Barbara Cartland - Love comes to the Castle

Her father had laughed.

“I suppose that is true but your eyes are a very strange colour, my dearest girl. It would require a better poet than I am to describe them.”

Jaela knew what he was trying to say when she examined her eyes more closely than she had before.

They were a very deep dark blue and occasionally had a touch of green in them.

When she was angry, she thought that they had almost a purple tinge, although it was difficult to describe it to herself.

Now, as she neared the balcony, the man who was waiting for her thought that it would be impossible for any young woman to look lovelier.

She looked in fact as if she had stepped down from Mount Olympus to mix with human beings.

Jaela had reached the steps leading up to the balcony before she saw him.

“Dr. Pirelli,” she exclaimed. “How good to see you.”

He held out his hand and asked in good English but with a pronounced accent,

“How are you, my dear?”

“I am all right,” Jaela replied, “Only, as you can imagine, missing Papa unbearably.”

“I was sure you would be doing that,” Dr. Pirelli replied, “and I miss him too. I used to look forward eagerly to my visits here to talk with him and, of course, to see you.”

Jaela smiled.

“I think you and Papa had so much to say to each other that you usually forgot my very existence.”

Dr. Pirelli laughed.

“That is untrue and you are obviously fishing for compliments.”

A servant, who was well used to Dr. Pirelli’s visits, brought a bottle of the wine that he always fancied and poured out a glass of it.

Dr. Pirelli took it and seated himself in one of the comfortable chairs.

As the servant withdrew, he said,

“I have a suggestion to make to you, Jaela, which may well surprise you.”

“A suggestion?” Jaela asked.

“I have been worrying about you,” the doctor said, “and you must realise it is important that you should not stay her alone.”

“I have thought of that, but I suppose that I could find a chaperone, although the idea of employing some elderly woman who has nothing better to do is somewhat depressing.”

“That is what I thought you would say,” Dr. Pirelli replied, “and I think that you ought to return to England.”

Jaela sighed, but she did not say anything and he went on,

“As I said, I have a suggestion to make to you that might make the journey less tedious.”

Jaela looked at him questioningly and he said,

“I think you have heard me speak of the Contessa di Agnolo.”

“Yes, of course I have,” Jaela nodded. “She lives in that exquisite Villa not very far from Pompeii that I have always longed to visit.”

“Although the Contessa has often asked about you, it is something I would not let you do,” Dr. Pirelli went on, “because she has for the last year been suffering from tuberculosis.”

“You told Papa about her and he thought it very sad.”

“It is a tragedy,” Dr. Pirelli said. “She is so young and still very beautiful.”

“Is there no hope of a cure?” Jaela enquired.

“I wish there was,” he replied, “But both lungs are infected and she is in fact dying.”

“I am so sorry,” Jaela murmured.

There was a short pause and she was wondering how this concerned her when Dr. Pirelli continued,

“The Contessa has a little daughter of just eight years old and a lovely child with a sweet character to whom naturally she is completely devoted.”

“I had no idea that she had a child,” Jaela said. “I suppose now she will have to be with her father.”

“That is exactly what I was going to tell you,” Dr. Pirelli said. “The Contessa wishes to send Lady Katherine, or ‘Kathy’, as she is always called, back to her father.”

Jaela was surprised.

“Are you saying that the Contessa is English and the child is not then the daughter of the Conte di Agnolo,”

“I thought perhaps your father would have told you about the Contessa,” Dr. Pirelli said.

“He sometimes referred to the Villa, but I cannot remember him ever saying very much about the Contessa.”

“I suppose he thought that it would be a mistake for you to be interested in her,” the doctor said almost as if he was speaking to himself.

“Why should it be a mistake?” Jaela enquired.

Dr. Pirelli hesitated as if he was feeling for words and then finally he said,

“The Contessa is actually the wife of the Earl of Halesworth.”

Jaela looked at the doctor in some surprise.

“You mean,” she said slowly, “that she is not – married to the Conte di Agnolo!”

“Unfortunately not,” the doctor affirmed, “but to prevent there being any scandal in the neighbourhood, when the Conte brought her here to his Villa he gave her his own name and people who live here have no idea that the Conte has a wife and family living in Venice!”

“But – you and Papa knew this all the time,” Jaela pointed out accusingly.

“Your father, of course, knew the Earl of Halesworth by name and he had heard that his wife had run away from him only a few years after they were married.”

“And she took her little girl with her?” Jaela asked.

“The child was two at the time,” Dr. Pirelli said, “and she could not bear to leave her behind.”

But – did not the Earl protest?” Jaela asked.

“I discussed it once with your father,” the doctor replied, “and he said from what he remembered the Earl was a very proud man. Like a great many English aristocrats he would do anything rather than have the family name besmirched by a divorce which, when it is a question of a Peer, would have to go through the House of Lords.”

“I see,” Jaela said. “So he remained silent when his wife left him, although I should have thought that he would have tried to gain possession of his only child.”

The doctor did not speak and after a moment she said,

“I suppose it was not so important as she was a girl. If it had been a question of his son and heir, he would have had him back at once.”

“I expect you are right,” the doctor said. “At any rate little Kathy is with her mother and I have been extremely worried in case she should catch her mother’s complaint, which you are well aware is highly infectious.”

“Yes, of course, and that must be a headache for you,” Jaela said sympathetically. “And what are you going to do about the little girl now?”

“That is what I am going to tell you,” the doctor said. “I have talked it over with the Contessa and she has begged me to ask you, because you are English, to take the child back to England and hand her over to her father.”

“She asked for me ?” Jaela exclaimed. “But I have never met her!”

“She has heard a great deal about you,” the doctor replied with a smile. “She has been a lonely woman in many ways these past years, even though the Conte adores her and, if it was possible, he would lay the sun and the moon at her feet.”

He made a very Italian gesture with his hands before he added,

“But, of course, at times he has to return to his wife and family and then the Contessa is alone.”

“Does she have no friends?”

“It seems an odd thing to say, but the answer is very few,” he said. “It was difficult for her to mix with the Italians in case anyone should find out that she and the Conte were not married and the English, if they were of any importance, would have drawn their skirts aside in horror because to them she was a ‘Scarlet Woman’!”

“Oh – I understand!” Jaela exclaimed. “I wish Papa could have asked her here so that we could have been kind to her.”

“I believe your father was thinking of you,” the doctor responded simply.