The Invitation: Escape with this epic, page-turning summer holiday read. Lucy Foley

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ emerging from the water like the backbone of some sleeping sea creature.

      As they motor towards the harbour a boat arrives with men clamouring to give their assistance. Roberto, the Contessa’s skipper, solemnly tells their would-be guides that his men have everything under control. Reluctantly they manoeuvre further away. But when they catch sight of Giulietta in her black sundress there are whoops and cheers, ardent declarations. And suddenly two cameras appear with huge mounted flashbulbs. Giulietta tosses her head and turns away – but this has the effect, Hal notices, of displaying her profile to its best advantage.

      Aubrey turns to Hal. ‘Prepare yourself for a great deal more of this. They are like cockroaches, these men – they follow some scent only discernible to them. And nowhere breeds them in greater numbers than Italy.’

      ‘Before supper,’ the Contessa announces to the party, once they have moored, ‘we will have a screening of the film. The audience at Cannes are getting a preview, but those on this boat will be the first to experience Signor Gaspari’s creation.’ She turns to the director, who inclines his head modestly.

      As they are taken across on the tender, Hal turns to Gaspari. ‘So no one has seen it yet, apart from you? Even the actors?’

      He shakes his head. ‘No. It keeps it purer, this way.’ He lowers his voice. ‘Free from ego, from meddling. Though there was some pressure, this time, to share the rushes.’ And Hal is certain that his gaze moves momentarily toward Truss.

      They are led through the marina to the ruins of the old Genoese fort. Flaming torches illuminate the arches and pilasters in all their ravaged grandeur. From within, the place no longer looks formidable, Hal thinks, but vulnerable: spreadeagled before the wind and rain that have for centuries been feasting upon it, picking the old bones clean. As they make their way up he glimpses a forlorn window in a fragment of wall, offering an unnecessary aperture onto the sea beyond. They are ushered into the still-intact part of the castle, where a projector and chairs have been set up. They wait as a young man threads the machine with nervous hands and Hal, watching him, wonders if it is the first time he has ever done it. But after a couple of false starts, the wall opposite flickers into life, where a piece of canvas has been stretched across it.

      The first shot fills the screen and suddenly Hal understands the significance of where they are sitting. The view is from the battlements of the same fort, but by some artistry of set design the arches appear intact, restored to their former glory.

      Earl Morgan appears on the screen, looking out to sea, costumed in a sixteenth-century naval commander’s outfit. Hal wonders how much make-up it took to hide the decay of the man. He looks implausibly youthful and heroic. Cut to a view of him at the helm of a great galleon, then a battle scene with an Ottoman ship, which almost makes Hal smile, because it is so artful, so synchronized: rather like a ballroom dance. Even when men fall dying to the boards. Was there once a time when war would have looked like that? Unlikely. But the alternative would make unpalatable viewing.

      The battle won, the galleon is making for home. Another shot of Morgan, picturesquely windblown, looking out to sea. The next shot is of the water. And there is a person in the water, flailing. Drowning. It has an unprecedented effect on Hal. Instantly, he feels as though he has been drenched in cold water. He stares at the image, trying to make sense of it. It is almost exactly as he has dreamed it, as though it has spilled onto the screen from his own mind. He stands. All he can think is that he has to get outside. He pushes past the knees that block his route. He isn’t sure whether he manages to apologize aloud, or whether the words form only inside his head. He lunges through the open doorway. In the courtyard he breathes great lungfuls of the cooling air, and feels the tightness in his chest begin to dissipate.

       For days and even weeks afterwards, though he knew it was impossible, he kept thinking he glimpsed something in the water. It was always, of course, a trick of light and shadow – and of his own imagination. But to lose someone that way – there was a lack of certainty about it.

      ‘Are you all right, Mr Jacobs?’

      Hal looks up and sees Signor Gaspari. All he can feel now is humiliation. The horror is passed, though he can still feel his heartbeat through his whole body. The speed with which it took hold of him, the power of it, was astounding.

      ‘I’m fine,’ he says. ‘I drank too much last night. I thought I’d step outside for a moment to get some air.’ It is unprofessional, but it is better than admitting anything of the truth.

      ‘Ah,’ Gaspari smiles his sad smile. ‘I’m pleased to hear it wasn’t my film that was so objectionable.’

      ‘No. I’m so sorry. It must have looked very rude.’

      As he stands his legs feel insubstantial, as though he is not quite in contact with the earth. It will pass, he thinks, with an effort of will. The important thing is to get back inside, and pretend none of it ever happened.

      *

      He is able to catch up quickly enough. He can only have been outside for a matter of minutes, though he felt that he re-entered the room a different man.

      The figure in the water turns out to be a woman, who the captain has rescued and brought aboard the ship. She is played by Giulietta Castiglione: black-eyed, wild-haired, relentlessly seductive. Against his better judgement, the captain begins to fall for her. The atmosphere on board the galleon is powerfully evoked: the claustrophobic, gossipy watchfulness of the men. Hal recognizes it. It was exactly the same on board Lionheart. As Perkins, one of the other ratings, had put it, ‘You can’t break wind in this place without the news finding its way onto every deck.’

      The superstition, too, is familiar. There had been rituals and old wives’ tales and lucky charms – all the way up through the ranks. He’d seen a lieutenant-commander take a small piece of silver out of his pocket – a locket, perhaps – and run his thumb absent-mindedly over it before a strike. Morris, Hal’s best friend on the cruiser, had one of the little white gloves his wife had worn on their wedding day. Somehow, despite all the grime one came into contact with on board, he had managed to keep it spotlessly clean. Suze had given Hal a silk scarf, which he would take out from time to time. Yet every time he looked at it he was reminded simply of how far away she was in every respect.

      Upon return to Genoa, the captain defies the scandalized reaction of society – and his harridan of a fiancée – to follow his heart and marry his new love. Together, they embark upon a ship travelling to the newly discovered Americas.

      The possibility of beginning again, somewhere new. As the credits roll, Hal realizes that he is sitting far forward in his seat, his face tilted up towards the screen as though he is literally trying to drink it in. He sits back. And watches, unable to look away, as Truss bends his head towards Stella and murmurs something into her ear. She nods, and Truss smiles. For a terrible second, Hal thinks that he is about to watch him kiss her. Just in time the Contessa begins to applaud, the rest of them following suit.

      ‘Well,’ she says, standing, and bidding Gaspari to take a bow. ‘Is it not a triumph?’

      It is. Somewhat more of a Hollywood offering than Elegy, but still with those elements that characterize Gaspari’s work: scenes of a haunting, melancholy beauty, and the rawness of the performance demanded from the leads. Earl Morgan, Hal thinks, brings impressive credibility to the sea captain: a man wrung out by war, but trying to hold everything together for his men.

      But there is optimism in it. Elegy had been a leave-taking. A mourning of something – or someone – lost. The Sea Captain is the opposite. СКАЧАТЬ