Anne Mather - The Baby Gambit

‘So, how are you?’ Julia enquired now, straightening her back and resting both arms on the counter. ‘I must say you look pretty good, considering.’

Grace glanced with mock indignation over her shoulder. ‘Talk about being damned with faint praise,’ she said, wrinkling her nose.

‘You know what I mean,’ insisted Julia. ‘I expected you to look all wan and haggard-eyed. Instead of which, it’s me who looks as if I’ve been on a bender for a week.’

‘I wouldn’t say that.’ Despite her obvious weariness, Julia still possessed the gamine charm she’d had when they were students. Smaller than her friend, Julia had always been excessively slender, with short blonde hair that was presently shaped to curl confidingly in towards her pointed chin. ‘It was a shame the hotel knew where to contact you. If they hadn’t, I suppose they’d have had to call on someone else.’

‘Yeah.’ Julia grimaced. ‘That was my fault. If I hadn’t been bragging about going to Valle di Falco for the weekend, they wouldn’t have known where I was. But it’s not every day that you get to meet a real marchesa, and I couldn’t resist telling everyone that I was going to stay at the di Falco villa.’

‘Ah.’ Grace could feel a certain tightness in her throat. ‘Does that mean that—that Signor di Falco is really a marchese?’

‘Matteo?’ Julia took a sip of her wine, but Grace could see that her blue eyes had become a little dreamy. ‘Well, yes, he is. But these days, like lots of other Italian aristocrats, he doesn’t use his title.’

Grace was glad of the excuse of attending to the vegetables to turn back to the stove. So, Matteo di Falco was really the Marchese di Falco. Her tongue circled her upper lip. Things just seemed to get worse and worse. What must he have thought of her? She just hoped he didn’t tell Julia what she’d said.

‘Anyway,’ Julia went on now, and Grace could hear the animation in her voice, ‘you haven’t told me what you thought of him. Matt, I mean. He did fetch my suitcase, didn’t he?’

‘Oh, yes. He brought it.’ Grace judged herself capable of speaking casually, and turned to take a plate of fresh shrimp out of the fridge. If Julia thought she was flushed, she would probably put it down to the heat emanating from the vegetables. ‘He arrived about mid-morning. He explained you’d been summoned back to the hotel.’

Julia nodded. ‘So what did you think?’ she persisted eagerly. ‘Come on, Grace; don’t you think he’s something else?’ She shook her head. ‘I still can’t get over the fact that he’s interested in me. It’s the real thing this time, girl. I’m sure of it.’

Grace expelled a breath. ‘He seemed—very nice.’

‘Very nice!’ Julia snorted, her weariness apparently forgotten. ‘Can’t you do better than that? When I look at him, “nice” is not an epithet that instantly springs to mind!’

‘All right, he’s everything you said he was,’ conceded Grace unwillingly, tipping the uncooked shrimp into the pan and giving them a rather energetic stir. ‘The food’s almost ready. Shall we eat in here? Or would you rather I set the table in the living room?’

Julia looked as if she would have preferred to continue their discussion of Matteo di Falco, but after swallowing the remainder of the wine in her glass she seemed to think better of it. ‘Let’s just eat here,’ she said, helping herself to more wine. ‘Mmm, it smells delicious. I could get used to this.’

Happily, the conversation became more general as they consumed the meal, but Julia wanted to know how her friend had come to neglect her health. She expressed her own outrage that Grace’s sisters should have had to be prevailed upon to help, showing little sympathy for their responsibilities towards their own families.

‘She’s their mother, too,’ she reminded Grace sagely, getting up to help her friend with the dishes. ‘And they don’t work, remember? They probably have far more free time than you.’

Grace admitted that that was a possibility, but she had grown so used to being regarded as the fall girl that it was hard to blame anyone else. Besides, she had never considered what she did as a burden before. It was only when she was taken ill herself that she’d begun to realise that she might be doing too much.

‘Anyway, you’re here now, and I don’t want you to feel that I expect you to look after me while you’re convalescing,’ declared Julia, putting their clean plates back into the cupboard. ‘I mean, this has been quite a treat, having a meal prepared for me and all, but I’m used to picking up something on my way home if I haven’t eaten, and, of course, I am out several nights a week.’

‘That’s okay.’ Grace dried her hands and watched her friend spooning coffee into the filter before retiring to the living area beyond the screen of climbing plants. ‘I’m looking forward to relaxing: reading some books, catching up on my correspondence, that sort of thing. Even a little sunbathing,’ she added as Julia carried the tray containing the coffee into the room. ‘As I said when you invited me here, I don’t want to interfere in your life.’

‘As if.’ Julia pulled a face and subsided onto the sofa with a grateful sigh. ‘Ah, that’s better,’ she said, kicking off her shoes and curling her toes into the rug. Then she added, ‘Your being here is not a problem, Grace. Not to me, anyway. I’ve wanted you to come out here for ages; you know that. Only you’ve always had an excuse before.’

Grace took the armchair opposite her friend, and lifted her shoulders in an apologetic shrug. ‘It hasn’t always been easy—’ she began, and Julia nodded as she pulled herself upright again and reached for the coffee pot.

‘Your mother,’ she agreed. ‘I know. But I’m glad I can be of help now. And it makes a change to have an English person to talk to.’

Grace hesitated and then, conceding to herself that she had been a little offhand about Julia’s boyfriend before, she made an effort to make amends. ‘Um—Matteo—’ she grimaced at her pronunciation ‘—speaks very good English, doesn’t he? Or does he only speak his own language with you?’

Julia waited until she’d handed her friend a cup of coffee and had got comfortable again on the sofa before replying. ‘As a matter of fact, Matt is partly English,’ she explained, propping her feet on the brass-topped table between them. ‘The marchesa I spoke of—she’s English, you see. She married Matt’s grandfather—oh, it must be over sixty years ago now. Of course—’ she pulled a wry face ‘—she’s more Italian than he is. Do you know, she never once addressed me in English while I was staying at the villa? Matt says she hardly ever uses her native language any more.’

Grace frowned. ‘You met his grandmother?’ she asked in surprise. ‘Not his parents?’

‘His parents are dead.’ Julia gazed somewhat consideringly into space before going on. ‘Matt’s father was a keen skier, and he and his wife were killed in an avalanche near Courmayeur when Matt was just a baby.’ She pulled her gaze back to her friend. ‘His grandparents brought him up.’

‘I’m sorry.’

Grace spoke sincerely, and Julia gave her a rueful look. ‘Yes, so am I. Matt’s grandfather is dead now, but the old lady’s quite a tartar. I don’t think her attitudes have altered since the Second World War!’

Grace smiled. ‘Aren’t you being a little unkind? Just because she chooses to speak the language she’s most accustomed to, you’re accusing her of being out of date.’

‘Well, it wasn’t just that.’ Julia spoke defensively. ‘She made me feel as if I wasn’t welcome there.’ She grimaced. ‘To be honest, I wasn’t exactly disappointed when I got that call from the Continental. I think she needs a little more time to get used to the idea that Matt and I are a couple. It’ll be easier next time. I’ll make sure I’ve genned up on wine-growing and Italian history before I go.’