The Runaway Visitors (4 page)

Victoria prepared very carefully for luncheon. She still wore her sea-green dress, but she removed the sea-green ribbon from her hair, brushed it until it shone more than ever, and left it lying on her shoulders. She made up her face very carefully, and she wore her gold sandals that were little more than a few thongs woven together. Sebastien whistled when he saw her. Miss Jameson, setting cutlery and folding napkins in the dining room, raised her eyebrows and followed Victoria round the room with her eyes.

After a few moments, Victoria realised that Miss Jameson was prolonging her trifling tasks to take as long as possible; refolding already folded napkins, adjusting the well-laid cutlery and rearranging the white lilies and green leaves in the centre of the table: certainly not improving them in the process. So she was indulging her mordant curiosity to see what would happen when her employer encountered his guests for the first time. Victoria was on her guard more than ever.

‘Isn’t this a gorgeous room?’ said Amanda, who was most impressed with the whole house.

‘If you like a great slab of glass for a table, and steel and leather chairs and huge modern paintings, I suppose it is,’ Victoria answered.

‘I think it’s super,’ said Sebastien.

‘I’m glad you do,’ said the deep voice which Victoria immediately recognised, and Charles Duncan came into the room, casually dressed in fawn trousers and a thin, loosely-fitting pullover in sky blue. ‘I’m afraid I’m a bit late,’ he added, and it did not sound at all like an apology, but as if he expected people to understand immediately if he were late.

‘Well, Mr. Duncan,’ said Miss Jameson, ‘meet the new arrivals.

The Fenn
children.
This is Amanda, and this Sebastien, and here

is the eldest, Victoria.’ His eyes went from one to the other, becoming suddenly aware as they rested on Victoria.

‘Amanda,’ he said, offering her his hand. ‘How do you do? And Sebastien,’ shaking hands with him. ‘Victoria I have already met,’ he said, and looked into her eyes and met there a coldness, a withdrawal that checked his friendly overture. ‘Well, Jeanie,’ he went on, with scarcely a pause, ‘now that I
am
here, perhaps you’ll serve the lunch.’

So Miss Jameson left reluctantly for her kitchen and Charles arranged his guests round the vastly expensive table. Victoria could not help thinking of the sophisticated guests he would normally entertain there, and his words recurred in her mind over and over again. ‘Have I
got
to be lumbered with juveniles every day for lunch?’ She heard his polite questions to Sebastien, and heard Sebastien telling him how he had been looking forward to going to camp. ‘A group of us were going to Snowdonia for rock climbing,’ he said, ‘and a famous rock-climber was coming to give us instruction. ’

‘You’ll be sorry to miss that,’ said Charles, and Sebastien replied fervently: ‘You bet I am.’

‘Well, I’m missing my ballet classes,’ said Amanda, not to be outdone.

‘And what is Victoria missing?’ asked Charles, looking at her, at the burnished hair and the cool elegance, and the kind of complexion, delicate rose-petal, that only England or the most expensive make-up could produce. ‘Or perhaps it should be not
what
is Victoria missing, but who?’

She evaded that easily enough.

‘You don’t want to hear our life stories, Mr. Duncan,’ she said. ‘And most people would think we were not missing anything, but gaining a great deal, to be able to spend a summer in such a beautiful house in such a beautiful place.’

‘But not you,’ he said.

‘I didn’t say that,’ she pointed out. ‘I hope to learn Italian. I hope to discover the treasure trove in Florence.’

He recognised the allusion. He repeated his words of the morning. ‘I would be happy to give you some advice myself,’ and she repeated her answer: ‘I should never presume to take up your time.’

Sebastien was quick to recognise that there was an undercurrent although he did not know what it was. He looked quickly from one to the other, thinking it was a pity if they weren’t going to like each other.

Charles thought she really was an iceberg. She had not wanted to come. Perhaps she had left a young man behind in England, and resented being here. Well, that was between her and her parents—it had nothing to do with him.

