Chapter Fifty Two
All I Ask Of You
Pensione Lucchesi, Florence, August 1932.
"And so, my very own darling, I think Tom very much had the right of it".
"Tom? How so?"
"With what he said to Sybil".
"To Sybil?" she echoed.
"Yes, darling, to Sybil. When he said that all the rest was detail. Whether my family approves or not, doesn't matter at all".
Now, hearing Friedrich repeat Tom's words, remembering back, Edith smiled down at him.
"Yes, indeed. But your family means a very great deal to ..."
"They are not as important to me as you are my darling".
"Friedrich, are you really sure? You know what it will mean if..."
"Of course!" His eyes sparkling, he smiled up at her.
"Well then ..."
"So, with all of this in mind, for the sake of this little one", Friedrich placed his right hand on the gentle swell of her belly, "for Max, and for us, all I ask of you is will you?" He continued to gaze up at her, waiting for Edith's answer as if his very life depended upon it.
"Of course I will! Yes!"
"Thank you!" Friedrich breathed an audible sigh of relief.
"What is it, Mama?"
Totally unexpectedly, a witness to something which he did not yet fully comprehend, young Max had appeared in the doorway of his bedroom in his pyjamas with Fritz held fast in his arms. "Why are you crying? Has Papa upset you?"
In a moment Edith had swiftly crossed the short space that separated them and, much as Friedrich had done before her but a short while earlier, she knelt in front of her young son.
"No, my darling! No!" She shook her head vehemently.
"Then ... then why are you crying? Have I upset you?"
"No, darling, no, of course not. When someone cries it doesn't always mean that they are sad or upset".
"Oh!" Max's eyes grew round as saucers. This was something new and startling which took a moment for him to digest. Something which, among all the perceived wisdom which Danny and Rob had so freely imparted to him over the last few days, they hadn't told him; that grown ups cried for other reasons than being sad or upset.
Sensing his confusion, Edith placed her hands firmly on Max's hunched shoulders and looked directly at him.
"Papa has asked me to marry him. Here, in Florence".
"And are you going to marry Papa?"
"Yes, my darling, I am".
"And is that why you're crying, Mama?"
"Yes'.
"That's silly!"
"Yes, I suppose it is!'
"So if you marry Papa, does that mean I won't be a bastard anymore?" asked Max quietly. Edith was appalled; shocked beyond measure, she found herself powerless to contain the horrified gasp that she now exhaled and for a moment it was as if the word bastard hung between them in the air.
"Whoever told you that? Danny? Robert? Which of them?" His mother's grip on his shoulders tightened.
"Mama! Please! You're hurting me!" Suddenly realising what might happen if she persisted in what she was doing, Edith immediately lessened her grip.
"My darling, I'm sorry ... I ..."
"No, Mama!" Marx's denial came promptly and vehemently. "Danny and Rob ... They're not like that!" he exclaimed, bursting into tears.
Sensing how hurt Max was, by what he had been told and by her own unfounded suspicions about Danny and Robert, Edith hugged her son to her in a gentle yet tight embrace.
"Who then?" she persisted now more calmly. "Who said so?"
"Heinrich and Josef, when they came to stay with us, at Rosenberg, last summer," sobbed Max. Edith nodded her head in understanding. Heinrich and Josef von Waldburg were the two young sons of a fellow pilot with whom Friedrich had served during the Great War. So that explained it. Why it was that, after the two boys and their parents had left, Max had been so quiet that day out on the terrace at Rosenberg. At the time, Edith had assumed that it was nothing more than the fact that Max found himself once more being left to his own devices.
"Well it's a very horrible thing for them to have said".
"I don't mind," said Max flatly, stroking Fritz's head between a diminishing series of sniffs and sobs.
"Don't mind what, darling?"
"Being a bastard," Max said dismissively. Now, having regained his composure, he smiled. "Anyway, Danny says it doesn't matter at all. He says it doesn't make me any less his cousin or Rob's. And Uncle Tom says it doesn't matter for sure".
