The Night Falling

The Night Falling Read Online Free PDF

Book: The Night Falling Read Online Free PDF
Author: Katherine Webb
him. He waits, as he should, for Signor Cardetta to proffer his hand and his name, then he does the same – deferentially, but not too much so. She’s proud of him, and glances at Boyd, hoping that he will have noticed. But Boyd is watching Leandro Cardetta, the way a person might watch an animal suspected of only feigning sleep.
    ‘Thank you for sending your wonderful car for us, Mr Cardetta – it’s an Alfa Romeo, isn’t it? It’s beautiful, but I don’t recognise the model,’ says Pip enthusiastically. Leandro grins wolfishly at him.
    ‘ Bene, bene . You’re a young man of excellent taste, I see,’ he says. ‘But you wouldn’t recognise it – it’s brand new, and only a few have been made. Rarity, you see – that is the key to true value.’ The pair of them saunter over to the crimson car, to peer at it from all angles. Marcie Cardetta smiles and takes Clare’s arm; she is all ease and familiarity, and Clare can’t imagine how that must feel. Marcie is dressed in white, like a bride: a long skirt and tunic in some fluid fabric that ripples and follows her every move, belted low around her hips. As they walk into the house Clare catches the scent of her – musk and lilacs, and somehow the suggestion of moisture. It’s an oddly intimate aroma, at once compelling and intrusive. There’s scarlet lipstick on her mouth, and powder on her cheeks; up close Clare can see the fine lines at the corners of her eyes. She is maybe forty, or a little older, but has such glamour that she seems far younger – younger than Clare, even, who suddenly feels just how very thirsty and unwashed and tired she is. Only as they step into the shadows inside does Clare realise that Boyd has been left alone, hesitating, in the centre of the courtyard. She looks back at him to smile but he has his hands in his pockets and is staring down at his feet, frowning, as if displeased by the dust on his shoes.
    Marcie walks her onwards, and talks.
    ‘My dear Clare, I cannot tell you how thrilled I am to have you here – you and Philip, of course, but mainly you – poor Philip! No, it’s all right, he didn’t hear me. Just to have somebody to talk to, you understand – other than a man, and what woman can really talk to a man? I mean with words , you understand, not that other language we all speak.’ She dips her head towards Clare, gives her a conspiratorial little nudge with her shoulder. ‘I mean just to talk about everything . The Italian women – well, I should say the Puglian women, because you could hardly compare the specimens down here to those in Milan or Rome – well, they look at me like I fell from outer space! Not a word of English, any one of them. And I’ve tried to learn Italian – believe me I’ve tried, and I’ve managed it a bit, but when they don’t want to understand you, by golly, they’ll make sure they don’t. Staring at you with those black eyes of theirs – have you seen their eyes? Did you notice their eyes? Like jet buttons on a sackcloth waistcoat, with their faces all so brown. We must make sure you don’t get too much sun, dear – your skin is just delightful … And how funny is it that you can go six months without seeing a blonde down here, and now we have two under one roof!’
    On and on Marcie talks, as she leads Clare up to the room she’ll be sharing with Boyd. The house is warm and shadowy, and full of echoes. The light is barricaded out – on the sunny west side of the quad the shutters are all closed, so that only thin, bright shafts get through here and there. Clare’s smile begins to ache in her cheeks but she feels some of the tension that has clenched her guts since the train left Bari begin to dissipate. Inwardly, she’s still as uncomfortable in new company as she has ever been, and she’d been dreading the conversation drying up, dwindling into silence while she floundered for a way to replenish it. At least it seems that there will be few such awkward silences to
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