Read Online The Girl from the Paradise Ballroom by Alison Love - Free Book Online Page A

wail from the room upstairs. The baby had woken. At once Danila forgot about Bruno’s letter. The whole of her being was caught up in the baby, as though she were nourishing him with her soul as well as her flesh.
    “I thought he was settled,” she said, scurrying upstairs once more. “He cannot need changing, he must be hungry.”
    In the kitchen Filomena began to chop onions, the knife slamming against the board. Antonio heard her sniff.
    “Don’t cry,” he said, “it will be all right.”
    “I am not crying. It’s the onions.”
    “I daresay you have forgotten what Bruno is like, it has been so long, he is so far away.”
    “No,” said Filomena, “I remember him well enough.”
    “You’ll remember then that he is a decent fellow. You may not see eye to eye where politics are concerned, but he will be kind to you, you know that. Look at me, Mena. I am telling you the truth. You will learn to love him as a husband, I promise. And when we work so hard it is a relief, to have one thing in your life that is calm and settled.”
    Filomena’s mouth gave a twist that in a man Antonio would have called sardonic. “Yes, I am sure that you are right.”
    She turned her back and began chopping again. Antonio felt annoyed. He had done his best for Filomena. What else could she expect? Most brothers would do what Valentino had done: tell her to stop being foolish and to count her blessings. Without speaking he went upstairs to fetch his accordion.
    Danila was sitting on the bed, her blouse unbuttoned, the baby at her breast. His mouth was blind and greedy, like a newly hatched bird.
    “So the child was hungry, then?” Antonio said, removing the cloth that covered his accordion, to protect it from the moist black grime of the city.
    Danila frowned. “Your sister Filomena is a strange girl. Why isn’t she overjoyed that Bruno is coming home? I do not think she loves him at all.”
    “She is anxious. It is a long time since Bruno went to Abyssinia. And it will be a great change in her life—”
    “You should be stricter with her, Antonino.” Lately Danila had become more assertive, especially where Filomena was concerned, as though motherhood had increased her authority. “Who does she think she is? I did not complain when our fathers agreed that we should marry.”
    “That is different—” began Antonio. Then he stopped to think about what Danila had said.
I did not complain.
Why would she complain? She had loved him, she had wanted to marry him. Surely she had wanted to marry him?
    “It is because she was brought up in London, in my opinion. I am sure that your mother did her best, but it is not the same, it is never the same. I do not think that Filomena truly understands how Italian women should behave.”
    Danila cupped the baby’s head in her hand. She did it confidently, as though she had been feeding infants all her life. Antonio watched her. Through the days of their courtship she had been shyly adoring, as if she could imagine no higher destiny than becoming his wife. He remembered her downcast eyes, her timid smiles. Had they been—not false, of course not false—but exaggerated, designed to flatter his vanity? Suddenly Antonio saw himself as perhaps Danila saw him, a forked hairy grasping creature, like a satyr.
    “Danila,” he said, blurting out the words, “do you still love me?”
    Danila’s eyes widened in surprise. “Don’t be foolish. Of course I love you, you are my husband. I left my home to come and live with you.” She clasped the child to her shoulder, while with her free hand she tried to button her blouse. “But we have a son now. It is a big responsibility, we cannot carry on exactly as we were. Pass me that towel, will you, Antonio?”
    She was rubbing the baby’s back now to wind him, her movements firm and deft. Her very competence seemed to Antonio to shut him out, just as he had been shut out when she was in labor. He laid the towel upon his wife’s knee. Then he