A Postcard from Italy: The perfect summer beach read

by Alex Brown

  ‘So you make up some bullshit story about your mum not letting you come on the spa break and then I find out from that gay boy holed up in your house that you’ve gone off to Italy. Grace, when I said you should get in someone to look after your mum, I meant so that you could come away with me and we could have some sexy time.’ Grace had blanched at this point as she hated that phrase. ‘Not so you could lie to me and go off with another geezer. And all that crap you came out with about not being able to go out anywhere new … well, that was obviously a load of old rubbish too. Because, Italy. It’s not exactly round the corner. Anyway, you’re dumped. Not that you were much cop in the sack anyway. I’ve had hotter dinners—’ At which point she had hung up and thanked her lucky stars. Phil had then sent her a text a few minutes later saying she owed him three hundred and seventy-six pounds for the whole spa weekend since he never would have paid his mate for the booking if he had known she was going to fleece him over it.

  ‘Well done, Grace,’ Ellis grinned, leaning forward in his chair and bringing her thoughts back to the moment. ‘So we now know that Giovanni is definitely the artist and therefore Connie as his wife was heir to his artwork that was in her possession … well, in her storage unit until we had it moved to a secure place. Nice work.’ She beamed, and then quickly adjusted her face so it wasn’t quite so jubilant or – dare she think it – flirtatious-looking. Because that wouldn’t do. She’d hate Jennifer to feel betrayed in any way by another woman; not that she would know how Grace was behaving, but that wasn’t the point. Grace of all people knew what betrayal felt like, not that Matthew had been innocent in his affair with the Perky Yoga One, of course not. But Grace used to wonder, in the early days after it all happened, just how much of a part the Perky Yoga One had played in luring Matthew into thinking ‘it just happened’.

  ‘Thanks, Ellis,’ she replied, sombrely. ‘Another piece of the puzzle solved. I’ll make a note in my pad.’

  ‘Sure,’ Ellis said, turning his head to look up at her, his eyebrows creased with curiosity. ‘Are you OK, Grace?’

  ‘Yes, thanks, I’m fine. Would you like more coffee? I could pop out this time to get it,’ she said, hurriedly, suddenly wanting to get away from him. But then a stab of her old step-counting anxiety reared up and she regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. Thinking about Phil’s phone call was making her feel unnerved. Whilst it was a relief to not have to pretend their relationship was anything real any more, his words had still hurt. Since last night, she’d had a little voice of doubt whispering in her ear … ‘not much cop in the sack’ … and the inevitable conclusion to that being, no wonder Matthew cheated on me. And so she was battling to get back those euphoric feelings of renewal that she had felt on first arriving here in Italy.

  ‘I’m not sure we have time for more coffee,’ Ellis said, looking at his watch. ‘We need to head to the station soon to catch the train to Santa Margherita.’ And Grace could have kissed him in relief. Aghhhh. No. Not a kiss. That’s not what she meant. Sorry Jennifer. Certainly not. Maybe just a courteous hug instead, perhaps …

  The train journey from Venice to Santa Margherita gave Grace plenty of time to rinse her head of all the negative thoughts as she gazed through the window at the sheer magnificence of the Italian scenery. Romantically remote farmhouses in lush green fields. Vineyards with ride-on tractors trundling up and down the rows of vines. An ancient little white church with a bell tower flanked by cypress trees, olive groves stretching as far as she could see into a cloudless, sunny blue sky above. Grace had been mesmerised and now, once again, felt light and energised, because Italy was so cathartic and restorative and she just loved the way it made her feel.

  Letting out a long sigh of contentment, she reached into her bag to retrieve her laptop. They had changed trains in Milan, but with only an hour or so there, they hadn’t had time to look around the city, but just outside the station they had discovered a coffee bar. And Grace had loved people-watching the smart Italian women with their tailored clothes and chic leather handbags and swingy hairstyles and such sophisticated style. Not to mention the breathtakingly beautiful architecture of the actual station building, with its intricately carved stone, reminiscent of Roman baths, and with winged horses standing majestically on the roof. Grace had captured it all in photos on her phone, but she was really here to work. To find out what had become of Connie’s relatives, and not daydream in a semi-meditative state as she stared out of the train window.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Ellis asked as Grace tilted the laptop screen and fitted in her ear pods, intending on finding some 1940s or 50s music to create a nostalgic mood as she read on in Connie’s diaries.

