“No doubt,” answered Rainaldi. “But the nature of her impulses has not always led her into happiness.”
I suppose by this he wanted to infer that her marriage with Ambrose had been on impulse, and unhappy likewise, and that her coming to England was also impulse, and he was uncertain of the outcome of it.
He had power over her, because he had the management of her affairs, and it was this power that might take her back to Florence.
I believed that was the purpose of his visit, so to drum it into her, and possibly to tell her also that the allowance the estate paid to her would not be sufficient to maintain her indefinitely.
I had the trump card, and he did not know it.
In three weeks’ time she would be independent of Rainaldi for the rest of her life.
I could have smiled, but for the fact that I disliked him too intensely to do so in his presence.
“It must be very strange, with your upbringing, suddenly to entertain a woman in the house, and for many months, as you have done,” said Rainaldi, with his hooded eyes upon me.
“Has it put you out at all?”
“On the contrary,” I said,
“I find it very pleasant.”
“Strong medicine, all the same,” he answered, “for one young and inexperienced like yourself.
Taken in so large a dose, it could do damage.”
“At nearly five-and-twenty,” I replied, “I think I know pretty well what medicine suits me.”
“Your cousin Ambrose thought so too, at forty-three,” answered Rainaldi, “but as it turned out he was wrong.”
“Is that a word of warning, or of advice?” I asked.
“Of both,” he said, “if you will take it the right way.
And now, if you will excuse me, I must go dress for dinner.”
I suppose this was his method to drive a wedge between me and Rachel, to drop a word, hardly venomous in itself, yet with sufficient sting to foul the air.
If he suggested I should beware of her, what did he hint of me?
Did he dismiss me with a shrug, as they sat together in the drawing room when I was absent, saying how inevitable it was for young Englishmen to be long of limb and lacking in brain, or would that be too easy an approach?
He certainly had a store of personal remarks, always ready to his tongue, to cast aspersion.
“The trouble with very tall men,” he said, on one occasion, “is the fatal tendency to stoop.” (I was standing under the lintel of the doorway when he said this, bending my head to say a word to Seecombe.)
“Also, the more muscular among them turn to fat.”
“Ambrose was never fat,” said Rachel swiftly.
“He did not take the exercise that this lad takes.
It is the violent walking, riding and swimming that develops the wrong portions of the body.
I have noticed it very often, and nearly always among Englishmen.
Now, in Italy we are smaller boned, and lead more sedentary lives.
Therefore we keep our figures.
Our diet, too, is easier on the liver and the blood.
Not so much heavy beef and mutton.
As to pastry…” He gestured with his hands in deprecation.
“This boy is forever eating pastry.
I saw him demolish a whole pie for dinner yesterday.”
“Do you hear that, Philip?” said Rachel.
“Rainaldi considers that you eat too much.
Seecombe, we shall have to cut down on Mr. Philip’s food.”
“Surely not, madam,” said Seecombe, greatly shocked.
“To eat less than he does would be injurious to health.
We have to remember, madam, that in all probability Mr. Philip is still growing.”
“Heaven forbid,” murmured Rainaldi.
“If he is growing still at twenty-four one would fear some serious glandular disturbance.”
He sipped his brandy, which she permitted him to take into the drawing room, with a meditative air, his eyes upon me, until I felt for all the world that I was nearly seven foot, like poor dull-witted Jack Trevose who was hawked about Bodmin fair by his mother for the people to stare at him and give him pennies.
“I suppose,” said Rainaldi, “that you do enjoy good health?
No serious illness as a child that would account for growth?”
“I don’t remember,” I answered, “ever having been ill in my life.”
“That in itself is bad,” he said; “those who have never suffered from disease are the first to be struck down, when nature attacks them.
Am I not right in saying so, Seecombe?”
“Very possibly, sir.