The Italian's Token Wife

She made her way around the side of the villa, back to the servants’ entrance at the rear. At least here she felt more at ease. The housekeeper—whose name, she had been informed over breakfast, when she had tentatively made her way down to the kitchen once Benji had surfaced, was Maria—at least seemed to have decided to tolerate her. She was being kind enough, in a sort of rough-edged way that Magda suspected was her customary manner, hiding a very soft heart.

‘Milk,’ pronounced Maria now, as Magda entered the huge kitchen, ‘for the bambino.’

Benji toddled cheerfully over to her, expressing confidence in being welcomed by this new person in his life that was amply repaid. Chatting away to him in Italian, Maria sat him on the table and presented him with a mug of creamy milk.

‘Latte,’ she informed the infant as he gulped down the contents greedily, and repeated the word several times.

‘La’,’ replied Benji, and beamed at her expectantly. ‘Mo’?’

‘He means more,’ said Magda diffidently. ‘Um—piu?’ she ventured, racking her brain for what she had read in her Italian phrasebook.

‘Ancora,’ corrected Maria, refilling Benji’s mug. She looked at Magda. ‘He is a good boy. Even with no father.’ Her black eyes rested on Magda, and then softened. ‘But you love your bambino, that I can see. And that makes you a good woman.’

Unaccountably, the rough kindness made Magda’s eyes prick with tears. The housekeeper made her tch-ing sound, and placed another mug of creamy milk in front of her, as well as refilling Benji’s.

‘Drink,’ she said again, to both of them.

To her surprise, Magda found the rest of the day actually enjoyable. Maria took her under her wing, managing to find time to make a great fuss of Benji, which he openly adored. Fetching his toys from her room, Magda settled in the vast kitchen at one end of the table while Maria got on with the task of serving lunch—presumably for Rafaello’s father. Lucia had, according to a terse announcement by Giuseppe as he looked into the kitchen at some point, departed. Judging from the way she was spoken about, Magda gathered that Rafaello’s cousin was no favourite below stairs. Rafaello, too, had gone, roaring off in his car, the noise of his departure causing Maria’s lips to tighten ominously. Magda, however, could only be relieved.

It was much easier being here in the servants’ quarters. After all, she reasoned, it was where she naturally belonged.

After lunch came a real treat. Maria took her and Benji out to the swimming pool. Set in a sheltered walled garden, the water shimmered invitingly in the sunshine. Benji, who adored swimming, tottered eagerly towards it.

‘Won’t Signor di Viscenti mind?’ Magda asked diffidently.

Maria’s mouth tightened. ‘You are Signora di Viscenti. No, no, do not tell me that it is in name only. He has married you. You are his wife. If you wish to swim—swim.’

Magda could not resist. Although the water was still a little chilly, Benji splashed so vigorously and enthusiastically in the rubber ring and water wings that Magda had no fears he would take cold. In the peaceful sunshine, with the pool to themselves, the time flashed by.

Afterwards, exhausted by his exertions, Benji fell fast asleep on a lounger beneath the shade of a large umbrella that Giuseppe had opened for them at the poolside. At his side, Magda sunned herself.

Whatever the storms raging around her, one thing was for sure: she would never again in her life get the chance to enjoy such idyllic surroundings. She would make the most of what was happening to her, she resolved, and let everything else wash over her head. Rafaello di Viscenti’s quarrels were nothing to do with her.

She spent a quiet evening with Benji, keeping Maria and Giuseppe company in the kitchen. No one sent for her, and Rafaello did not return to the villa.

‘He has gone to Rome,’ said Maria. She sounded disapproving. Magda simply felt relieved.

Later, with Benji asleep in the huge bed, she sat beside him, sipping the coffee Maria brought up, reading for an hour or two. Just before she turned in herself she sat by the open window, drinking in the soft sounds of the Italian night.

My second night in Italy. It seemed hardly possible, yet it was so. As she looked out into the velvet darkness, the noise and tatty raucousness of South London seemed a universe away.

I am fortunate beyond my dreams, she said softly to herself. Simply to have this experience is more than I ever thought I could have.

A face swam into her vision. Dark-eyed, olive-skinned, high cheekbones, sculpted mouth…male beauty in its ultimate form. She felt her heart give a crazy, unstoppable little skip. Oh, he was indeed the kind of man you could feel weak at the knees over.