Every Mother's Son (28 page)

They all stared after him as he departed. ‘
Well!
’ Beatrice breathed. And ‘
Oh!
’ Daniel said feelingly. ‘I can’t believe it.’ And Charles added, ‘Did you hear the way he spoke? Beatrice, did you notice?’

‘Yes,’ she nodded. ‘I did.’

‘What?’ Daniel asked. ‘What about it? He said he isn’t used to speaking English now.’

‘Not only that,’ Charles said, as they again said goodbye to the waiter and made their way outside into the heat of the afternoon. ‘Gosh, I feel rather woozy with the wine.’

‘What do you mean?’ Daniel persisted.

Charles blew out his cheeks and hooked his arms into Daniel’s and Beatrice’s for support. ‘I mean that he has an accent similar to yours, Daniel.’

‘What Charles is trying to say,’ Beatrice explained, ‘is that Milo sounds as if he’s from our area of Yorkshire. From the East Riding, just as we are, except that Charles and I don’t have the local accent as you do. Yours is the true and old accent of the area, whereas ours—’

‘Is toffee-nosed!’ Charles gave a snort of laughter at his own joke, and added, ‘I do believe I’m slightly drunk.’

‘I do believe you are,
old fellow
,’ Daniel mocked spontaneously. ‘Come on.’ He took the lead. ‘It’s too hot to be out. Let’s get back. I think we might need a lie-down!’

Charles snored throughout the afternoon as he slept off the effects of the wine, but Daniel sat on his bed, wide awake, anxiety washing over him as he considered the day’s events. It is such a coincidence. I don’t suppose this Orsini will know my Marco Orsini – it’s probably a popular name just as Joseph Smith or William Brown or Thomas Jones are at home. He thought then of his half-brothers, Lenny and Joseph, and felt guilt yet again that he was here in Italy while although Joseph was still at school Lenny was contributing to the family finances with his pigs at— Oh, it’s his birthday this month. He’ll be fourteen.

He got up and looked in his rucksack for his supply of cards, searched for a pencil and began to write. He first of all wished Lenny a happy birthday and apologized that he might have missed the date.

I know we’re in June
, he wrote.
But sometimes we even forget what day it is. We’ve arrived in Genoa in Italy and by sheer coincidence have tracked down someone who married into the Orsini family. But tell Granny Rosie not to get her hopes up yet as it might be a dead end.
It was an ancient noble family
, he outlined in bold letters.
And I hope to meet one of them tomorrow. I’m missing you all. Your loving son and brother, Daniel.

He went back to lie on the bed. And it’s got to be a fluke, he mused, if Milo comes from our neck of ’woods. Odd sort of name for a Yorkshireman, Leo Milo, though didn’t he say it wasn’t his real name? Why would he change it? Or mebbe it was too difficult for ’Italians to pronounce. He began to feel sleepy and confused as thoughts rushed through his head and, as he did so often since being in her company every day, he thought of Beatrice, her smile, her fair skin and the blonde hair that was bleaching whiter in the sun. Sun-kissed, he dreamed as he fell asleep. I wish that I could kiss it too.

The next morning they were on the quayside by eight fifteen, not wanting to be late. They’d had to pay their hostess a further deposit to keep their rooms, even though, as Charles grumbled, they were not likely to go off and leave the ponies behind. Daniel said he didn’t mind paying as it meant that the animals were being looked after and grazing every day on a grassy area adjacent to the guest house with access to shelter from the afternoon sun.

‘It’s coming.’ Beatrice pointed out the ferry boat heading towards the harbour, a pall of smoke erupting from its tall chimney, and they moved towards the landing stage. As it came nearer they saw a group of passengers waiting to come ashore and in the midst of them Milo, wearing his hat, which he lifted and waved.

Daniel huffed out a breath. ‘That’s a relief. I half thought he might not come!’

‘He must be as curious as we are.’ Beatrice smiled at him. ‘Are you nervous? I would be in your place.’

‘I am,’ Daniel admitted. ‘I wonder what he’s told Signor Orsini – if he’s told him anything.’

‘We’ll find out shortly,’ Charles said, narrowing his eyes against the sun, already very bright, though a strong breeze was blowing across the water.

‘
Buongiorno!
’ Milo greeted them. ‘Come aboard. I’ve already got your tickets.’ He came to the gangway and put out his hand to help Beatrice on board. ‘I thought you’d like to sit on deck to appreciate the scenery. This is considered to be a most beautiful coastline.’

Solicitously he handed Beatrice a blanket to wrap around her knees, and although she wasn’t cold she appreciated his consideration.

