‘This is where the Appia Antica starts. If you think the road surface back there was rough, just you wait.’
They squeezed through the narrow archway and across a more major avenue into another stone-paved little road. This ran dead straight between ancient walls and dusty buildings and the surface was indeed pretty bumpy. They passed underneath a concrete bridge carrying what looked like railway tracks and then, after a few minutes Jo saw a sign up ahead. Corrado had seen it too and he had a suggestion.
‘These people make some of the best ice cream in Rome. Shall we stop?’
‘You’re the driver. You decide. But I must admit an ice cream sounds good.’
Corrado pulled off the road into a big courtyard and parked in the shade of another massive umbrella pine. As they got out of the car, he pointed to a terrace over to the side, with tables and parasols.
‘The nice thing about this place is that Daisy can come with us.’
Together with the dog they walked across to the terrace. As they got there, they were greeted by the sight of a huge glass-fronted freezer positioned underneath an archway, with a host of different flavours of ice cream piled up into peaks in individual containers. Jo stopped and stared in awe. Apart from old favourites like vanilla, strawberry and chocolate, there were so many others on offer, ranging from fruit flavours like peach, hazelnut and melon, to ones with puzzling names like Ricotta Stregata and Zuppa Inglese, literally ‘English Soup’. She pointed to them and Corrado was happy to supply a translation.
‘Zuppa Inglese supposedly was inspired by the English trifle and it’s certainly got a custardy flavour. Ricotta Stregata is actually made with ricotta cheese and there’s a liqueur in it called “Strega”. Stregata means bewitched and it’s a bit of an acquired taste.’
As Jo’s eyes ranged over the rainbow of colourful mounds from white coconut and red fruits of the forest, to lurid-green mint and jet-black liquorice, she glanced across at him.
‘What are you going to have?’
He smiled. ‘I’m a creature of habit. I always go for the same thing here: banana and cioccolato fondente, the really dark chocolate. What about you?’
Jo finally decided to have a bowl of meringue, strawberry and amarena – the latter a mixture of vanilla ice cream with swirls of sour cherry syrup.
‘And what about a glass of Prosecco with it?’
‘It’s too hot for alcohol, Corrado, thanks. Just a glass of mineral water for me please, but don’t let me stop you.’
‘I’ll have water, too. Apart from the fact that I’m driving, it’s easy to get dehydrated on a day like today. Do you realise the temperature this afternoon’s in the mid-thirties? That’s almost blood heat.’
They placed their orders and then walked across to a table in the shade and sat down.
‘Would Daisy like a bowl of ice cream as well?’
‘Daisy would like all the ice cream on display plus a side order of a roast hog.’ Corrado smiled as he reached down and stroked the dog’s head. ‘She’s a Labrador and you probably know what they’re like for food. No, if she’s a good girl she’ll get a wafer biscuit at the end, but that’s that. Just like all of us, she has to watch out for her waistline, even if she doesn’t want to hear it.’
‘And you think my ordering a bowl of three sorts of ice cream qualifies as watching my waistline?’
‘You’re on holiday, Jo. Besides, I bet you didn’t have lunch today.’
‘A cup of tea and a biscuit on the plane, but no doubt I’ll be having a mammoth meal tonight with Angie and your brother. Still, as you say, I’m on holiday until Monday.’
‘And then? Angie said you’re a speaker at the Save the Planet conference. I know a few of the people who’ll be there. All big names in their fields. Complimenti.’
Jo grinned. ‘I’m just the stand-in. It should have been my boss and he’s very well known in the field of conservation and climate change. I hope I don’t disappoint too many of the delegates who wanted to hear him.’ She gave him a grin. ‘Although to tell the truth, I wrote ninety percent of it.
‘I can’t imagine you disappointing anyone.’
At that moment a waitress appeared with two enormous bowls of ice cream and a bowl of water for the dog. As Corrado looked up at her, the girl gave him a big smile.
‘Ciao, Corrado.’
