Page 35 of Under a Dancing Star

“I think I’m getting better,” I agree at last.

“She’s certainly … trying,” Ben says. “In every sense of the word,” he adds quietly, so that only I can hear him.

I choose to ignore this. “How were your lessons, Hero?” I ask. I immediately realize this was a mistake as my cousin unleashes a rather disjointed rant about Signora Giuliani and her various shortcomings both as an instructor and as a human being. From the pained look in Filomena’s eyes, I suspect that she has heard this already.

“She’s just so awful!” Hero finishes. “Awful!”

“I know, I know,” Filomena says soothingly. “But we must respect your father’s wishes, my dear.”

Hero’s mouth sets in a straight line. “I don’t see why, if he’s not even going to be around!” she exclaims and then she turns and stomps into the house. With a heavy sigh, Filomena follows.

“Hero!” she calls. “Hero! Wait!”

Ben and I are left standing on the steps. We don’t look at each other.

“Well,” I manage at last, clearing my throat. “It looks as though our romantic rendezvous was a bit of a disaster, doesn’t it?”

“Not at all,” Ben replies quickly. “I think it just means that I need to increase my efforts.”

“The picnic was a nice idea though,” I say encouragingly.

“Next time I’ll try and keep the swarming insects to a minimum.”

“Don’t bother on my account,” I respond cheerfully. “I would have been very happy to stay and watch.”

“You really would, wouldn’t you?” Ben rubs his neck, ruefully. “I can see I’m going to need to rethink my tactics.”

“I don’t think it’s supposed to be a military operation.”

“Oh no?” He raises an eyebrow. “Well, it’s a challenge at least and one I mean to win.” There’s a glint in his eye as he says it, one that sends a prickle of awareness down my spine. There’s also a swagger in his step as he turns and walks away.

I watch his retreating back, until he disappears around a corner, and then I sit on the steps with a sigh.

It seems that young men are going to prove even more interesting than glow-worms.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Although I would have sworn that my time in Italy could not possibly become more relaxed, it seems I was wrong. My uncle’s absence has a curious and unexpected effect on the atmosphere at the villa. Everyone seems to breathe out a little. As the days pass, melting seamlessly into one another, our tenuous grip on routine is lost completely.

“What time is it?” I ask one morning from the lounger where I am sprawled, my wide-brimmed hat pulled down low on my face. A battered copy of Lady Chatterley’s Lover dangles from my fingers. Ursula gave it to me to read, saying that if I was going to take my romantic education seriously then this was the proper place to start. So far it has been quite illuminating.

“I have no idea,” Ursula murmurs from the lounger beside me. “You’re the scientist. Can’t you work it out from the position of the sun or something?”

“I can’t believe it’s so hot,” I moan, ignoring this. “How can it keep getting hotter?”

A trickle of perspiration runs down my chest and I fan myself wearily with the book. We have been enduring a heatwave over the last few days, temperatures spiking so high that it’s impossible to escape the stifling, smothering feeling. The heat is something else: something heavy and pulsing, wrapped suffocatingly around us all and leaving oil-slick shimmers in the air. The villa is unusually quiet, with just Klaus, Ursula and Ben still here with Filomena, Hero and me. There have been no other visitors for days.

“I’m going to swim,” Klaus croaks from the chair he has pulled into the shade. “In a moment, when I can move, I’m going to swim.” He is wearing only bathing shorts, his head flung back, his arms limp by his sides. These days we all wear as little as possible and I’m a bit surprised by how quickly I’ve grown used to it.

Well, almost. I still think it’s rather daring that I lie out in my bathing suit, but that article of clothing is positively puritanical compared to the two-piece costume that Ursula wears. When I first saw it my eyes nearly popped out of my head and Ursula laughed, calling me the “little Victorian”.

“Swimming won’t help,” I groan. “The pool is warm. Everything is warm. I’ll never be cold again.”

“I need water,” Klaus says hoarsely.

“Yes,” Ursula says longingly, “in a tall glass with ice.”

“Ohhh,” I whimper.