In Love and War by Alex Preston Read Free Book Online

sports car of his. Up to the mountains.
Giustizia e Libertà,
I shouldn’t wonder. Now, not a word of this. Scout’s honour?’
    ‘Scout’s honour.’
    Alice Keppel comes down the path from the house. Goad, onher arm, looks shrunken, doll-like. The four of them face over towards the hills of the Sienese Clavey that billow up out of the mist.
    ‘I hope I didn’t embarrass you at lunch, young man,’ she says, without turning. ‘Out here, one assumes that every
one
knows every
thing
.’
    ‘It’ll take more than your youthful indiscretions to make Esmond blush.’ Colonel Keppel pats her buttock. ‘Hasn’t heard about me and dear old Victoria yet. Not for nothing were they called the naughty nineties.’
    Over lunch, leaning closely, Mrs Keppel had told Esmond how dreadfully sorry she was for Wallis. The problem was, she said, Mrs Simpson didn’t know what she wanted. When she, Mrs Keppel, had been the mistress of Edward’s grandfather, she’d been very clear. She wanted money. Money so that she might live in the style that her ancestors had enjoyed. Money so that she might take her husband away to a place like this – she’d waved her hand across the dinner table, the plates of food and silver candlesticks. And when the King had come to stay, George had gone shooting, or riding, and the King had ridden her. Here she laughed breathily.
    Now, on the terrace, she wraps a heavy arm around his shoulder.
    ‘It’s divine to have you here, Esmond. I’m always saying to Harold that he must get Fiamma and Gerald, when he’s over, to come up and swim, but I’m afraid he disapproves of us.’
    Goad clucks. ‘Not at all, Alice. It’s just that – hum – young people––’
    ‘But the young are what George and I live for. I insist that Esmond come up to bathe soon.’
    Goad looks doubtfully at the water below.
    ‘I’d love to,’ Esmond says, aware of the weight of her arm.
    A gust of wind rattles the pines around the house. Mrs Keppel finally lifts her arm and begins to shiver. Father Bailey crunches down from the house with a shawl, which he wraps around her shoulders.
    ‘We should leave you,’ Goad says.
    ‘Oh, do stay a little longer.’
    The mist begins to clear beneath them. Gradually, in little plots and then in larger pools of light, Florence reveals the dome of San Lorenzo, Santa Croce to the east, the Badia Fiorentina, Santo Spirito. As the sun strolls from rooftop to rooftop, rusticated brickwork and cool white facades appear, the huge teal egg of the synagogue, and villas like a loose necklace across the hills.
    ‘It must be difficult, at moments like this,’ Goad says, ‘not to believe in God.’
    ‘Amen,’ says Bailey.
    Esmond feels weightless, as if he could sail down over the currents of air.
    ‘Harold. You and your sublime,’ Colonel Keppel says, turning and leading them back to the house. Esmond takes a last look at the pool, the city beyond, and follows.
    In Bailey’s car on the way home, the priest leans over his shoulder and speaks to Esmond, who is perched in the cramped rear.
    ‘Did you realise that your host was a holy man too?’ he says.
    ‘Colonel Keppel?’
    ‘Your real host, Harold here.’
    Goad looks out at the landscape. ‘Oh, come now.’
    ‘I’m entirely serious. If he hadn’t been so taken with politics, he’d have made a sparkling priest. Is that not so, Harold?’
    Goad shakes his head. Esmond sees a half-smile on his lips. ‘I wanted to find a way of – hum – doing some good.’
    ‘He’d cut his tongue out before telling you this, but he used his inheritance to found an orphanage at Assisi. Eighteen yearsold. A year in a Franciscan monastery in the Apennines after that. He’s done more good than most saints I know.’
    ‘You’re too kind, Father Bailey.’
    ‘I just want young Esmond to know what sort of man he’s living with.’
    ‘I do,’ Esmond says. ‘Really.’

10
    The next day, just before lunch, Esmond is in the library with Goad. The