by Ella Hayes
Lucia’s eyes held her in a warm gaze. ‘Ah! Well, it’s the best time of day for a walk. So quiet, so cool. I always find it a good time for thinking about things...’
Olivia saw a glint in the older woman’s eye, remembered Zach telling her how Lucia had seemed ‘a little unsettled’ about her being here. Strange! Apart from the very first time they’d met, she’d never found Lucia to be anything other than warm and friendly. It flitted through her mind that perhaps it had been Zach himself who’d felt unsettled. She looked down at her feet, gave a little shrug. ‘I wasn’t expecting to bump into anyone...’
Lucia waved a dismissive hand, chuckled. ‘It’s fine! There was a time I’d walk barefoot in the grass too.’ She brushed an insect off her shoulder. ‘How was your dinner?’
‘It was...lovely.’ She felt a blush creeping over her cheeks. Lucia had been babysitting last night, would have been there when Zach got back—very late. ‘The hotel is magnificent—we had a balcony table, a thousand feet above the sea.’
‘Ambruosi’s very famous and of course the gardens are delightful.’ She plucked a bougainvillea blossom from a swinging stem, twirled it in her fingers. ‘It was nice to see Zach going out on a date... He works too much.’
Olivia felt a swell of gratitude followed by a crushing desire to cry. The older woman seemed to be bestowing a kind of blessing on her. In the wake of her uncharitable feelings about Isabella, how thwarted she’d been feeling by Isabella’s invisible presence, it was humbling. She swallowed hard. ‘Yes! He does.’
‘You’ve got two more weddings, two more weeks with us, yes?’
Olivia nodded.
‘It’ll be gone before you know it.’
She nodded again, folded and unfolded her arms. ‘I was thinking the same thing this morning.’ She felt her lips wobbling into a lopsided grin. ‘Feeling a bit sad about it, you know.’
Lucia swished past her then turned around, fixed her with a level gaze. ‘You must make the most of the time you have... That’s all any of us can ever do.’ She smiled. ‘Enjoy the rest of your walk.’
Olivia stared after her until she’d disappeared from view and then she wrapped her arms around herself and walked slowly towards the stone arch. Lucia seemed to be encouraging her—to do what—get closer to Zach? She leaned against the cool stone and sealed her eyes shut. It wasn’t that easy, especially when she was on the verge of thinking that last night had been a terrible mistake... She’d wanted him so much, but she should have thought it through a bit more. What had happened between them hadn’t felt like a casual thing, but what it was exactly she didn’t know and, until she did, she couldn’t let it happen again.
Such a mess!
She took a deep breath and opened her eyes. Maybe he’d say something, tell her he wanted her to stay...and then at least she’d have something to work with.
If he didn’t say anything—she sucked in another deep breath—if he didn’t, then maybe she’d have to keep in mind what Lucia had just said about time. Her last two weeks were going to fly by. Maybe she should stop worrying about where things might go with Zach... Maybe she needed to dig out some of her old resilience, concentrate on getting out more, seeing things, having fun. Two weeks left—she had to make them count.
CHAPTER NINE
ZACH WATCHED OLIVIA squinting at the screen of her mobile, her face contorting with concentration. ‘I don’t know why you’re bothering—you’ll find it on Google Images. It’s the most photographed tree in the whole of Italy, apparently.’
She tapped the screen, frowned, tapped it again. ‘Rightly so! It’s magnificent and completely lovely. As to why I’m bothering—I just want my own souvenir of the Rufolo umbrella tree. At least I’m not dragging you into a selfie.’ She looked at him, a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, and then she turned away to look at the view. ‘I can’t get over how blue that sea is.’
‘Hopefully, it’ll cheer up soon.’
‘Ha ha, very funny!’ She pocketed her phone then stepped close, wrapped her arms around his waist and huffed a little sigh. ‘I keep thinking I should’ve brought the proper camera but after yesterday—ugh! Just the thought of tugging that thing about in this heat—’
‘You need a break.’ He kissed the tip of her nose. ‘Ready to move on?’
‘Yes! What’s next?’
