Carina was among the last guests to arrive at the Royal Palace. She had been busy all day and visited every room in the house. The main gate was repaired and Carlo’s sabre polished and hung back in his study. It was there Pietro found her to inform her the carriage would be at the front door within the hour.
She took time to have a bath and wash her hair. By all accounts General Garibaldi was a man of simple tastes, so she chose a plain silk dress with a scalloped neckline, and left her hair loose. Only at the last minute did she remember her poem and ran back to collect a copy from her bureau. It was written out on a single piece of vellum and she folded it in her reticule.
As she climbed the steps of the palace, Carina thought of her last visit. Where were Scalia’s police spies now, she wondered? The palace was transformed, the marble-columned hall festooned with red, white and green banners as ordinary citizens of Palermo mingled with the Revolutionary Guard. There were smiling faces everywhere she looked. Men and women in national dress conversed with gentlemen in tailed coats and ladies in crinolined skirts and she joined a line at the bottom of the stairs.
‘Miss Temple! We’ve been waiting for you. Come on up!’
Jane made herself heard above the hubbub and Carina looked up and saw her friend with Mr Goodwin. They were at the head of the queue, beckoning to her, and she made her way up, muttering apologies to the ladies and gentlemen who stood aside. When she reached the top, Jane kissed her and the consul shook her hand.
‘We’re so proud of you!’ Jane’s face radiated happiness. ‘Mr Goodwin was in high dudgeon when you refused Admiral Mundy’s offer. I told him you always acted upon your principles.’
Jane’s opinion might be different if she knew the half of it, Carina thought. Then the municipal brass band struck up, playing loudly and rendering further conversation impossible. Passing through the upper hall, she looked around for Ben. There were Redshirts gathered by the open windows, along with fellows in check jackets with notebooks who looked like newspaper correspondents. Drawing near the terrace, Carina craned her neck, hoping to catch a glimpse of him outside.
‘We must wait our turn, my dear,’ Jane spoke in her ear. ‘General Garibaldi has promised us a private audience.’
Ahead of them, officers were selecting a small number from the line and taking them out to the terrace. Carina saw Baron Riso leaning on a stick and Admiral Mundy in full naval uniform. She thought she glimpsed Greta Mazzini’s dark head, but there was no sign of Ben. She was flushed with nerves and she fanned herself until a soldier came to fetch them. He led the way, whisking them past others, and brought them up behind Admiral Mundy. As the admiral stepped aside, Carina found herself face to face with Garibaldi.
The general held out his hand and Carina had the absurd idea she should curtsy. Her first impression was of his eyes, brown or very dark blue, deeply set with well-defined eyebrows. It was an open, pleasant face and his gaze was mesmeric. She understood immediately the effect he had on those who met him and couldn’t have looked away, even had she wanted.
‘Miss Parsons told me of your bravery, Miss Temple,’ Garibaldi’s voice was deep and melodic. ‘We owe a great debt to people like yourself.’
‘I’m sure Miss Parsons greatly exaggerated.’
‘I hope you’ll stay for dinner after the reception.’ Garibaldi smiled, his clear gaze on her face. ‘I’ve a great many people to greet, but afterwards we’ll celebrate in true Sicilian style. Please honour me with your presence at my table.’
‘We shall be delighted. The honour is entirely ours,’ Jane answered.
Carina had not uttered more than one sentence in the whole exchange. Yet, in her simple dress with her hair about her shoulders, she had secured a place at Garibaldi’s table. Tonight she would be the envy of every female heart in Palermo! It was silly to be gratified, but she had been hidden away so long a delicious kind of warmth enveloped her. Baron Riso limped over to talk to them. He made little of his ordeal but his shoulders were stooped and his hair had turned white.
A sudden quiet fell upon the company and Carina looked to the doorway as a tall, statuesque beauty stepped out onto the terrace. She had long blond hair and wore breeches and a military jacket. Ignoring those waiting in line, she walked straight up to Garibaldi and kissed him on the cheek.
‘Who is she?’ Carina whispered to Jane.
‘Her name is Anne Lamartine. She sailed with the Thousand …’
Everyone was looking at the tall beauty, but Carina had seen the man who followed. Ben was tanned and clean-shaven, his hair falling across his forehead as he loped down the steps. For a moment she thought he might not see her and walk straight past. Then, as if caught by the strong pull of her gaze, he stopped and swung round. His glance swept from her pink cheeks to the low neckline of her dress and came back to her face.
Before they could say a word, Baron Riso stepped between them. He greeted Ben, kissing him twice in the Sicilian fashion, and then presented him to Jane and Mr and Mrs Goodwin. Carina had pictured this moment so often in her mind but never like this! A noise like the roar of the sea filled her head until Anne Lamartine’s voice shafted through her senses.
‘Do hurry up, Benito! The general wants to know what you’ve been doing these last few days.’