He smiled back and jumped to his feet, accompanied by the Labrador. ‘Ciao, Antonia. Come stai?’ He leant forward and kissed her on the cheeks while the dog stood up on her hind legs to be petted.
Jo looked on in disbelief. Was this yet another of his girlfriends? What was it her mother had said about him being a Don Juan?
‘Jo, let me introduce you.’ Corrado turned back round towards her. ‘This is Antonia. She’s the daughter of one of my very best friends. She’s doing a doctorate in microbiology at the Sapienza, and she works here part time. Antonia, this is Jo, from England. She’s Angie’s sister.’
As Jo produced a big smile and said hello, she gave herself a serious telling-off for jumping to the wrong conclusion about her guide. After Antonia left, Jo watched the dog at their feet slurping the water and vowed to do her best to put aside her prejudices and try to appreciate Corrado for the knowledgeable, generous man he so obviously was.
‘The Sapienza?’
‘Rome University. It’s where I did my first degree. It’s one of the oldest universities in the world. Not quite as old as Oxford, but still… It was founded in 1300 or so.’
‘Sounds like Antonia’s a bright girl. And pretty, too. She should do well.’
‘Well, you should know what that’s like.’
Corrado then immediately transferred his attention to Daisy at his feet and, contradicting what he had just said about Daisy having to watch her figure, reached down and dropped a spoonful of banana ice cream into the now empty water bowl beside Daisy’s nose. The dog jumped to her feet and the ice cream was vacuumed up in seconds. As Corrado engaged in this displacement activity and the dog licked the ground beside the bowl until it shone, Jo digested the fact that he had pretty obviously paid her a compliment but then had, equally obviously, immediately regretted it. Something strange was going on, but still, she thought to herself as she dug into the delicious ice cream, a compliment’s a compliment.
The ice cream was superb and she forced herself to eat slowly, savouring the different tastes. As she did so, she broached the subject of his work.
‘The paper I’m giving at the conference is on removal and disposal of existing plastics from the ocean, but I’d love to be able to include an update on new products being developed to replace plastic. Could you give me a few pointers?’
As a conversation starter, it worked amazingly well. He was obviously very keen to talk about his work and very knowledgeable about all the different facets of it. By the time she reached the end of her ice cream, she had filed away in her mind a number of key points to add to the presentation, which she felt sure would improve it. She thanked him most warmly.
Jo had just reached for her glass and was sitting back, slowly sipping the water and looking out over the dry gardens surrounding the terrace, when she spotted something and instantly leapt to her feet, grabbing her phone off the table as she did so.
‘Sorry, Corrado. Butterfly.’
She hurried to the patch of yellow grass and straggly weeds that might once have been a lawn, leaving Corrado looking perplexed. She was vaguely aware of feet behind her and she turned to see the dog trotting along with her, tail wagging. She slowed and put her finger to her lips.
‘Shh, Daisy. Don’t frighten it off.’
Ahead of her, the butterfly she had spotted had also stopped, settling softly on the trunk of an ancient olive tree. Very slowly, Jo approached and zoomed the camera on her phone until the insect almost filled the screen. She took a couple of photos and then crept a bit closer. She took another photo and then stood in silent appreciation. It was a large cream-coloured butterfly with dark markings, but its uni
queness came from the twopointed tails that protruded from the bottom edges of its wings, giving it its popular name. A second or two later, she felt a tap on her shoulder and heard a whisper at her ear.
‘Even I know what this one is. It’s a swallowtail, isn’t it?’
Jo glanced sideways and found herself barely a few inches from his face, so close she could even smell the banana ice cream on his breath and see a little spot of the dark chocolate that had strayed onto his chin. She nodded in agreement and whispered back.
‘Papilio machaon, to give it its full title. Quite common over here, but a total rarity in England.’ And then, to her own complete surprise, she reached up with a finger and wiped the ice cream off his face, adding superfluously, ‘Chocolate.’
