One Hot Summer by Norrey Ford Page A

dust and terror, because they had enough courage to die for what they knew.
    How could they have imagined such a vast and splendid monument over their poor crushed bones and mangled bodies? Or dreamed that one day the whole world would come, day after day, to visit their splendid tomb and stare at the broken remnants of the .empire which swatted them down like flies? A girl my age, in love with life and maybe with a boy in chains beside her, hearing the lions roar and smelling the fetid odour of the wild-animal cages? Would it have comforted them, to see all the people coming and going, drawn from countries undiscovered then, to this vast magnet?
    Time had flown. There was just enough for her to climb in ever-narrowing circles up inside the dome to the topmost gallery and see an even wider view of the city and the hills on which it had been built. The city on seven hills ! On the way down, she went inside the dome and stared into the body of the great basilica, the top of the baldaquin over the High Altar.
    Then it was time to hurry down to the obelisk where Marco would arrive prompt on his hour. To her relief, she was there first, looking out for his low white car.
    He arrived, after all, in a horse-drawn open botticella which sported a bright new flowered canopy with a deep white fringe, and fresh clean covers of the same material over the seats. The coachwork shone, the horse was well-groomed and in good condition. Trust Marco to find such a splendid vehicle out of all the tatty carriages, all the bone-tired thin horses in the city.
    ‘ In you get,’ he smiled, and handed her in with a flourish, touching her hand to his lips as he did so. ‘ I said you needed an escort for the most elegant street in Europe, and it occurred to me you needed a carriage too.’
    Almost too astonished to answer, she gave him a brilliant smile of thanks and seated herself, feeling like a queen going to her coronation. The horse travelled at a spanking trot down the broad processional way of the Via della Conciliazione.
    He laid a hand on hers. ‘ Happy, Jan?’
    ‘ Over the moon with sheer joy. I can’t even thank you, Marco. How could you think of such a lovely thing, when you’re so busy with your own affairs? You really are a most remarkable person.’
    ‘ So are you—young, lovely, with all the world before you. Yet you plan such a hardworking, unglamorous life for yourself. Don’t you want any fun, any luxury, any—love?’
    ‘ I want all those things. I’m not such a fool as to think they make up the whole of life. Fun and luxury only exist for those who rarely get them. Have them all the time and they are commonplace.’
    ‘ You open new vistas on the feminine mind, signorina. What are your astonishing views on marriage, if one may ask?’
    ‘A partnership. A sharing. Love—I don’t know. Perhaps it’s different for everybody, but for me it must go a long way beyond the physical. There must be tenderness, and caring, and a sort of astonishment and delight.’
    ‘ Does it last?’
    ‘ How should I know? Your parents’ love lasted, didn’t it? I have an idea that if love was real, one might never get to the end of it, but always be discovering new marvels right to the end of time.’
    ‘ You’re an idealist. But in your country you believe in marriage for love.’
    ‘ And yours are arranged, are they not?’
    ‘ Quite often. Especially in the older, more traditional families. Often big estates are involved, vast businesses or fortunes. It would not do, you see, to trust to love. One also needs common sense, and common sense is not a noticeable feature of lovers . ’
    ‘ I think that is quite dreadful ! Love can’t be arranged.’
    ‘ It often is. The majority of such marriages are successful. Can you say your own system has a higher proportion of successes than ours? Can two youngsters crazily in love see the pitfalls?’
    ‘ Often. But foolishly believe love will carry them safely over. Sometimes it does,