The Frenchwoman was standing beside Garibaldi with her thumbs tucked into her belt. She spoke Italian with a heavy accent and Carina saw Ben frown. She thought he meant to ignore her, but Jane was smiling and urging him on. He waited a moment and then, with a brief apology, walked over to the general.
Ben couldn’t be with that woman! It was pure coincidence they had arrived together, Carina thought. First impressions were often wrong. She only had to get through dinner and they would meet up afterwards. Then a hand touched her shoulder and she turned to find Greta Mazzini beside her.
‘I’m so happy to see you. I knew you would stay in Palermo. I told everyone you wouldn’t desert us!’
The genuine pleasure of seeing Greta helped Carina endure the next hour and later, when she looked towards Garibaldi’s entourage, Ben had gone. Anne Lamartine was holding court, her gestures as affected as her manner of dress. Jealousy was not an emotion Carina recognized in herself, but Lamartine was a show-off and the type of female she instinctively distrusted.
The crowd began to disperse and, from the corner of her eye, Carina saw Ben standing at the top of the steps. Guests drifted off and now only Redshirts and the British contingent remained. Dinner was announced and she noticed how Garibaldi brushed the interruption aside. This was her opportunity and she touched Jane’s shoulder.
‘Please excuse me …’
Carina did not miss Jane’s shrewd look as she left her and walked over to Garibaldi. There was a soft glow in her eyes as she took the poem from her reticule and handed it to him.
‘These are a few poor verses I wrote after the battle of Calatafimi. Please accept them with my deepest admiration.’
Garibaldi glanced down at the lined paper, reading it over before he put it in his pocket. He offered Carina his arm and spoke to Anne Lamartine.
‘Please join us at our table, madame. And bring Greta Mazzini and Colonel Mavrone with you.’
Carina gave the Frenchwoman a cursory glance, noting how Lamartine pursed her lips as she tucked her hand into the crook of Garibaldi’s arm. He led her across the terrace and as they passed by Jane, she made a signal indicating she had been waylaid. The general stopped to talk to Ben and she pretended to admire the view as they discussed arrangements for the next day.
Carina was aware of Ben standing to attention and, as they were about to move on, Garibaldi said, ‘May I present Colonel Mavrone?’
‘We’ve met before.’ Ben answered in a level voice. ‘A pleasure, as always, ma’am.’
‘Along with our dear friend, Rosalino Pilo, Colonel Mavrone kept the fire of revolution alight. We couldn’t have defeated General Lanza without the noble squadri.’
‘And without Garibaldi, Sicily would not have won her freedom.’ Carina smiled.
‘I expect not.’ The general had an easy way of casting flattery aside. ‘Now, I’ve kept everyone from their dinner long enough. We must eat our macaroni pie before it gets cold.’
Ben stood back and Carina saw a flicker in his blue eyes. He didn’t care for her audacity but she would rather annoy him than be ignored and she lifted her head and walked on. In the great hall trestle tables were set out, laden with food and flagons of wine, and Redshirts stood around talking. Catching sight of Enrico, she waved to him. He lifted his arm, then, seeing who escorted her, dropped it to his side. Guests were left to find their own places and, as soon as Garibaldi sat down, everyone followed in a disorderly scramble.
Benches scraped the marble floor and Anne Lamartine forced her way to the front. Carina was on Garibaldi’s right. She hoped Ben might be next to her, but Stefan Bosco was on her other side. The general had invited Jane, too, and she looked around until she spotted her seated at a table some distance away.
There was no formality between Garibaldi and his officers as they talked together, and, when supper was over, Carina glanced down the table to where Lamartine sat opposite Ben. She watched her put a cheroot between her lips, inhaling before she handed it to him and said something that made him laugh. Pain slashed at Carina’s heart. Never before had she felt inferior to another woman and she could not bear Ben’s indifference.
He was behaving as if there had never been anything between them and Carina leant closer to Garibaldi so that her bare arm brushed his sleeve. Her eyes were luminous beneath their thick lashes and she gave him her rapt attention until he swung his leg over the bench and turned his back on the others. How long had she been in Sicily, he asked? What had brought her to the cause? Garibaldi spoke to her as if she was the only person in the room. No one could tell, from her bright eyes and brittle smile, the chaos raging inside. It was well known that Garibaldi liked to retire early and Carina hoped Ben noticed it was past eleven before the general stood up.
‘Friends and comrades, you have given all of yourselves for your country. Seek only the glory of Italy – for the destiny of our nation is that of all the world. May we thank God for the strength to drive out the vermin who have devoured all that is rightfully ours.’
He spoke slowly, articulating each word, and Carina’s eyes sought out Ben. He was leaning forward, listening attentively, and she willed him to look at her. He only had to turn his head a fraction to catch her eye, but he seemed oblivious to her presence. Heartbreak swept her and hot tears pricked her eyes. She was afraid she might give herself away before Garibaldi’s next words banished everything else from her mind.
‘I’ve been presented this evening with a poem by Miss Carina Temple. Her verses say more eloquently than I can, the emotions that are in my heart tonight. Hear them and be proud!’