He slung an arm around her shoulders, started walking. ‘The gardens at Villa Cimbrone. The Terrace of Infinity.’
She peeked at him from under her sunglasses. ‘It sounds very romantic.’
‘It’ll be heaving with turisti—’
‘Of which I am one.’ She mock-frowned, quirking her lovely mouth. ‘Is it painful, doing the tourist thing with me...? It’s just that I want to see everything before I leave.’
Before I leave.
Her words struck him like a body blow, but he smiled. ‘Of course I don’t mind. You know I like...being with you.’
‘Ditto.’ She smiled then looked away.
He steered her back through the gardens, past the Moorish Tower with its famous fresco and along a shady path which led back to the Piazza Centrale, then he took her hand and led her through the crowds towards Cimbrone.
He couldn’t believe that over a week had passed since they’d had dinner at the hotel, since they’d danced on that twinkling walkway, since they’d made love for the first—and only—time. He’d been mesmerised that evening, had felt so close to her, so...found.
But something had changed. She’d started speaking to him in exclamation marks. Colourful, upbeat tones, the joviality in her voice never quite reaching her eyes. Yet when he touched her she melted into him just like before, and when he kissed her he knew her truth. She wanted something from him, and the imminence of her departure was making everything worse.
After yesterday’s wedding, her penultimate, he’d hoped for a quiet day but she’d asked him to take her sightseeing in Ravello because ‘I’ll be leaving soon’. Lucia had told her she ought to see the gardens at Rufolo and Cimbrone, and they were the last places he wanted to go because of the crowds and because Izzy had loved the gardens so much.
As he dodged and weaved through the ambling tourists, pulling her along in his wake, he was fighting the urge to sit her down in some quiet bar, tell her he’d fallen in love with her. But what would he say after that? When he imagined the scene it was the part that always tripped him up. Falling in love with her was easy, but he wasn’t a free agent. He was tied to the business, and there was Alessia to think about. If she wanted to be with him she’d have to slot into this life he’d made, take on his daughter, and he wasn’t at all sure if that was what she really wanted. And there was something else too...
He still dreamed about Izzy. Did that mean he hadn’t let go enough? How could he know how much letting go was enough? It wasn’t as if he’d been a widower before. He had no experience of how grief worked. There seemed to be an aching gap between himself and the person he wanted to be, and he didn’t know how to bridge it. Most importantly, he didn’t want to hurt Olivia, so he’d followed her lead—kept things light and breezy—but it didn’t feel real and it was killing him. He had to talk to her, find a way somehow. In the meantime, he was condemned to plodding beside her on the narrow pathway to the gardens behind a group of shuffling tourists. He watched her feet, tuned in to the soft slap of her sandals on the stone path.
When they struck a patch of shade she pushed her sunglasses up. ‘Lucia was telling me that the Bloomsbury Set used to come to Villa Cimbrone.’
More chit-chat.
‘That’s right! It’s attracted a lot of artistic types over the years.’ He threw her a smile. ‘Greta Garbo stayed here back in the thirties, but she didn’t come “alone”!’
‘You’re on fire today!’ She was laughing, that familiar warm light shining in her eyes, and for a moment everything felt perfect.
He put on a tour guide voice. ‘The gardens were extended and improved in the early twentieth century by Ernest William Beckett. In later life, he was saddled with the unfortunate title of Lord Grimthorpe but, on the bright side, he was a friend of Vita Sackville-West, so he probably got a bit of free gardening advice...how to prune his roses—’
She was properly laughing now, dimples in her cheeks, eyes shining. Her face looked so sweet and happy that he couldn’t help laughing too. ‘I’ve probably got all that wrong. Izzy was the one who knew...’
Her laughter faded and the glow in her eyes dimmed a little bit. He cursed under his breath. He’d have to stop doing that...mentioning...and yet he couldn’t switch Izzy off like a tap. She’d been a massive part of his life. Maybe coming here had been a mistake, but Ravello was a small town; there wasn’t much in it that he hadn’t seen or experienced with his wife.
