Chapter Forty Nine

The Wiener Bonbons Waltz

Villa San Callisto, Fiesole.

On that last Sunday morning of July 1932, if you had been in a position to ask him about it, assuming that he had deigned to acknowledge your presence in the first place and then had gone so far as to condescend to give you a moment of his very valuable time and actually converse with you, the butler of Downton Abbey, the arrogant Thomas Barrow, would have told you that the weather back in England, in Yorkshire, was that of a typical English summer's day: dull, overcast and with the ever prescient threat of rain. And, equally if you had the good fortune to also speak to a certain cub reporter with the Irish Independent, of which newspaper his uncle Tom Branson was Deputy Editor, over there in Dublin, on the far side of a storm wracked Irish Sea, unusual for this time of year, then young Padraig Branson would have told you that there in the Irish Free State, it was already raining, and heavily too.

Here in Tuscany, up in the Fiesole Hills, overlooking Florence, the morning after the dinner party dawned both hot and sunny. Up here, midst the verdant, leafy green coolness of the wooded hills, the incessant summer's heat was slightly less intense and therefore more bearable than down there the valley of the Arno where midst a discordant clanging of church bells, beneath a cloudless azure sky, the ochre, yellow and white painted buildings of the distant city sweltered in the growing heat of the early morning sunshine; although given the circumstances of what had occurred the previous evening none of the adults up at the villa were concerned with the weather.

Following Edith's outburst, when she had fled the dining room and stormed off upstairs, Friedrich had been most punctilious in observing all of the usual courtesies. In the most difficult of circumstances and as if nothing out of the ordinary had taken place, he had extended his thanks both to Matthew and to Mary. Then, having made his farewells to one and all, he swiftly absented himself from the villa by driving back alone to the Pensione Lucchesi in the motor which Edith had driven here from Florence.

Given the fireworks which had erupted at the dinner party, neither Tom or Sybil expected matters to have improved much, if at all, by the following morning. Besides which, the row between Mary and Edith was not the only matter concerning the Bransons. Woken by knocking at their bedroom door which was followed by Danny, Saiorse and little Bobby bounding excitedly into the bedroom just as they did when they were all back at home in Idrone Terrace, having said their good mornings, with the three children seated on their bed, having decided the previous night that they could no longer put off telling them, Tom and Sybil announced that they had something to say. Ma was expecting another baby and so, God willing, some time, early in the new year, if everything went according to plan the children would be getting a new brother or sister.

The three children were absolutely thrilled at the unexpected news although after Danny had confidently assured him that the new arrival would only turn up when Bobby himself had been sent back to St. Vincent's Orphanage in Glasnevin from whence he came, a by now tearful young Bobby had to be consoled by Sybil while Tom with a twinkle in his eye warned Danny that he would be packed off to St. Joseph's Industrial School in Artane. Not to be outdone, bestowing meaningful looks in the direction of both Danny and Bobby, Saiorse expressed the firm opinion that if it was all the same to her parents, then thank you very much for sure but she would much prefer to have a new sister rather than yet another brother who might just turn out to be like that unspeakable wretch Robert.

Then, having sent the children away to both wash and dress, with themselves having done likewise, in order to set Sybil's mind at rest, Tom now assured her that just as soon as breakfast was over he would find out about putting a telephone call through to Ireland to speak with Padraig at the Independent and ask him to make certain enquiries. A matter of moments later, arm in arm, Tom and Sybil were strolling down the main staircase of the house to make their way into breakfast.

There was no immediate sign of either Mary or Edith which again was only to be expected, Tom and Sybil assuming that both must be keeping to their respective bedrooms until matters had somewhat cooled. So, with Sybil having arranged with Nanny Bridges that all the children should breakfast under her supervision upstairs in the old nursery, much to the chagrin of Danny, Robert and Saiorse, it was just Matthew with Innocenti and a footman in attendance, who Tom and Sybil now found sitting outside on the terrace. Seemingly completely unruffled by what had happened the previous evening, ever mindful of the required proprieties, clearly unaffected by the heat, with not so much as a drop of perspiration visible, and in his pale linen suit looking the epitome of an English gentleman abroad, at Tom and Sybil's approach, Matthew smiled and stood up.