Miss Jameson served them with an excellent lunch. The formality of it was almost too much for Amanda, who had started by thinking it all beautiful and glamorous, and now was beginning to be slightly oppressed and then depressed. Victoria suspected that Miss Jameson was deliberately overdoing it— perhaps to annoy Mr. Duncan, perhaps to embarrass themselves. She thought they would all be infinitely more comfortable if he had his meal in the studio when he wanted it, and they took theirs on the terrace.

Next day, he was again late for lunch. They waited in the dining room for him, and at last Miss Jameson served them without him, and he came rushing in, apologising, saying he had forgotten the time, he was starting an important new piece of work. Victoria suggested they should lunch separately. ‘After all, Mr. Duncan, you don’t want to be burdened with a group of young people, and
we
don’t want to interfere with your work.’ And these were so exactly the sentiments he had expressed, in slightly different words, that he looked sharply at her.

The following day, however, it rained; and it was impossible for the Fenn family to eat on the terrace, so once more they ate in the imposing dining room. After which, Victoria went to see Miss Jameson.

‘Miss Jameson,’ she said, without preamble, ‘we have no wish to be more of a burden to you than we can help. There’s no need to use the dining room for our meals. If we can’t eat on the terrace, we can use Sebastien’s room. It was a sitting room before we came and has a table and chairs for eating. We’ll use that, and leave Mr. Duncan free. ’

‘Very well.’

‘And I’ll bring back our dishes and wash them up. I’ll also keep our own rooms clean. ’

‘That’s not suitable,’ said Miss Jameson sharply.

‘Why not? I do it at home, I can do it here. I’m used to keeping house. ’

‘Then what does your mother do?’

‘When she’s at home, she keeps house; but she’s far more likely to be at meetings and discussions, or working in her study, or lunching with important people or speaking on radio or appearing on television. She happens to have a career.’

‘And
three children,’ sharply.

‘As you said yourself, Miss Jameson, we’re hardly children, unless you except Amanda. And except for Amanda,’ she added on impulse, ‘we probably wouldn’t be here.’ Then she regretted that statement, and added: ‘Then it’s arranged, is it?’

‘Just as you wish,’ said Miss Jameson, and Victoria thought that she was not pleased at having a legitimate grievance taken away from her.

So they had partly cut themselves off from Charles, and Victoria thought: ‘Well, now he can’t say that he’s lumbered with us at lunch every day; and nor will “this lot” interfere with his work.’ She knew already that he had resented her parents’ casual demands on him at first, and was determined to give him no more cause for resentment.

All the same, all three of them felt a little lonely. It was, as Sebastien had said, that they had each other but nobody else. He missed his friends, the easy come-and-go between them, the sport they indulged in, all the preparations for this camping trip. He felt protective towards Amanda, who was young for her age, and was genuinely fond of both his sisters, but he wanted the company of male friends. Amanda, too, was rather at a loss. There was a family not far away with two girls of about her own age, but they could speak no English and Amanda no Italian, so that shy smiles had remained the limit of their acquaintance. ‘Then let’s have Italian lessons,’ Victoria proposed at once, ‘and then you’ll be able to say something to them, and they’ll be able to help you.’ And she herself was glad to begin Italian lessons, for even with the small amount of housework she had given herself to do, time was hanging heavy on her hands. They had taken several trips into Florence, but these were by no means the picnic they sounded; for the traffic was appalling, it was nearly always impossible to find a place to park the car, Italians were in such a hurry, with their hooting and swerving and almost scraping her car, that they unnerved Victoria. On one occasion, when she had driven into Florence alone to buy sandals, she parked at last, after driving round and round the centre, on a taxi rank. Immediately, two taxi drivers rushed at her to tell her in rapid Italian that she couldn’t do that, by which time Victoria was so frustrated and annoyed that she turned on them in a fury, saying: ‘Will you tell me, then, where the hell I
can
park?’ and they, confronted by such beautiful anger, by flying gold hair and flashing eyes and an imperious voice addressing them in a strange language, fell back, surprised, softened.