Garibaldi began reading her poem and Carina forced herself to sit still. Her verses weren’t meant for this! They were a personal tribute, not a public oration. For mercy’s sake, the lines didn’t even scan in Italian! She felt hot colour rise in her cheeks as he came to the end.
For Unity and Freedom
Raise high the tricolour!
O sons of brave Italia,
Praise be forever more!
When Garibaldi finished, there was a moment of silence. Then someone shouted ‘Bravo!’ and there was a loud rumbling of applause. People were clapping and stamping their feet and Garibaldi held up his hand for silence.
‘I thank you, Miss Temple. You risked your life to stay in Palermo during the bombardment. We’re blessed by your courage and the beauty of your verse.’
Carina didn’t know where to look. Garibaldi expected her to answer. The whole room was waiting and there was a stranglehold in her throat. Not knowing what she was going to say, she made as if to stand up when a male voice pre-empted her.
‘Generale, you must come at once! There’s an urgent message from Messina.’
Carina thanked God for the staff officer’s intervention. Without another word, the general left the table and strode towards his private apartments. He walked with his head held forward, his legs carrying his sturdy body with a swagger and she was aware of a different man, determined and ruthless, with no time for prevarication. Before he went through the door, Carina knew he had dismissed her from his mind.
Following Garibaldi’s departure, guests pressed in on every side. Stefan clapped her on the back and Greta hugged her. She saw Jane trying to get through and being blocked by others. A man with a ginger moustache, who said he was from The Times of London, asked for a copy of the poem. Carina declined, but it was half an hour later before she could get away and by then the room was almost empty.
Tobacco smoke clung to the air and she looked for Jane and Enrico. She was desperate to go home, but she couldn’t leave without saying goodnight to her friends. They were probably outside on the terrace, she thought. It was dark and cool as she stood on the steps. Carina breathed in the sweet night air, listening for Jane’s voice among the masculine tones of her companions. She was about to go to her when Ben spoke at her elbow.
‘A pretty poem. Well done.’
She turned to face him. There was not enough light to see his face clearly and she answered coolly, ‘I’m glad you think so. I’m on my way to say goodnight to my friends. So, if you’ll forgive me—’
‘Forgive you for what – for flirting outrageously with Garibaldi? You certainly made an impression.’
‘Really? And why do you say that?’
‘Because the general is receptive as any man to feminine wiles. You can behave as you wish, but he has a reputation to maintain.’
Ben was goading her, but she refused to rise. Carina stayed silent and his hand touched her arm.
‘I must talk to you alone. It’s impossible here. May I call on you tomorrow?’
For the first time in the evening, relief stole over Carina. Ben was annoyed with her for flirting with Garibaldi and nothing more! She was acutely conscious of his hand on her arm, the physical connection between them so powerful his lightest touch made her tremble. If only she could take him home with her now! Once they were alone there would be no need for explanations.
‘There you are, Benito!’ Anne Lamartine’s voice cut between them. ‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere! I hope I’m not disturbing a secret tryst?’
Her gaze switched accusingly from Carina to Ben as she came down the steps. For all her masculine dress, Lamartine exuded sensuality and Carina wished her at the other end of the earth.
‘Why don’t you introduce us, darling?’ Lamartine’s hand dropped possessively on Ben’s shoulder. ‘You know any friend of Garibaldi is a friend of mine.’
‘Miss Temple, may I present Madame—’
‘I’m afraid I can’t delay,’ Carina interrupted rudely. ‘Good night to you, Colonel Mavrone.’
With a withering glance at Ben she pushed past him, forcing Lamartine to step out of her way and heard her raise her voice.
‘What an ill-mannered creature! And as for that poem, did you ever hear anything so sycophantic?’
Nothing would induce her to stay a moment longer. She would send her apologies to Jane and Enrico in the morning and she hastened through the hall. The tables and benches were stacked on top of each other, wax from the dying candles dripping on the floor and sticking to the soles of her satin slippers. When she came to the staircase, she ran down. As she reached the hall, Ben called down from above.
‘Carina, wait!’
Carina hesitated. Why hadn’t he sent Lamartine packing? The strain of the evening had left her exhausted and disappointment clouded reason. Women swarmed round Ben like flies. Why should she wait when he had Lamartine, and plenty others, to entertain him?
She could see the landau on the forecourt with Gino asleep, his head bent sideways, and hurried across the gravel. She would drive home herself, Carina decided. She hitched up her petticoats to climb onto the driving board and, with a crack of the whip over their heads, set the horses off at a canter.
Gino woke up and grabbed the headboard as the carriage skidded round a corner, narrowly missing a wall. He shouted at her that she was risking the horses’ legs taking them at such a pace, but Carina did not slow down until they began to climb. By the time they crossed the piazza and trotted by the damaged church, she was calmer. Had she been unfair to Ben? She didn’t think so – and one thing was for certain: he would not be permitted to call until he rid himself of that woman. They weren’t at Monteleone now. If he wanted to see her then he must show her more respect.