Page 19 of Daughter of Genoa
‘No, thank you, I’m all right.’
‘Are you sure?’ I felt suddenly desperate, as if I might say something stupid unless I had some innocent distraction. ‘It’s no trouble at all.’
‘I’m quite sure. If I’m honest,’ he said, passing a hand over his face, ‘I could do with something a bit stronger than tea.’
‘I think Silvia keeps a bottle of brandy somewhere,’ I said.
He turned his head and looked at me. ‘Really? Do Waldensians approve of brandy?’
‘I don’t know. It’s probably medicinal.’
‘Of course.’ Teglio thought for a moment. ‘No, I don’t think it’s even the drink I want, not as such. I suppose what I want is… no, it’s far too silly.’
‘I’m sure it isn’t silly at all,’ I said.
He sighed. ‘Well, I think it’s really the idea of going out somewhere and having a drink. If I could – if everything were different – I should walk out of here and just wander along to the Galleria Mazzini. Not as it is now, but as it used to be. Before it was such a dangerous place.’
‘You could walk straight down via Assarotti,’ I said, imagining it. ‘Around piazza Corvetto and to the left by the prefecture.’ The sun on my face, the fresh air, the leisurely sense of freedom. The great glass-topped arcade ahead, full of people drinking and chatting and enjoying themselves. I was suddenly full of painful longing for the Galleria Mazzini, even though I’d scarcely spent any time there myself. It had always been my father’s haunt more than mine. And now I knew it had been Teglio’s haunt, too.
‘That’s exactly it,’ Teglio said. ‘A nice, gentle stroll, none of this nipping around back streets to avoid the Germans. And then I’d sit down at a bar and drink a glass of something and smoke a cigarette, and I’d do nothing at all for the rest of the day. Does that sound frivolous?’
‘Yes,’ I said, and he laughed.
‘I should have known. I expect you’d rather be devouring a novel on a bench somewhere.’
‘But that’s frivolous, too,’ I protested. ‘I didn’t say being frivolous was wrong.’
‘I know,’ he said. ‘I know you understand.’ Of course, he’d been teasing me. I didn’t quite know what to do about it.
‘Come to think of it,’ Teglio went on, ‘maybe it is the drink I want after all. Did you say there’s brandy?’
‘Yes. I expect they keep it in here somewhere.’ I got up, relieved to have something to do, and went over to the big, polished-wood cabinet that stood against the wall. I hadn’t looked at it properly the last time I’d been in here, and now I saw that it had a large panel at the front that locked at the top with a brass key. I turned the key and the panel fell forward to reveal an almost-full bottle on a salver, with a set of small, plain glasses.
‘You’re not going to tell me you found that by accident,’ Teglio said.
I poured out a modest glass of brandy and handed it to him, keeping a careful eye on the level in the bottle. ‘I wonder if they’ll notice,’ I said. ‘Do you think they will?’
‘I shouldn’t think so,’ he said. ‘It’s probably been sitting there untouched since the old king died. And Silvia and Bernardo are hospitable souls. I’m sure they wouldn’t begrudge either of us a bit of refreshment.’
‘I know. They really are very kind. And they’ve never told me that anything’s off-limits, not even the best parlour. It’s just…’
‘What is it?’ Teglio prompted.
‘Well, they don’t have to tell me, do they? This is their home, not mine. I’m an interloper here – I’m not even allowed to pitch in like a friend would, or a proper guest. I’m sure they don’t see it that way, but I can’t see it otherwise.’
‘I think you’re very hard on yourself,’ he said. ‘And you’re being hard on Bernardo and Silvia, too, but I do understand. If you like, I’ll come clean to them and offer to replace the bottle. I said I wanted a drink, after all. You were just being a sort of substitute hostess.’
‘Would you? I’d feel a lot better if you did.’
‘Of course I will. They’ll probably turn me down, but I shall offer and mean it. I’m bound to have a spare bottle tucked away somewhere I can give them. Now, with that off your conscience, will you have a glass, too?’
I knew it would be unwise. I hadn’t slept properly, and I hadn’t drunk any alcohol in years, but I found that wanted to sit and keep talking with Teglio. I liked this new friendliness between us. I liked seeing him relaxed; I liked his jokes and his banter, though I knew I’d have to have a stern word with myself about that later on. So I poured myself a half-glass and sat down, daringly, at the end of the sofa nearest to him. He raised his glass to me.
‘Just imagine we’re in the Galleria Mazzini.Cin cin.’ He took a draught of brandy and winced. ‘This stuff really is medicinal.’
I took a cautious sip from my own drink. The alcohol burned my lips and caught at my throat – I burst into a spluttering cough.
‘Rough, isn’t it?’ Teglio said. I could only nod, eyes streaming. I felt in my pocket for my handkerchief and realised I’d left it in my room.
