There was no warning of the sirocco that swept up the western seaboard late that afternoon. The morning had dawned bright and it was only as she left Naples in a hired diligence, Carina realised she had forgotten to tell Ben about meeting Harry. The dinner engagement would be more difficult without him, but she must go all the same. As they arrived at the Villa Denuzio, she looked out and saw a pretty pink stucco house surrounded by mimosa trees. Paulo came striding across the gravel to open the door. He gave her his hand and peered into the interior.
‘Where’ve you hidden him? We expected your husband. Nonna will be disappointed.’
‘Mercy, how do you know?’
‘Papa was informed. He told Nonna you married one of Garibaldi’s officers without asking her permission.’
‘It was a private ceremony! How could he—’
‘No doubt the priest told the bishop, who told the cardinal, who told the pope, who told my father. It doesn’t matter. What have you done with him?’
‘Ben had to go to Palermo this morning.’
‘So the damned man’s deserted you already?’
The teasing note was still there, but Paulo’s face was drawn and Carina saw the dark look in his eyes as he led her up the steps.
‘Oh, Paulo. I’m so sad about Enrico. You must be devastated.’
‘Enrico was too fine a man to die. What a stupid, tragic waste!’ Paulo answered roughly as they stood in the cool of the hall. ‘What difference does it make if we’re ruled by a dictator or a king? It’s not a cause worth dying for!’
Carina wanted to tell him he was wrong, but Enrico had been Paulo’s friend. Caution checked her and she asked, ‘How is Gabriella?’
‘My sister is stronger than I am. You will see.’
As they walked through the house, Carina had an impression of the same dilapidated grandeur as in Palermo, rooms full of old pictures with faded furniture and windows shuttered to keep out the light. Paulo took her out onto a terrace where Nonna was sitting in a wicker chair under a canopy of vines. She asked Paulo to leave them for a while and Carina took a seat beside her.
‘I hoped to be the one to tell you, Nonna. I wanted you to meet Ben and for you to give us your blessing. Sadly, he received orders to return to Palermo this morning.’
‘Then I look forward to making his acquaintance at another time,’ Nonna answered brusquely. ‘I gather I’ve been misled as to your activities over these last few months. I hope you will now do me the courtesy of telling the truth?’
Carina was determined to be honest, but it was harder than she anticipated and would have been impossible had Ben been there. How devious she sounded, admitting that she had lied on her return to Palermo! How sordid her confession that she had been with Ben and not Greta Mazzini all that time! She faltered more than once and Nonna listened in silence until she came to the wedding. ‘We were married in the parish church of San Giovanni. I should have asked your permission. I’m sorry, but there was no time.’
‘Carlo will be vexed your union had the benefit of clergy. He hoped it was a secular arrangement that might be annulled.’
‘I’m sorry if I’ve disappointed the family.’ Carina coloured slightly. ‘I love Ben and would do the same again tomorrow.’
‘A gentleman would have sought my permission. Did your husband fear it wouldn’t be forthcoming?’
‘You may not consider Ben a gentleman – but he’s good enough for me.’
‘Even so, I cannot condone your duplicity.’
They were stern words and the two women fell silent. Nonna looked small and old. The skin of her face was creased and her neck bent with the strain of holding up her head. Her grandmother was frailer than when they had last been together, Carina thought. And she had changed too, far more than she realised. How otherwise could she have lied so blatantly to Nonna and Alice? She had hoped Nonna would be pleased and smarted under the reprimand. Six months ago she would have defended herself, but Carina held her tongue. Nonna was an old woman. How could she understand the extent of her love for Ben?
Bees were humming in the lavender and Carina looked over the garden walls to the sunburnt fields beyond the gate. There were clouds massing on the horizon. She wondered if it would rain and whether she should leave before lunch – but she couldn’t go without seeing Gabriella.
‘I’m not made of stone, Carina,’ her grandmother said at length. ‘I understand that for you love is everything. It was the same with your mother.’
‘Then why are you angry?’
‘Because you should have told me the truth. Were you afraid I might be shocked? When I was young it was considered the greatest misfortune not to experience a grand passion. I know what it is to be ruled by one’s heart.’
