tomorrow,' she murmured, and as they stood there the ravished sky grew darker and the sun sank out of sight. Cypress leaves rustled and a breath of ocean wafted across the forecourt, where at the centre stood a fountain with gods and nymphs cavorting in marble.
'It's quite a
palagio
.' Julia glanced at Rome and his features had a bold dark clarity which should have been set off by the dark velvet men had worn at the time this villa was built. It was pictorial in its design and ambience. It radiated an air of romantic seclusion, as if meant for a couple who came here for romantic reasons. There was no romance in the reason she came here with Rome, and her glance was drawn back to the tower, symbolic of captivity.
'Are you wondering if I'm going to lock you up in my sea tower?' Rome enquired drily. 'Doubtless it may have been used for that purpose in days gone by, but I use it for my den. It's very secluded and relaxing up there, but not very popular with my servants who don't like climbing all those stairs. They wind upwards in a spiral.'
'Was it the tower that made you buy this place?' Julia asked.
'That and the jacarandas in the gardens at the rear. I call them my blue trees.' Rome tilted back his head and took a deep breath of air into his lungs. 'This is the true smell of Italy, the sea and the sap in the trees and vines, extracted by the sun but not apparent until the day cools down. I want my child to be born here, where the air is good to breathe; where there are trees to climb and rocks and sand to play on. He or she will never know what it's like to play in city streets where there is garbage in the gutters, and drunken men in doorways, and painted women who sell themselves for a few dollars. The noise and stench and foul talk were part of my life, and I sometimes sit alone in the tower and recall myself as a youth, needing to know how to use my fists in those rough streets, needing to be part of a gang because anyone alone got beaten up, finding dance-hall escape on Saturday nights until I realised that I could escape altogether if I used my wits.'
Rome paused and looked about him in the gathering dusk, his hands still holding Julia's. 'I escaped from all that and found Domani. I have a painting of it in my office at the casino to remind me that it's always here, waiting for me, a reality and not just the dream of a boy in a New York slum.'
When he spoke like that Julia felt an instinctive sympathy for the boy he had been… the boy long lost in the man. She had known that boy, with his thin young face which showed signs even then of becoming not only striking but distinctive. She remembered the gravity of his grey eyes and the way the dark pupils seemed to her childish imagination to look like black velvet. She had one day remarked to her nurse Lucie that she thought the Demario boy quite beautiful, but weren't boys supposed to be plainer than girls? Julia had thought herself a plain little girl because she had straight hair and eyes the colour of the green marbles she and Verna played with. Verna was the pretty one because her hair was wavy and a deeper gold colour, rather like the daffodils in Grandma's big garden.
There had been no dirt in the gutters of the street they lived on. Nor did Julia hear any bad language until she went away to finishing school where one of the girls used to say 'damn it' out of earshot of the Misses Delaine who ran the school, where charm and the social graces were learned, along with French and Italian.
Julia realised that Rome had no idea she spoke quite fluent Italian, and she decided not to tell him. It made a bond between people when they shared the ability to speak together in a foreign language, and Julia wanted to keep as much distance as possible between Rome and herself.
'No two people could be more opposite than you and I,' he remarked, 'but that's how it should be with a man and a woman. It adds an edge to the relationship, makes unpredictable their reactions to
'It's quite a
palagio
.' Julia glanced at Rome and his features had a bold dark clarity which should have been set off by the dark velvet men had worn at the time this villa was built. It was pictorial in its design and ambience. It radiated an air of romantic seclusion, as if meant for a couple who came here for romantic reasons. There was no romance in the reason she came here with Rome, and her glance was drawn back to the tower, symbolic of captivity.
'Are you wondering if I'm going to lock you up in my sea tower?' Rome enquired drily. 'Doubtless it may have been used for that purpose in days gone by, but I use it for my den. It's very secluded and relaxing up there, but not very popular with my servants who don't like climbing all those stairs. They wind upwards in a spiral.'
'Was it the tower that made you buy this place?' Julia asked.
'That and the jacarandas in the gardens at the rear. I call them my blue trees.' Rome tilted back his head and took a deep breath of air into his lungs. 'This is the true smell of Italy, the sea and the sap in the trees and vines, extracted by the sun but not apparent until the day cools down. I want my child to be born here, where the air is good to breathe; where there are trees to climb and rocks and sand to play on. He or she will never know what it's like to play in city streets where there is garbage in the gutters, and drunken men in doorways, and painted women who sell themselves for a few dollars. The noise and stench and foul talk were part of my life, and I sometimes sit alone in the tower and recall myself as a youth, needing to know how to use my fists in those rough streets, needing to be part of a gang because anyone alone got beaten up, finding dance-hall escape on Saturday nights until I realised that I could escape altogether if I used my wits.'
Rome paused and looked about him in the gathering dusk, his hands still holding Julia's. 'I escaped from all that and found Domani. I have a painting of it in my office at the casino to remind me that it's always here, waiting for me, a reality and not just the dream of a boy in a New York slum.'
When he spoke like that Julia felt an instinctive sympathy for the boy he had been… the boy long lost in the man. She had known that boy, with his thin young face which showed signs even then of becoming not only striking but distinctive. She remembered the gravity of his grey eyes and the way the dark pupils seemed to her childish imagination to look like black velvet. She had one day remarked to her nurse Lucie that she thought the Demario boy quite beautiful, but weren't boys supposed to be plainer than girls? Julia had thought herself a plain little girl because she had straight hair and eyes the colour of the green marbles she and Verna played with. Verna was the pretty one because her hair was wavy and a deeper gold colour, rather like the daffodils in Grandma's big garden.
There had been no dirt in the gutters of the street they lived on. Nor did Julia hear any bad language until she went away to finishing school where one of the girls used to say 'damn it' out of earshot of the Misses Delaine who ran the school, where charm and the social graces were learned, along with French and Italian.
Julia realised that Rome had no idea she spoke quite fluent Italian, and she decided not to tell him. It made a bond between people when they shared the ability to speak together in a foreign language, and Julia wanted to keep as much distance as possible between Rome and herself.
'No two people could be more opposite than you and I,' he remarked, 'but that's how it should be with a man and a woman. It adds an edge to the relationship, makes unpredictable their reactions to
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