’re different. I see it very clearly, now. From different worlds. It isn’t as if we were lovers.’

‘What were we then?’ Edward snapped.

‘Two frightened people. Afraid, cold and wet and in need of comfort.’

Edward stared at her, not knowing what to say.

‘You may stay the night if you wish,’ Rafaela said coldly. ‘It’s too late to catch the night ferry. Zia Monica will see to anything you need. I have to go to Rome. I don’t know when I shall be back.’

Edward turned on his heel. ‘Good night, Rafaela,’ he said.

Outside, he gazed up at the night sky, and cursed himself for being such a blundering fool.