"Good morning! It looks very much like it's going to be a beautiful day".

"Good morning". Sybil kissed Matthew affectionately on the cheek.

"Morning Matthew". Tom smiled and nodded affably to his brother-in-law and best friend. Then, with Sybil having sat down at the table, as Tom took his seat, signalling to Innocenti, Matthew seated himself once more back in his wicker chair and for a moment no-one spoke.

"How's Mary?" asked Tom, shaking out his napkin. "Yes, thank you," he said, inclining his head to the footman who, standing beside him with a burnished silver tea pot, now proceeded to pour him out a cup of tea.

"Do you really want to know?" asked Matthew somewhat irritably removing the top of his boiled egg with one savage swipe of his knife.

"My batman taught me that little trick in the trenches". He grimaced and stared out across the manicure gardens of the villa towards where Florence shimmered in the distance. Sybil raised her eyebrows. In all the years she had known him, she had never once known Matthew to be churlish and certainly not with Tom. Clearly last night's discord had upset him more than he cared to admit although for his part, Tom seemed to take no offence; none at all.

"If I didn't, I wouldn't have asked you for sure!" he drawled pleasantly sipping his tea. He smiled again and Matthew immediately relented.

"No, of course you wouldn't. Mea culpa, old chap; I'm really sorry, Tom". Matthew looked and sounded genuinely contrite.

"You never need to apologise, Matthew. Not to me," said Tom clearly moved, his voice cracking with emotion.

"Then thank you. As you might expect, she's been better". Matthew raised his eyes, and nodded towards the stone wall of the villa beside him. "Mary's upstairs taking breakfast in our bedroom. Now, I don't often assert my position as head of the family…" Then, seeing Sybil smile, Matthew paused. He grinned broadly. "All right, all right! I never assert my position. In fact, Sybil, that's not strictly true. As it happens, I do so rather more often than either of you two might imagine but in such a way that Mary doesn't realise what it is that I'm doing. You remember your late father's phrase: "Softly, softly catchy monkey?"

Sybil laughed and nodded her head to Innocenti when he asked if she too would like tea.

"Yes Matthew, I do".

"Well, while it's not completely fool proof, this way Mary and I manage to keep our major differences to a minimum; she might think she has the upper hand but in the end I actually get what it is that I want. We're both remarkably civilised about it all!"

Having over-indulged himself during the dessert course at dinner the previous night, mindful of Sybil's playful comment about watching his waistline, and unable to stomach the thought of a cooked breakfast, this morning Tom contented himself with a thinly buttered slice of toast. Listening to his brother-in-law's explanation, Tom grinned. The carefully built relationship which Matthew described as existing between him and Mary was so very different to that which existed between himself and darling Sybil. Not that down the years, like any married couple, both Tom and Sybil hadn't had their fair share of arguments and disagreements; of course they had. The blame for which, if it did any good to apportion blame in such circumstances, Tom would readily have conceded was divided equally between the two of them. Nonetheless, at times, if the mood took her, Sybil could be just as haughty and imperious as her elder sister. And as many, including Tom himself, had found out to their cost, Sybil roused and on the warpath was a force with which to be reckoned; as she had been the night the Volunteers had come calling and set fire to Skerries House; haranguing the arsonists and making them save a whole host of items from the building before the mansion itself was set ablaze.

"Anyway," Matthew continued, "I've told Mary that she and Edith have no choice in this but to resolve their differences once and for all. They're both equally to blame and if Mary was rather lacking in both tact and understanding last night, in her defense I know just how much this business of young Max has affected her. How it has made her fearful for the health of our own children. I've told her she's wrong but understandably she won't have it. So naturally she's overwrought and upset, more than unusually sensitive to people and to situations". Sensitive was not a word that Tom would ever have used when describing his imperious sister-in-law but he gave Matthew full marks for being loyal to his wife. What he had just said was as skillful a defense of the indefensible as Tom had ever heard.

Finding it difficult to remain seated, a sure sign that he was not his usual self, Matthew had risen and was now standing facing the two of them with his back to the white marble balustrade of the terrace.

