Song Above the Clouds (12 page)

The whole of the narrow street in front of the Palazzo seemed to be jammed with cars, some of them already parked, some still manoeuvring to find a place, and they had to wait for nearly a minute in the middle of the road while the driver of a gleaming white Jaguar tried every way he could think of to squeeze his vehicle into a space better suited to a Mini. Eventually he gave the idea up, and as he leant forward to smile apologetically at the two girls, whom he had only just noticed, Candy saw who it was. It was some time since she had last encountered Michele’s uncle, but he was too much like his nephew not to be easily recognizable.

He wound' his window down. “Good evening,
signorine
! Caterina, my child, don’t try to park your car. We should both have come earlier, but now the middle of the road is all that is left to us, and the middle of the road it must be.” He glanced over his shoulder at the place into which he had been trying to manoeuvre himself. “On the other hand,
carina,
there is a space here just large enough for a bicycle—perhaps two bicycles. For myself I find it is of no use, but that nice little toy of yours might fit.”

“
Bene,
I will try,” Caterina laughed, and as the Jaguar glided off to Cruise along the line of cars in search of a more suitable place she succeeded without too much difficulty in easing her own neat vehicle into
the space, referred to. Then she and Candy climbed out, and the English girl stood looking up at the fa
c
ade of the Palazzo. Lines of tall windows that made her think vaguely of the windows at Buckingham Palace were ablaze with light and light was flooding too from a huge central archway above which what she supposed were the arms of the di Lucca family were blazoned for the edification of the passing centuries in ponderous stone. A party of people who had just alighted from a car parked further down the street were moving under the arch, and the two girls followed them. High above their heads an enormous bronze lantern swung, and ahead of them a wide courtyard like a theatrical backdrop gave some idea of the splendours they were approaching.

The courtyard was filled with pale marble statuary and softly whispering fountains, and there were small palm trees that rustled in the night breeze. Men and women in evening dress were standing about in clusters, exchanging voluble Christmas greetings by the light of well-positioned
flambeaux,
and most of the women, Candy noticed, were protected from the slight but definite chill by expensive furs. There was the flash of jewels, too—the sort of jewels that it would undoubtedly be quite a responsibility to wear—and some of the dresses were spectacularly beautiful. On the far side of the courtyard a fan-shaped marble staircase rose to the first of a series of galleries, and as Candy slowly climbed it at Caterina’s side she looked about her with the astonished fascination of a child let loose in Aladdin’s cave.

And then, at the top of the steps, she received a slight shock, for here her hostess was standing and the moment
of her evening to which she had looked forward with a certain amount of apprehension was upon her.

The Contessa di Lucca—otherwise known as Miss Anna Landi—was swathed from head to foot in the silky folds of a scarlet and gold sari, and she looked, Candy thought, like a lovely slender flame. Her carefully made-up face was flawlessly beautiful and she was smiling a lot, showing off her small, perfect white teeth. On one of her fingers a huge ruby glimmered and flashed as if it were alive, and there was something about her that seemed almost unreal.

She recognized Candy immediately and greeted her enthusiastically, kissing her, as she had done before, on both cheeks.

“Candida, how lovely you look! It’s nice to be young. To wear white, and not
appear ridiculous! But I am so happy to see you again. Caterina,
mia cara
…
”

And then she broke off, for just at that moment her brother-in-law, Michele’s uncle, reached the top of the stairs, having apparently disposed of the Jaguar, and subtly her expression changed.

“Marco, you are late!” She was smiling at him brilliantly, as if to make up for the sudden harshness in her voice, but even the smile was a little taut. “Without Michele I should have been lost!”

“Without Michele you would always be lost, Anna.” Her brother-in-law bowed over her hand, raising the vivid tips of her fingers to his lips. He stood looking at her
with his head on one side, and his smile was a little strange. “You don’t look lost,” he remarked.

She drew her hand away from him abruptly, and gestured vaguely in Candy’s direction. “I have a job for
you, my friend. You are to look after this child, and see to it that she meets everybody. If is a pleasant job, yes?”

“Yes,” he agreed. He turned to
Candy
, and a certain tension in the uneven lines of his face relaxed. “Little Signorina Wells, I am very happy at what I hear of you.”

“What do you hear of me?” Candy asked, smilingly. He had put a hand beneath her elbow to propel her forward, and with a sensation of relief she left the Contessa to receive the remainder of her guests.

“I hear that your voice is becoming strong and beautiful, and soon it will be being used to delight us all.”

Her lips twisted wryly. “I’m a little better than I was.”

“That is not what I hear.”

“What
do you
hear,
signore
?”

“I hear that when you sing it is a sound to enchant the nightingales. That you are to be a
prima donna
who will create history.
E vero,
I assure you.”

She stood still, looking up at him. “Who told you that?”

The smile in his eyes was teasing and thoughtful at the same time. “Who has heard you sing?” he countered.

“Not many people
.
And nobody could have thought—”

“Ah, but they did.”

They were moving on now through a, series of long, high-ceilinged rooms, each one slightly more magnificent than the one before it, and suddenly, as Candy looked around her in fascinated admiration, a portrait caught her eye. It startled her so much that she almost stood
still, and as he glanced round her companion laughed softly.

“So you have noticed Paolo, my distant ancestor. He is, like Michele, no?”

“Yes
... i
t’s astonishing.” They went over to study
the portrait more closely, and Candy felt shaken, for the nearer she got to the painting the more difficult it was to believe that the man in dark doublet and snowy ruff who stood lo
o
king down at her from his heavy, gilded frame was
not
Michele di Lucca. Without realizing it, she stood staring up at the beautifully regular features and the grave dark eyes for nearly a minute before she spoke. Then: “Who was he?” she asked.