Edith smiled on hearing Max make use one of her Irish brother-in-law's favourite phrases.
"Uncle Tom?"
"Yes, Mama. He said that you and Papa love me, that you love each other and that's all that matters".
Edith shot a glance Friedrich; saw that he too was smiling and nodding his head in agreement. And, yet again, she found herself breathing a silent prayer that Tom Branson was her brother-in-law.
For, as in so many things, it seemed that Tom indeed had the right of it.
Villa San Callisto, Fiesole, August 1932.
Here in the Fiesole Hills overlooking the city of Florence, in the heat of an August morning, beneath a cloudless blue sky, the noise of leather striking willow was clearly audible, as was equally the excited shout of "Howzat!" from young Robert Crawley that followed it.
"And now there'll be hell to pay!" exclaimed Tom with a chuckle as, in the still, warm air, the sounds of the impromptu cricket match now being played down in the lower garden here at the Villa San Callisto drifted languorously up to those seated on the terrace above.
"How so?" asked Matthew.
"Rob's just caught Saiorse out!"
And sure enough from the garden below Saiorse could be heard venting her annoyance on the luckless Robert.
"You did that on purpose! I hate you, I really do!"
"Sis! Don't be like that! Rob only did what he's supposed to do, for sure. After all, yous on the other side".
"And is that supposed to make me feel any better? Danny, yous a feckin traitor! Siding with the English!"
"Saiorse! Language!" This from Sybil.
Watching from the terrace, Tom saw his furious daughter shoot her mother a mutinous look, angrily fling down the cricket bat, and then stalk off the improvised pitch to sit, glowering in anger, beside Max and his grandmother.
It was now just over a fortnight since Mary's accident and with her well on the way to making a complete recovery and with Friedrich and Edith having announced to the family that with Edith now expecting another child they intended marrying here in Florence, a long distance telephone call to Cora in the United States had resulted in a passage being booked for the Dowager Countess of Grantham on board the S.S. Conte Biancamano sailing from New York bound for Genoa.
For as Cora said, her place was where she was needed most.
As for her own mother, who had been reported to be almost at death's door, Martha had staged a remarkable rally and was no longer considered to be in danger of imminent demise, if indeed that had ever been the case. Added to which, having realised that as far as her own brother, Harold, was concerned what mattered most to him was the delivery of his next case of Bourbon, the Dowager Countess desperately needed cheering up. So, a more or less spur-of-the-moment decision to undertake a voyage from the United States to Italy for Edith's wedding was just what she needed; let alone the delightful prospect of meeting with both Edith's fiancé and the young Austrian grandson she had never even known existed.
Needless to say, following Cora's arrival, once she was settled in, mother and daughter spent several hours sitting chatting or else walking in the grounds of the villa catching up on all of Edith's news. To be frank, having kept their existence a secret for so long, on the very morning that the S.S. Conte Biancamano docked in Genoa, a surprisingly nervous Edith confided in both Mary and Sybil that she was more than a little concerned about introducing first Friedrich and then Max to their mother.
Not that Edith need have worried.
Within an hour or so of first meeting him, Cora had pronounced herself more than well satisfied with Friedrich as her future son-in-law and, despite Max's less than perfect English, was obviously absolutely delighted with her new grandson; as well as the prospect of two further grandchildren with both Edith and Sybil having announced to her their respective happy news. As to the exceedingly delicate question of tackling her mother over the possibility that knowingly or unwittingly Cora had passed on haemophilia to her second daughter and thence to darling Max, at least for the time being, Edith decided that the matter should be put to one side. Although, for the peace of mind of both Mary and Sybil, Edith knew the question could not be shelved indefinitely; sooner or later, it would have to be asked and the sooner the better for all concerned.
