Read Online The Light in the Piazza and Other Italian Tales by Elizabeth Spencer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Elizabeth Spencer
Ads: Link
than mine—about movie stars, pet dogs, some kind of car called Alfa Romeo and what man is handsomer than what other man.
“I understand that usually in the summer all these people go to the sea, where they spend every day for a month or two swimming and lying in the sun. They would all be there now if Fabrizio’s courtship had not so greatly engaged their interest. Courtship is the only word for it. If you could see how he adores Clara and how often he mentions the very same things that we love in her: her gentleness, her sweetness and goodness. I had expected things to come to some conclusion long before now, but nothing of the sort seems to occur, and now the thought of separating the two of them begins to seem more and more wrong to me, every day. …”
This letter provoked a transatlantic phone call. Mrs. Johnson went to the lobby to talk so Clara wouldn’t hear her. She knew whatthe first words would be. To Noel Johnson, the world was made of brass tacks, and coming down to them was his specialty.
“Margaret, are you thinking that Clara should marry this boy?”
“I’m only trying to let things take their natural course.”
“Natural course!” Even at such a distance, he could make her jump.
“I’m with her constantly, Noel. I don’t mean they’re left to themselves. I only mean to say I can’t wrench her away from him now. I tried it. Honestly I did. It was too much for her. I saw that.”
“But surely you’ve talked to these people, Margaret. You must have told them all about her. Don’t any of them speak English?” It would seem unbelievable to Noel Johnson that she or anyone related to him in any way would have learned to communicate in any language but English. He would be sure they had got everything wrong.
“I’ve tried to explain everything fully,” she assured him. Well, hadn’t she? Was it her fault a cannon had gone off just when she meant to explain?
Across the thousands of miles she heard his breath and read its quality: he had hesitated. Her heart gave a leap.
“Would I encourage anything that would put an ocean between Clara and me?”
She had scored again. Mrs. Johnson’s deepest rebellion against her husband had occurred when he had wanted to put Clara in a sort of “school” for “people like her.” The rift between them on that occasion had been a serious one, and though it was smoothed over in time and never mentioned subsequently, Noel Johnson might still not be averse to putting distances between his daughter and him.
“They’re just after her money, Margaret.”
“No, Noel—I wrote you about that. They have money.” She shut her eyes tightly. “And nobody wants to come to America, either.”
When she put down the phone a few minutes later, Mrs. Johnson had won a concession. Things should proceed along their natural course, very well. But she was to make no permanent decision until Noel himself could be with her. His coming, at the moment, wasnext to impossible. Business was pressing. One of the entertainers employed to advertise the world’s finest smoke on a national network had been called up by the Un-American Activities Committee. The finest brains in the company were being exercised far into the night. It would not do for the American public to conclude they were inhaling Communism with every puff on a well-known brand. This could happen; it could ruin them. Noel would go to Washington in the coming week. It would be three weeks at least until he could be with her. Then—well, she could leave the decision up to him. If it involved bringing Clara home with them, he would take the responsibility of it on himself.
Noel and Margaret Johnson gravely wished each other good luck over the transatlantic wire, and each resumed the burden of his separate enterprise.
“Where’d you go, Mother?” Clara wanted to know as soon as Mrs. Johnson returned.
“You’ll never guess. I’ve been talking with Daddy on the long-distance phone!”
“Oh!” Clara looked up. She
“I understand that usually in the summer all these people go to the sea, where they spend every day for a month or two swimming and lying in the sun. They would all be there now if Fabrizio’s courtship had not so greatly engaged their interest. Courtship is the only word for it. If you could see how he adores Clara and how often he mentions the very same things that we love in her: her gentleness, her sweetness and goodness. I had expected things to come to some conclusion long before now, but nothing of the sort seems to occur, and now the thought of separating the two of them begins to seem more and more wrong to me, every day. …”
This letter provoked a transatlantic phone call. Mrs. Johnson went to the lobby to talk so Clara wouldn’t hear her. She knew whatthe first words would be. To Noel Johnson, the world was made of brass tacks, and coming down to them was his specialty.
“Margaret, are you thinking that Clara should marry this boy?”
“I’m only trying to let things take their natural course.”
“Natural course!” Even at such a distance, he could make her jump.
“I’m with her constantly, Noel. I don’t mean they’re left to themselves. I only mean to say I can’t wrench her away from him now. I tried it. Honestly I did. It was too much for her. I saw that.”
“But surely you’ve talked to these people, Margaret. You must have told them all about her. Don’t any of them speak English?” It would seem unbelievable to Noel Johnson that she or anyone related to him in any way would have learned to communicate in any language but English. He would be sure they had got everything wrong.
“I’ve tried to explain everything fully,” she assured him. Well, hadn’t she? Was it her fault a cannon had gone off just when she meant to explain?
Across the thousands of miles she heard his breath and read its quality: he had hesitated. Her heart gave a leap.
“Would I encourage anything that would put an ocean between Clara and me?”
She had scored again. Mrs. Johnson’s deepest rebellion against her husband had occurred when he had wanted to put Clara in a sort of “school” for “people like her.” The rift between them on that occasion had been a serious one, and though it was smoothed over in time and never mentioned subsequently, Noel Johnson might still not be averse to putting distances between his daughter and him.
“They’re just after her money, Margaret.”
“No, Noel—I wrote you about that. They have money.” She shut her eyes tightly. “And nobody wants to come to America, either.”
When she put down the phone a few minutes later, Mrs. Johnson had won a concession. Things should proceed along their natural course, very well. But she was to make no permanent decision until Noel himself could be with her. His coming, at the moment, wasnext to impossible. Business was pressing. One of the entertainers employed to advertise the world’s finest smoke on a national network had been called up by the Un-American Activities Committee. The finest brains in the company were being exercised far into the night. It would not do for the American public to conclude they were inhaling Communism with every puff on a well-known brand. This could happen; it could ruin them. Noel would go to Washington in the coming week. It would be three weeks at least until he could be with her. Then—well, she could leave the decision up to him. If it involved bringing Clara home with them, he would take the responsibility of it on himself.
Noel and Margaret Johnson gravely wished each other good luck over the transatlantic wire, and each resumed the burden of his separate enterprise.
“Where’d you go, Mother?” Clara wanted to know as soon as Mrs. Johnson returned.
“You’ll never guess. I’ve been talking with Daddy on the long-distance phone!”
“Oh!” Clara looked up. She
Similar Books