‘How did you travel here?’ he asked as the ferry got under way. ‘By train from Brig, then Domodossola and Milan, I suppose?’

They all shook their heads. ‘We rode,’ Daniel said.

‘Horseback,’ Beatrice added.

‘Camping,’ Charles concluded. ‘It’s a long way.’

Milo looked astonished. ‘No, I meant from Switzerland.’

‘So did we,’ Daniel told him. ‘Charles and I sailed from England to Le Havre then took ’train to Rouen and then to Paris, where we spent a few days before going on to Montreux. Where was it next, Charles? Oh, I can’t remember.’ He wrinkled his forehead. ‘But then across Lake Thun to Interlaken to see Beatrice.’ He grinned. ‘And then horseback – well, mountain ponies. I can’t believe we did all that and finally got to Genoa.’

‘You came across the Alps on horseback?’ Milo shook his head. ‘And you’ve never been before?’

‘I’ve been living in Interlaken,’ Beatrice told him. ‘I was at a finishing school for
young ladies
,’ she added, laughing.

‘Well, I’m sure they prepared you thoroughly for such an adventure,’ Milo said, his eyes merry.

‘I wasn’t going to miss it,’ she declared. ‘If my brother and …’ She hesitated. She was quite sure that this Englishman wouldn’t be deceived into thinking Daniel was her cousin. ‘… and our good friend Daniel could do it, then I saw no reason why I couldn’t.’

‘I’m very impressed,’ Milo said. ‘Bravo! But you all came for what reason? To do the Grand Tour?’

‘We came because Daniel wanted some answers about his past,’ Charles said, adding, ‘I wasn’t going to let him come without me, although we hadn’t reckoned on Beatrice coming too. She tricked us.’ He gave an ironic grin at his sister and a heavy sigh. ‘As she so often does.’

By the time they had talked and Milo had pointed out the position of Cinque Terre, the five villages nestling in small coves and meandering up the steep mountainside, they were nearing Vernazza with its small harbour, olive groves and terraced vineyards that appeared to be plummeting down into the sea that lashed lazily beneath its feet.

‘It’s a steep climb up to ’house,’ Milo told them when they disembarked. ‘If you look up you can see it on that promontory.’

Above them on a rocky shelf stood a tower-like building with a terrace overlooking the sea.

‘How lovely!’ Beatrice said. ‘Do you live there too, Milo?’

He took Beatrice’s rucksack from her and put it on his own back as they began the uphill trek. ‘I do now. My wife and I used to live in Genoa and after she died I stayed for a few years, but the port is getting busier and busier and I worried about my daughter’s safety, so we came to keep her grandfather company.’

‘Oh,’ Daniel said. ‘So Signor Orsini is your father-in-law?’

‘He is,’ Milo answered. The hillside was very steep, as he had said, and the path so narrow in places that they had to walk in single file and were unable to converse. Eventually Milo said, ‘Nearly there. Five minutes or so and you can catch your breath.’

They were all breathing heavily by the time they reached the wooden gates which stood wide open to greet them. The path went higher up the mountain and on each side the vineyards stretched on, as did the sweet-scented lemon groves. They walked through the gates towards the house, which was much bigger than it seemed from below. From the rear it was castle-like, with stone terracing and lows walls and a piazza with stone jars and seating beneath olive trees and trailing vines.

‘Come,’ Milo said. ‘We’ll go in from the front and you can look at ’view over the sea.’ He led them to the front of the house, where they came to the terrace they had seen from below. They followed him towards the terrace wall to look down at the panorama of steep hillside and vineyards; beyond the small harbour and cluster of houses the deep blue Mediterranean threw up spumes of white spray on to the rocky coastline. They didn’t notice the figure sitting at the other end of the terrace.

‘
Buongiorno
.’ A deep voice made them about-turn and walk towards a broad-shouldered man in his late sixties, with a thick white moustache but dark eyebrows, and a straw hat on a head of white hair. He sat comfortably in a basket chair, a white jug and a cup and saucer placed on a low table beside him. There was a pungent aroma of coffee.

‘
Buongiorno
,’ they replied. Charles and Daniel bowed and Beatrice dipped her knee graciously.

‘
Babbo
,’ Milo said, and only Beatrice knew that this was an affectionate term for Father or Da. ‘These are the English people I was telling you about.’ He spoke slowly, in English. ‘Miss Beatrice Hart, her brother Charles, and Daniel …’ he hesitated, ‘Orsini.’ He turned towards them. ‘My father-in-law, Signor Orsini.’

