Chapter 5

 

Monsieur Colombani – his first name was Raphaël, Sophia said – arrived a few days before term began, in order to prepare for the coming school year. I was longing to know more about him, so I crossed the square and walked up the alley to the mayor’s house above the church. I unlatched the gate and went around to the kitchen rather than use the massive front door with its heavy brass knocker. The kitchen door was ajar since it was still September-hot. I peered in and saw Sophia with her back to me standing at the oak table rolling out pastry.

I crept up and tickled the back of her neck.

Sophia jumped, then turned her head and smiled.

“Oh, it’s you. I thought it was Orso. He’s always playing around and teasing me when I’m trying to get things done.”

“Your brother’s a little too fond of practical jokes. Is he here?”

“He’ll be here soon, that’s why I thought you were him.”

Orso used to pull my hair when we were little. He said it was a joke but it hurt, so I didn’t find it as amusing as he did. Now he worked in Bastia for a friend of his father who ran a shipping company. He came back every weekend, bringing his dirty linen for Sophia to wash and expecting to be fed and looked after. He didn’t pull my hair anymore, but he didn’t speak to me much either. In fact, I didn’t think he liked me, since he always avoided me. It was nothing to me; I didn’t find him appealing, anyway.

“Are you very busy?” I asked.

“Well, Papa insisted on my making Orso’s favourite cheese and herb pastries for lunch today. I need to get on with them.”

Orso was the apple of his father’s eye: his only son. His father and sister spoiled him terribly. That was another thing in his disfavour, as far as I was concerned.

“Can I just sit here and talk while you work? Or perhaps I could help you?”

Sophia chuckled. She knew my cooking skills left plenty to be desired, despite the efforts of Maman and Annunciata.

“No, just stay there and look pretty, as you always do.”

I settled down at the end of the table and we didn’t speak for a few minutes while Sophia rolled out her pastry. She was an excellent cook and made delicious pies. She bit her lip and frowned, as she did at school when puzzling over a difficult sum or a grammatical problem.

I traced a pattern with my finger in some spilt flour on the table. But after a while I couldn’t bear the suspense any longer.

“I was wondering how Monsieur Colombani is settling in.”

“Oh, quite well, I believe.” She kept her eyes firmly fixed on her work but the dimple appeared at the corner of her mouth.

Why did Sophia always have to tease me like that? She knew I was burning with curiosity. I took a deep breath.

“Where’s he going to live?”

“In the little building next to the schoolhouse. The house that Monsieur and Madame Catarelli rented in the village is empty now they’ve gone back to Ajaccio. But it’s too big for him.”

It was like squeezing tears from a rock. The watchtower itself would have been more forthcoming.

“Wasn’t it in poor condition, the little house by the school?”

“It must have been. No one’s lived in it for years. Monsieur Colombani had to clean it all himself, as he isn’t married.”

I looked at her, wide-eyed. “Himself? Couldn’t he have hired a woman from the village to do it?” I had a sudden vision of Papa on his hands and knees scrubbing the floor, and stifled a giggle.

Sophia smiled and looked into the distance. “I expect he didn’t want the expense. He has plans for the schoolroom, too. Do you remember how old-fashioned it was, Maria? Monsieur Catarelli was a nice man but he never did anything to brighten it up. It still has just a map of the world on the wall and a bust of Marianne, like it was when you and I were there. I liked it best in winter, when Madame Catarelli lit the old stove and sometimes let us roast chestnuts on it.”

I drummed my fingers on the table. I didn’t want to dwell on memories of our schooldays. “Have you met Monsieur Colombani?”

“Yes, of course. He’ll be secretary at the town hall, as you know, so he’s been to see Papa several times to talk about it.”

“And what’s he like?”

“You’ll find out for yourself shortly. Papa is going to invite a few of the village notables, including your father, and their families to meet him.”

My heart flipped over. “Oh, when?”

“Next weekend. But you’d better not say anything to your parents until Papa has invited you properly.” Sophia wiped her floury hands on her apron. “And now it will soon be lunchtime and I must finish these pies. If I keep on chatting with you I’ll never get them done.”

Sighing, I rose from the table and kissed Sophia. As I went out of the door, Orso was coming in. He stood aside to let me pass. He was dusty from his journey from Bastia and carried a bundle under his arm: his dirty linen, I supposed. He looked down and brushed his jacket with his hand.

“Good morning, Orso.”

“Good morning, Maria.” He avoided my eyes, looked over my head and his face opened up as he saw Sophia.

“Hello, little sister. Making my favourite pies, I see.” He put the bundle on the table, took a handful of stuffing from a basin and crammed it into his mouth. Sophia tapped him on the hand with the rolling pin.

“If you eat all that now there’ll be nothing left for the pies. Go and see Papa, he’ll want to know you’re here. You know he always likes to hear the news from Bastia.”

Chuckling, Orso bent and kissed Sophia on both cheeks and then went to find his father.

I turned away and retraced my steps across the square to our house, hugging the secret about the party to myself. This time, I resolved to say nothing at the table.

