The Baby Gambit

Grace left the balcony with some reluctance. The insects didn’t bother her, and the night air was soft and seductive. She could smell the night-blooming flowers from the garden below, and somewhere close at hand a violin was playing. She could also hear the sound of laughter and the muted murmur of voices from a party someone was giving further down the street. For the first time in ages, she found herself wishing she was going out this evening. There was something about the atmosphere here, a sense of hedonism and sensuality, that was hard to ignore.

‘I think I’ll go to bed,’ said Julia as Grace entered the living room. She finished the wine in her glass and set it down on the counter in the kitchen with an audible clunk. Grace was surprised the stern didn’t break at such uncaring treatment, but it was evidently stronger than it looked. ‘You don’t mind, do you? I was fairly late last night.’

Grace shook her head. ‘Of course not,’ she said, feeling mean for even wishing Julia could change her mind. It wasn’t her friend’s fault that she’d chosen to spend the whole day in the apartment. She’d reputedly come here to have a rest. She had a good book to entertain her. Perhaps she should have an early night, too.

But, although she’d intended to use the bathroom as soon as Julia was finished, the water stopped running, Julia’s door opened and closed, and still Grace lingered in her chair. She was restless—a feeling that was unfamiliar to her, but clearly identifiable. She needed something, anything; the trouble was, she didn’t know what.

Getting up, she paced about the living room, stepping out onto the balcony, and resting her bare arms on the wrought-iron balustrade. Breathing deeply, she tried to calm the agitation inside her, but all she succeeded in doing was filling her lungs with the sensuous perfume of the flowers. Perhaps there was something in their scent, she mused wryly, but she couldn’t ever remember reading that jasmine or honeysuckle, or even the exotic oleander that grew in scarlet clusters round the crumbling fountain, possessed narcotic properties.

Perhaps she should go for a walk, she considered. It wasn’t late, only nine o’clock, and there were still plenty of people about. If she walked down to the harbour, she could always get a taxi back.

The idea took root and flourished. Why not? she asked herself again. She wasn’t the nervous type, and she had few fears for her own safety. She would have preferred to go with Julia, but in her absence she could go alone.

Straightening, she glanced down at what she was wearing. The slip dress with its pattern of orange lilies on a purple background was perfectly suitable for what she had planned, but she took a thin silk shawl to cover her shoulders, just in case it was cool down at the quayside. Then, after checking that the French braid she had fastened earlier was still in place, she left the apartment before she could change her mind.

The thick heels of her sandals clattered on the marble stairs as she descended, but she doubted anyone would hear her. It appeared as if Julia’s was the only apartment not hosting a social gathering of one sort or another that evening, and the mingled aromas of wine and pasta made Grace’s mouth water.

It seemed hours since she and Julia had eaten the cheese and salad that Grace had rustled up after her friend got home. Julia had come in, kicked off her shoes, and sprawled on the sofa with a magazine, and despite her assertion that she didn’t expect Grace to cook for her so far she had made no overtures in that direction herself.

Grace had thought Julia might bring something in with her. She’d told her friend she didn’t intend to go out today, but her words had evidently fallen on stony ground. In consequence, Grace had had to improvise, and although the meal had been tasty she now felt she knew where she stood. In future, she’d make sure they had plenty of food in the fridge.

Perhaps she’d treat herself to a gooey dessert, she reflected now as the caretaker, who never seemed to miss her comings and goings, emerged from his apartment as she reached the ground floor. Italians traditionally ate later than she was used to, and she wasn’t worried that the cafés might be closed.

The caretaker frowned when he saw she was alone. ‘Signorina Calloway?’ he said, glancing meaningfully up the stairs, and Grace heaved a sigh before miming that she was going out alone.

‘Ah, no, signorina.’

The caretaker shook his head, his hands fluttering as he endeavoured to explain what he wanted to say. But his accent was thick enough to cut, and Grace could only guess what he meant.

‘I’ll be fine,’ she said, making a calming gesture, but the old man was not prepared to let her go without a fight.

He said something else, and Grace identified the word ragazzos in his anxious protest, which even she knew meant boys. It was obvious he was trying to warn her to be careful, and she felt a reluctant sympathy towards him for his concern.

‘No problem,’ she insisted. ‘I’ll get a—a taxi, yes? Back.’

The old man gestured towards his apartment. ‘Taxi now?’

‘No.’ Grace sighed again. ‘Really.’ She held up her hand. ‘I’ll be all right, honestly.’ She patted his arm. ‘Um—thanks, anyway.’

The old man had to let her go, and despite her assertion to the contrary Grace did become slightly nervous walking into town. There were people about, but as the old man had tried to warn her many of them were young men, who stared at her with amorous eyes, and turned to watch her as she hurried by. Some even called after her, making sucking noises with their lips. But she managed to make it appear that she was with someone else at these times, shrinking into the shadows whenever she could.

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