rate, these words were what Hubert cried.
Chapter Six
M ARY HAD NOT YET got used to the Italian afternoon repose. Her hours were the Anglo-Saxon eight in the morning till midnight with a two-hour break for lunch. That Maggie went to bed between three and five in the afternoon she attributed to Maggie’s middle-age. That nearly all Italians rested during that period of the day she attributed to Latin laziness. What her husband did with himself in Rome during these hours she had not begun to wonder; if she had done so she would have assumed that he regularly returned to his office after lunch, keeping American hours in lonely righteousness. In fact, Michael had a mistress in Rome in whose flat he spent the customary hours of repose; it was not unusual for Italian businessmen to spend the long free hours of lunch and after-lunch with their mistresses, but if Mary had suspected that Michael had acquired the habit, especially so early in their married life, she would have considered her marriage a failure beyond redemption.
Maggie was sleeping successfully that afternoon. Mary had, with some scruple, for she was a girl of many scruples, plied her mother-in-law with white wine. They had lunched together on the terrace, talking of next week. Then Maggie had given Mary the smart jewel-case of black calf-skin, slightly wider than a shoe-box, which, when opened, was dramatically and really very beautifully packed with gold coins of various sizes, dates and nationalities. ‘There are no absolute collectors’ items,’ Maggie explained. Their two heads—Maggie’s shimmering silver and Mary’s long and fair—bent over the glittering and chinking hoard. ‘But,’ said Maggie, ‘the collection as a whole is of course worth more than its weight in gold. Coins always are. My real collection is worth a great deal.’ Mary’s long fingers shifted the coins about. She lifted one, examined it, put it down and took up another, then another. ‘Queen Victoria half-sovereign, King Edward sovereign, South African sovereign—whose head is that?’ ‘Kruger,’ said Maggie. ‘Kruger. Are these worth a lot of money, then?’ ‘Well,’ Maggie said, ‘it depends who you are, whether they are.’
The coins tinkled through Mary’s hands, then hearing the coffee-cups being brought she shut the box, put it on her lap and looked over her shoulder. Lauro appeared, his eyes intent on the tray although he must have seen the black box on Mary’s lap.
When he had left, Maggie said, ‘Hubert mustn’t have a clue who sent them.’
Mary said, ‘I really don’t see why he should have all these.’
‘I have my own important collection,’ Maggie said, ‘and I can get more. Any time I want.’
‘I know. But it’s crazy…’
‘Yes, it’s crazy. But it’s a way of getting rid of him in my own mind.’
‘Oh, I do see that.’
‘A cheque would tie him to me even more. I could never get rid of him.’
‘No, I see that. He’d think he was in with you again. But gold is appreciating in value, isn’t it?’
‘Such a damn cheek,’ Maggie said. ‘I hate him.’
Later, in Maggie’s room, they counted the coins and made a list. It was Mary’s idea to make a list. She made lists of everything. A good part of her mornings was spent on list-making. She had lists for entertaining and for shopping. She listed her clothes, her expenditure and her correspondence. She kept lists of her books and music and furniture. She wrote them by hand, then typed them later in alphabetical or chronological order according as might be called for. Sometimes she made a card index when the subject was complex, such as the winter season’s dinner parties, whom she had dined with and whom she had asked, what she had worn and when. Now she was making a list of the coins while Maggie took off her clothes, and got right into bed for her afternoon rest. Mary took her unfinished list and the coin-box quietly out of the room when Maggie fell asleep, and now she
Chapter Six
M ARY HAD NOT YET got used to the Italian afternoon repose. Her hours were the Anglo-Saxon eight in the morning till midnight with a two-hour break for lunch. That Maggie went to bed between three and five in the afternoon she attributed to Maggie’s middle-age. That nearly all Italians rested during that period of the day she attributed to Latin laziness. What her husband did with himself in Rome during these hours she had not begun to wonder; if she had done so she would have assumed that he regularly returned to his office after lunch, keeping American hours in lonely righteousness. In fact, Michael had a mistress in Rome in whose flat he spent the customary hours of repose; it was not unusual for Italian businessmen to spend the long free hours of lunch and after-lunch with their mistresses, but if Mary had suspected that Michael had acquired the habit, especially so early in their married life, she would have considered her marriage a failure beyond redemption.
Maggie was sleeping successfully that afternoon. Mary had, with some scruple, for she was a girl of many scruples, plied her mother-in-law with white wine. They had lunched together on the terrace, talking of next week. Then Maggie had given Mary the smart jewel-case of black calf-skin, slightly wider than a shoe-box, which, when opened, was dramatically and really very beautifully packed with gold coins of various sizes, dates and nationalities. ‘There are no absolute collectors’ items,’ Maggie explained. Their two heads—Maggie’s shimmering silver and Mary’s long and fair—bent over the glittering and chinking hoard. ‘But,’ said Maggie, ‘the collection as a whole is of course worth more than its weight in gold. Coins always are. My real collection is worth a great deal.’ Mary’s long fingers shifted the coins about. She lifted one, examined it, put it down and took up another, then another. ‘Queen Victoria half-sovereign, King Edward sovereign, South African sovereign—whose head is that?’ ‘Kruger,’ said Maggie. ‘Kruger. Are these worth a lot of money, then?’ ‘Well,’ Maggie said, ‘it depends who you are, whether they are.’
The coins tinkled through Mary’s hands, then hearing the coffee-cups being brought she shut the box, put it on her lap and looked over her shoulder. Lauro appeared, his eyes intent on the tray although he must have seen the black box on Mary’s lap.
When he had left, Maggie said, ‘Hubert mustn’t have a clue who sent them.’
Mary said, ‘I really don’t see why he should have all these.’
‘I have my own important collection,’ Maggie said, ‘and I can get more. Any time I want.’
‘I know. But it’s crazy…’
‘Yes, it’s crazy. But it’s a way of getting rid of him in my own mind.’
‘Oh, I do see that.’
‘A cheque would tie him to me even more. I could never get rid of him.’
‘No, I see that. He’d think he was in with you again. But gold is appreciating in value, isn’t it?’
‘Such a damn cheek,’ Maggie said. ‘I hate him.’
Later, in Maggie’s room, they counted the coins and made a list. It was Mary’s idea to make a list. She made lists of everything. A good part of her mornings was spent on list-making. She had lists for entertaining and for shopping. She listed her clothes, her expenditure and her correspondence. She kept lists of her books and music and furniture. She wrote them by hand, then typed them later in alphabetical or chronological order according as might be called for. Sometimes she made a card index when the subject was complex, such as the winter season’s dinner parties, whom she had dined with and whom she had asked, what she had worn and when. Now she was making a list of the coins while Maggie took off her clothes, and got right into bed for her afternoon rest. Mary took her unfinished list and the coin-box quietly out of the room when Maggie fell asleep, and now she
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