Only in the Night (4 page)

‘I believe that’s true,’ she told him, and she did believe it. And she realised by what he had told her and the tremor of passion and urgency, a strange inflection of fear in his voice, that there was something very serious and grown-up about what he was saying, how he was feeling. Something sombre and binding that made her look at Vittorio with new eyes, those of a budding beauty with a whole world laid out for her to discover. It frightened her to think that there might be more to life than being in love and lust with Vittorio and running free and wild with him in Tuscany, so she blocked that thought from her mind and swung her leg over the horse to slide down. She kissed Vittorio’s hand and told him, ‘This has been the most glorious day of my life.’

‘Tomorrow then,’ he told her.

‘Meet me at the lake before you go to work. I’ll bring breakfast.’

‘No later than six o’clock.’

She agreed and turned to walk away from him, whereupon he dismounted and grabbed her. Holding her close to him, he asked, ‘I didn’t hurt you, did I? I couldn’t bear it if I’d hurt you. It will be easier tomorrow, and more exciting. I love you, you’re the most glorious woman I have ever had, and there will never be another for me again. You do understand that that’s the way it has to be for me, for us? We’ll marry as soon as I can afford for us to.’

Their kiss was deep and full of passion. Vittorio’s control and concern for her vanished and he rushed her into the shadows and down to the grass where,
on their knees, he took her in a rage of lust. They came together almost instantly. Then he adjusted her clothes and caressed her hair but they said nothing, merely parted. Sex, the thrill of sex, the excitement and danger of their lust, filled their hearts and minds. More was all they could think about; more of what they had had and what they would have tomorrow.

Tomorrow came and all the other tomorrows of that summer, and lust took over the young lovers’ lives. Not for either of them could there have been or would there ever be a more glorious summer. And then one day there were no more tomorrows left for Vittorio and Eliza. It was over. Janine le Donneur, Vittorio’s secret lover, made the fatal mistake that many women of a certain age who take on a young and inexperienced lover do. She had, without realising it, fallen hopelessly in love with her sweet sexual partner and could not bear to lose him.

She had wrongly assumed that he and Eliza would have their sexual fling and it would make little difference to her own sex life. She could not allow herself to believe that an inexperienced girl could satisfy Vittorio. It never occurred to Janine that he would do other than return to her. But he didn’t return to her for sex, and in his honesty and innocence made a fateful mistake that was to change the course of his and the two women’s lives. Only days after he and Eliza had consummated their love, he went to Janine and told her their sexual liaison was a thing of the past. She was an intelligent and mature woman, worldly in the way of men and sex. She believed Vittorio’s words were no more than youth talking and was not unduly concerned. Janine gave them six weeks at the most and
was certain Vittorio would return to her. He did, but to do no more than his chores. He stayed away from her on any more intimate level.

At first she was amused and believed he was making a concerted effort to be faithful to his girl, but after several visits she saw a change in Vittorio, sensed that he was repelled at the very idea of sex with her now when once he could not get enough. The pain was intense. It was anguish at the loss of a man who had insinuated himself into her life, given her passion, goodness, kindness, and created in her an erotic revival that had instilled new life into her whole being. She approached Vittorio about this, believing she could talk him back into her bed and a relationship that had worked for both of them. Again she tried to reason with him, and again, and then it was a matter of reproaching him, and after that came ultimatums and threats. Unkind words from him that cut her to the quick and destroyed her sense of self, her joy in life.

It was a woman scorned who approached the Forresters and Eliza and told them her story of love and abandonment, how she had kept Vittorio all those years. She was even graphic about his stamina as a lover, describing a young man with a rampant libido who had a voracious appetite for sex and women. If it were possible for it to be worse it was because this miserably unhappy woman, who admitted her passion and folly in loving a near-illiterate young man who would never be any more than he was, was soft-spoken and articulate rather than raging in her despair. In front of her parents, Janine pointed out to Eliza how impossible it would be for her to marry a Tuscan farmer with no future when
she was so young and lovely and had her whole life to live.