Over the last fortnight or so, while Mary recovered, the family had been more or less sequestered at the villa. Not that the children were in any way bored with all the opportunities the house and grounds afforded them for exploration and for all manner of fun and games while the adults enjoyed the rest and tranquility the villa afforded them all; including Friedrich, Edith and Max who, before Cora's arrival, and not without some trepidation on the part of Edith on account of her son, had moved into the villa from the pensione down in Florence.
Only once had the shadow of the past intruded when, in answer to Tom's telephone call to the offices of the Independent in distant Dublin, Padraig had replied by letter to say that all his subsequent enquiries as to the whereabouts of Mr. Fergal Branson, late of Skerries, County Cork, had proved fruitless. Both of the man's adoptive parents were now dead and discrete enquiries of other living family members had led nowhere. Only at the former offices of Messrs. Fitzmaurice, Fitzmaurice and Simmonds, Commissioners for Oaths on Patrick Street, in Cork, now long since taken over by another firm, was there a glimmer of hope. An elderly clerk who probably said rather more than he should have, seemed to recall the name; believed the young man in question had married and gone to live abroad. No, not to the United States but to somewhere closer at hand. Possibly the Netherlands. However, he could be of no further assistance, explaining that when the affairs of the previous firm had been taken over, there had been a general sorting out of papers considered no longer worthy of retention and those that were deemed to be so had been disposed of altogether.
It was as if Fergal Branson had ceased to exist.
And, so there the matter rested.
Well, almost.
Outside The English Church, Via Maggio, Florence, August 1932.
Naturally, once he had agreed to marry them, certain arrangements still had to be made with the chaplain of the English Church on the Via Maggio, among which was the calling of the banns for Edith and Friedrich's forthcoming marriage. So, with Max wanting to spend all his time playing with his cousins, and with Friedrich having offered to stay behind and see that things did not get out of hand, having been asked by Edith if he would mind doing so, Tom had driven her down into Florence.
A short while later, having both negotiated the traffic in the city and found the Via Maggio, Tom drew the motor to a stop. Having told Edith to take as long as she needed, he said he would occupy himself wandering up and down the street looking at the architecture.
"Darling, I may be some time.
"No matter, for sure. I've got my Baedeker".
"Well, if you're quite sure".
"Of course".
Edith kissed Tom lightly on the cheek, crossed the road and disappeared inside the church.
Given the fact that it was very hot, in fact just after midday, unsurprisingly there was nobody else about and Tom found he had the Via Maggio all to himself. So, for about an hour or so, he sauntered up and down, looking at the buildings on either side of the empty street. Nothing out of the ordinary occurred until, on his return, just as he reached the door to the church, he found himself pausing as the sensation - familiar to all those who are susceptible to it - now washed over him; that he was being watched.
Tom knew very well that such a feeling could be dispelled quite easily by the simple expedient of turning round. So, he did just that but on this occasion the sense that he was not alone persisted. As he looked slowly about him, he could see that the narrow street was still deserted, its pavements empty, the shops closed and the windows overlooking it in the immediate vicinity shuttered fast. What was even more unsettling was the unshakeable belief that the invisible watcher, whoever he was, did not have his best interests at heart. How Tom could know that, afterwards, when he mentioned the matter to Sybil, he found he could not say. But know it Tom did; just as surely as he could see the waters of the Arno flowing swiftly close at hand beneath the arches of the Santa Trinita Bridge.
"Ah, Tom, darling! There you are!"
Edith waved happily to him from the other side of the street.
Immediately, the feeling that he was being watched vanished as if it had never been.
Normality had returned.
Villa San Callisto, Fiesole, August 1932.
"Do you know?" asked Mary dreamily.
"Do I know what?" asked Matthew, now laying aside his newspaper. Shielding his eyes from the intense glare of the morning sun, he looked directly over at his beautiful, dark haired wife and smiled. Out on the stone-flagged terrace, in the warmth of the Tuscan sunshine, beneath a shady parasol, Mary was reclining, comfortably at her ease, on a wicker chaise longue. Thank God! she was now so much better, thought Matthew; almost back to her old self. Given what might have been … Inwardly he shuddered. No! He didn't even want to think about it.