"As for Edith, well, in my opinion she went too far last night. They both need to put the past behind them, if not for themselves then for the sake of all the children. Anyway, after we'd retired, we sat up and discussed everything. And I mean everything. Knowing that where Edith is concerned Mary can be like a bull in a china shop, it may surprise you both to learn that what took place was a very calm and rational discussion. I won't go into details, but naturally I believe Mary when she said nothing inappropriate took place between her and Friedrich. Besides which, it was all such an incredibly long time ago. Almost before the Flood; ancient history and all that! Do you know that Mary was really worried that I might not understand? How do you think that makes me feel? There's no need for this continued discord. It belongs in the past and I said so. Rather more to the point I suggested that this morning Mary should go along to Edith's room, try and make the first move in overtures towards establishing a permanent and lasting peace".

"Their very own armistice?" asked Tom.

As a former army officer, the allusion was not lost on Matthew.

"If you like to call it that. Of sorts. Yes, I suppose so". He smiled.

"Wasn't that rather over-optimistic of you?" asked Sybil. "For as long as I can remember, ever since we were children, they've been at each other's throats".

"Well, perhaps it was a little over-optimistic but one has to make a start somewhere!"

"And did she?" asked Tom.

"Did she what? Oh. I see what you mean. Did Mary go along to see Edith and try and pour oil on troubled waters? Well, yes, as a matter of fact, she did. But she returned almost immediately. Edith's room was empty and on making enquiries of the servants, it transpires that before any of us were up and about, Edith made arrangements for a motor from the pensione to take her and Max down into Florence; I assume to the hotel. Isn't that right, Innocenti?"

The oily, unctuous Italian butler nodded his pomaded dark haired head.

"Si, signore".

Villa San Callisto earlier that same morning.

Fortunately, by the time Edith stormed out of the dining room the previous night, Danny, Robert and Max together with little Fritz had long since vacated the landing and had gone to bed. So none of them were there to witness Edith's tearful fight up the staircase to the safety of her bedroom.

Alone up in her room, refusing to open the door and shunning Sybil's offer to talk whispered through the keyhole, sometime later in the small hours, after much soul searching, had she but known it just as Sybil had done years before in her bedroom in Ma's homely little house in Clontarf, having now reached her decision, Edith knew she was left with no choice but to act upon it. So, early the next morning, long before anyone else was astir, she had telephoned the Pensione Lucchesi and asked that a motor be dispatched immediately up to the villa to convey her down into Florence. Then, while she impatiently awaited the arrival of the car from the hotel, Edith busied herself dressing.

When she judged it necessary to do so, she had awoken young Max, told him to wash and dress as quickly and quietly as possible, adding by way of explanation that instead of Friedrich coming up here to the villa for breakfast as had been previously arranged, they would going down to the pensione instead to be reunited with his beloved father; they would breakfast there too. Of course, Max was delighted at the prospect of seeing his father sooner rather than later; said that he had so much to tell him, both about his cousins and what had happened on the express. Then while he was washing Max had suddenly grown thoughtful and, turning to his mother, he had asked her when it was they would be returning here to the villa.

When Edith had demurred and said she wasn't sure, Max had sighed heavily. Having asked him why it was he wanted to know, Max had gone on to explain, and at some length that, along with Danny and Robert, he wanted to explore the grounds of the villa today. At this particular revelation announced blithely by her young son as if it was something he did habitually, Edith had blanched. And while Max dressed, chatting happily on and on about what it was he and his two cousins had planned for today, sitting on her bed, Edith had felt her heart skip a beat.

The very thought of him, a haemophiliac boy, "exploring" the grounds of the villa with all of its steps, terraces, and precipitous drops filled his mother with utter dread; where Max saw adventure and excitement, Edith saw danger and disaster. But having let the genie out of the bottle and given Max his freedom on the express, she was too much of a realist not to realise that it would prove an uphill task for her to re-establish the boundaries of what Max could and could not do; another reason therefore for the two of them to be away from here as quickly as possible. As to what had happened last night in the dining room, young Max would have to be told of course but not now. That could all be left until a more propitious time.

And what about Frittie, Max had asked and who when Edith had awoken Max she had discovered, on seeing the sheets heave suspiciously, to have been sharing his bed.