They queued at the kiosk, sun beating down. She pulled on a sunhat. He wished he’d remembered to bring one. He paid, shoved the tickets into his pocket. He showed her the cloisters, watched her taking in the pale stone arches, the mullions twisted like sticks of barley sugar. The courtyard space was filled with glinting sun, pockets of shade. Ivy grasped at the walls, reaching past other climbers which he couldn’t name.
On the Terrace of Infinity she gazed at the view, examined the busts, giggled at one with a broken snub nose. He watched boats streaking across the sea, remembered kissing her for the first time. She stuck her feet through the railings at the lookout point, gazed down at the scalloped terraces and tiny white houses. ‘You should try this—it makes you feel dizzy!’
You make me feel dizzy.
He led her along a covered walkway, wishing the wisteria was still in bloom so she could see it, the clusters of petals rippling like confetti. On through the rose garden, heady with scent, past statues to the Temple of Bacchus, then more paths, worn steps and everywhere splashes of colour, fat, bristling yew trees, slender cypresses and the tall umbrella pines.
On the lawn she took out her phone, aimed it at the view and tutted. ‘I know I’m a tourist so I have no right to get impatient, but I wish all these people would vanish so I can get a clean shot.’
He wished all the people would vanish too. He stepped behind her, wrapped his arms around her shoulders. She sank back against him, warm and damp. He kissed her neck, tasted the saltiness of her skin. ‘I think we should find a quiet bar, grab a cold one...’
She swivelled to look at him, a wicked gleam in her eye. ‘You mean you’re not enjoying the turisti?’
‘I want to get out of here—’ he released her, grabbed her hand ‘—and I’m taking you with me!’ He started running across the lawn and she was running beside him, holding onto her hat, laughing. Then she was tugging at his hand, breathless, giggling.
‘Zach, stop! What about the gift shop?’
He looked back, saw that she was teasing and pulled her on. ‘Don’t even think about it!’
* * *
Off the main drag, away from the crowds, he spotted an arched doorway, heavy doors pinned back with iron bolts, black and white floor tiles. A big green pot plant squatted in the entrance lobby, its fronds disturbed by the slight breeze. It looked cool, inviting but, most importantly, it was unfamiliar.
‘This place looks promising.’
She pushed her sunglasses up, smiled. ‘Okay.’
The interior was unexpected. A domed skylight in a high ceiling funnelled light into the centre of the room but the light fell away sharply so that the tables clustered around the walls were crushed into semi-darkness, brightened only a little by the tea lights flickering in amber glass lanterns. More amber lanterns were suspended at intervals over the long mahogany bar, and at the end of the bar, in a corner, gleamed a baby grand.
‘Where is everybody?’ Olivia’s voice was hushed.
He’d been about to say the same thing. The place was deserted. He squeezed her hand, called out, ‘Hello? Is there anybody here—?’
So quiet. He let go of her hand, walked to the bar and called out again. No reply. He looked at the piano, wandered over, lifted the lid carefully. He pressed middle C, heard the note ring out clear and true. He smiled. He hadn’t touched a piano in quite a while. He tried a scale.
Nice!
‘You play the piano too?’ She was walking towards him, eyes curious.
He ran a hand through his hair, smiled. ‘A bit. I had lessons—it’s how I started really. Then I got into guitars and left the old Joanna behind.’ He played a few one-handed notes. ‘This is a lovely instrument.’
‘Play something—please.’ She was smiling. Properly happy.
He pulled out the stool and sat down, tested the pedals. It had been so long since he’d played. He looked at her, lifted an eyebrow. ‘This might well be a catastrophe...’ Then he ran his fingers over the keys, took a deep breath.
Focus.
The first notes sounded clumsy, and then it came back. Für Elise, his grade seven piece, the notes rising and falling, that moment of teetering on a brink then filling out, swelling into the bolder melody. He glanced up. She’d rested her cheek into her hand, in her eyes a look of... He looked down, watched his fingers on the keys, losing himself...
As he played the final note a voice ballooned through the room. ‘Bravo!’
Startled, he swung round, jumped to his feet. Behind the bar stood a middle-aged man, slightly balding, with dark eyes, grey smudges underneath, a gap between his two front teeth.
