A Quiet Life(136)

It was the kind of meal that any onlooker would think was straightforwardly bright with chatter and laughter. The citronella candles did not really keep the mosquitoes away, and the first bottle of wine was corked, but the sound of the ocean could be heard on the warm night air. The neighbours Archie had mentioned came over at the end of dinner, two young couples who were eager to meet new people, and Laura could see that they found Archie and his group glamorous in a rather seedy way. Here were the notorious Amy Sandall and the infamous Laura Last, drinking with younger men in this Italian garden; she felt embarrassed by how they must seem to these young English couples. But Amy’s low laugh filtered out over the group, making Laura feel, as she had in the past, that they were all satellites to her self-sufficient charm. She remembered how Amy had studded her life with these distant appearances and, suddenly, caught up with the wine and the evening, she wanted Amy to know what she had meant to her.

‘I’ve always admired you so much,’ she said. ‘You won’t remember, but I saw you on the boat on my way over to England when I was just nineteen. And the first party I went to at Sybil’s house, you were wearing a white satin coat. And then I remember seeing you at the Dorchester during the war.’ As she spoke, Laura realised how limp her words sounded: she could not express what Amy’s image had meant to her; how she had seemed to Laura to be a unique woman who did not need the world’s approval, who was able to follow her own star. But as she spoke it dawned on her how empty her admiration of Amy had been, like the callow admiration of a teenage schoolgirl for a film star. ‘I think I aspired to the way you looked.’

Amy leant forward for another drink. ‘That’s sweet of you,’ she said, but her words were cold, and she turned back to Winifred, to the conversation they were having about why monogamy is unnatural. Amy had obviously taken to Winifred, and the two of them seemed to be taking delight in talking frankly about sex in front of the younger couples.

Laura was soon glad to go upstairs. In her room she opened the shutters and leaned out, eager for the sea breeze to penetrate the room. Amy and Winifred and Gianni were still sitting on the terrace; the others had gone down to the end of the garden for a look at the moon on the sea. Amy’s words were borne upwards on the night air. ‘That tedious woman. Still thinks she’s an ingénue. If there’s anything I hate, it’s an ageing ingénue. Did you read what Alistair wrote about her? You should hear what he said that couldn’t be printed – she looks such a prig, but underneath she’s a tart who was always running after other women’s boyfriends. Nina told me the same – apparently she was almost sucking Blanchard off in front of her. So Edward drank and drank, desperate to get away from her, and really had fun with his boys from university. I doubt he was ever really a spy – probably wanted to escape that ghastly marriage, at least Nick would spice things up for him.’

Gianni’s laughter was heard, and Winifred’s voice was too low for Laura to catch what she said in response. After that, the conversation became general. But Laura lay awake a long time that night. She relived the horrible time when she was trying to seduce Blanchard, following Stefan’s instructions, and thought again about how her behaviour must have struck observers. And again she travelled back through the years, remembering Edward’s unhappiness, his drinking, and wondering whether they had ever been side by side on their long journey.

The next day Laura woke early with Rosa. She liked these mornings, when the freshness of the night seemed to linger in the air. But as she walked down the corridor, holding Rosa’s hand, she passed the open door of Winifred’s bedroom. There, in a tangle of covers, lay Winifred naked and Amy with her. The two women were tanned and blonde, Amy’s legs were apart and Laura could see below the thick pubic hair the dark, almost purple, labia. She was shocked by the swell of desire she felt at what she saw, but she went on walking, trying to pull Rosa’s attention towards herself, and the two of them went down into the living room. There she found Gianni, the neighbours and Archie talking in a roundabout, drunken way; it was obvious they had stayed up all night – the gramophone was playing some needling jazz music and the room stank of cigarette smoke.

As Laura backed out of the room with Rosa, she felt the floor was slightly tacky under her feet and there was a smell of grappa; someone must have spilt a bottle. She went out through into the kitchen, but the maid was not yet there, so she clattered around making herself coffee. The milk had turned. She squeezed a couple of oranges for Rosa to drink. She felt as though she was out of step with the holiday, trying to create this peaceful morning for her daughter.

After their scratch breakfast she took Rosa down to the beach, where other families, Italians and Germans, were settling under big umbrellas. The air was close and humid and Laura longed to get into the ocean. Last summer, Laura remembered, Rosa had been terrified by the sudden slap of the sea, even the warm Mediterranean, and had clung to her and cried when she tried to hold her in the waves. But this year she was delighted by it, and Laura was able to hold her chubby arms and pull her along at the top of the warm, thick water. ‘Look, you’re swimming!’ Laura said. ‘You’re my little fish …’

‘Swim me, swim me,’ she called back. Nothing is as untainted as a child’s smile in the sunlight. When she tired and they came slowly out of the waves, she laid her head heavily on Laura’s shoulder and pushed her face into her neck, and Laura thought, at least I have this. Back on the sand, she rummaged in her bag for the Leica and photographed Rosa standing there, her hair all spiky from the water, but soon Rosa got tired of the game. She began to complain, and Laura saw that the salt water seemed to have irritated a rash she had on the back of her legs. Aurore had come down to see if they wanted anything, said that she shouldn’t have gone in the sea with that rash, and took her back, crossly, to the house. Laura began to gather up her things to go back too.