“Indeed, yes,” said Colin. “I am proud of my Viagi blood. The marriage was at the British Consulate, of course. What day of the month was it, do you remember?”
Salvatore made a negative gesture. “The exact date escapes me,” he said. “But it was spring: March, it would have been March, I think. Two letters I got from my beloved Rosina at that time; in one she told of the marriage, in the next of the birth of her sons. I have those letters still. Treasured possessions, for the next news of my Rosina was that her sweet soul had departed! My God, what lamentations were mine! What floods of never-ceasing tears!”
Colin thought rapidly and intently as he replenished his uncle’s glass with brandy. No definite scheme formed itself in his mind, but, whatever possibilities future reflection might reveal to him, it would clearly be a good thing to get hold of those letters. He might conceivably want to destroy them.
He leaned forward towards Salvatore. “Dear Uncle Salvatore,” he said, “I am going to ask a tremendous favour of you. I have nothing of my mother’s, and I never saw her, as you know. But I am learning to love her, and those letters would be so treasured by me. You have the memory of her, all those delightful days you must have spent together. Will you give me those letters? I hope before long to come across to Naples and see you and my cousins, and it would good of you if you would give me them. Then I shall have something of hers.”
A sob sounded in Salvatore’s voice. “You shall have them, my Colin,” he said, “and in turn perhaps you can do something for me. Intercede, I pray you, with your father. He is a generous, a noble soul, but he does not know my needs, and I am too proud to speak of them. Tell him, then, that you wrung out of me that I am in abject poverty. Vittoria is growing up, and dowerless maidens are not sought after.”
“Of course I will do all I can,” said Colin warmly. “I will talk to my father as soon as you have gone. And I may say that he listens to me.”
“I will send off the letters to you to-night,” he said. “And what joy will there be in Casa Viagi, when my girls know that their cousin Colin is to visit us! When will that happy day be?”
“Ah, I must write to you about that,” said Colin, noticing that the Palazzo had become a Casa. “Leave me your card. And now it is time for you to talk to my father; I will see if he is ready. But not a word of all we have been saying, to him.”
“Trust me, my nephew,” said Salvatore gaily.