Barbara Cartland - Love comes to the Castle

“And now the Contessa wants me to take her daughter to England.”

“What I suggest you do is to come with me after luncheon and speak with the Contessa herself. Then I think you will understand that she is desperately worried about to whom she can entrust, for what will be a long journey, her precious little girl.”

“I understand,” Jaela said, “and if it is possible, of course, I will accompany the child.”

She hesitated before she added,

“The only thing is, I have no wish to go to London while I am still in mourning and have to sit talking about Papa – which will make me want – to cry.”

“Then the best thing you can do,” the doctor said briskly, “is to occupy your mind with something else, which is certainly what your father would want if he was with you.”

“I know that,” Jaela said, “and perhaps, when I get to England, I will open our country house, which we closed when we came here and put in charge of caretakers.”

“I think that would be a sensible thing to do,” the doctor agreed, “at least until you can enter the Social world which, as you know, your father always wanted you to do.”

“I am not sure it is what I want to do,” Jaela admitted.

“That is the first foolish thing you have said,” the doctor replied. “You are young, you are beautiful and the sooner you take your place amongst your own people, as your mother and father planned for you, the better.”

He spoke firmly in the way, Jaela thought with amusement, he might have spoken to a reluctant convalescent who was afraid after a long illness of facing the world again.

“I know exactly what you are saying to me, dear Dr. Pirelli and I suppose, like the nasty medicine you gave me when we first met, I shall have to ‘take what is good for me’!”

“Of course you will,” he agreed, “and so now, if you are generous enough to give me something to eat, I will take you to meet the Contessa.”

*

The doctor’s comfortable carriage drove through the twisting narrow lanes.

Sitting beside him Jaela thought it was most extraordinary that, living so near to the Villa Agnolo, she had never been there before.

Now she understood why, if she spoke to her father about it, he always seemed to have a very little to say.

She knew that her relations would disapprove violently of any lady who could be called a ‘Scarlet Woman’.

As the Italians were renowned gossips, she doubted if a large number of them would not have been aware that the Contessa di Agnolo was living a double life.

When they arrived at the Villa it was even more magnificent than it had seemed in the distance and she could well understand that the Conte had wanted a beautiful setting for the woman he loved.

A servant opened the door dressed in a Livery that was very impressive.

They were led through a hall and along a corridor hung with magnificent pictures.

Then they went into one of the most beautiful sitting rooms that Jaela had ever seen.

Everything was white, the walls, the curtains, the coverings on the furniture and the rugs on the polished floor.

The pictures were by the great Italian Masters and their vivid colours shone like jewels against a velvet setting.

There were huge crystal vases filled with fresh flowers.

Jaela was left alone while the doctor ascertained if his patient was ready to receive them.

She walked round the room and saw glass cases filled with exquisite objets d’art which she was sure must be worth a small fortune.

She did not have long to look at everything for the doctor returned and he was smiling.

“The Contessa is delighted that you have come to meet her as she hoped you would,” he said, “but she is very weak and you must not stay long.”

“I do understand,” Jaela replied.

They walked up a wide staircase and the doctor then opened a door.

It was a large room, the same size as the sitting room and, although the sun blinds were down outside, it still seemed to be filled with sunshine.

Lying back against lace-trimmed pillows in a canopied bed hung with curtains both of muslin and of silk was the Contessa.

Even though she was pitiably thin, she was still, Jaela thought, one of the most beautiful women she had ever seen.

Her hair was so fair that it was like the first light of dawn.

Her eyes, however, were fringed with dark lashes and, because she was so ill, seemed too large for her face. They were pale green flecked with gold and very English.

She did not look, as Jaela had expected she would, pale and drawn, but she had a touch of colour in both of her cheeks.

Then she was aware, when she thought about it, that this was part of the terrible disease that was destroying her.

Jaela walked to the bed and a nurse placed a chair for her so that she could sit down close to the Contessa.

The sick woman held out her hand which was little more than skin and bone.

“You have come,” she began in a soft voice.

“Yes, I have come,” Jaela replied, “and, of course, I will help you in any way I can.”

“You are so kind.”

There was a little pause, as if she found it difficult to speak, before she continued,

“Please take Kathy home to her father. It was wrong of me to bring her away with me, but I loved her so much.”

The words came jerkily from between her lips and then Jaela ,who was holding her hand, said,

“I can understand that and I will certainly look after Kathy for you.”

“He must not be angry with her,” the Contessa stipulated.

Jaela realised that she was speaking of her husband and she declared consolingly,

“I am sure that he will be very glad to have his daughter back with him.”

The Contessa closed her eyes, but she did not take her hand from Jaela’s.

The doctor and the nurse had moved away. In fact Jaela, without looking round, thought that they had left the room.

She waited.

Then the Contessa spoke again,

“I have no regrets for myself. Love is very very wonderful! But Stafford did not love me.”

“You have been very happy,” Jaela said, “and that is all that matters now.”

“Very very happy – ” the Contessa then murmured. “But Kathy must not be punished for me.”

“No, of course not!” Jaela said hastily.

“Take her back,” the Contessa said very slowly. “Teach her to be English and it will be better for her that way.”

“I will try, I promise you I will try,” Jaela stated firmly.

Looking down at the Contessa, she thought it very pitiful that she should be so ill when she was still so young and so lovely.

Because she wanted her to feel happy, she affirmed again,

“I promise you that I will look after Kathy and take her to her father.”

“You are very kind.”

The Contessa’s words were barely audible and her eyes were closed.

Her hand went limp and Jaela realised that she had not the strength to say anything more.

She rose to her feet.

She said a little prayer in her heart that the Contessa would die without any more pain.

Also that the happiness she had known on earth would not be lost in Heaven.

Then she turned and walked to the end of the room where Dr. Pirelli was waiting for her.

He drew her from the bedroom and, when they were outside in the corridor, he said in a voice that showed that he was deeply moved,

“That was very kind of you, Jaela, and no one could have been more gracious.”

“I am so desperately sorry for her,” Jaela said. “It is such a waste of life to die when she is so young.”

“She has been ecstatically happy,” the doctor said, “and perhaps none of us can ask for more.”

He spoke emotionally and Jaela remembered that he was a widower.