The older man’s impassioned gestures made it crystal clear that he had been struck to the heart by the sight of his treasured daughter lying lifeless in the arms of a foreigner. As Randolph recollected, the signorina had felt far from lifeless, but no matter.
Less clear was the young man’s role, but he was equally distressed. Meanwhile, the girl, an angel of innocence, was apparently proclaiming that it was all a misunderstanding.
Since farce seemed to be prevailing over force, Randolph lowered the ladder and studied his defender. She was somewhere around the age of thirty, slim and quite tall. To his fascination, she combined the no-nonsense air associated with governesses with the lively body language of the Neapolitans. Perhaps she was also Italian? But she had the pale translucent complexion usually associated with England.
By sheer volume, the young man managed to shout down the other speakers. Arms waving, he made an impassioned diatribe, which he concluded by spitting at Randolph’s feet.
The tall woman hesitated, took a quick glance at Randolph, then responded, a soulful quiver in her rich alto voice. She ended her address by gesturing toward him, then clasping her hands to her bosom as her eyes demurely fluttered shut behind her gold-rimmed spectacles.
Whether it was her action or her words, the two men looked at each other, then gave mutual shrugs of acceptance. The older man took the woman’s hand and kissed it lingeringly, murmuring a baritone“Bellissima.”The handsome youth, anger vanished as if it had never been, bobbed his head to Randolph, then offered a sunny smile.
The woman turned to Randolph. “Act as if you know me,” she murmured in native-born English. “Smile graciously, bow to the young lady, and we can leave.”
Randolph retrieved his hat and obeyed. Obviously recovered from her fall, the girl gave him a bewitching smile while her father beamed benevolently.
Accompanied by a chorus of good wishes, the Britons crossed the piazza. On the way, the woman collected the canvas bag that held her sketching materials, thrusting her umbrella into loops on the side. Taking Randolph’s arm, she steered him into a street leading down the hill. When they were out of sight of the square, he asked, “Would you care to explain what that was all about?”
The woman smiled and released his arm. “The two gentlemen are the father and betrothed of young Filomena, both of them stonemasons. They were returning home for lunch when they found Filomena in your arms. Being protective and volatile, they feared the worst.
“If it were just the father, he would probably have chastised Filomena for immodest behavior. But since her intended, Luigi, was present, her father could not admit that his daughter was a designing baggage. Hence, any fall from grace must have been your fault.”
She gave a gurgle of laughter. “It would not have been as serious if you were not so handsome. I suspect that Luigi was expressing his regret for the fact that he will never look like Apollo.”
Randolph found himself blushing. “Why should Luigi have regrets? He looks like Michaelangelo’s David.”
“Very true,” the woman said with an unladylike amount of approval. “But that kind of male beauty is not uncommon here, while you have the charm of novelty.” Taking pity on his blushes, she continued, “Incidentally, I am Miss Elizabeth Walker.”
“I’m Randolph Lennox, and very much in your debt.” He gave her a rueful smile. “I was imagining the London headlines:English Tourist Accidentally Murdered in Naples.’’
“That’s better than ‘English Tourist Assaults Innocent Italian Miss and Is Executed on the Spot.’“
“Definitely. What did you say that convinced them of my harmlessness?”
A hint of color showed on Miss Walker’s cheek. “Since they were unwilling to accept that you were motivated only by a spirit of helpfulness, I finally said you were my husband, that we were on our honeymoon, and how could they possibly believe that a gentlemen like you would dishonor me by making improper advances to a young girl right in front of my face?”
She held up her bare left hand. “Fortunate that Luigi and company were not close observers, or they might have doubted my story. I’m sorry, but strong measures were called for. Rational arguments weren’t working.”
“No harm done,” Randolph said, amused. “You said that the girl was a designing baggage?”
“Without question. I’m a governess, you see, and I’m up to all a young girl’s tricks. Filomena watched you from an upstairs window for a while until she struck on a way to further her acquaintance. You should have seen her expression, like a cat watching a bird.”
“Surely a girl so young wouldn't behave in so forward a fashion!”
“You would not say that if you knew many young females,” Miss Walker said feelingly. “But I doubt that she was interested in serious immorality, merely a bit of flirtation. My most recent charge was a girl much like Filomena, and let me tell you, getting Maria safely to the altar was a challenge to make Hannibal’s crossing the Alps look like a stroll in Hyde Park!”
Randolph remembered how Filomena had conveniently fainted into his arms, and how rapidly she had recovered when her men folk appeared on the scene. “I thought that Italian girls were very modest and strictly brought up.”
“They are, but human nature being what it is, some are modest while others are the most amazing flirts.” She glanced at him. “Now I am shocking you. I have lived too long in Italy and quite forgotten proper English restraint. I could give you a lengthy dissertation on Italian behavior, but it's a rather warm lecture and, as I said, quite lengthy.”
Randolph laughed out loud. It occurred to him that he had not laughed like this since . . . since September. Preferring to think of this refreshing female rather than the past, he said, “I should like to hear your dissertation some time. I know we've not been properly introduced, but if you are willing to overlook that, perhaps you will let me take you to lunch as a sign of appreciation for your most timely rescue? You can explain Italian behavior to me.”
A wise woman would not casually accept a stranger’s invitation, so she hesitated, studying his face as if looking for traces of dangerous derangement under his respectable appearance.
“I’m a very harmless fellow,” he said reassuringly. “Besides, knowledge of local customs might save my life. Look at what almost happened.”
“How can I refuse such a request? A luncheon would be very pleasant. Did you have a particular place in mind? If not, there is a trattoria near here that has good food.” Her gaze flickered over Randolph’s very expensive coat. “That is, if you are willing to eat as Neapolitans do.”
It was easy to guess her thoughts. During his first days in Naples, Randolph’s guide had insisted on taking him to boring establishments that specialized in English-style cooking. “Do I appear to be such a paltry fellow that I cannot survive on native fare?” He took her canvas bag. “I would be delighted to broaden my culinary horizons.”
