Roman Summer Read Online Free Page B

easy to park and you can keep it at the garage round the corner .’
    ‘Thank you,’ said Ruth. ‘That will mean I can take her further afield.’
    ‘Exactly. Show her the Appian Way, for instance, and dare her to be blasé about driving along the oldest road in the world that’s still in use; on the original paving-stones too,’ Erle advised.
    He did not wait to see Cicely, which added to her sense of grievance when she came in. But on hearing of the pro j ected party and the car, her black mood passed.
    Erle invited them to the party by telephone. It was to be a restaurant affair. Cicely spent the afternoon at the hairdresser’s and emerged with her hair piled high, adding at least three years to her age; Ruth always shampooed her own short hair, but treated herself to an expensive cut. Cicely wore a sunray-pleated lam e dress; Ruth went in one of her two evening gowns, a peacock-green batwing-sleeved blouson over a narrow matching skirt.
    Erle calle d for them , making Cicely , for whom the party was given, his partner for the evening. At the restaurant they and his other guests foregathered in a big private ante-room; introductions were made, drinks were proffered, and the usual party jabber was in a Babel of different languages. Watched at a distance by Ruth, Cicely was quaintly possessive of Erle , tucking her arm into his, laughing up at him, making the most of her evening as his particular choice, possibly seeing herself, Ruth thought with a little stab of compassion, as a serious rival of all the exotic, demanding women who were part of his every day .
    ‘ I’ve been in love with him since I don’t know when .’ Had Cicely meant that to be taken at its face value? Or was that mere teenage extravagance? Ruth hoped so. There was no future in laying your all at the feet of a man who claimed that the adventure of marriage was not for him...
    The guests did not know their dinner partners until they found their own place-c ards at the tables for six in th e restaurant. Ruth’s partner removed his card and tucked it into a pocket as he announced his name as Cesare Fonte, adding, when Ruth told him hers, ‘I do not speak English very well, signora. You must forgive me my mistakes.’
    Ruth smiled, ‘On the contrary, if we speak Italian instead, you must forgive me my mistakes ! ’ and saw his dark, grave face light up with relief.
    The other people at their table were two strangers and Stella Parioli and her partner, whom she addressed as ‘Luigi’—possibly the Luigi Be rn anos whom she had claimed to have turned down in favour of lunching with Erle , Ruth remembered.
    The conversation was all in Italian, with Ruth taking less part in it than anyone, though her own partner was attentive enough. At one point Stella Parioli glanced across to Erle ’s table, where he sat with Cicely and four other young people, and said, ‘So eccentric of Erle , to put himself out to see that mere children enjoy themselves.’ Then, narrowing her glance on Cicely in particular, ‘The young blonde—I don’t recognise her. Does anyone know who she is?’
    Ruth said, ‘Yes, I do. She is English—a protégée of Signore Nash. Her name is Cicely Mordaunt, and I am her chaperon for the summer she is in Rome. ’
    Stella Parioli turned her exquisitely dressed head, looking beneath her lids at Ruth, with an air of using a lorgnette in order to bring her into focus.
    ‘Indeed? Her chaperon?’
    ‘Her hostess too,’ Ruth supplied.
    The other woman’s face cleared. ‘Ah, yes, I remember you now. A week or two ago, wasn’t Signore Nash interviewing you for the post of hostess—paid hostess —to that child?’
    The intended slight did not escape Ruth. ‘Yes, I am being paid,’ she said.
    ‘As I thought.’ The reply seemed to give Stella Parioli some satisfaction. She turned to Ruth’s partner. ‘Is your sister here this evening, Count Fonte? I have not seen her yet, if she is.’
    At Ruth’s sharp-drawn breath and