"That I rather think I could get used to this!" Mary laughed.
Looking about him at the exterior of the villa, the roof of sun baked terracotta tiles, the honey coloured walls, the shuttered windows, and the immaculate terraced gardens studied with their trees, fountains and statuary, sensing his sister-in-law's mood, Tom nodded his head and smiled.
"A house to dream of,
And a garden to dream in!"
He laughed.
"Why Mr. Branson. How poetic of you!"
"Yes, I rather suppose it was!"
Cat like, Mary stretched languidly. "Oh, yes! Most definitely! Tom, darling, would you be ever such a dear, and pour me out another cup of tea?"
Tom grinned, his blue eyes sparkling; alive with delight and mischief.
"You bloody aristocrats! You're all one and the same for sure. Waited on hand and foot by flunkies there to serve your every need! Just you wait!" Nonetheless, Tom winked broadly at Mary and then proceeded to do just as he had been asked, while all the while softly humming the clearly audible strains of the Marseillaise.
"Tom! Stop it! Why, you're absolutely incorrigible!" laughed Edith. "Mary's perfectly entitled to be waited on; she's not been well; the poor dear!"
Since Mary's accident, with Friedrich on hand to keep a watchful eye on Max as he spent hours playing in the company of his cousins, Edith had spent a great deal of time sitting with her elder sister.
"Less of the poor. If you don't mind!" laughed Mary.
"Very well then! And how are you feeling this morning?"
"Me?"
"Yes, you".
"Fit as a fiddle. Well, almost. No, I'm fine".
"Really?"
"Yes, really. Thank you for asking".
"No more head aches then?"
"The odd one or two. But Dr. Vincenti said that was only to be expected. He's coming to see me later today. Sometime this afternoon, I think he said. And, that reminds me, Tom Branson, I've a bone to pick with you".
"Oh? And what would that be about, for sure?"
"Something you said to Matthew, about my having a very thick skull?" Mary smiled happily at her Irish brother-in-law.
Tom gulped. Now he was for it.
"Oh, that," he said dismissively.
"Yes, that! Apparently you told Matthew the fact that I had one came as no surprise to you!"
Tom chuckled.
"Yes, well, I may have said something like that! Anyway, I'm very glad that you do. After all, it saved the day for sure".
"No more than I am myself!"
"Mary, darling, you know, I can never thank you enough … for what you did for Max. If you hadn't been there to…" began Edith.
"Hush now! It's all in the past. And talking of little Max, how is he?"
"He seems perfectly all right although after it happened, he said he had some aching in his left elbow and knee. Fortunately, that now seems to have passed. It's odd but that's often the way of it".
"What do you mean?" asked Matthew.
"Well as you've all seen, when he's fit and well, then he's just like any other little boy of his age. I know you all think I fuss too much, even Friedrich says the same but when Max then suffers a bleed ... And the seemingly most inconsequential blow or strain can be the start of it. Like yesterday, when he twisted his ankle down there on the lawn, running after Danny. I just pray that nothing comes of that!"
"And you; what about you?"
"The same as you. I'm fine!" Edith laughed.
"And you're quite sure … that it's another boy?"
As with Tom and Sybil's earlier announcement, once Mary was well on the road to making a full recovery, when Edith and Friedrich had imparted their own happy news, everyone in the family had been absolutely delighted; none more so than young Max who was thoroughly excited at the prospect of becoming a big brother. Not that, if he was honest, he quite understood what it was Danny and Robert had told him as to how it was babies came into being in the first place.
"Well, I can't be a hundred percent certain of course but, yes, I think so. Although …"
"Although what?"
