One Hot Summer Read Online Free PDF

see now you are someone else. Jan?’
    ‘Jan Lynton. Bianca is visiting her Aunt Giulia-Maria.’
    ‘ So she is,’ discovered Signora Cellini. ‘ Never mind. You and I will enjoy ourselves. You shall improve my English and I will improve your Italian. Now come, let us eat. Do you know my son is home? He brought his wife. He lives in Rome nowadays, but today he is home. Take my hand.’
    They found Marco in a small dining-room whose floor was tiled with yellow and white tiles. Here tall windows opened on to a terrace facing the sea, and long white filmy curtains moved in the almost imperceptible current of air, creating an atmosphere of fresh coolness.
    He bowed over her hand, touched it with his lips. ‘Ah—a young goddess! May I congratulate you, signorina. You look perfect, dressed as you are, a hundred times more like Bianca. That is very delightful.’
    ‘ In her clothes, I should look like her. They fit perfectly, so you were right about size. One thing I must ask you, signore —’ she glanced at his mother and dropped her voice. ‘ Please tell the servants you invited me to wear your sister’s clothes. That little maid—’
    ‘ Francesca?’
    ‘ She was furious. N ot th at she said anything, but her face spoke volumes. She’ll tell the others I’ve been helping myself, and they will hate me for it.’
    ‘I’ m sorry. Trust me, I’ll explain. I shall say you were the victim of a thief.’
    ‘ You don’t have to do this for me, you know. I have clothes of my own.’
    He said gravely, ‘ But you have to do it for me. You promised.’
    After dinner they sat on the terrace, a family threesome, relaxed, not talking much. But when the telephone rang, Marco jumped as if he had been tensed and waiting. He came back like a man who has had ill news.
    ‘Who was it , my son? Was it Bianca? She’s on holiday just now, in Florence.’
    You remember better than you pretend, Jan thought. How much is genuine, how much an act for Marco’s benefit? Perhaps even for your own.
    ‘ Just a business call, Mother. Jan, how would you like to play to us?’
    She shrugged. ‘ I’m not good enough for a public performance.’
    ‘ We’re not critics. Shall I fetch the guitar?’
    Bianca’s was a beautiful instrument. Jan enjoyed using it, and soon forgot her self-consciousness, even sang a little, under her breath, till memories of Michael got between her and the music and choked her into silence.
    ‘ Thank you,’ said the Signora, rising. ‘ I shall go to bed now. My husband likes to retire early these days. He’s not well, not really well. Goodnight, my son. Goodnight, Jan.’
    Marco escorted his mother to her room. When he returned, he asked what Jan thought of her.
    ‘ She’s lovely—a great lady of the old time. I’ve never met one before, and I’m impressed. But, Marco, you really ought to try to do something about her memory. She’s not so confused as she makes out. When she was pretending I was Bianca, she was speaking all the time in English. She knew who I was, you see.’
    ‘ Are you criticising my mother? Saying she tells l ies?’
    ‘ Goodness, no, nothing like that.’
    ‘ It sounded like that.’
    ‘ All I’m saying is, she’s in trouble and she could be cured. Well, improved anyway. I don’t think you do her a kindness, letting her indulge in this play-acting. Why don’t you tell her your father is dead?’
    ‘ Why awaken her to a cruel world and a bitter grief?’
    ‘ Because this is the real world, and she’s living in it. You’re treating her as if she were a ghost.’
    ‘ So now I am coming under your hammer? You are no more than a student nurse, you told me? Are you setting yourself up against the opinions of the greatest doctors in Europe?’
    Jan crimsoned. ‘ I’m sorry if I seemed cheeky. Did you have a woman doctor?’
    ‘No. Why? ’
    She shrugged. ‘ A truly beautiful, feminine woman can always fool a man, rarely a woman. I think you ought to be sure how much of her