‘What is this all in aid of?’ He sounds vaguely peevish, as though the gathering is a party to which he has not been invited.
‘The storm …’ Hal begins, and then stops, because surely it is obvious.
‘Storm?’ Aubrey blinks at him. ‘Wasn’t aware of any storm.’ Now he sees the stump of the mast. ‘Good Lord.’
‘Yes,’ Hal says. ‘We were hit.’
‘With what? Thor’s hammer?’
‘Lightning.’
‘Well.’ A pause. ‘How thrilling.’
The Contessa returns from where she has been talking with Roberto. She makes a little twist of her mouth.
‘It does not look good, my friends. The second mast will have to be mended before we can sail all the way to San Remo. But, as with all things in life, there is a positive. We are not far away from my husband, who is staying at our tower near Cervo. We can limp our way there, Roberto tells me, and wait while the yacht is mended.’
24
The castle sits high on a sward of land that plunges into the water below. When the lifeboat draws closer the slope separates into different iterations of green, and as they lurch towards shore in the little tender, Gaspari turns to Hal. ‘This is all quite an adventure, no? Something for you to write about.’
‘I suppose it is.’ Hal lowers his voice. ‘What is the Conte like?’
‘Ah,’ Gaspari whispers, glancing at their hostess, who is turned away from them, toward the shore. ‘Quite as unique as our wonderful Contessa – they are an excellent match.’ And then he smiles. This time it is not that downward smile Hal has become accustomed to, but a real smile – one that transforms his face. He would never be considered a handsome man, Hal thinks, but it lends his features their own unusual charm.
They unload their bags onto a stone jetty. Above them a flight of steps ascends some fifty feet toward the castle. Hal makes a move towards Stella’s bag but she grabs it instead. ‘It’s fine. I can do it.’
He goes to pick up Gaspari’s bag instead, knowing that the director is too frail to manage the climb with the burden.
‘Don’t,’ Gaspari says, seeing what he is doing. Hal mistakes it for pride, at first, but then he says, ‘The Contessa will call them. I’ve seen this before.’ He points at the stone wall of the cliff. Partially hidden beneath the trailing fronds of ivy is a brass telephone. The Contessa goes to it, lifts the receiver and waits. All watch and listen. Now the tinny rattle of an answering voice can be heard through it. The Contessa speaks into it, rapidly, then she turns to the group and gives a thumbs up – a gesture that, from her, somehow appears wonderfully incongruous.
‘What happens now?’ Hal asks.
‘We wait.’
And in a minute, a man and a youth of about sixteen appear at the top of the steps, and hurry down towards them.
‘They are the gardeners,’ Gaspari says. ‘I have met the older one – Gino – before.’
Sure enough, when the man reaches the jetty he greets Gaspari like a long-lost friend. He looks over the others, and whispers something to the director, who shakes his head. Then, with a little smile, he asks something else. Gaspari shakes his head.
The bags are swept up – Hal manages to keep hold of his own. He is still not comfortable with the idea of someone else carrying them while his own hands are free.
‘What did he say to you?’ he asks Gaspari, as they begin to climb, the two of them bringing up the rear.
‘Gino? He wanted to know if he would have a chance to meet Giulietta – he asked if I was making a film with her. I said not yet.’
‘And what was the other thing he asked?’
‘The other?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh … he, ah, wanted to know about Mrs Truss. I explained that she is a married woman.’
Hal had guessed it when he saw the man’s gaze run over her. The cheek of it. He thinks he has managed to keep his expression neutral, but he gradually becomes aware that the director is watching him curiously. He looks away.
At the top of the stairs stands an elderly man, extremely tall and thin, clad in a safari suit and deerstalker hat. He observes their progress up towards him through a pair of impressive binoculars. When they reach the top the Contessa goes to him, and they embrace.
Gaspari turns back to Hal. ‘The Conte.’