  ‘Um, I thought I should carry on reading, see if I can get a head start on things before we get to Santa Margherita,’ she said, keeping her eyes on the screen.

  ‘But why now? Are you crazy to miss this magnificent view?’ he laughed, lifting his Ray-Ban sunglasses off, and she could sense him staring right at her. Silence followed. Then, ‘Grace, are you sure you’re OK? You seem distracted …’

  She took out her ear pods and looked across to where he was sitting opposite her. He was wearing a navy polo shirt with beige chinos, his dark brown hair a little messy, the tendons in his muscular forearms flexing as he lifted a hand up to push his hair away from his face; despite her earlier resolve, it was impossible not to muse on how handsome he was. And other people saw it too, for Grace had spotted two young Italian women nudge each other and exchange smiles as they had passed through the carriage looking for their seats. One of them had accidentally bumped into Ellis’s shoulder as she went by his seat, but it was him who apologised in Italian with, ‘mi dispiace tanto’ and had sounded so sexy it had made Grace blush and push her face further towards the window, hoping he wouldn’t notice her cheeks which were like a pair of rosy red apples.

  ‘Honestly, I’m fine. I just want to read more about Connie and make sure I don’t miss anything – clues and stuff – while I’m here …’ She let her voice drift away.

  ‘But my colleague in the auction house told me the name of jeweller’s shop where I’m guessing Giovanni commissioned Connie’s jewels from, and we have the name of the powder pink villa. I reckon we have enough to be going on with when we get there, don’t you? Come on, let’s enjoy the view while we can.’ And he shifted from his seat and came to sit in the one next to her. Folding his arms and nudging her playfully, he glanced sideways at her with a big grin on his face.

  Grace opened her mouth and then faltered, unsure if she should do as he was suggesting or stick to her own plan. And why had it got so hot on the train all of a sudden? Had the air con gone off or something, as Grace could now feel the cotton fabric of her sundress sticking to her skin and the backs of her bare legs sweating on the PVC seat. She attempted to shift position and cross her legs, then instantly wished she hadn’t when a hideously embarrassing squelching noise practically ricocheted around the whole carriage when the train got a bit of a lick on, causing her thigh to suddenly lift and then unceremoniously thwack back down.

  ‘Oh God, kill me,’ she groaned inwardly, or so she thought, but the words must have come out as Ellis laughed and said, ‘Now why would you want him to do that?’

  ‘Pardon?’ she said, momentarily befuddled.

  ‘Want God to kill you!’ Ellis said. ‘I hate it when that happens too – my old leather lazy boy sure knows how to near rip the skin off my bare back when I’m crashed in a waist towel after a shower, but you can’t blame God. It’s not his fault.’ And he laughed some more, making Grace smile too as she tried ever so hard to shove the image from her head of Ellis, sprawled half-naked on a leather armchair, with just a fluffy white towel tied around his abdomen.

  ‘Um, well, I guess if you put it like that,’ Grace attempted, closing her laptop screen because it would be near on impossible to concentrate on Connie’s diary in any case, with him sitting in such close proximity. His citrusy scent was all around her and
that solid thigh was brushing against hers again. Sorry, Jennifer, but I honestly didn’t do anything to make him sit next to me, not that it means anything anyway, of course not, and I promise from now on to imagine him covered in disgusting Marmite or something instead of semi-naked in a towel. Grace turned to face the window, determined to keep her eyes on the view and very definitely away from Ellis, who was about to become engaged to Jennifer.

  The burnished orangey-red sun was setting on the sea as they arrived in the beautiful bay of Santa Margherita, where the atmosphere was reminiscent of a timeless, old-world ritziness. Grace thought she could just imagine Elizabeth Taylor strolling along in a cream sheath dress and oversized shades, surrounded by paparazzi as she made her way back to a yacht moored in the harbour. The promenade was lined with palm trees and green slatted benches to sit on and admire the view. Elderly women clad in black serge dresses meandered along by a row of smart blue and white striped beach huts, with pots of pink and purple bougainvillea hooked onto the sides. Families with young children rambled over the pebbles on the beach and Grace sighed in contentment and appreciation to be in yet another wonderful part of beautiful Italy.

  After checking in to the boutique hotel and admiring their adjoining rooms on the fourth floor with balconies, giving a splendid view of the coastline, they decided to take a walk to see if they could find Connie’s powder pink villa right away. Or at least get an idea of where it was so they could make a head start in the morning.