Eliza had never seen such pain in another human being. She felt despair for Janine le Donneur as she would have felt it for herself if Vittorio had abandoned her. To be the cause of another woman’s pain, as she felt she was, was unacceptable. That Vittorio should have carried on such an affair in theory had not worried her, but faced with the reality she was appalled.

Julian Forrester, disconcerted by what he had heard, returned from seeing Janine le Donneur to her car. He was embarrassed by the incident which, he pointed out to his wife and daughter, would never have happened had the woman been an Englishwoman. He poured himself and his wife a sherry, and then seeing how disturbed Eliza was, poured one for her as well. They sat in silence, trying to make sense of what had happened, what if anything was to be done about it. They were not a family for scenes or grand gestures. They were a family for peace at any price, fun, life without embarrassing complications. They did not quite know how to handle them.

This was the 60s and promiscuity, the Age of Aquarius, had burst into everyone’s life to enchant and amuse, so they were by no means surprised that Eliza and Vittorio’s was no longer a childish summer romance. They were simply embarrassed at having been confronted with the fact, and confused as to what they were supposed to do about it.

After Julian had poured a second sherry for them all he sat down once more to stare through the open windows leading out to the courtyard and a view of the hundred-and-fifty-year-old maze. Beyond that
were the hills and he listened to the light, hot breeze rustling the leaves, the birds singing, the sound of water splashing in the marble fountain.

It was Dulcima who finally broke the awkwardness of the moment when she went to Eliza and sat on the arm of her daughter’s chair to stroke her hair. ‘I’m sorry you had to experience that scene, Eliza. It’s very disturbing to see a woman of such intelligence fall so low as to behave as she did here today. I’m afraid she’s desperate. A scandal is quite likely. I don’t want you hurt by it.’

‘A scandal may not happen, Dulcima! Let’s not look for trouble where trouble may not exist.’ The first sound of annoyance could be heard in Julian’s voice.

‘I think I would like to go home as soon as possible,’ announced Eliza.

‘Do you want us to talk to Vittorio, Eliza?’ asked Dulcima.

‘No. I will, Mummy. You do know that I love him with all my heart?’

‘Yes, dear, I do.’

‘And he loves me the same way.’

‘Yes, dear, I know that too.’

‘We are the love of each other’s life, Mummy.’

‘Then you mustn’t hurt each other, Eliza.’

‘We would never do that!’

‘Maybe not intentionally. I’m sure that Vittorio did not want to hurt Madame le Donneur, intentionally, but look what happened. She made some valid points about your youth and there being a world out there you are yet to discover, didn’t she?’

‘Yes.’

‘Under the circumstances, time and a little distance
can be no bad thing for either you or Vittorio. You both have a great deal to do if there is a future for you together, surely you are both able to see that?’

‘But you don’t see that for us, do you, Mummy?’

‘Frankly, no, dear.’

‘After having had Madame le Donneur draw you such a candid picture of the differences in your lives and the hopelessness of any future together, can you honestly say you do, Eliza?’ asked her father, speaking to her for the first time.

‘But I love him, Poppy,’ she told him, tears trickling slowly from the corners of her eyes.

Julian Forrester went to his daughter and sat down next to her. Very gently he placed an arm around her and slid her on to his lap. Then he told her in the softest, most kindly manner, ‘I’m not asking you to stop loving Vittorio, Eliza, only to leave him, for each of you to see other people for a year, and then see how you feel about each other. And you must do this as much for Vittorio as for yourself. He must work something out with this woman to avoid a scandal, and needs time to make a life for himself so that he will be able to support a wife and a family one day.

‘There is too a basic need for the young man to be free, to run with his friends, be wild with his youth, before he settles down to loving and making a permanent commitment. And you are stopping all that because you have made him exclusively yours. You must give each other a chance. I think your instinct was right. We should go home. Let’s say we leave in three days’ time?’

Eliza remained on her father’s lap for several
minutes before she stood up and told her parents, ‘I think this is the worst day of my life.’

‘Oh, darling Eliza, can I do anything?’ asked her mother.