Edith smiled. This was far easier. Fritz would, she said brightly, of course be coming with them; in the motor down into Florence where someone at the pensione would find him something to eat. This served to mollify young Max's immediate concern and for the moment he seemed to have forgotten entirely that his mother had made no further mention of when it was they would all be returning here to the villa.

A short while later, a magnificent blue Hispano-Suiza H6 complete with white walled tyres that if they had been awake both Tom and Danny would have wanted to inspect, now drew to a sedate stop outside the front door of the house. A few minutes passed and then Edith, followed by Max with Frittie still sporting Danny's makeshift lead held fast in his arms, climbed quickly into the back seat of the motor and made themselves comfortable for the short journey down into Florence. Just about the same time a young Italian in the nondescript clothes of a working man clambered over a wall at the rear of the villa and, keeping to the shadows, made his way quietly and unseen towards the back door while, on the other side of the building, the splendid motor purred softly off along the graveled drive.

If Mary had been worried about Matthew's reaction were he to find out about her brief dalliance with Friedrich, Edith herself was equally worried about Friedrich's reaction to something which she should have told him about when they had met at the pensione the previous afternoon and which, in part, explained the reason why at dinner the previous evening she had turned on Mary; although the confrontation between the two sisters was long overdue. Edith was no fool and knew very well that however much Mary might seek to rile her about it, nothing at all had happened between her and Friedrich; he was far too honourable a man. Nonetheless she knew she had to make a clean breast with him of what it was that was really troubling her.

Florence, later that same morning.

As the Hispano-Suiza purred through the streets of the slowly awakening city, with a young boy's unconcern, Max was at the window of the motor looking out to see what could be seen. At this early hour of the morning there were comparatively few people about: here and there men sitting drinking coffee and reading newspapers at the pavement cafes, others were on their way to work, another seated in a wicker chair in the street having his shoes polished while further on a group of schoolboys in berets and smocks, walking in crocodile file, were being shepherded across one of the wide squares by two black clad priests. There were churches and palaces and many of the buildings had both shutters and balconies with most flying the same flag of green, white and red stripes and which, when he asked her, Mama said was the Flag of Italy.

Plastered on walls throughout the city were a large number of posters, all of which featured the same man, the one with the bull neck and the shaven head, although on some of the posters he was wearing a military cap or a steel helmet. According to Mama who knew about these sorts of things, the man was Benito Mussolini, known here in Italy as Il Duce and it was he who was in charge of running the country. With his shaven head, his staring eyes and his his thick lips, Max decided then and there that he didn't much like Il Duce.

Pensione Lucchesi, Florence.

"Papa!" cried Max excitedly as Friedrich opened the door to the suite on the second floor of the hotel.

It was several months since Max had last seen his father, so he was naturally elated at the prospect of seeing him now. Nonetheless, on their arrival here at the pensione, finding that the hotel boasted a lift, something which young Max had never encountered before, and delighted by his first trip in it, he persuaded his mother to let him travel straight back down to the ground floor on his own and then all the way up again. Now, back here on the second floor, throwing caution to the winds, with Fritz snapping at his heels, the happy little boy launched himself into his father's outstretched arms.

Sometime later, with breakfast over, in the sitting room of Papa and Mama's suite, with little Fritz looking on, lying stretched out on the large carpet, Max was playing contentedly with the painted tinplate model of the 'Red Baron' Fokker DR.1 tri-plane which his father had bought for him in Vienna, while in the soft morning light, with mist rising slowly off the river, his parents continued to sit beside the open window overlooking the sparkling blue waters of the Arno.

"Listen," said Friedrich suddenly. "Someone's playing our tune".

Edith cocked an ear and smiled as she recognised the piece of music, the notes of which drifted up from a barrel organ being played in the street below. Even though the instrument was decidedly out of tune, the melody was instantly recognisable: a waltz by Johann Strauss, Wiener Bonbons and which, years before, they had danced to while they were both out in Egypt, excavating in the Valley of the Kings.

"Luxor 1922," she said promptly and smiled.