"I do so wish I had Friedrich's absolute certainty that this little one, he or she, will be born free from…" Edith sighed. Mary saw her gaze down towards the lower garden where, along with Cora and now Saiorse, young Max was seated on a shady bench keeping score while the other children were still engaged in playing their spirited game of cricket, supervised by both Friedrich and Sybil.
"Yes, of course. I do so understand". Mary patted Edith's wrist comfortingly.
"Still, there's nothing that can be done about that now. So, all we can do is hope that everything will be fine".
"Of course it will, for sure!" Tom smiled.
"Oh, yes! Cracking shot! Well played down there! Well done Simon!" Matthew clapped his hands approvingly.
Mary sighed.
Honestly, what was it about Englishmen and a game of cricket? Mind you, these days, Robert, Danny and Tom were all equally just as bad, especially now that each year when the Bransons came to stay at Downton in the summer, their visit seemed to coincide with the annual House v. Village cricket match and with, invariably, Tom being asked to captain the village side. Tom said the timing was purely coincidental; Sybil wasn't at all sure that it was.
"Tom, darling, do you really think Sybil should be playing?" asked Edith solicitously. "What I mean is, in her condition? And in this heat?"
"Well, it's hardly as if she's playing at Lords now is it for sure? Besides which, the baby isn't due for months. Anyway, you know Sybil. Tell her not to do something and like as not she'll see that as a provocation and do it anyway! Do you think Friedrich understands any of it?" Tom grinned.
"I very much doubt it. Cricket isn't played in Austria. In any case, Friedrich's only playing because he let Max talk him into it. Mind you, I'm much happier now that Max is sitting down there with Mama and Saiorse in the shade and doing the scoring. It was an excellent idea of Matthew's that, to let him try and hit a few slow balls from Danny and Robert before things got under way. I know Max wants to join in with everything those two do and I can understand why. When he's well, it's so easy for Max to forget but he really does have to take very great care of himself. What happened down there on the steps… Friedrich and I we live with the fear of something like that happening every day of our lives. Whether it will become any easier, as Max grows older, if he …" She fell silent.
"Yes, I know". Tom smiled and then squeezed her hand he hoped reassuringly. From what Sybil had told him boys like Max, who were born suffering from haemophilia, were very lucky if they survived into their twenties.
"Tom, old chap, what time are you all setting out?" asked Matthew brightly.
"After lunch. Innocenti said the motor should be here by midday. Then a quick spin up into the hills with Sybil and the children and back here in time for afternoon tea".
"Any idea what the motor will be?"
"I'm not entirely sure. A saloon obviously. So, I expect it will be some kind of Fiat. Good motors".
"So I've heard". Matthew now lowered his voice. "Mind you, if it were me, I wouldn't mind getting behind the wheel of the Alfa Romeo that Minoia was driving last year when he won the European Championship. He smiled. "It was such a shame about Zborowski. I really would like to have met him. You know, one of these days you and I will have to pay a visit to the 24 at Le Mans". He winked conspiratorially at Tom.
"For sure. But what with running the estate, how could you ever spare the time to get away?"
"I'd make the time! What about you?"
"Well, while being Deputy Editor of the Indy does bring with it many responsibilities, it also means that if I want to I can … How shall I put it?"
"Absent yourself?"
"My friend, I couldn't have put it better myself, for sure!" Tom grinned broadly.
"So will you?"
"For sure! Why not? Life's too short. Well talk about it later! When … you know …" All but imperceptibly, Tom nodded towards Mary and Edith who were still deep in conversation. Or, so he thought.
"For sure!" Matthew laughed.
"What was that you just said?" asked Mary now sitting bolt upright on the chaise longue.
Obviously flustered Matthew pointed hastily to the tree in the terracotta pot beside him.
"Nothing dear. I was just saying to Tom that this … this is a lemon tree".
"Darling, I may have hit my head but Dr. Vincenti made no mention about my brains being addled or my hearing being impaired. And, I warn you now if you and Tom disappear off to Le Mans without my permission, it will be grounds for divorce!"