Nonna’s mottled hands folded over the top of her cane and her gaze turned inward. Her grandmother had lived through the age of the Romantics, Carina thought. She had been alive at a time when Byron was in Italy. How presumptuous to assume she knew nothing of love! She dismissed her hurt, smiling at Nonna, who beckoned her closer.
Carina shifted her chair, lowering her head, and her grandmother traced a cross on her forehead.
‘I give your marriage my blessing, dear child. Ben Mavrone has made you happy and that is all that is important. If your mother were alive she would bless you both. It’s time we had some good news in this house.’
A breeze rustled the vine leaves as Paulo and Gabriella came through the door. Gabriella’s face was white as a china doll with dark smudges beneath her eyes. She was so thin her shoulder blades stuck out through the thin muslin of her dress and Carina was shocked. During lunch, she took care not to speak of Sicily. Afraid of saying anything that might break Gabriella’s brittle composure, she described San Giovanni and Garibaldi’s progress to Naples. Paulo pretended not to listen, but she was aware of Gabriella’s covert attention and, when they returned to the terrace, Nonna made an excuse to leave them alone.
Gabriella walked to the balustrade, resting her elbows on the top. Her back was turned and Carina spoke gently, ‘I know how much you loved Enrico and he loved you, dearest. I’m so very sorry.’
Only the stiffening of muscles in her neck gave any indication that Gabriella had heard. She doesn’t want my sympathy, Carina thought. If Ben died, I would be the same. Sympathy doesn’t make you strong – it only makes you cry. She searched her mind for inspiration and noticed Gabriella wore a band of red, white and green ribbons around her wrist.
‘I wish you could see the tricolour flags and banners on display in Naples. Every balcony of every house proclaims the New Italy! All that you and Enrico believed in and fought for has been realised.’
‘Enrico was proud of you.’ Gabriella gave a slight lift of her shoulders and turned to face her. ‘He said you were valiant. That was the word he used.’
‘Foolhardy, more like! Did he mention that he saved my life?’
‘He told me everything. I’m so grateful you made it possible for us to write. His letters are a great comfort.’ Gabriella paused and a tear slid down either side of her nose. She took out her handkerchief and wiped them away. Then, with a fortitude that defied her years, she went on.
‘It’s God’s Will that Enrico was taken from us. I cannot count his loss against the greatness of what has been achieved.’
Faith glowed in her dark eyes and Carina felt a lump rise in her throat. Her cousin was awash with sorrow, but behind her suffering lay a hinterland of courage. Gabriella is the valiant one, she thought. She’s the youngest and bravest of us all.
‘The triumph of Liberty gives me strength to endure,’ Gabriella went on after a long pause. ‘If only Paulo could understand that Enrico didn’t die in vain. Will you talk to him, Carina?’
She could try but it would do no good, Carina thought. Paulo did not share Gabriella’s idealism. He might never accept Enrico’s sacrifice but he was a survivor. With his charm and agile mind, he would carve out a career for himself, under whichever regime prevailed. Her cousins had steel in their bones, the same gritty resolve she felt herself, and she was proud of them.
‘Will you promise to visit us in Naples when we return from Sicily?’ Carina lifted her hand to her cousin’s cold cheek. ‘And bring Paulo with you! He’s far too curious to resist.’
‘Holy Mary! I forgot to congratulate you on your marriage! Do you know that Enrico and Colonel Mavrone became friends? He told me all about him in his letters.’
‘What did he say?’
‘Enrico considered Colonel Mavrone the finest leader of men in the Sicilian army. He was also of the opinion you were in love with each other – and both too proud to admit it!’
It wasn’t often she was lost for words, but Carina was never to remember how she answered or whether she responded at all. Paulo joined them and they sat outside talking until the first drops of rain began to fall. She said goodbye to Nonna and Paulo held an umbrella over her head as he escorted her to the carriage. At the last minute Gabriella came running out of the house and thrust a cloak through the window.
‘Take this or you’ll be soaked before you reach Naples …’
‘And next time don’t forget to bring your husband!’ Paulo shouted.
The force of the storm unleashed a downpour on their heads and they ran back to the shelter of the portico. As the diligence moved off, Carina leant out to wave. Her cousins were standing on the top step and an image of them burnt into her mind: Paulo, with his arm bent at the elbow like an artist’s maquette and Gabriella, standing on tiptoes waving her white handkerchief, until they were hidden by a curtain of rain.