For both of them memories now stirred: of the constant bustle, the ever present dirt, the kaleidoscope of colours and the incessant noise of Cairo, of slender minarets and of soaring pyramids, of the broad, majestic sweep of the Nile, of lush groves of date palms, of immense sand dunes, of blinding dust clouds, of the scorching heat and above all of the breath taking discoveries made in the Valley of the Kings by Howard Carter. And among all these remembrances there were other recollections too and which were far more personal; the visit they had paid some years later to Madame Badia's Caberet in downtown Cairo where they had danced the Charleston and Friedrich had been fascinated by the performance of a local belly dancer; their earlier stay at ...

"The Winter Palace Hotel…" Friedrich nodded eagerly.
"That Egyptian ensemble was no better than the organ grinder! Hopelessly out of tune. Do you think they'd been drinking?"

"And each and every one of them devout Moslems? I somehow doubt it!"

"Do you remember the walk we took along the river bank after dinner, the feluccas on the Nile, the brightness of the stars in the night sky over the Valley of the Kings?"

"Of course I do. In fact, I remember everything about that evening but what I remember most of all … is you". Friedrich paused. "Us". He smiled when he saw she had not forgotten.

"Edith …"

"Yes?"
"That evening …when we danced together at the hotel … you know it was then that I fell in love with you".

At this unexpected revelation which, given all the circumstances, she had not been expecting, Edith blushed. For a moment neither of them spoke, each independently of the other drifting back to that night spent in Luxor at the Winter Palace Hotel and where they had made love for the very first time.

"So, given what I've told you, now do you understand the real reason why … last night … I was so upset?" asked Edith quietly.
"Yes, I do," he said softly.

"Friedrich, whatever she may have implied, I know nothing ever happened between you and Mary. You're far too honourable a man".

He smiled broadly. While he knew that Edith trusted him implicitly, all the same it was very gratifying to hear her say so out loud.

"True. There never was anything between us but thank you for that. Apart from Liesl there's never been anyone else except you. After she died, I didn't expect to feel for anyone what I felt for her; that is until I met you. And while I know Mary is your sister…." Friedrich paused, desperately seeking the English words for what he now wanted to convey but then chose instead to settle for their German equivalent: "kann nicht das Wasser reichen, um Sie zu halten".

Edith smiled.

"I'm so very glad to hear you say that".

"It's true. All the same, I don't want to be the cause of a rift in your family".

"You're not the cause; Mary is. We've been at loggerheads ever since we were children".

"Loggerheads?" Friedrich raised a quizzical brow. For all that his command of English was well nigh fluent there were still words which he did not know.

"We never got on".

"Ah! Well even so, you may remember me telling you about the feud between my father and his youngest brother, my Uncle Adalbert?" Edith nodded. "With both my father and all his brothers long dead, there's no-one left alive to tell you what caused it all but whatever it was in the end it served for no useful purpose; other than to make several Jewish lawyers in Vienna a very great deal of money. You understand my meaning?"
"I think I do".

"So, this quarrelling between you and Mary must cease. Quite how that's to be achieved, well that rests with the two of you but I know I can count on you to play your part in doing what is required".

"It won't be easy and I'm not making any promises but I'll do my best to let bygones be bygones".
"Bygones?"
"Let the past bury the past".

Friedrich smiled at her again.

"Indeed. And now, are you absolutely certain, about what you told me earlier?" He set down his coffee cup in its saucer.

"Absolutely. No doubt at all," said Edith softly. Gazing into his grey green eyes, trying to gauge his exact reaction to her startling news, she stretched forward her hands; their fingers met and entwined.

"Feck! Frittie! Nein!" cried Max from within the sitting room.

"What did you just say?" asked Edith in German.

"Feck!" repeated Max completely unconcerned. "Danny says it when he's annoyed," he added, likewise in German.

"Does he indeed?"

"Yes, he does. Frittie tried to bite my 'plane," explained Max cheerfully, endeavouring, or so he thought, to be helpful.

"Don't let me ever hear you use that word again".

"Why not?"
"Because, darling, it's not a nice word to say. I don't suppose your Uncle Tom would be very pleased if he heard Danny saying it".

"Danny says his Da says it all the time," said Max flatly.

"Max!" warned his father sternly.

"Yes, Papa," said Max. The boy sighed dejectedly and his little shoulders sagged. Honestly! Parents!