‘
Caffè
.’ Signor Orsini snapped his fingers in the air. ‘Tell Sophia she bring
caffè
for our guests.’

Milo went inside and called to someone, and Signor Orsini beckoned to the three of them. ‘Come, forgive me for not standing; my legs are not good today.’ He beckoned again to Daniel and Charles. ‘Bring chairs,
per favore
.’ Then, turning to Beatrice, he said, ‘Signorina. Leo no say you are so beautiful.’

He invited Beatrice to sit next to him, murmuring, ‘
La mia giornata é più luminosa.
You understand, yes?’

‘No, signor.’ Beatrice blushed.

‘Explain, Leo,’ he said to his son-in-law, who had come back out on to the terrace.

‘He says that his whole day is brighter,’ Leo translated, adding, ‘My father-in-law is a terrible flirt.’

‘You’re very kind, sir,’ Beatrice smiled.

Daniel, listening, thought, I wonder if I could remember that? But then, what’s the use? I’d never be able to say it to her.

A pretty dark-haired woman with a flower in her hair and wearing a crisp white apron over her colourful dress brought a tray of coffee cups and another jug of coffee. Leo took it from her and said, ‘This is Sophia. She is a good friend of ours and helpmate of Signor Orsini.’ She glanced at Beatrice, then Charles, but her eyes lingered on Daniel as she smiled and bobbed her head before she left them.

‘So.’ Signor Orsini took a sip of coffee, whilst Milo poured for the guests. ‘You are in search of your ancestors?’ He looked directly at Daniel. ‘And your name is Orsini, yes? You perhaps do not know that once there were many Orsinis; some in years past were popes or cardinals and in time their lines disappeared, but others, they intermarry with other noble Italian families and the lines were split into many others.’ He shrugged. ‘I ’ave not ever heard of an Orsini marrying into an English family.’ He sighed. ‘I don’t, of course, enquire any more. I lead a very quiet life.’ He smiled mischievously. ‘As a young man I was more adventurous.’ He raised his dark eyes towards Milo, who wasn’t sitting but standing to drink his coffee. ‘As Leo once was, also.’

Daniel answered nervously, ‘I’m trying to find out about my grandfather. My English grandmother bore him a son. She knew his name was Orsini, but she wasn’t sure where he came from. When I was very young I promised her that one day I’d try to find him for her.’ He thought affectionately of Granny Rosie. ‘She expects nothing from him, but only wanted to know if he’d had a good life, and I suppose to tell him about ’son she bore him – my father Noah,’ he added. ‘Who, sad to say, I don’t remember, as he died when I was an infant.’

‘Ah!’ Signor Orsini exclaimed. ‘You never knew him? That is most unfortunate. Every son should know ’is father, as a daughter should know her mother.’ He lifted his hand towards Milo. ‘Leo’s daughter doesn’t remember her mother either. She ’as aunts but it is not ze same, especially when they live so far away.’

He sat silently, shaking his head and sighing. ‘I ’ave no sons or grandsons, but,’ he lifted his head, ‘I ’ave Leo who is as good as a son to me.’

Daniel nodded. ‘I have a stepfather who is ’same as a father to me; he’s ’onny one I’ve ever known. But I’ve never known a grandfather either, so I don’t know what it’d be like to have one, but I want to do this for Granny Rosie, if I can – if it’s not impossible, which I think mebbe it might be. But it’d make her very happy.’ His voice dropped, and he flushed slightly. ‘He was her one true love. She’s never forgotten him, even after so many years.’

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

A poignant silence descended as Daniel finished speaking. Signor Orsini appeared to be sunk in contemplation, but after a moment Milo said, ‘My daughter will be here soon. She’s looking forward to meeting you and speaking English. Sometimes I forget to speak my own language and it’s important that she doesn’t forget that she has English roots, even though she’s never been to England. Last time I was there was well over twenty years ago, before she was born.’ He seemed nostalgic. ‘Like you, Daniel, I was trying to find my family.’

He shrugged in the Italian manner as his father-in-law did. He seemed more Italian than English, even rolling his R’s like the Italians, and yet they could all hear a slight Yorkshire accent.

‘And did you?’ Beatrice asked. ‘Find them?’

‘No, I didn’t. I left my home town when I was very young and went to seek my fortune.’ He grinned. ‘Many young men were doing that; I suppose they still do. I went to sea for quite a few years, going home from time to time, but then decided to go to America.’

Daniel nodded. That was what Fletcher did before he married my ma.