‘Fly Me to the Moon’， ‘Old Devil Moon’， ‘Blue Moon’， ‘It’s Only a Paper Moon’， and then of course— ‘Moon River’。
He played a long introduction, kept looking over at Peg as if to say, Come on, Peg, for old times’ sake if nothing else. Eventually, Peg stood up. Slightly bashful, slightly unsure. Long time since she’d stood by a piano, and you could see it on her face, certainly those that knew her could. And you felt for her and loved her in that moment like never before. Pete squinted up at her, a fag-clamped smile, his admiration for all to see. Peg winked and there it was. You could see it. Peg the Performer, just like that. In her DNA it was, that’s what Cress said.
And back in London, as Neil Armstrong’s foot touched the lunar surface for the first time, Col took a giant leap of his own when he asked Mrs Kamya Kaur out on a formal date. What took you so long? she said.
Autumn in Italy, and the north of the country was rocked by further strikes in factories and industrial centres. Students continued to demonstrate and clashes with police were frequent. Communism, Marxism, Fascism all fighting for a place at the political table and Massimo wrote that it was bubbling up to something darkly ominous, this unholy alliance of civil despondency and unrest. Ulysses missed his friend and didn’t hesitate to tell him so. He wrote to him of life in the square. ‘Chestnuts, truffles, chicken livers and pockets of mellow fruitfulness drift in on the season’s warm and fragrant breath. The grape harvest is underway and the schiacciata all’uva back in the bakery. Some things never change, thank God.’
The second week of September, Ulysses disappeared for the day as he always did. Peg said they should follow him and Evelyn said she wasn’t sure that was a good idea and Peg said, It’s only a bleedin’ joke! First time Evelyn had a glimpse of Peg’s sharp elbow.
By mid-October the swallows still hadn’t left. But why would you? said Cress.
Pasta alla Genovese using trenette. It was a Cress special. Peg made the pesto and followed Cressy’s every move. The windows were open, and Peg liked the radio on, though she turned it down low. She sang English words over Italian lyrics – just made them up, she did – and jigged from stove to sink, housedress unbuttoned and feet bare. What? she said. Just looking, said Cress. You look like you wanna say something, old man, she said.
You’re beautiful, said Cress.
Don’t start, and Peg turned away to cut the bread.
We’ve had fun, haven’t we Peg? And you’re OK now, aren’t you? In yourself. And being here.
I’m OK, Cress. And Peg held his face and kissed him on the nose. You’re my rock, she said. Always have been, always will be.
And later, when the guests had retired, when they’d washed up and put the crockery away, Peg and Cress ate ice cream on the terrace, just the two of them standing up, as the sun set red and gold, and Gianni Morandi sang ‘Scende la pioggia’ on the radio. They danced and when night turned black and one by one the lights on the hills expired, Peg went to bed. Cress gave her Constance Everly’s poetry book for company. I’ve never read poetry before, she said. What if I don’t understand it? You will, he said. You will.
Knock knock.
Alys looked up from her work table. You going out for your walk, Cressy? You need company?
Not tonight, my love. Just wanted to say goodnight in case you’re asleep when I get back.
Alys got up and kissed him. What is it?
Here – and he gave her his torn-off cover of Life magazine, showing William Anders’ portrait of the earth. Most problems can be solved by gazing at this, he said.
Alys smiled. You reckon?
You wait.
Cress hovered in the doorway of the salotto and said, I was thinking, Evelyn. What about us going to Assisi?
Oh yes, let’s. Next month. Assisi is a spectacle that can never be forgotten.
You and me on the Moto Guzzi—
Now won’t that make Dotty jealous!
Night, Evelyn.
Night, my darling Cressy. Don’t stay out too late.
In the hallway, Cress put on his hat and corrected the angle in the mirror. See you later, squawked Claude.
The soft sound of the door closing behind him. Cress outside in the night air with its accompanying lilt of drains. How he loved that smell! He walked towards the stone benches, the neon from Michele’s in his peripheral vision, the sound of Pete on the piano, the gentle murmur of the last of the diners, the chink chink of cutlery, his ears alive to it all.
Cressy! Ulysses running across the square. Where you off to? he said, catching his breath.