***

“Hmm. I’m not sure about this,” Papa said on receiving the mayor’s invitation. “I don’t see why the arrival of a socialist firebrand in the village is something to celebrate. I can’t say I welcome it.”

I held my breath. Please don’t turn down the invitation, I thought.

“I don’t know, Antonio,” Maman said quietly. “If we don’t go, I’m afraid we will insult Monsieur Franceschi, and he is one of your oldest friends. It’s only for an evening, and you don’t need to have anything to do with the schoolmaster after that if you find you don’t like him.”

Papa considered her for a moment.

“Very well,” he said. “Just this once. I don’t want to offend Franceschi. But this Colombani had better not start spouting his socialist nonsense in front of me.”

To conceal my joy, I bit my lip until the blood almost ran.

***

All day I agonised about what to wear to Monsieur Franceschi’s party. My mother wanted me to wear the deep violet dress and, while people said I looked pretty in it, I thought I would look better in the black one. It was more fashionable and made me appear more serious. I didn’t want Monsieur Colombani to think I was frivolous. And it went so well with my jet-black hair. But my mother’s mouth turned down.

“Black is not a colour for a young girl. There’ll be plenty of time for that later on in your life.”

I always wished Maman could be a little happier, but she seemed bowed down, crushed by something. At the time, I supposed it was because Papa was so demanding. Nothing ever came up to his standards. I was not a very good cook, but when I had made some canistrelli biscuits especially for him a few days previously, he had just said, “I prefer them less burnt.” Being an only daughter was not easy. When I saw Orso with Sophia, I was sorry that I had never had at least one brother. My parents must have regretted it, too, although they never talked about it. Perhaps that was why Papa was so stern with me. I was not the son he had really wanted.

But I had to forget all that and think about how I was going to behave that evening. Monsieur Colombani was an intellectual, I was sure, and I needed to think of things to say that didn’t make me look stupid. Sophia would find it easy, of course. She had read so many books and knew so much. I could never have competed with her in that sense.

“Are you ready, Maria? It wouldn’t do to keep Monsieur Franceschi waiting. And your father will be getting impatient.”

To please Maman, I put on the violet dress. My hair was in a simple bun and I was wearing the single strand of pearls my parents had given me for my eighteenth birthday and the bracelet that was a christening gift from the Franceschi family. Maman held me at arm’s length and nodded her approval. As always, she was in black, but in honour of the occasion she had added a silver brooch to her dress. Her figure was still good, but her face was lined and her once-black hair was peppered with grey. In a sudden rush of affection I hugged her. Fleetingly, she returned my hug, then patted my arm and said, “That’s enough now. We must go. Papa is waiting.”

As we emerged from the alley into the square, Papa offered an arm each to Maman and me and we walked across to the mayor’s house. This time we entered by the grand front door and Monsieur Franceschi showed us to the salon, where the buzz of conversation and the tinkling of glasses revealed that the party had already started.

Papa stood back to allow Maman and me to enter first. I held up my head and my gaze swept the room. I knew everyone there except for a tall young man, who I assumed must be Monsieur Colombani, standing near the fireplace talking to Sophia and Orso. A slight flush highlighted Sophia’s cheeks and her eyes sparkled. For her, too, this party was a rare pleasure. Orso glanced at me, scowled and looked away as Monsieur Colombani continued to explain something, his hand outstretched.

Monsieur Franceschi crossed the room and touched Monsieur Colombani on the arm. He led him across to us.

“Let me introduce you to Monsieur Orsini, an old friend. The Orsinis are among Zaronza’s oldest and most respected families.”

“I’m honoured, sir,” said Monsieur Colombani, bowing to my father. He was slim, almost willowy, and his thick black hair curled in a wave around his temples. His clothing was plain and simple but neat and clean. His only ornament was a signet ring. My father nodded, a little curtly I thought, and extended his hand.

Monsieur Colombani bowed and raised my mother’s hand to his lips. She nodded.

“And this,” the mayor indicated me, “is their daughter, Mademoiselle Orsini.”

I bent my head and Monsieur Colombani took my hand. He looked into my face and his eyes widened. They were chestnut brown beneath a broad forehead. My heart raced. I caught the scent of something sweet and spicy. Did he perfume himself? I smiled at him, but not too much.

“Which part of Corsica do you come from, Monsieur Colombani?” Maman asked.

He looked into my eyes a little longer, then switched his attention to Maman. “From the Bozio, Madame, east of Corte. Our tiny village is perched on a hill and the view from there is magnificent, especially in the autumn when the trees turn. You can see as far as the Aiguilles de Bavella. My parents still live there but my sisters have married and moved away. My father has his own smallholding and owns part of a chestnut forest as well.”

“I understand you taught on the mainland,” Papa said.

“Yes, sir, in Marseille. It’s a wonderful city but, being the son of simple peasants, I was glad to return to Corsica.”

“Hmm. And while you were there, I suppose you spread the educational and political theories of the day.”

My cheeks flamed as I recognised the danger signals. Surely Papa was not going to start an argument here.