Seated beside the open window, Friedrich and Edith now resumed their interrupted conversation.

"Then why on earth didn't you tell me before, mein Liebling?" asked Friedrich. He reached forward and cupped her face with his hands.

"Because, I wasn't at all sure how you would react".

"But we've been so very careful…"
"Not careful enough it seems".

"So when Tom and Sybil told us all their happy news…"

"I didn't say anything because I wanted to tell you first as I should have done yesterday afternoon".

"That's only as it should be".

"And now you know, you really are pleased?"
"Absolutely delighted. And you? What about you?"
"Of course I am. Only…"

"Only what? Edith, do you want this child?"

"Of course I do. Just as much as you do. But…" She bit her lower lip.
"But what?" he asked gently, knowing that they were now on dangerously boggy ground.

"I couldn't bear it if when he is born, for us then to find out later that just like little Max he …"

"You think it's another boy then? What makes you so sure? It might be a girl".

Edith smiled.

"Who might be a carrier". Edith shook her head. "No, Friedrich, trust me. It's a boy. A woman has a way of knowing. Call it female intuition".

"Very well then. Another boy. He'll be absolutely fine. Believe me, he will".

"How can you possibly know that?" she asked.
Friedrich smiled.

"Trust me. Women don't have the monopoly on being intuitive".

On the table, the Dom Pérignon 1928 which he had ordered on first hearing the news which Edith had to impart still remained unopened. Then, from somewhere, faintly at first, then growing in intensity, there now came the unmistakable strains of the Radetsky March. Moments later down on the Lungarno della Zecca Vechcia, an Italian military band hove into view. With their arms around each other, Friedrich and Edith rose and stood gazing down onto the street below where the crowds were clapping in time to the music as the band marched briskly past.

"Take it as a good omen," laughed Friedrich.

"All right!"

"Now, what about that glass of champagne?"

"Yes, why not?" laughed Edith.

"We can toast Tom and Sybil's and our very own good fortune".

"May I have some?" pleaded Max plaintively from across the room.

"No, darling; not until you're a very great deal older".

"Nonsense, a little glass of bubbly never did anyone any harm".

"And just how old were you when you had your first glass of champagne?"
"The same age as Max is now".

"Well, all right then. But just a few mouthfuls and no more".

"Frittie! Why, you little bugger! Stop it!" yelled Max.

Edith and Friedrich exchanged meaningful glances.

"Max!" reprimanded Edith sharply.

"I didn't say it Mama. That word, the one you told me not to say". Kneeling on the floor, with a boy's unconcern, young Max smiled happily up at his mother standing over by the open window.

"No, darling, I know you didn't. But the word you just used…"

"Bugger?" repeated Max sounding completely undaunted just as he had done before.
"Yes, that word".

"Robert says it, Mama".

"Does he?" Does he really?" asked his mother with a sudden, weary sense of déjà-vu.

"Yes, Mama, he does". Max nodded whereupon Edith shook her head in disbelief and sighed. Turning back to Friedrich she saw that he was still trying to remove the cork from the bottle of champagne and at the same time doing his very best not to laugh.

"Well, you're his father! Say something!" Edith remonstrated.

"I heard far worse when I was serving in the air force".

"That's hardly the point. Friedrich, in case you've forgotten our son is only nine years old".

"No, I suppose not. And I haven't forgotten either how young he still is. Even so, I think Max has already said it for me".

"What?"

"The cork's stuck. Bugger!" exclaimed Friedrich and promptly dissolved into laughter.

Villa San Callisto, Fiesole.

With breakfast over and Innocenti having promised to make the necessary enquiries about the hire of a motor for tomorrow morning, Matthew, Tom and Sybil were on the point of leaving the terrace to go and find Mary and the children.

"Was there something else?" asked Matthew.

"Si, mio Signore". The butler having returned to the sideboard had now come back to the table bearing a silver salver on top of which there rested an envelope and which he presented to Tom.

"This came for you this morning, signore".

"For me?" Tom looked surprised.
"Si signore". Again Innocenti nodded his head.

