‘I know he’s not a count,’ Sally replied simply.
That response floored Georgia.
‘You know?’
‘I know he’s a waiter from Padua. His name is Gianni Adami. He came to London to work because he lost his father in Mussolini’s war, and he sends money back to his family. I knew from our second date,’ she said quite cheerfully. ‘He told me over hot chocolate and Chelsea buns at the café in Victoria round the corner from the hotel where he works.’
‘You know he’s a bus boy? You don’t think he’s a con man . . .’
Sally laughed.
‘Darling Georgia, you always think the worst of people. So Gianni and his friends lied a little to get into the deb dances and parties. They were young men having fun.’
‘Do you love him?’
‘With all my heart. He is handsome and kind and good and I know he adores me. If that’s not what a girl is looking for in a husband, then I don’t know what is.’
‘I understand that you like him,’ said Georgia, shaking her head. ‘You might even think you love him. But Sally, you don’t have to marry him. Take your time,’ she implored.
‘But I’m pregnant,’ replied her friend simply.
Georgia couldn’t help gasping.
‘Oh Sally . . . But Gianni . . . How can you be?’
‘The baby’s not Gianni’s. We haven’t . . . we haven’t, you know, done that yet.’
‘Then whose is it?’
She grew suddenly sheepish.
‘You remember the house party in Oxfordshire?’
‘Andrew from Cirencester,’ said Georgia, feeling wretched. If only she hadn’t abandoned her friend. If only she had rescued her from the bushes.
‘Sally, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have left you.’
‘It was entirely my own fault. We had sex in an airing cupboard before I’d even discovered that you’d gone. It was over in minutes . . . However, the consequences might last a little longer.’ Her voice was clear and matter-of-fact but her eyes had started to water, and Georgia rested her arm gently across her friend’s shoulders.
‘Sally, there’s things we can do . . .’
‘What?’ she replied flatly. ‘Some dirty back-street room where they’d kill my baby with carbolic soap and a knitting needle and possibly kill me too? I’ve read the newspapers.’
Georgia had read the same stories. In Paris, a newspaper clipping, possibly planted by Madame Didiot, had been passed around the dorm like some warning to wayward students who let their morals get too loose.
‘Does Gianni know this?’ she asked carefully.
‘Georgia, can’t you see? That is why I think he is so wonderful. I mean, look, I am beginning to get a tiny belly so I knew I couldn’t hide it for much longer. I was desperate to tell someone, so I confided in Gianni, thinking he would finish with me on the spot, but he was so gentle and loving. Together we made a plan.’
‘To marry,’ said Georgia softly.
‘We were going to pretend that the baby was his. But we thought people might accept it more if we ran away and got married. I knew it would still be a terrible scandal, so Gianni thought we could go and live in Venice. He has an auntie there and it sounds so wonderful, Georgia. You can buy oranges the size of footballs and go to work by gondola. Isn’t that the most romantic thing you’ve ever heard?’
‘But what now?’
‘Now we have to think again. It’s around two weeks before we can marry and I can’t leave my parents in the dark for that long.’
‘They’re frantic,’ said Georgia softly.