Julian found the entire incident too sordid to cope with. Though he felt sympathy for Eliza, he somehow felt more sorry for Vittorio because he could see no happy solution for the young man of whom he was so fond.

‘No, Mummy, I just need to be with Vittorio. We need to have these next few days together to make some plans. And I have to tell him what happened, don’t I?’

‘Yes, you do, Eliza,’ answered her father.

She went to him first and kissed him on the cheek. ‘I love you, Poppy, for helping us and not being angry with us.’

Then she went to her mother, and kissed her, and said, ‘You too, Mummy. I hope I will do what’s right.’

But as she ran from the room in floods of tears something in her heart told her that not only was she unsure what to do about loving Vittorio but that they were star-crossed lovers, paying for the years of happiness they had already had.

They had planned to go to the village with Clara and Vittorio’s brother Alessandro, and from there to the lake. But that seemed utterly impossible now. Eliza knew Vittorio was dredging a stream on the far side of the estate and that was where she would find him. She hopped on her bicycle, feeling quite desperate to see him, and pedalled furiously in that direction. From a distance away she saw him
standing in the stream. Stripped to the waist and wet, he seemed to gleam in the sun. How handsome and sensual he was. A girl deeply involved in her newfound sensuality, she could think of nothing but his taking possession of her, of his rampant penis penetrating her again and again, of the sensation of such utter bliss when he came and she was awash with his seed. She whimpered and bit into her lower lip, trying to keep control of her need and desire to be lost in sex with Vittorio, and for the moment forgot that they were so very soon to be parted, possibly for ever.

She saw him place a hand on his forehead, using it to shield his eyes as he watched her approaching. He smiled and waved to her to come to him. He unzipped his wet jeans and caressed his already erect penis, tossing back his head and laughing. She dismounted from her bicycle and let it crash to the ground as she jumped into the shallow stream. He took her down with him into the clear, rushing water and tore at her clothes. There they fucked, the mountain stream cold and caressing as it washed over their entwined bodies.

Throughout the sexual delights he was bringing her to, Eliza kept wondering how she was going to be able to give up sex with Vittorio for a day, never mind a year. He had taught her to enjoy a man’s sexuality and her own sexual desires. She wanted him and sex as a part of her life now, and yet she found that an impossibility in the light of the scene Janine le Donneur had played out before her.

She tried not to be angry with Vittorio, but she was,
for having made love to a woman so old. Forty, no matter how beautiful and well preserved she looked, was old to a seventeen-year-old girl. And for Vittorio to indulge himself with an old woman was somehow obscene and nasty. And, worse, he threw the woman aside when he was finished with her. Even worse than that, he had never loved her. She, Eliza Forrester, had been the cause of this woman’s misery and she felt guilt, something she had never felt before, and did not like it. Yes, that was how she saw it: Vittorio’s lust had placed guilt at her feet. She wanted that washed away. She wanted assurances he would never do to her what he had done to that woman.

She scrambled out of his arms and struggled through the water to the bank, dishevelled by lust and the stream, her clothes wet and clinging to her. Half naked, she climbed up the bank and lay in grass burned golden by the months of hot Tuscan sun. Vittorio lay down next to her and with great tenderness removed her wet blouse and wrung it out, and then her skirt, spreading them out to dry. He shrugged out of his jeans and flung them away and then he sat up and pulled her head into his lap, offering his semi-erect sex to her.

He had taught her oral sex and how to enjoy it. She had mastered the act, one she found thrilling for the power she felt because she could excite such pleasure in Vittorio. She came and came again in spite of knowing to the very core of her being that she had to give up Vittorio, that such delights as this were already very nearly a thing of the past for them. How, why, she should have decided that at this very
moment she would never know. But quite suddenly she felt heartbroken that fate should have dealt them such a blow.

She eased him from between her lips with one last caress, one last kiss, and sat up. ‘This is no time to stop,
cara mia,
’ he told her.

‘Maybe it is, Vittorio, just the time,’ she told him, a light in her eyes he had never seen before, a catch in her voice that concerned him.