"Did you say … Le Mans?" asked Matthew nervously.
"Indeed I did. It's the name of a racing circuit, is it not? In France; where they hold the 24 hours race? Or so I am given to understand. Did you know they've been racing there annually every year, since May 1923?"
"Really? No, I didn't know that," said Matthew airily and now doing his very best to feign an air of complete and utter indifference. "Did you know that, Tom?"
"No, I didn't. Well, I never. Crikey, you learn something new every day, for sure!" exclaimed Tom doing his best to sound surprised.
"Have you two ever considered a career on the stage?" asked Mary drily.
"On the stage?" echoed Tom.
"We could be a double act! Just like Laurel and Hardy! Crawley and Branson!" Matthew chuckled.
"Or Branson and Crawley! Well, here's another nice mess you've gotten me into!" mimicked Tom.
"Honestly! The pair of you! You're both as bad as each other. As for becoming a double act, in case you haven't yet realised it, you already are! And, there's something else you two should know as well," continued Mary breezily.
"Which is … what?" asked Matthew somewhat nervously.
"That my grounds for divorce also include any surreptitious visits paid by the two of you to Reims Gueux, Spa or Monza!"
"Reims Gueux, Spa or Monza," repeated Matthew weakly.
"Yes, that's right. Where they held the meetings of the European Drivers' Championship last year? Matthew, I assumed that you, of all people, would have known that," said Mary flatly.
"Yes, well…"
"No yes well about it. That's where the races were held. As well you know! Both of you!"
For someone who they had thought was only interested in horse riding, Mary seemed remarkably knowledgeable regarding the names of all the European motor racing circuits. Matthew and Tom exchanged equally horrified glances.
"I didn't know you were so well informed … about motor racing," said Tom, nonetheless clearly impressed with Mary's unexpected store of knowledge.
"Tom, darling, I've made it my business to be!" Mary laughed merrily. Then she grew serious. "Now, enough of all this tomfoolery! Edith and I have something important to discuss. So run along you two and show Friedrich and Sybil how cricket should be played. Go on, off with the pair of you!"
The two men smiled and rose slowly to their feet. Then, both sporting Panamas, in just their waistcoats and with their shirt sleeves rolled up, Tom and Matthew set off companionably together along the terrace.
"Oh, and by the way..." called Mary, just as they reached the top of the steps. "For the record, you two, did you know that Minoia won the European Drivers' Championship without actually winning a single race? He won it on the number of points he had amassed over all three races".
"For sure!" exclaimed Tom. Then he saw Matthew grin. "What?" he asked quizzically.
"Two can play at that game!" Matthew said softly. "And I suppose, darling, you also know where he finished in each race?"
"From what I recall, fourth at Monza, third at Reims and fifth at Spa," retorted Mary swiftly. At which point she saw both Matthew and Tom exchange stunned glances before, with Tom clapping Matthew companionably about the shoulders, presumably by way of reassurance, continuing on down the steps which led to the lower garden below.
"And, just how on earth do you know all of that?" asked Edith, who, like Tom had been a few minutes earlier, was obviously equally very impressed by her elder sister's unexpected store of knowledge on matters appertaining to motor racing.
"Oh, I don't! I made the numbers up!" laughed Mary. "Honestly those two! They're just like brothers and thick as thieves the pair of them".
"I take it you weren't being serious then".
"About what?"
"Grounds for divorce".
"Oh, that! Good Lord, no! Of course not!" Mary laughed. "Darling, to tell you the truth, before I had my accident, I'd had it in mind to say something to Tom, about the two of them going over to Le Mans next year. Perhaps take Daniel and Robert along too. From what Sybil says Daniel is just as mad about motors as his father and Robert's not far behind him either. I'm sure the boys would just love it".
"And, just which of the boys did you have in mind?"
Mary laughed.
