Free Roman Summer by Jane Arbor Page B

Cicely, his precarious hold on the narrow slice of seat necessitating his putting his arm round her waist.
    They all concentrated on the arena, where the horses were being manoeuvred into position for the start. In that confined space it hadn’t the slightest chance of being a fair start, but once a ragged line-up was achieved, the signal for the Off was given to a deafening roar from the crowd. The race was a short mad rush. The winner, named Leo, which had led all the way, had been Cicely ’s choice, and as soon as they could edge through the crowds, she and Jeremy went off to collect her winnings.
    Watching them go, Erle commented drily, ‘Do you really believe that story of single-minded dedication to his art? I’m afraid I don’t.’
    Ruth laughed. ‘You think he really came to see Cicely ?’
    ‘Well, don’t you?’ Erle countered. ‘And what do you bet we don’t see much more of them until they turn up for dinner?’
    Nor did they, until Cicely and Jeremy reappeared for a meal for which no one had changed from day clothes, as the ‘done thing’ for the evening was to tour the town on foot to see the various street parties which each district laid on for its particular competing jockey. After dinner Cicely and Jeremy again went off on their own and Erle and Ruth joined a party of the hotel guests for an evening on the town which culminated in the ward which had won the banner and where the winning horse as well as his rider were being feted at a long supper-table in the main street; the banner being displayed at the head of the table and the whole scene lighted by flares and lanterns hung from the buildings.
    Afterwards Erle and Ruth strolled back towards their hotel across the Piazza del Campo, comparatively deserted now that most of the inhabitants were scattered to their own district’s junketings. Erle halted suddenly, pointing to the dominating tower of the Palazzo Publico, one of the main buildings on the square.
    ‘What about taking a bird’s-eye-view?’ he suggested.
    ‘From the tower? Will it still be open?’ qu eri e d Ruth.
    ‘Tonight, I should think so.’
    They went toilfully up the stairs and emerged on to the top platform where, for the first time that day, they found themselves alone in a public place. Ruth had expected that others would have had the same idea—of viewing the lighted town from far above its streets. She hadn’t thought to be isolated there with Erle , too vividly aware of his physical nearness, while in everything else he was as remote from her as a far star.
    They moved to the parapet and stood, elbow to elbow, looking down at the lighted island that was the town. The streets were narrow canyons, beaded along their length by the light of lamp-standards; the noise of the revelry, though muted by the distance, could still be heard.
    ‘There are going to be some thick heads in the morning,’ Erle commented.
    ‘Yes. I hope Jeremy Slade doesn’t keep Cicely out too late.’
    Erle said, ‘I shouldn’t worry. He seems a fairly responsible youth. But what happens to your theory now that Cicely has an incurable crush on me? I must say she greeted the boy as if he were manna from heaven.’
    ‘Oh, she can be charming enough when she pleases; she was, with Zeppo Sforza until she dropped him.’ Privately Ruth thought Cicely had been using Jeremy as a foil—showing Erle that someone appreciated her, if he didn’t in the way she wanted.
    He said next, ‘I wonder you haven’t been to Siena before. Did you have to wait for me to bring you?’
    ‘I haven’t been about very much at all since I’ve been a widow,’ Ruth said.
    ‘That’s a mistake. Life has to go on. And friends, travel, the odd party now and then ought to help.’
    ‘Except that a widow makes uneven numbers at parties, and anywhere she goes alone men tend to see her as fair game.’
    ‘Oh, come! You can’t blame an unattached man for chancing his arm with an attractive widow.’
    ‘Except,’ said