Free In Love and War by Alex Preston

behind the counter.
    ‘Tre panini con confettura, tre caffè, per favore,’
Gerald says. He pulls out a chair from the round marble table for Fiamma and sits down himself, rocking backwards as he draws out his cigarette case. ‘Smoke?’ he asks, holding it towards Esmond. Esmond takes one and leans forward to light it as the owner brings their breakfasts.
    ‘You’re studying for the bar, aren’t you?’ Esmond says.
    ‘Rather flunked, I’m afraid. Have you seen inside a law court, Esmond? There’s always one bird looks as if he’s about to split the atom when all he’s thought about for twenty years is roast beef and gravy. A cemetery for the mind, law.’
    Later that morning they visit Goad. Gesuina sits knitting as the old man sleeps. She stands up when she sees Gerald, letting out a whimper of pleasure as they embrace. He tilts backwards and lifts her from the floor. Goad wakes, looks over at them and breaks into a smile.
    ‘You came,’ he says.
    Gerald sits by his father and they talk for some minutes in low voices. Then he turns towards them. ‘I think I’ll sit and read to the old man for a while. Listen, it’s going to be a scorcher. Why don’t we head up to L’Ombrellino for a swim later? I’ll meet you chaps up there, say, three?’
    Outside, Fiamma reaches into her clutch and draws out a pair of round, wire-framed sunglasses. Esmond takes her arm. As they walk down past the train station, past Santa Maria Novella, he can feel the heat rising from the paving stones. There are speakers mounted around the piazza and Mussolini’s voice cries out as they pass. Fiamma stops, and he watches a group of boatered schoolgirls giggle past in the mirrors of her lenses. Mussolini ends with a shout that is almost a scream. Fiamma walks on, shaking her head.
    ‘
Che
palle,
’ she says.

15
    Esmond lowers himself down between the dodos and into the water. The steps are slick beneath his feet and he moves carefully, spreading the water, deepening the blue and white stripes of his costume. The sun flings across the pool, sparking off the shadowy nooks of the cliff that climbs towards the house. He leans forward, kicks into a breaststroke and opens his eyes. He can see the mosaics on the bottom, a dolphin in turquoise tiles, mermaids, seahorses, starfish. He turns over, surfaces and looks up. Alice Keppel gazes down on him from the terrace, her hands on the parapet wall. She raises an arm.
    ‘Is it glorious?’
    ‘I’ll say,’ he agrees, swimming to the edge of the pool. He restshis elbows on the side, looking down over the city, across to where the valley funnels up into the mountains.
    Colonel Keppel is coming down from the terrace above, his hand on Fiamma’s back. She is wearing a red bathing costume with a belt of gold rings. She dives into the pool and swims to join Esmond, her hair fanning out behind her. Colonel Keppel sits on the steps at the other end, his barrel chest inside a black costume of coarse wool, his face reddening in the sun.
    ‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’ Fiamma says, kicking her legs. ‘The only place on a day like this. I hope Gerald comes soon.’
    They swim for half an hour and then sit in the shadow of the camphor tree by the pool. The butler brings drinks – Negronis, tomato juice, lemonade – and the sun begins to lose some fierceness. Mrs Keppel sits on one of the white iron chairs beside the pool. The city’s bells are tolling four when finally Gerald arrives, his hair damp with sweat, his boating jacket swung over his shoulder and large dark patches at the armpits of his shirt.
    ‘Darling Gerald,’ Mrs Keppel says, ‘we’ve been waiting for you. You didn’t walk up, did you?’
    He smiles bashfully at Esmond and Fiamma and then at Mrs Keppel.
    ‘I wanted it to be just like the old days.’
    ‘Every afternoon, all summer long,’ Mrs Keppel sings.
    ‘I remember running up that hill as if it wasn’t there.
Eheu fugaces labuntur anni,
eh?’
    Mrs Keppel gives