“Why, that’s Mr. Cecil,” he said, “the Consul at Naples. You must know him, Vi.”
Mr. Cecil greeted Colin with welcome and deference. Consular business had brought him to Capri; he had no idea that Mr. Stanier was here. Was Lord Yardley here also?
“No, but somebody much more important,” laughed Colin. “My wife—we’re on our honeymoon. Violet, this is Mr. Cecil, who was so kind to me when I was here last. Mr. Cecil’s our Consul at Naples.”
It was natural that Mr. Cecil should have his lunch with them, though he pleaded shortness of time. He was going back by the afternoon boat.
“But you clearly must have lunch somewhere,” said Colin, “and we’ll give you a very bad one probably, but a quick one if you are in a hurry. Ah, that’s delightful of you.”
Colin was hugely cordial, exerting the utmost of his charm. He even curtailed his siesta in order to walk down with his visitor to the Consular office in the town, and gratefully promised, on behalf of Violet and himself, to spend the night at his house on their way back to England. He wanted that; he had made up his mind to get that invitation, for it formed part of the plan which had come to him in his final swim that morning, before he got into Nino’s boat and heard that horrible scandal concerning Tiberio. He wanted Violet to pass the night at the Consulate. There might arise emergencies which would render that convenient.
It was like her to have waited for his return instead of going to her room for the afternoon sleep, and there she was under the pergola where they had lunched at the far end of the garden. She was sitting with her back to the garden-door and did not see him enter, and, quick as a lizard and as silent-footed, Colin tip-toed into the house. If she saw him, she would discuss Mr. Cecil, she would linger in the garden, and, as likely as not, linger in his room, and he wanted his nap. If she chose to sit out under the pergola, it was no business of his; there was no proof after all that she was waiting for his return. Another day he would take a sandwich down to the bathing place, and, like Nino, have his siesta in some strip of shade down there, where no one would disturb him or wait for him or want to talk with him. Violet was a dear; it was hardly possible to have too much of her, but just now and then it was nice to have no one watching you and loving you.
A couple of hours later he strolled, still coatless, into the great cool sitting-room; she was already there, waiting to make tea for him.
“I never heard you come in, darling,” she said. “I was waiting for your return in the pergola, and then eventually I came in and peeped into your room, and there you were fast asleep.”
“Funny I shouldn’t have seen you,” said Colin. “I just went down with Mr. Cecil to the piazza, and was back in less than half-an-hour. I adore Mr. Cecil, he enjoys himself so much, and drinks such a lot of wine. A gay dog!”