‘It’s good that you have that,’ said Hope. ‘It might seem strange, but being with Annelise makes me feel closer to Dieter. Sometimes,’ she added with a slow smile that softened her face, ‘I look at her and I see something of Dieter in her features. I didn’t see it at first, but I do now as she’s growing. I can’t believe she’s already fourteen months old. She’s just started to call me Tante. I’m probably biased, but I think she’s an extremely bright child.’
‘She’s a credit to you, Hope,’ said Romily with a fond smile. ‘She seems such a happy little girl.’
With Hope kneeling on the floor next to Annelise, who was staring in rapt wonder at the Christmas tree, Romily thought what a heart-warming sight they made. She was glad she had invited Hope to join her for Christmas.
Just as Romily had suspected would happen, since making the decision to return to London in September, Hope had devoted herself entirely to looking after Annelise. She had given up all idea of working, unable to concentrate for long enough to produce the detailed sketches she once had. Romily had urged her to hire a nanny to help look after Annelise so that she could work, but Hope had found herself checking everything the woman did, and at times strongly disagreeing with the regime she seemed to think was suitable. It made me think of some of the ghastly nannies we had to suffer as children, she had written in a long letter to Romily, and I just couldn’t inflict that on Annelise.
Romily was placing another log on the fire and thinking how changed London had been – huge silver barrage balloons filling the sky, sandbags everywhere, Hyde Park dug up and Eros removed to safety from Piccadilly Circus – when the door opened and Florence came in with a tea tray. Following behind her was young Stanley, his faithful dog Bobby at his side. Which reminded Romily of the present she wanted to give the boy, and for which she needed Hope’s help.
‘Hello, Stanley,’ she said. ‘You remember Mrs Meyer and Annelise, don’t you?’
He nodded. Then, bending down to Bobby, and pointing at Hope and the little girl, he said, ‘Remember your manners, go and say ’ello.’
To Romily’s amazement, the dog trotted obediently over to Hope and Annelise, then sat down and held out a paw to them. Annelise giggled with delight. ‘Woof, woof,’ she said excitedly, rocking back on her heels and patting the dog on his nose.
‘Did you teach him to do that, Stanley?’ asked Hope.
Stanley nodded again, this time with obvious pride. ‘Yes, missus,’ he said. ‘’E’s a real quick learner.’
‘Like somebody else I could mention,’ said Romily with a smile. ‘Did you deliver those Christmas cards that I left on the hall table before I went to London?
‘Me and Bobby did them this afternoon, just as you asked. And Miss Gant and Miss Treadmill gave me some eggs for you as a Christmas present.’
‘That was generous of them.’
Stanley smiled. ‘D’yer wanna ’ear a joke Miss Treadmill told me?’
‘Certainly I do,’ said Romily, amused at the mischievous expression on the boy’s face.
‘What did ’Itler say when a bomb dropped on the roof of ’is ’ouse and he fell through the bed?’
‘I don’t know,’ answered Romily, exchanging a look with Hope and Florence ‘What did he say?’
The boy sniggered. ‘Now I’m in Po-land!’
Florence tutted and cuffed him lightly round the head. ‘Stanley Nettles, how dare you tell such a rude joke!’
‘It can’t be that rude if Miss Treadmill told it me,’ he remonstrated.
‘That’s all right,’ said Romily with a laugh. ‘I’ve heard worse. Far worse. Now Florence, it’s time you went and chatted to that young man of yours; he’s waited quite long enough. And Stanley, perhaps you’d like to take Annelise to Mrs Partridge, who I’m sure is champing at the bit to see her again.’ She quickly checked herself. ‘If that’s all right with you, Hope?’
‘Of course it is,’ Hope replied without a hint of the hostility that had characterised their first encounters back in August. ‘In fact I’m eager to see Mrs Partridge again myself. I’ve missed her cooking.’
At Winter Cottage, on the other side of Clover Wood, Allegra was waiting anxiously for the sound of footsteps on the path.
For the last hour she had been unable to sit still for more than five minutes without going to the window that overlooked the small front garden. The afternoon light was fading now, the day shrouded in a misty gloom, and as she moved away from the window to add another log to the fire, she felt the baby give a wriggle of movement inside her.
Sometimes the child moved with such energy, Allegra would swear that it had ambitions to be a dancer like her own mother. On this occasion, however, the movement was no more than a slight shifting, as if the baby had briefly woken from a deep sleep and was trying to get comfortable again.
With all her being Allegra hoped and prayed it would be a girl; she didn’t want a boy who might remind her too much of Luigi. She felt she could love a girl more than a boy. At night when she couldn’t sleep, she would sing a lullaby to the baby – her piccolina, as she thought of her. It was the ninna nanna that Sister Maria used to sing to the babies at the orphanage, and which in turn Allegra had learnt to sing to the little ones when she was old enough. ‘Fate la Nanna Coscine di Pollo’ was the only song she had allowed herself to sing since leaving Venice. It had come so naturally to her, without even thinking about it, yet she hadn’t dared to explore her voice further for fear of discovering she had lost her full range and power.
Although what did it matter whether she had or not? She was never going to sing again, not on a stage. Her professional career was over. All those dreams of singing at La Scala in Milan, and all the other prestigious opera houses around the world, seemed so ridiculous now. She had never been good enough to be a truly great singer. But it was only now her life had changed so dramatically that she had the perspective – and the courage – to admit that her talent had not measured up to her ambition.
What was important to her now was being the best mother she could possibly be. She had another three months to go before the baby would be born, and it was beyond her to imagine how much bigger she could become; as it was, she felt as enormous as a whale, and about as ugly.
Whenever she wished that March was here already, and the waiting was over, she would worry just how she would manage. She had seen the effect Annelise had had on Hope, how exhausted and overwhelmed she had been, and she dreaded the same happening to her. Romily had assured her that just as Hope didn’t need to face the challenges of motherhood alone, Allegra didn’t either.
At the beginning of October, not long after Hope had returned to London, Allegra had left Island House and bought Winter Cottage. Roddy had helped her by arranging for an advance on the money that would be coming to her once Uncle Jack’s will had been finalised. It was a mystery to her why these things took so long, but patience was one of the many things she was being forced to learn.