"Touché! Yes, quite! Do you remember that evening a couple of years ago? Papa was still alive when … No, of course, you wouldn't. You were abroad at the time. Well, it really was the funniest thing …"
"What was?"
"Well, what happened was that …
Downton Abbey Estate, Yorkshire, England, July 1929.
To one and all here on the Downton Abbey estate, that they were inseparable was well known; not only first cousins but, like their fathers, the best of friends. And whenever the Bransons came to stay at Downton Abbey, Danny Branson and Robert Crawley invariably shared a bedroom; thereafter spending the long summer days roaming about the estate together, wandering into the barns and stables of Home Farm, helping the gardeners in both the walled garden and in the hothouses. Sharing a fascination for all things mechanical the two boys could also be found each year, much to Robert's mother's chagrin, helping out with the harvest, coming home happy as sand boys, tired, hot and dirty, begrimed with soot and oil from the traction engine being used to power the pulsating, rattling threshing machine.
This year, one evening after dinner was over, and it was time for bed, neither of the two boys could be found anywhere in the house; nor, indeed, could Tom. And, it was this fact, along with something which he had said to her earlier in the day which, and before a general search of the house and grounds began, suggested to Sybil where the errant trio might now be found. A short walk down to the old garage, with Matthew and Mary in attendance, proved the truthfulness of Sybil's suspicions.
Here in the gathering dusk in front of the garage they saw several lighted hurricane lanterns had been placed on the ground; at the same time were greeted by the sound of voices and the amusing sight of three pairs of feet, one large and two small, surrounded by a selection of neatly ordered tools, protruding out from beneath the elderly Renault. Sybil smiled. Tom was nothing if not methodical.
These days, the elderly Renault which, while it undoubtedly held exceedingly fond memories for both Tom and Sybil, was now only used on short journeys to take members of staff to neighbouring houses, down to the station to collect the luggage of house guests and so forth.
Matthew, Mary and Sybil listened silently, amused, while, singularly unaware that they were there, Tom explained in some detail to the two boys what it was he was repairing and why. A moment later and something metallic clattered harshly onto the cobbles beneath the motor, which in turn was followed quickly by an Irish expletive mouthed and then smothered by Tom.
"Now, don't either of yous go repeating that word. Not unless yous want Ma or your Mama to skin me alive!" he hissed.
"We won't Da! We won't Uncle Tom! Promise!" earnestly chorused the two boys.
"Well, that's all right then for sure". They heard Tom breathe a distinctly audible sigh of relief.
"Actually, Branson, no, it isn't," said Sybil leaning down, at the same time rapping smartly on the bonnet of the motor.
"No, indeed it isn't, Branson," echoed Mary, who in spite of herself was desperately trying to keep a straight face, while Matthew failed miserably in trying to suppress a laugh.
On hearing his wife's voice then that of his sister-in-law, followed by Danny and then by young Robert, Tom slid out from beneath the motor, blushing red, grinning self-consciously in the lamplight, the faces and hands of one and all liberally smeared with both grease and engine oil.
"We've been fixing the... er... Renault". Wiping his hands on an already soiled piece of cotton, his eyes sparkling, tossing the scrap of rag to the two boys and nodding for them to do likewise, Tom grinned broadly.
"So we heard. Honestly, Tom! Just look at the state of you all!" exclaimed Sybil.
"I think you two boys have some explaining to do. Worrying both your mothers like that," chided Matthew gently.
"And you owe Nanny Bridges an apology too," added Mary.
"Come on now, you two. Back to the house; then straight upstairs, and into the bath the pair of you! Yes, yes, you can tell me all about what you and Uncle Tom have been doing but on the way". Smiling, Matthew placed his arms gently about the boys' shoulders and, followed by Mary, shepherded the two excited, talkative youngsters up the path which led back to the abbey.
Villa San Callisto, Fiesole, August 1932.
