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.
‘You’ve been in the water already?’ It was Archie, his eyes tired behind his sunglasses.
‘Yes, but not really swimming – just with Rosa.’
‘She’s such a sweet child.’ Archie seemed to speak with conviction. ‘She reminds me of Barbara at that age. I hardly see her now, you know – I think Monica has poisoned her against me.’
‘That’s awful, I had no idea – I’m so sorry.’
‘Swim again?’
‘How do you have the energy? You haven’t been to bed,’ Laura said. ‘Don’t feel you have to amuse me.’
‘It’s all right – Gianni had cocaine with him. Have you tried it? You can go on all night. Goodness, I felt bright. I’ll probably crash soon.’
Laura sensed again how out of step she was with the others on this holiday. Keeping up good behaviour was a constant necessity for herself and her daughter. The others had the luxury of putting all that aside for the vacation, while she was never able to relax. She and Archie swam together, but soon they heard the dark rumble of thunder, and as they came out of the sea the first drops of the gathering thunderstorm fell on them, and they ran back to the house. The villa was not made for rain; it seemed damp, dark and inhospitable in the living room as the storm rattled the shutters. The others were all asleep now, and when they got up around lunchtime they all sat in the living room, drinking coffee and taking aspirins, looking haggard. Peter and Winifred were clearly not talking to one another, and Laura was vividly aware of the energy that now existed between Winifred and Amy. She herself was locked out, she knew, she with her careful feminine ways and her tedious adherence to convention.
Winifred suggested they played cards, and they all sat in a ring. Amy was in her nervous mood again, and as she sat there one leg kept jiggling on top of the other and one eyelid seemed to be twitching. It was as though she was two people, Laura thought, but she was unable to keep the one hidden inside the other, so instead they existed side by side. At least the others were trying to keep the holiday mood going, laughing and gossiping as they slapped down the cards. When the rain eased off, Winifred insisted, they would drive over to Ravenna to see the mosaics.