‘That’s right,’ said a familiar deep voice behind her. ‘Tell them where they get off.’

She turned again swiftly, the burnished hair describing another arc round her head. Charles Duncan was standing beside her, his eyes alight with amusement and admiration.

‘They’re quite right, you know,’ he said sympathetically. ‘You can’t really park there.’

‘I can’t park anywhere in this benighted city,’ she said stormily.

‘Yes, you can, if you know where,’ he said soothingly. ‘I’ll show you.’ He opened the door to the passenger seat for Victoria and took the wheel himself. ‘After driving all the way down from London,’ he said, ‘you mustn’t let yourself be put out by these vociferous Italians.’

‘They’re all mad,’ she declared.

‘No, they’re not, but they love to make a noise, and they love to rush and to make their presence felt. The way you treated them was ideal; they’ll always respect somebody else’s noise and determination. . . . Now this courtyard is the property of a friend of mine. It’s locked at night, but during the daytime I’m sure she’ll allow you to use it. I’ll ring her myself and arrange it.’ He parked the car in the quiet and peaceful courtyard, now a mass of flowering oleander, and asked:

‘Where were you making for when I found you?’ and when she told him, he said: ‘Well, you can’t get them now, because the sandal shop will be closed for lunch; so come and have a drink with me and perhaps that will put you in a better frame of mind.’ Victoria went with him, but she was already in a better frame of mind. The calm way in which he had taken over her car, the quietness of the courtyard he had discovered to her, the absence of the rushing traffic, had already smoothed her down. She felt sorry for her display of temper, and did not realise that it had delighted Charles Duncan, contradicting as it did the snow maiden impression she had so far created.

They went to a large open square, much of which was liberally covered with the tables and chairs from cafes on each side of it;

each cafe delineating its boundaries by a line of low green hedge planted in long wooden boxes which could be moved if necessary. Charles chose a table and seated Victoria where she could watch the coming and going of the crowd, and seemed surprised when she asked for a Martini to drink. What had he expected? she asked herself. That she would ask for lemonade or orange squash? ‘Better now?’ he asked her, when she had taken the first sips. ‘Much better. Thank you for coming to my rescue.’

‘You seemed to be doing all right for yourself, but you really were quite angry.’

‘Well, they’re all so rude,’ said Victoria. ‘The traffic practically jostles your car off the road, and they all shout and honk at you and wave their arms about. And just the same in the shops, the women push right in front of you. ’

‘It’s just their extrovert nature. They don’t mean to be rude, Victoria. They’re a charming people. Don’t make up your mind not to like them.’

‘I’m not doing that,’ she declared.

‘Aren’t you?’ It was a pointed question and it gave her pause. ‘Aren’t you determined not to like anything about Italy?’

‘Of course not,’ but even as she spoke the words, she wondered if there was an element of truth in what he suggested. His next question, however, surprised her, for it seemed to be going completely off at a tangent.

‘What do you do in England, Victoria?’

‘What do I do? Work, do you mean? Well, at the moment I stay at home and keep house.’

‘And how long have you been doing that?’

‘This
time, ever since Christmas. Mother had an invitation to do a lecture tour in the States, and she thought it too good an opportunity to miss, so she asked me to give up my job and stay at home to keep house; and when she came home, she knew this trip to New Guinea would be looming up, so she asked me not to get another job yet. . . . She worries about the family falling apart. She doesn’t like Amanda coming home from school to find nobody in the house; Sebastien either for that matter, though now he’s growing up he’s not much of a problem. And she knows that if I’m there, I’ll shop for proper food and give them good meals.

In short, keep the family together. ’

‘What about Paul—your father?’

‘Oh, he thought it was a splendid chance to study the mining problems in the States, or rather, the problems of the aftermath of mining, so he was away, too. ’

‘You said:
This
time. You mean you’ve given up your job before?’