"Honestly!" Edith laughed. "That sounds so like Tom. Mind you, darling, Friedrich and Max are just as bad when it comes to anything to do with aeroplanes. And even though I fly, it's solely as a means to an end. While out of necessity I've learnt something of how they work, after all in some of the places I've flown to if something goes wrong finding someone who knows all about them as does Friedrich, is very unlikely to say the least, I'm not at all interested in the different types. A bit like with motors really. I'm very glad Tom taught me how to drive, know a little about what to do if something goes wrong …"
"That's more than I do darling…"
"Have you never wanted to learn how to drive?"
Mary shook her head
"Darling, can you honestly see me driving a motor, grubbing about under the boot …"
"I think you mean under the bonnet".
"Bonnet, boot … whatever. If you don't mind me saying so, I leave things like that to the chauffeur".
Smiling, Edith shook her head. It seemed that some things never changed.
"What about Matthew?"
"Well, darling, all those years ago, Tom may have taught him how to drive but Matthew still hasn't a clue when it comes to how they work except of course where the pedal is that makes it go".
"Accelerator".
"Yes, that's it. I'm absolutely certain that Robert knows more about motors than Matthew does. That apart, he's been working incredibly hard lately. So, I thought next year, if Matthew and Tom … Call it an early birthday present. And, if Tom goes along with him to Le Mans, then it will be company for him. What's more I know I can trust Tom to keep Matthew in check and not let him do anything foolish; the more so with Daniel and Robert in tow. Now, enough of all this, what was it you wanted to ask me?"
"Back at Calais, do you remember I asked you, if anything were to happen to either Friedrich or myself, you'd look after Max?"
"Yes , darling, I do. And I will. But nothing is going to happen. Trust me".
"Well then, what I wanted to ask you is will you do the same for ..." Edith placed her hand protectively across her belly.
"Of course darling".
"And there's something else too, rather more immediate".
"Which is?"
"Would you be my Matron of Honour?"
"Darling, I'd be delighted".
Villa San Callisto, later that same day.
"So, we'll see you all back here later this afternoon then. Well, enjoy yourselves! And mind you drive carefully, Tom". Matthew laughed. With his arm around Mary, together with their three children, along with Friedrich, Edith and Max, they were all now gathered together in front of the villa to see the Bransons depart on their trip up into the hills.
"Honestly, Matthew. Coming from you, that's a bit rich!" Mary laughed.
Tom chuckled.
"Thanks for the advice, Matthew, for sure!"
"Have fun!" enjoined Edith standing in the bright sunlight with Friedrich's arms around her waist and with her own hands resting gently on Max's shoulders.
A moment later, and with Sybil seated beside him, their three children and Cora sitting on the back seat, Tom depressed the clutch, released the handbrake and the powerful Fiat moved off sedately along the graveled drive towards the gates leading down to the villa. In the warmth of the summer's afternoon, the family stood waving their cheerful goodbyes until the Fiat disappeared out of sight, the gates were closed behind it, and they themselves dispersed inside the house.
A matter of minutes after the motor containing the Bransons turned out of the drive and onto the winding road leading up into the hills, another Fiat, with two men inside, exited a grove of trees and set off slowly in the same direction.
For some of them, there would be no return.
Author's Note:
The solicitors Fitzmaurice, Fitzmaurice and Simmonds appear in both "Home Is Where The Heart Is and "Reunion".
"Calling of the banns" - required in the Church of England - involving giving prior notification of a wedding so that anyone who has a genuine reason for doing so, may object to it taking place.
Ferdinando Minoia (1884-1940) was an Italian racing driver with a very long and distinguished career.
Count Louis Vorow Zborowski (1895-1924) was an English racing driver and motor car designer. Sadly, he was killed in a crash at Monza in October 1924 during the Italian Grand Prix.
In 1931, Minoia did indeed win the European Drivers' Championship without winning a single race; coming second at Monza, sixth at Reims and joint third at Spa. So, while Mary might have made the numbers up, she wasn't that far out.