He jumped back as if he had been bitten, startling the dog and scaring the butterfly away from its tree trunk. Jo watched as it fluttered into the air and vanished over an ancient stone wall. As it disappeared from view, she was still trying to work out what on earth had made her reach out and touch Corrado like that and why it had produced such an extreme reaction from him. She risked looking at him and saw that he had now retreated several paces and was half-turned away, wiping his face with a tissue. Maybe, she thought to herself, seeing as he was a chemist, he had a thing about germs and infection and being touched. Whatever it was, she felt awful and very silly. His behaviour towards her had made it completely clear from the outset that he wasn’t interested in any kind of intimacy with her and as he was about to become her brother-in-law she knew he was off the table anyway. So why had she suddenly felt it appropriate, or even desirable, to touch him like that or indeed to kiss him at the station? She took a deep breath and went towards him, ostensibly to stroke the dog who was sitting at her master’s side looking a bit puzzled.
‘Don’t worry, Daisy, there’ll be plenty more butterflies.’ She risked a glance at Corrado who was looking more composed now. ‘That’s a first for me. I’ve never seen a swallowtail in the wild before.’
‘That’s good.’ He stuffed his tissue in his pocket and summoned a smile. ‘There are loads of them around here.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Now, if you like, we could combine a bit of exercise – probably well-needed after all that ice cream – with a bit of butterfly hunting. Interested?’
‘Absolutely, but only if you haven’t got anything better to do.’
‘No, I’m at your complete disposal today. I tell you what, the Appia Antica turns into a path for walkers and cyclists a bit further along. We could leave the car and have a walk. We’ve got bags of time before we need to head out to the Country Club.’
As they walked back to the car, Jo heaved a sigh of relief. He appeared to have returned to his normal welcoming self again, in spite of her faux pas. As she climbed back into the car, she was still turning over in her head just why on earth she had felt it necessary to touch him like that, but her subconscious stubbornly refused to provide her with any answer.
They headed off along the increasingly bumpy road, past high walls and a number of sturdy gates and security cameras. Evidently, this was a part of Rome where very well-heeled Romans chose to have their villas. She pointed to the ornate roof of one large house as they passed and looked across at Corrado.
‘Are we in the stockbroker belt here?’
She saw him hesitate and she wondered whether she might have overrated his excellent English. But it soon became clear he had indeed understood.
‘It’s a highly desirable area with house prices to match. You’re only fifteen minutes from downtown Rome and yet you’re in the country.’
‘I’m not sure I’d feel too comfortable surrounded by millionaires, though.’
‘I’m sure they’re not all Mafiosi.’ He shot her a little grin. ‘Probably at least one or two of them have made their money legally – even though we are in Italy.’ From his tone, he was mocking her but also his fellow countrymen.
‘Of course. It’s just that I’ve gone off millionaires.’
He glanced at her again and raised his eyebrows. ‘Bad experience?’
Jo hesitated but, seeing as she had been the one to bring up the subject, she decided to carry on. After all, although he and the rest of the family were evidently well off, his battered car and his job as a chemist seemed to indicate that he certainly wasn’t in the millionaire bracket.
‘The other night I was invited out for dinner by a guy with a chauffeur and a private plane.’
‘In London?’
‘Yes, we went to a floating restaurant and it was all very nice until we got back into his car.’
Corrado glanced across at her. ‘He expected a contribution towards the bill?’
Jo nodded. ‘Yes, but not in cash.’
‘So, did you slap him?’ He grinned. ‘I bet you pack quite a punch.’
Jo found herself smiling in spite of herself. ‘You’d better believe it. But, no, I jumped out of the car and left him to it.’
‘Presumably not a moving car?’ His tone was still light, but his expression had changed. ‘The Italian name for somebody who behaves like that is stronzo. Unfortunately, there are a lot of them around.’ He glanced across at her again. ‘But you’re okay? Not too shaken up?’
‘No, I’m fine, although there was a moment when I was really quite scared. He had caught hold of me and he was just staring at me. Creepy…’
‘Like I say, a stronzo. I understand now why millionaires aren’t your favourites at the moment.’
