A Close Connection by Patricia Fawcett Page A

much?’
    ‘No, and never for pleasure.’ Eleanor gave a small shudder. ‘I have to be at the gallery occasionally to check on things but I have to confess I prefer Exeter although nothing compares to Bath, which is my absolute favourite city. Have you been?’
    ‘We honeymooned there,’ Paula told her, feeling herself blush. Her fair skin easily took on colour which might have been sweet once upon a time but was embarrassing at her age. ‘Alan’s very interested in Roman history.’
    ‘On his honeymoon?’ Henry laughed and flashed her a look which again unsettled her before turning to his wife. ‘Where the hell did we go for ours, my darling?’
    ‘We toured France in that blue convertible of yours, as if you don’t know,’ she said, pausing as the waiter arrived to take their orders. Eleanor spoke to him in Italian, which pleased him although he immediately slipped into charming, heavily accented English when he realized that she was the only Italian speaker at their table.
    Paula felt a little annoyed that Eleanor felt it necessary to explain the menu to her. It was in Italian of course but there was an English translation, for heaven’s sake, and she wished that Eleanor would not treat her as if she was a complete idiot. She had been to Bella Italia after all, so she was not completely ignorant about pasta and what have you, although Alan was happier with English food or an occasional curry but he gamely ordered the risotto starter.
    Henry took it upon himself to choose the wine – taking some considerable time over it – and she supposed she was grateful for that because she knew Alan was no wine connoisseur, although he didn’t mind a drop of decent stuff. Henry’s ‘Would you prefer a beer, Al?’ was received with a mere shake of the head and no comment. She wished Henry would not call him Al, as nobody else did. Underneath the table she felt the pressure of Alan’s leg on hers, knew he was trying to reassure her that it didn’t matter, that the others really were not aware that their attitude could be construed as patronizing and that it just wasn’t worth worrying about.
    All this was conveyed in that simple pressure of his leg and she smiled at him, at them, determined to let go and just enjoy the evening.

Chapter Five
    I T WAS LATE , but still warm, on the balcony of their room and, having kicked off her shoes and dress, slipping on a silk dressing gown over her underwear, Eleanor delighted in the feel of the cool tiles against her bare feet, finally feeling relaxed after the long day. Travelling was such a bore, but a necessary evil and now they were here, on the shores of her favourite Italian lake, it was all worthwhile.
    She pondered a moment, looking out across the lake as the sun lowered in the sky. There was no activity on the lake, the steamers moored for the night, and everything was very still. The remembered evening scent, the scent of Italy, drifting upwards from the garden reminded her of previous holidays spent here. She loved it all, this Veneto region, Tuscany, Rome of course, and the distinct flavour of the south coast and Capri. It had captured her heart from the very first visit and she adored the beautiful melodic tone of the language; operas were just meant to be sung in this language. Henry loved this country too but not in the romantic way she did, but then, despite the flowery compliments he was capable of from time to time, he did not possess a romantic bone in his body. She wondered if he had ever really loved her or if he had simply succumbed to what was considered a ‘good’ marriage and yes,that sort of thing did happen even today. She wondered why everybody drew a sharp breath when the words ‘arranged marriage’ were talked of, because they could be very successful as she and Henry had proved. At least that was the way they chose to present it to the world. In truth, she stuck with him and he with her because, as they were also business partners, it was a