familiar pleasure come up smelling like clean laundry. Vallombrosa, Camaldoli, Montevarchi, Sansepolcro, Poggibonsi, he read off to himself, and already he was in a cicada-crackling dusk, a glass of Chianti in his left hand, and his right hand floating up the inside of Ann’s bare leg … Bucine, Montepulciano, and he was being woken by the raucous flutter of a pheasant landing heavily outside their bedroom window to gorge with impunity on the bursting figs … Then his eye tripped on
‘Arezzo.’
‘Yes, it’s nice there. I haven’t been for years.’
‘No. Yes, I mean, I know. Arezzo.’ Suddenly Graham’s lolling fantasies were over.
‘You haven’t been, have you, love?’ Ann asked him.
‘Don’t know. Don’t remember. Doesn’t matter.’ He stared back at the map, but it blurred as a tear eased itself into his left eye. ‘No, I was just remembering that you once told me you went to Arezzo with Benny.’
‘Did I? So I did. God, that feels years ago. It was, too. It must have been ten years at least. Probably in the Sixties. Think of that:
in the Sixties
.’ She was briefly jarred by pleasure at the thought that she had been doing interesting, grown-up things for such a length of time; for at least fifteen years, and she was still only thirty-five. A fuller, happier person now; and one still young enough not to flag at pleasure. She pressed closer to Graham on the bench.
‘You went to Arezzo with Benny,’ he repeated.
‘Yes. Do you know, I can’t remember anything about it. Is that where that great, sort of bowl-shaped square is? Or is that Siena?’
‘That’s Siena.’
‘Then Arezzo … that must be the place where … ’ She frowned, in disapproval of her bad memory as much as in an attempt to search it. ‘I can only remember going to the cinema in Arezzo.’
‘You went to the cinema in Arezzo,’ said Graham slowly, in the tone of one prompting a child, ‘and you saw a bad sentimental comedy about a whore who tries to disgrace the village priest, and then you came out and sat over an iced Strega in the only café you could find that was open, and you wondered as you drank how you could ever again live in a climate that was damp and cold, and then you went back to your hotel and you … screwed Benny as if you would never know greater pleasure, and you held nothing back from him, absolutely nothing, you didn’t even save a small corner of your heart and leave it untouched for when you met me.’
It was all uttered in a sad, hurt way, almost too precise to be self-indulgent. Was he putting it on? Was any of it a joke? As Ann looked across to check up, he went on,
‘I made up the last part of course.’
‘Of course. I never said anything like that to you, did I?’
‘No, you told me as far as the café, and I guessed the other things. Something about your expression told me the rest.’
‘Well, I don’t know if it’s true; I don’t remember. And anyway, Graham, I was twenty, twenty-one, I’d never been to Italy before. I’d never been on holiday with anyone who was as nice to me as Benny.’
‘Or had as much money.’
‘Or had as much money. Is that wrong?’
‘No. I can’t explain it. I certainly can’t justify it. I’m glad you went to Italy. I’m glad you didn’t go alone; it might have been dangerous. I’m glad you went with someone who was nice to you. I’m glad—I suppose I have to be—that you went to bed with him there. I know it all in steps, I know the logic. All of it makes me glad. It just makes me want to cry as well.’
Ann said gently,
‘I didn’t know you then.’ She kissed him on the temple, and stroked the far side of his head, as if to calm the sudden turbulence inside. ‘And if I
had
known you then, I’d have wanted to go with you. But I didn’t know you. So I couldn’t. It’s as simple as that.’
‘Yes.’ It was simple. He gazed at the map, following the route he knew Ann had taken with Benny a decade before he had
‘Arezzo.’
‘Yes, it’s nice there. I haven’t been for years.’
‘No. Yes, I mean, I know. Arezzo.’ Suddenly Graham’s lolling fantasies were over.
‘You haven’t been, have you, love?’ Ann asked him.
‘Don’t know. Don’t remember. Doesn’t matter.’ He stared back at the map, but it blurred as a tear eased itself into his left eye. ‘No, I was just remembering that you once told me you went to Arezzo with Benny.’
‘Did I? So I did. God, that feels years ago. It was, too. It must have been ten years at least. Probably in the Sixties. Think of that:
in the Sixties
.’ She was briefly jarred by pleasure at the thought that she had been doing interesting, grown-up things for such a length of time; for at least fifteen years, and she was still only thirty-five. A fuller, happier person now; and one still young enough not to flag at pleasure. She pressed closer to Graham on the bench.
‘You went to Arezzo with Benny,’ he repeated.
‘Yes. Do you know, I can’t remember anything about it. Is that where that great, sort of bowl-shaped square is? Or is that Siena?’
‘That’s Siena.’
‘Then Arezzo … that must be the place where … ’ She frowned, in disapproval of her bad memory as much as in an attempt to search it. ‘I can only remember going to the cinema in Arezzo.’
‘You went to the cinema in Arezzo,’ said Graham slowly, in the tone of one prompting a child, ‘and you saw a bad sentimental comedy about a whore who tries to disgrace the village priest, and then you came out and sat over an iced Strega in the only café you could find that was open, and you wondered as you drank how you could ever again live in a climate that was damp and cold, and then you went back to your hotel and you … screwed Benny as if you would never know greater pleasure, and you held nothing back from him, absolutely nothing, you didn’t even save a small corner of your heart and leave it untouched for when you met me.’
It was all uttered in a sad, hurt way, almost too precise to be self-indulgent. Was he putting it on? Was any of it a joke? As Ann looked across to check up, he went on,
‘I made up the last part of course.’
‘Of course. I never said anything like that to you, did I?’
‘No, you told me as far as the café, and I guessed the other things. Something about your expression told me the rest.’
‘Well, I don’t know if it’s true; I don’t remember. And anyway, Graham, I was twenty, twenty-one, I’d never been to Italy before. I’d never been on holiday with anyone who was as nice to me as Benny.’
‘Or had as much money.’
‘Or had as much money. Is that wrong?’
‘No. I can’t explain it. I certainly can’t justify it. I’m glad you went to Italy. I’m glad you didn’t go alone; it might have been dangerous. I’m glad you went with someone who was nice to you. I’m glad—I suppose I have to be—that you went to bed with him there. I know it all in steps, I know the logic. All of it makes me glad. It just makes me want to cry as well.’
Ann said gently,
‘I didn’t know you then.’ She kissed him on the temple, and stroked the far side of his head, as if to calm the sudden turbulence inside. ‘And if I
had
known you then, I’d have wanted to go with you. But I didn’t know you. So I couldn’t. It’s as simple as that.’
‘Yes.’ It was simple. He gazed at the map, following the route he knew Ann had taken with Benny a decade before he had
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