‘But you’re right. It’s not fair to accuse all of them of being like that. My mother always tells me I have a habit of thinking the worst of people.’ As she spoke, she couldn’t help reflecting that only a short while earlier she had done just that to him. ‘Anyway, if you’re a millionaire, I promise I won’t hate you.’ She did not, however, mention her vow to stay away from handsome men as she still believed them to be fundamentally untrustworthy. Maybe her mother had a point after all. Not for the first time she vowed to try to be more open-minded.
A few minutes later, as the road narrowed even more, Jo saw a ‘NO ENTRY’ sign up ahead. As they approached it, Corrado turned off to the right, through an imposing arched gateway. The car crunched up a gravel drive lined with trees for forty or fifty metres before pulling up in front of a charming old stone house sheltered among yet more massive umbrella pines. He parked beside a big, very swish-looking 4x4 and switched off the engine before turning towards her.
‘We can leave the car here. I know the owner of this place and he won’t mind.’
‘Wow, some house! You certainly know the right people, Corrado.’
They climbed out of the car and went back along the drive, the dog bouncing happily alongside them. Clearly, Daisy knew she was going for a walk.
Corrado explained, ‘The laboratories where I work aren’t too far from here and Daisy and I often come for a walk along the Appian Way. She recognises the place. She loves it for her own reasons. As somebody with an interest in history, I love it too. I think it’s quite amazing and I hope you’ll agree.’
The countryside here was as flat as a pancake, but what it lacked in terms of topography, it more than made up for in antiquity. The road itself beyond the ‘NO ENTRY’ sign was barely the width of a small car, presumably designed for an ancient Roman-sized chariot or cart. As they walked along the stone-paved road surface, it was clear that a lot of money had been spent clearing and relaying the stone slabs. From time to time, Corrado pointed out grooves and ruts carved into stones by the passage of countless wheels over hundreds, if not thousands, of years. The fields on either side of them were full of little copses of trees inside which, Corrado assured her, were ruins dating back two thousand years or more. He then went on to more gruesome facts.
‘If I said Spartacus to you, what would you say, Jo?’
‘I’d say a big old Hollywood epic. I can’t remember the actor. Was it Rock Hudson or maybe Kirk Douglas?’
‘Very good. It was Kirk Douglas, along with a roll-
call of some of the greatest actors of the sixties from Laurence Olivier to Tony Curtis. But did you know it was based on real events?’
‘Erm, sort of.’
‘Spartacus led the slaves’ revolt against the Roman state in 73 BC. When he and his army were finally defeated, the emperor ordered that six thousand slaves be crucified all along this road from Rome to Capua. Just imagine.’
Jo shuddered at the image. It seemed impossible to imagine this lovely place the site of such barbarism. ‘Although all we see today are the amazing buildings left behind, there’s no disguising the fact that the Romans were pretty brutal people.’
As they approached a huge amorphous structure made of old Roman bricks so weathered and worn that it was impossible to tell whether it had been a house, a temple or some sort of fortification, Jo’s mind was suddenly torn away from the sufferings of those poor slaves as she spotted a flash of orange ahead of her. She pointed, but Corrado had already seen it and he turned towards her, keeping his voice low.
‘I’ve often seen these, but I’ve no idea what they’re called.’
Together, they advanced towards the little shape as it flitted through the trees at the side of the road. Suddenly it stopped, settling on top of a low stone wall. Jo crept up to it and took a couple of photos. It was a delightful butterfly, a bit smaller than the swallowtail they had seen earlier. It had a distinct leopard-spotted pattern on its light orange wings and she felt sure she recognised it. She turned towards Corrado to tell him, but found that this time he was keeping a safe distance between the two of them, no doubt in case she chose to touch him again. With another twinge of regret, she whispered across to him.
‘Unless I’m very much mistaken, this is a Queen of Spain fritillary. If my memory serves me right, its Latin name is Issoria Lathonia. We have fritillaries in England, but I was at a lecture recently where they said this one’s incredibly rare.’
Dreaming of Rome Page 6