Perhaps it would be a good idea to call his father today and fill him in on the details—after all, there were preparations to be made at the palazzo. A glassblower’s studio? Have you finally lost your mind? He could just imagine what the old count would have to say about that. Franco took a deep breath, as though gathering strength for the coming duel of words. This time, he swore, he wouldn’t let the old man’s barbs get to him. There would be no repetition of the whole drama with Serena. He was no longer a boy whose father could break his will. He and Marie were strong together, and together, they could face down the count. He would follow her example and dedicate himself to his work in the vineyards, just as she let nothing distract her from her glass. And he would no longer serve as his father’s errand boy. He was looking forward to the day when he would have nothing more to do with the smuggling. He had never let it show how revolting he found that part of their export trade, but it always hung over him like a dark cloud. Admittedly the cloud had thinned somewhat since Marie had come into his life; at least, it had become easier to bear. But everything would be so much better when it had vanished entirely. Oh yes, the old man would have to get used to the idea that from now on, his son had his own plans. And who knows, maybe at last his father would come to appreciate his efforts to renew the vine stock and breed new grape varieties?
Through the open door he could see Marie washing her breasts with a sponge. She dipped the sponge back into the bucket, careful not to lose a drop of water, then squeezed it out before rubbing it up and down her right leg. Wearing her nakedness like a simple, costly garment, she moved without a trace of self-consciousness. How beautiful she was, his princess!
He drew on his cigarette one last time and then stubbed it out.
From now on she would live in the lap of luxury; he would take care of that. As for his father . . . he didn’t want to think about him right now.
3
After Franco had set off for the village, Marie walked over to one of the sunbathing areas, wearing nothing but a half slip. She met Pandora and Sherlain here every morning to lie in the sun. Sometimes Ida Hoffmann or Susanna, the partner of Pandora’s New York friend Lukas Grauberg, joined them. Marie loved the hours they spent there. Ruth, who was always meeting her friends for lunch or afternoon tea, would probably have seen nothing special in such an arrangement, but for Marie it was the first time she had ever had a group of female friends. When she sat at the lamp back home, Peter, Johannes, and Magnus were always in the workshop; and as a woman doing a man’s job she felt she had to play like a man to keep up with them.
When Marie turned the corner and saw Lake Maggiore and her friends all waiting for her, she forgot her nightmare. The naked female bodies were as white as the finest china against that azure background. She was almost overwhelmed by the wish to hold the moment forever. A wave of happiness washed over her.
“So, Franco finally let you get out of bed!” Pandora said, standing up. Grunting and groaning in a most unladylike manner, she walked past Marie and spread her sheet out on the mossy grass.
“Oh no, it was quite the other way around: I let him go, albeit reluctantly!” Marie replied, grinning. She squinted and watched Pandora head toward one of the big wooden bathtubs that stood at the end of the meadow.
“You don’t seriously intend to climb into that fishpond!”
The first fallen leaves of the season were floating on the surface of the water, and hundreds of midges flew up from the tub as Pandora approached.
“Don’t I indeed! Didn’t you hear Ida’s lecture about how water can magnify the sun’s healing powers? Apart from which, I’m frightfully hot!” Pandora let the towel fall from her body and began to dance naked around the tub.
“You have to dance to the music in your heart . . .” she sang, then jumped into the tub with a raucous splash. Stagnant water dribbled down its mossy sides.
“It seems to me that there are others who can hear the music in your heart as well . . .” Susanna pointed uphill, where a group of men were practicing archery—though at the moment none of them were looking at the targets at all, for their eyes were fixed on Pandora’s breasts.
“Let them stare. Maybe they’ll be so . . . excited by what they see that there’ll be something for us to look at as well,” Pandora said, giggling. She stood up with exaggerated slowness and turned around once, then dove down into the water again. “Well, do you see anything moving?”
Marie and the others all giggled. They had already cracked a few jokes about the tiny loincloths that the archers wore.