‘It shouldn’t be, should it?’ said Elaine. ‘But it turns out we don’t have enough money. I thought Tony had a lot of money. He doesn’t really. And neither do I.’
She didn’t sound bitter. Just disappointed.
‘Shame Uncle Alden gave all his money to those two.’ She nodded at Nathan and Madeleine.
‘He gave some to Tony,’ I said.
‘Yes, he did,’ said Elaine. ‘But he had other nephews and nieces, not just Nathan. Me for instance. He didn’t leave me a bean.’
I didn’t reply. My own opinion was that Alden had realized that Nathan would make something of the family company, but it was probably best not to share that thought with Elaine.
‘It’s ironic really,’ said Elaine. ‘Considering it was Nathan who killed him.’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Yes, I suppose it is.’
‘That doesn’t seem quite right. That Nathan should have gotten all the dough.’
‘It was an accident. You were there.’
‘I suppose it was,’ said Elaine in a tone that suggested she supposed it wasn’t. ‘Do I make you uncomfortable?’
‘No,’ I said, lying.
Elaine slowly turned her gaze towards me. Her brown eyes held mine. Her lips lolled, glistened. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes,’ I said, briskly. I pulled out my pipe. ‘Do you mind?’
‘Go ahead,’ said Elaine, turning away from me. ‘I was just hoping you would make Capri a little less dull.’
We went to Gemma’s again that evening for dinner, and then staggered back to Tony’s villa for limoncello, looking out over the moon-striped water far below. Between us, we had put away a lot of alcohol. We were all drunk, all in our different ways.
Madeleine became sleepy. When Elaine began to look ill, she took her up to bed. Or rather to the lavatory. The heave and splatter could be heard down on the terrace, much to Stephen’s amusement.
Stephen was becoming aggressive, his drinking taking on a steady determination. ‘Can I have another one, old man?’ he asked Nathan, after finishing his third or was it fourth limoncello. Nathan poured him a glass. The rest of us refused: Elaine’s retching had introduced some wariness of the sweet yellow liquid around the table.
‘So what was the war like for you, Angus?’ Stephen asked.
‘Oh, you know,’ I said.
‘I’ve had to play all sort of fellows who have been involved in real fighting,’ said Stephen. ‘I find it helps to ask them what it was really like.’
‘Getting thrashed by Rommel was unpleasant,’ I said. I had no intention of ruining my evening by dragging Gazala on to Capri. ‘But I seem to have spent much of the war running away. Playing hide-and-seek with the Jerries in the desert and then in Germany and France.’
‘Can’t you tell us about that?’
‘Actually, I plan to put it in a book,’ I said. ‘When I was in the stalag, I got caught trying to escape in the back of the laundry wagon. They threw me into the cooler for three weeks. I amused myself by trying to write a book in my head, and then memorizing it. I’ve got quite a lot of it down on paper now; I’m surprised by how much I’ve enjoyed writing it. But I’ve no idea if anyone would be interested in reading it.’
‘I would,’ said Tony.
‘Shame you didn’t fight, Nathan,’ Stephen said. ‘In the war.’
‘I feel bad about that,’ said Nathan. ‘But I genuinely thought I could be more help at Wakefield Oil. I think I was probably right.’
‘But Angus fought. And Tony.’
‘You didn’t though, did you, Stephen?’ said Sophie.
‘I joined up. I did my duty. I wore a uniform. I was ready to fight. It wasn’t my fault they put me in front of a camera.’
‘Yes, but you didn’t get shot at, did you?’ said Sophie. ‘You were just the same as Nathan, doing your bit for the war effort.’
Stephen glared at his wife. ‘No, Sophie, it’s entirely different. I was prepared to fight for my country, Nathan wasn’t. It’s as simple as that.’
I found Stephen’s haranguing difficult to listen to. The war had been necessary, but it had been ghastly. It had changed me, damaged me, and millions of others like me, and actually millions totally unlike me: children, mothers, Russians, Germans, Italians. Some had been fortunate never to step over or on to a dead body, never to have been terrified that they were going to be next to die. Nathan seemed to understand that, Stephen didn’t, but I didn’t want to explain it to either of them.
They had benefitted from the war; the conflict had accelerated their careers, and at thirty both men were already successful, yet I had not yet even qualified in mine. That was another difference between us.
‘What about you, Tony?’ Stephen said. ‘You must have seen some action.’
‘I learned to play poker real well for my country. Shall we play now?’
‘I’m not bad at poker,’ said Nathan.
‘I bet you’re not,’ I said.
‘You’re a coward, Nathan,’ said Stephen, glaring at him.
‘Oh, come on, Stephen! This is absurd,’ Sophie said. ‘Especially coming from you.’
‘Oh, be quiet, you stupid woman! I’ve played heroes. I know exactly what it’s like to fight for your country.’
‘Let’s go to bed,’ I said.
Stephen pushed himself to his feet. ‘I said you are a coward! What do you say?’ He was swaying unsteadily. Nathan was alarmed.
I looked at Stephen. I looked at Nathan. I knew what to do. I swung and landed Stephen a clean blow on the chin, sending him crumpling to the ground.
‘Sorry, old man,’ I said to Stephen’s moaning body. I rubbed my knuckles. ‘Let’s get you to bed.’
Tony and I carried Stephen up to bed, with Sophie hovering over us. We got him undressed and lay him down.
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Sophie. ‘That was awful behaviour.’
‘Dangerous drink, limoncello,’ said Tony.
‘Are you all right?’ I asked.
Sophie nodded. ‘I’ll look after him.’
Tony and I tidied up the worst of the debris of empty glasses and bottles outside and then went to bed ourselves. I, as the only single in the group, had a bed made up in a tiny box room on the ground floor.
I undressed and lay on my back, listening to the noises of a Mediterranean night outside my open window.
Then I heard footsteps. And a quiet sob.
I listened. Nothing.
Then another sob.
I swung off the little bed, put on a shirt and trousers and let myself out into the garden.
Sophie was sitting on the floor of the terrace, her back resting against the stone pillars of the balustrade, a tear smearing her left cheek.
She looked up at me and smiled. ‘Hello,’ she said.
‘Hello.’ I sat down next to her.
‘Did I wake you?’
‘No. I wasn’t asleep.’
‘But you heard me?’
‘Only just.’
‘I’m sorry. I just can’t bear to be in the room with him.’
‘That’s not good,’ I said.
They sat in silence for a while. A long while.
‘Do you want to go for a walk?’ said Sophie.
‘Now?’
‘It’s a lovely night. And we can’t just sit here. I’d like to move.’
‘All right. Let me fetch some shoes.’
I sneaked noiselessly back into the house and put on my shoes. We crept around the side of the house and out of the gate into the little road.
‘Uphill or downhill?’ I asked.
‘Uphill.’ And so we set off up the hill, towards the peak at the end of the island and the Villa Jovis.
It was a lovely night. A tiny cloud dallied in front of the moon, which was almost full, scattering its reflection on the sea. The cliff face of Monte Solaro glimmered light grey, its fissures dark slashes. Cypress trees rose tall, black and twisted. The varied unseen scents of blossom from the gardens on either side swirled around us. We were alone, apart from an occasional cat startled on its night hunt.