Monsieur Colombani hesitated. “Naturally, sir, I attended the école normale in Ajaccio for my studies. We were taught to uphold the beliefs of the French republic, which I have always tried to pass on to my pupils.”

“And now you’re here I suppose you think that filling their heads with republican nonsense is the way to solve Corsica’s problems?”

My blush spread to the roots of my hair. Oh, Papa! I thought, why do you have to be so hostile? Give the poor man a chance.

The schoolmaster’s eyes widened and his jaw tightened.

“I believe that universal education is the only way forward, if Corsica is not to remain mired in the Middle Ages.”

Papa’s colour heightened and he opened his mouth but before he could speak the mayor interrupted. He knew his friend well.

“Monsieur Colombani already has some excellent ideas for our school here, which I think even you would approve of, Orsini. Now, what do you think of our Muscat de Patrimonio, Monsieur Colombani?”

Papa bristled beside me, but remained silent.

“It’s very pleasant. I’ve never tasted it before, although I admit that I rarely drink alcohol. Where I come from we make a chestnut liqueur, which is also very agreeable. Allow me to bring you back a bottle, Madame, next time I visit my parents.”

My mother nodded.

“Now, let me introduce you to Monsieur Agostino. He also spent some time in Marseille, and I’m sure he will be very keen to compare notes with you.”

Monsieur Franceschi steered the schoolmaster away. I was partly relieved, partly disappointed.

“Arrogant young upstart,” muttered my father, before turning to talk to Père Allegri, the village priest. I suppressed a smile as I wondered what the priest and Monsieur Colombani would find to talk about: they could hardly have very much in common. My mother turned to greet Père Allegri as well and I took the opportunity to escape and find Sophia. She was still standing by the fireplace, talking to a female neighbour while Orso looked on. I joined them. The neighbour and Orso moved away. I couldn’t imagine why Orso had to make it so obvious that he was avoiding me.

I kissed Sophia. “It’s a lovely party. I’m so glad your father invited us. But what’s the matter with Orso? I have a feeling that he dislikes me.”

“Oh no,” Sophia replied. “You’re mistaken – it’s quite the opposite. He just feels shy in your company.”

“Orso? I don’t believe it. Anyway, never mind that. Monsieur Colombani seems very nice but it didn’t take long for him and my father to annoy each other. I must say, he’s very handsome. I’m surprised he’s not married yet. Perhaps he’s broken a few hearts along the way.”

Sophia flushed. “I doubt it. From what I know of him, he’s an honourable man and wouldn’t lead a woman to think he was in love with her if that weren’t the case.”

“How would you know? Have you had much to do with him?”

“Certainly not. That wouldn’t be proper. But of course I see him when he comes to talk with my father about council business. He’s a very educated man and was apparently one of the top students in his year, although he’s too modest to say so himself. Father found that out. He has promised to lend me some books from his own collection. I’ll enjoy that, since I’ve read all of my own several times.”

I turned a little so that I could see Monsieur Colombani out of the corner of my eye. I felt that he was watching me in the same way, although he appeared to be giving his full attention to Monsieur Agostino, who could have bored even a Marseillais with his memories of their city. Monsieur Agostino had the habit of tapping men on the lapel as he talked: to make sure they were listening, I suppose. Not allowing himself the same familiarity with women, he just raised a finger to hold their attention. I felt sorry for Monsieur Colombani stuck with such a dull man. If I had been him I would have wanted to jump up and down and scream. But I didn’t see how I could interrupt.

All of a sudden, I was aware that Orso was watching me from the other side of the room. He had the strangest expression, almost as if he were angry, his thick eyebrows knitted together. Why did he always seem to be annoyed with me? Ignoring him, I turned back to Sophia.

She and I chatted a little longer and village acquaintances came to greet us. I didn’t have the opportunity to talk to Monsieur Colombani again and, soon afterwards, he approached his host to say that he must leave. He no doubt had his classes to prepare. My heart sank but I couldn’t do anything. Our eyes met briefly as he left the room. I looked round to make sure Papa hadn’t seen but he was still deep in conversation with the priest.

Not long afterwards, the party began to break up. We thanked Monsieur Franceschi and Sophia. She still had colour in her cheeks and a light in her eyes. I hadn’t seen her look like that for a long time. Orso had disappeared.

We crossed the square to our house and Papa closed the heavy door behind us, barring it with an iron rod as he always did. I couldn’t imagine who he thought would try to break it down. Zaronza was not exactly Marseille.

He turned to me and Maman.

“That young man is going to cause trouble here. I can see it now. And don’t let him turn your head, Maria. I would never allow my daughter to marry a man like that. He’s not good enough for you. You have quite a different future in store.”

“Yes, Papa.”

I bowed my head. What did Papa mean? That he and Maman would arrange a marriage for me, I supposed, with someone they deemed “suitable.” My heart constricted inside my ribs. Climbing the stairs to bed, I wondered when I would see Monsieur Colombani again. As I laid my head on the pillow and closed my eyelids, I saw his ink black wavy hair and shining chestnut eyes.