“He was Paolo, Conte di Lucca, and he lived during the sixteenth century, when Rome was a very bad city.”

“And was he bad?” Looting up at the thoughtful eyes and the humorous mouth, she found it very difficult to believe.

“No, he was not. He was a fighter, but he fought for the return of honour and order and justice when this city had forgotten that such ideals existed.”

“And did he succeed—I mean,
did he do anything to improve things?”

T
he descendant of Paolo di Lucca shrugged, and glanced up at his forebear with a trace of rueful affection. “Perhaps not. But at least he himself remained incorruptible.” Almost under his breath he added: “And that is not always easy. That can require more courage than anything
!”

Something in his voice made Candy look round at him with curiosity, but he had taken her arm again,
and was urging her back into the thickening crowd of guests.

It was not long after that that she caught sight
of John Ryland. She was in the process of being whisked from group to glittering group, and was beginning to feel slightly dizzy and to wish that Marco di Lucca would stop taking his responsibility for her entertainment quite so seriously. He seemed to think it was his duty to make sure that she was introduced to as large a proportion of Roman society as was possible in the time, and the bewildering variety of faces, coupled with the noise and laughter all around her, was giving her a headache. Everyone seemed to smile on her benevolently—possibly some of the women were less benevolent than the men, but even they were reasonably affable—and she supposed she ought to be enjoying herself tremendously, but the nagging feeling that something was missing, that she couldn’t possibly be enjoying herself completely, which had been present with her ever since John ceased to be part of her life was somehow stronger than ever.

And then she saw him. He was with the Contessa di Lucca, and they were moving towards her—in fact, almost before she knew it they were right beside her! She had become separated, temporarily, from the Contessa s brother-in-law, who had glimpsed an old friend on the other side of the room, and having also just succeeded in throwing off the persistent attentions
:
of one of the dozens of young Romans for
whom she seemed to have the fascination of a magnet she was, at that moment, without any means of escape. The Contessa bore down on her.

“Candida,
carissima
! Does Marco not look after you, the bad one?”

“He’s been looking after me very well,” Candy assured her hastily, and then she found
herself looking at John., He glanced
at her sheepishly, and then away, but she suddenly realized that she herself had no feeling of confusion. She didn’t really feel anything at all, except that as she stu
di
e
d his face with the calm of a strange new detachment it struck her for the first time that, as a face, it contained
remarkably little in the way of character. Although she had never realized it before, it was an empty face—empty and weak. She suddenly felt very clear-headed and cool.

“Well, enjoy yourself!” Extending a slim forefinger, the Contessa patted her cheek
.
“At your age, and looking as you do, it should not be difficult
!”
All at once she glanced round, and a warmer smile touched her lips. “And here is someone else to take charge of you.”

Candy looked round, and with a small start she realized that Michele had joined them. He had
come
up so quietly that she hadn’t noticed him, but now she saw
h
e was looking at her—watching her with a queer bright intensity. His eyes were rather serious, yet there was a half
-
smile on his lips. His gaze seemed to draw her own, and because she couldn’t help it she found herself staring into his
soft dark eyes as if something in their depths had laid a spell on her. A little shiver ran through her, and all at once she
began to feel the thudding of her own heart.

And then she looked away, half conscious of a sudden interested alertness in the face of the Conte’s mother, and knew that now she really did feel dizzy. The room was revolving around her—the world was turning upside down—and it was all because her eyes had met the eyes of Michele di Lucca. Because while they were gazing at one another she had entered another world, and she needed time to readjust.

CHAPTER
EIGHT

AFTER those few short moments during which something strange and vital had seemed to flash between them, Michele reverted to treating Candy with his usual blend of gentleness and reserve, and in fact it seemed to her that he was slightly more reserved than usual. He apologized for not being on hand to greet her when she arrived, and told her she looked ‘most charming’, but there was a formality about his every word that made her feel he was treating her like a stranger. She was bewildered, and after a time a sort of dull chill seemed to settle over her. For weeks she had taken his kindness, his attentiveness, for granted
... Now, suddenly, it was important that he should notice her—so important that once, as he turned away from her to speak to somebody else, she actually felt the prickle of moisture behind her eyelids—and just as suddenly he had evidently decided to relegate her to a lower place in his scheme of things. She didn’t feel resentful, for she told herself that after all there was no reason why he should pay her so much attention—and tonight he was more than fully occupied with his brilliant concourse of guests—but no
matter how hard she tried to reason with herself the strange chill persisted.

And then she saw him with Caterina, laughing and talking, looking relaxed for
the first time that evening, and the chill intensified as she remembered something
she had forgotten
... the fact that, quite obviously, he was Caterina’s property, and
if he were going to show a particular interest in anyone it would be her.

After a time Marco di Lucca rejoined her, full of apologies for his neglect, and at the same time expressing the certainty that she wouldn’t have had time to notice his absence.

“I am sure you have not been alone,” he told her. “Once I looked, and...
”
An expressive gesture. “There was nothing to see but the top of your head. You were surrounded!”

“People are ... friendly,” Candy said abstractedly and a little foolishly, and the Italian put his head on one side and regarded her thoughtfully for a moment or two.

“You are tired
?
” he asked.

“No—no, of course not.” She smiled brightly, “It’s all so fascinating and bewildering, though. I feel a little bit lost.”