‘Thanks! I hope you don’t mind. We came in for a drink, but there was no one...’ He shrugged. ‘I saw the piano...’
‘It’s absolutely fine! I just opened up, then had to go out for a moment. I’m sorry I wasn’t here.’ He smiled. ‘I’m Marcello. What can I get you?’
Zach looked at Olivia.
‘Frascati, please.’ She smiled. ‘And a glass of cold water.’
‘I’ll have the same, thanks.’
Marcello reached for glasses, twisted the caps off two bottles of water and set them on a tray.
Zach stepped up to the bar, pulled out his wallet. ‘It’s funny, I haven’t noticed this place before. Have you just opened?’
Marcello’s eyes snapped up. ‘Yes. Last week.’ He poured two glasses of wine.
‘Ah...’ Zach looked around. It had a nice vibe, a bit different to the other bars he knew. ‘It’s great!’
Marcello put the wine glasses onto the tray. ‘It is—although, sadly, I might have to give it up.’
‘Why?’ Olivia had parked her elbows on the bar.
Marcello glanced at her then looked at Zach. ‘Let’s just say that my brother let me down. We were supposed to be business partners.’
Olivia frowned. ‘I’m sorry. That’s terrible.’
Marcello shrugged. ‘Where would you like to sit?’
Zach looked around, pointed to a random table. He was curious about Marcello’s predicament but he didn’t want to press him. ‘So, do you play the piano?’
Marcello laughed roundly. ‘No! It’s my brother who plays but we wanted to have a piano in the bar, for people to play if they want... You play very well...er...?’
‘Zach! I’m sorry. I should have introduced myself. This is Olivia.’
Marcello nodded at Olivia then decanted their glasses and water bottles onto the table. ‘It’s nice to meet you both.’
A group of four were drifting in. Marcello acknowledged them with a nod then turned back to Zach. ‘Let me know if you need anything else, and please—if you want to play the piano again, feel free.’
‘Thanks!’
When he turned to face Olivia he found her watching him with a bemused expression on her face. He picked up his glass, smiled. ‘What—?’
‘Just you.’
‘Me?’
She took a drink of water then picked up her wi
ne glass. ‘You love playing so much. I could watch you all day.’
He laughed. ‘Hmm—I think the novelty would soon wear off.’
‘Why do you always do that?’ She was frowning at him.
‘Do what?’
She leaned forward on her elbows, fixed him in her gaze. ‘Whenever you talk about your music, you downplay it. You say you dabble, or that you played little gigs. Or you say you were deluding yourself. What’s that all about?’
He drank from his glass, let the cool wine slip down and hit the sweet spot. ‘It’s terminology, that’s all.’
‘What did Isabella think about your playing?’
‘She—’ He drew a momentary blank, shrugged. ‘I was finished with music when I met her. I was ready to move on. I didn’t play much. We had other things going on.’
She sat back in her chair and sipped her wine. He wished he could see what she was thinking. He’d wanted to have a heart to heart but playing the piano for her seemed to have jinxed everything.
‘Liv, you mustn’t read too much into the music thing...’ He leaned across the table, held her in his gaze. ‘I love music. I always have, I always will, and I do think about it sometimes, but it’s a cruel business and being good isn’t enough. You need to be lucky, connected maybe, you need to give up everything and even if you do that there’s no guarantee of success. By the time the band split I was happy enough to walk away, to move on with my life. Maybe my dreams of rock superstardom died, but other dreams came true. I fell in love, made a home in Italy, had a beautiful daughter and then...’
I fell in love with you.
He held the words in his mouth, rolled them around on his tongue. Somehow, this didn’t feel like the right moment.
‘And then?’
He shrugged, moistened his lips. ‘And then the dreams change.’ He grinned. ‘You dream of cold Frascati in a quiet bar, a dip in the sea with your daughter—stuff like that.’
He watched her gazing around.
‘Well, whatever you say, I can see something in you when you’re playing that feels... I don’t know...like you’re at home in your skin.’ She turned, met his eyes, her expression soft. ‘Have you ever thought about something like this?’