It transpired that the letter, addressed to Sig. T. Branson, Villa Callisto, had been found on the table in the hall. Exactly when it had been placed there could not be ascertained with any degree of certainty but since the morning post had not yet arrived and as the envelope was lacking a postage stamp, it seemed reasonable to assume that the letter must have been delivered by hand.

Apart from a young man, apparently an itinerant knife sharpener and who had turned up at the tradesman's entrance earlier that very morning, there had been no visitors here at the villa. Not that any knives needed sharpening and the man had been sent on his way almost immediately, or so the butler had been told. It was only after the young man had gone that some time later another maid had noticed the envelope, lying on the table in the hall whereupon she had brought it at once to the attention of the butler. After further enquiries it transpired that the young girl who had answered the call at the tradesman's entrance had left the young man standing on the doorstep while she went in search of the cook and that he was still standing there when both she and the the cook returned a short while later. So, on the face of it there was nothing to connect him with the mysterious appearance of the letter addressed to Tom.

Taking the envelope which Innocenti now proferred, Tom tore it open. Within there was just a single folded sheet of paper on which were two words, written in capital letters:

"FOR CHARUS"

Nothing more: neither salutation nor signature.

And with the note were two small bronze coins: bearing on the obverse the head of Victor Emmanuel III King of Italy and on the reverse what appeared to be an ear of wheat.

"What is it?" asked Sybil intrigued.

"I'm not at all sure," replied Tom looking again at the envelope and then at the note. "I'm suddenly richer to the tune of ten centesimi. Not a king's ransom to be sure". He laughed and tossed the coins in the air then caught them just as deftly in his outstretched hand which instantly reminded Matthew of Tom's skill as a bowler on the cricket field. "Some kind of practical joke I suppose".

"Well if it is, it's a decidedly odd one. Who on earth would do such a thing? Apart from the family, no-one else knows that we're staying here. May I see?" asked Sybil.

"For sure".

Tom nodded and handed the note and the two coins to Sybil.

"For Charus?" Who or what is Charus?" she asked equally as mystified as Tom had been.

It fell to Matthew to supply the answer.

"In Roman mythology Charus, or more usually Charon, was the blind ferryman who ferried the souls of the departed across the River Styx from the land of the living to the land of the dead and for performing this duty it is said that Charon demanded a fee in the form of a coin or a couple of coins".

"But that assumes someone has died and in case you hadn't noticed, I'm still very much alive!" laughed Tom.

"Indeed!" Matthew grinned.

For her part, Sybil said nothing.

"Down the years, what with some of the articles I've written, I know I've managed to upset more than a few people in my time. Even so, unless someone now wants me dead, it must be some kind of practical joke for sure," chuckled Tom retrieving the coins and dropping them without further ado into one of the pockets of his jacket.

Although neither Matthew nor Tom seemed to notice it, for Sybil suddenly it grew unaccountably cold; almost as if the sun had disappeared behind a bank of cloud. But now, as she raised her head, she saw that the sun still blazed down from out of a cloudless blue sky. A moment later and it was as hot as before. Yet for Sybil, standing on the terrace, there was no mistaking the fact that, for one brief instant it was as if somehow all the heat of the day had drained away.

Author's Note:

Run by the Christian Brothers, the St. Vincent de Paul Orphanage for Boys in Glasnevin opened in 1857 and closed in 1973.

St. Joseph's Industrial School Dublin in Artane, likewise in Dublin, also run by the Christian Brothers, opened in 1860 and closed in 1969. Boys sent here received religious instruction, a secular education and industrial training in a variety of trades. Considered a model establishment, it received visits from delegations and individuals from all around the world. However, since its closure it has been established that many of the boys were subjected to repeated widespread physical and sexual abuse.

Written in 1866, the year before Johann Strauss II composed the world famous Blue Danube Waltz, the Wiener Bonbons - Vienna Sweets - Waltz is only marginally less well known and just as delightful. It was composed for a ball held in Vienna to raise funds for the construction of German hospitals in Paris - hence its Franco-German title.

The lift was one of the amenities of the Pensione Lucchesi and advertised in its promotional literature.

Madame Badia's Casino in Cairo opened in 1926. Patronised by polite society it was quite respectable while offering a wide variety of "entertainment" including singing and dancing. The performance of its belly dancers became legendary.