Page 23 of Under a Dancing Star

Ursula disappears again, leaving me to clean up. The water that comes up from the earth is freezing cold, and as I wash my hands, removing the smears of paint that reach up almost to my elbows, I am left breathless by its icy touch. There’s a bar of Italian soap next to the pump and it leaves a lingering scent of mint and verbena on my skin, a clean, sweet smell that lifts my spirits. I wash my face as well and notice that while there is paint on my shirt my trousers seem to have escaped unscathed. I scrape my hair back from my face and tie it into a knot, feeling as presentable as I think I’m going to without a change of clothes.

When I make my way back round the veranda, I find Ursula mixing drinks at a small trolley, her sunglasses pushed back on to the top of her head, an unlit cigarette clamped between her lips. “Ah,” she says, from the side of her mouth. “Here. Take this.”

She holds out a glass with a healthy splash of some dark, coffee-coloured liquid in it and I take it from her. She reaches into her pocket with her free hand and pulls out a lighter, lighting her cigarette and inhaling deeply, before gesturing towards one of the low wicker seats.

“Please, sit,” she says, exhaling a thin stream of smoke from between her lips. “Would you like a cigarette?”

“No, thank you.” I shake my head, somewhat thrown by all this hospitality. The chair is wide enough that I can pull my feet up, so I kick my shoes off and curl in properly. I take a thirsty swallow of my drink, and gasp as the rough flame of it slips down my throat and settles in my chest. Ursula smirks and I try to look unmoved as she drops into the seat across from me, mirroring my pose.

“What is it?” I ask, nodding at my drink.

“Nocino,” Ursula says. “It’s made from walnuts. I get mine from a woman in the village. She swears her family has the best recipe.”

We sit quietly for a while; the only sounds are from the orchestra of birds and crickets whose music carries through on the tiniest whisper of a breeze. After the initial burn of the drink I do not find the taste unpleasant, and I sip more cautiously this time, feeling my limbs relax. The cool of the shade here is a welcome relief from the heavy heat.

“So, you have had your art lesson with Ben,” Ursula says, finally breaking the silence.

“Yes,” I say as she watches me keenly over the top of her glass.

“And did you find the experience instructive?” she asks.

“Not really,” I say, ignoring her suggestive tone. “I’m afraid all it did was confirm my belief that there’s not an artistic bone in my body.”

“Hmmm,” Ursula murmurs, taking another drag on her cigarette and half closing her eyes in a curiously feline expression. “I was wondering whether you learned about more than art with Ben.”

I take another swallow of my drink. “Nope. In fact, we barely spoke about anything. I’m not sure if we like one another very much.”

Ursula gives a small, unwilling laugh. “I cannot tell if you really believe that or not,” she says.

“Of course I believe it,” I say, pushing down my doubt. I hesitate. “We did have a bit of a strange moment just now.” I decide I need to share it with someone, and that someone might as well be Ursula. “He asked if he could kiss me and I said no. But that was the end of it.”

Ursula stubs the cigarette out in the chipped china saucer on the table beside her and shrugs again, a shrug that shimmers through her whole body. “I just think that perhaps someone should warn you about him.”

“Warn me?” I ask, startled.

She settles back in her chair. “Yes, warn you.” She reaches for her cigarette packet and toys with another cigarette before leaving it untouched.

“Ben is charming.” She pauses at my snort of derision here. “Or at least he can be,” she concedes, “but he’s not the sort to settle down, Bea.” Her voice is surprisingly gentle now. “He is kind, yes, he really is – but ultimately he is selfish. In short…” This time she does pull the cigarette loose from the packet and lifts it to her mouth. “He is not for you.” She says this with finality, and she turns away to light the cigarette.

“Well, I don’t want him,” I say, irritated suddenly. “So your point is irrelevant. And,” I add, making some quick deductions, “I think perhaps you’re the one who wants something more from him.”

She glances up at me. “I do like you, Bea,” she says, smiling suddenly. “I didn’t think I would. But I do.”

I eye her warily, but in her gaze I see nothing but a blunt forthrightness.

“Perhaps I did hope for more from Ben at one time,” she says slowly. “But now we are good friends. That is why I am well qualified to pass on this warning. You have obviously never been in love before… Believe me when I tell you that Ben is not a sensible place to start, unless you wish to be nursing a broken heart.” She exhales another stream of smoke. “I have given you my advice. What you do with it is up to you.”

I sit for a moment, absorbing what Ursula has said. “Look,” I say finally, “you don’t need to tell me that Ben doesn’t want to settle down. What I don’t understand is why you would think that’s something I want either?”

“Because you are the typical English young lady. You’re Leo’s niece so you must come from a good family, and isn’t that what you all do? Coming-out parties and good social matches and all that?” She wrinkles her nose distastefully.

“That’s what my parents would like for me but believe me when I tell you that I’m very glad to get away from it,” I say shortly. “I am certainly not out here husband-hunting, if that’s what you’re getting at. My goodness, I’m only seventeen. I haven’t actually done any living yet.” Even I can hear the frustration in my voice.

Ursula smiles at that. “I understand. Where Klaus and I come from they are very traditional too. We did not have a happy time there, but we had each other.” She pauses for a second. “We left as soon as we could. Then we were in Berlin for a while before we came to Italy and it felt so wonderful, so free. There was so much happening there creatively.” Her voice is ardent now, her eyes huge and dancing as though she is being lit from within, before the light drops away to be replaced by something haunting. “I would like to return there after the summer, but I think it will not be possible.”

“Why?” I ask.

“The situation is becoming dangerous in Germany. Particularly for people like Klaus and me, who have enough Jewish blood to be considered … problematic. If things continue as they are I think that people like us will soon find it difficult to remain. So many are leaving already.”