  While Ellis had dealt with some work calls, Grace had spoken to an older guy on the desk in the hotel lobby; he had heard of the villa, explaining it was molto grande and set up high on the cliff top with lots of sunroofs and arched verandas, whose shape he had described with his hands, gesticulating animatedly. Grace had thought he was making a rainbow shape at first, only cottoning on when he had pulled out a mobile and shown her a picture of a villa with something similar. Interestingly, he had told her that the powder pink villa was where the artist had lived and that everyone locally knew of him but had rarely seen him. Un recluso, apparently. Until he died over twenty years ago! At which point Grace’s heart had sunk, this news making it harder to continue to harbour any hope of finding him as a living relative. And poor Connie, losing her truelove all over again. He was also able to give Grace a location for the powder pink villa … sort of – that it was beside an orange grove, at the end of a path, with the nearest proper road being called Via Arancia, which translated literally as Orange Road, she later discovered, on relaying the information to Ellis.

  ‘I think it’s all the way up there,’ Ellis said to Grace, looking at the maps app on his phone before pointing over her left shoulder and up a hillside far into the distance. The hotel where they were staying was near the seafront and so they could see that Connie’s villa would take some time to get to, and it would be dark soon. So instead, they crossed the road and headed towards a central piazza with a fountain in the middle and lots of narrow, cobbled lanes leading off it, which were lined with candlelit restaurants and cafés with sun-bleached striped canopies, in search of something to eat.

  After choosing a fish restaurant and being seated at a lovely table under a yellow canopy with a perfect view of the fountain in the piazza where they could people-watch and soak up the evening’s atmosphere, they shared an enormous salt-baked sea bass with lemon and herbs, a Caprese salad and garlicky tomato bruschetta. Grace was enjoying a glass of white wine that the waiter had recommended from a local vineyard, when her mobile rang. On pulling the phone from her handbag and glancing at the screen to see that it was Bernie, her heart sank, and so she put the phone back in her bag and tried to ignore it. Her sister would only be calling to complain about something again, and she didn’t want anything to spoil so much as a second of the magical time she was having here in Italy.

  Fortunately, the phone stopped ringing, and Grace took another mouthful of the crisp, yet fruity-flavoured wine and sat back in her seat feeling contented and relaxed. She was over her earlier embarrassment on the train, and now settled back into the easy and amicable yet professional conversations that she had enjoyed with Ellis in the café at home.

  ‘Everything OK?’ Ellis asked, lifting the empty wine bottle and motioning to the waiter to bring them another one, please.

  ‘Yes. It’s my sister …’ Grace told him, trying to sound breezy.

  ‘Take the call if you like, I don’t mind,’ he smiled.

  ‘Oh no, it’s fine. I’ll talk to her later,’ she said vaguely, helping herself to an olive from the bowl on the table.

  ‘Don’t you want to talk to her now?’ he asked.

  ‘Um, not really,’ she said, discarding the olive stone onto the side of her plate.

  ‘Why not?’ he asked, taking an olive too.

  ‘Oh …’ Grace paused, forgetting how direct he could be, but wondering what to tell him without having to explain it all and likely ruin the evening’s lovely ambience. She didn’t want anything to change the atmosphere, for she was feeling so relaxed, it was as if she had escaped to some place where nothing bad could ever happen. A bubble that she didn’t want to burst by talking about her real life. Not yet. She knew she would have to return to reality at the end of her time in Italy but, for now, she wanted to savour every second. ‘Well, it’ll be a tense conversation and I don’t want it to spoil the mood.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘You really don’t want to know,’ she tried, but Ellis was having none of it.

  ‘Yes I do … and it might help to offload,’ he said, lifting one eyebrow.

  ‘OK,’ Grace sighed. ‘She’ll be calling to tell me off again,’ she settled on, hoping he wouldn’t pursue it, but of course he did.

  ‘Ah, does she make a habit of doing that?’ His forehead creased in concern.

  ‘Oh, yes.’ And Grace was just about to explain a bit more, if only to end the conversation and move it on to something else, when the phone rang again.

  ‘Guess you should answer, it might be important. It could be something to do with your mother …’ he said, and Grace stopped short as she hadn’t realised that he knew anything about Cora. She hadn’t talked about her in any of their previous conversations in the café, but there was no time to ask him how he’d heard about her as the phone stopped ringing, only to start up again almost immediately. Reluctantly, Grace pulled the phone from her bag.

  ‘Hi Bernie, how are you?’ she answered, the wine having relaxed her enough to attempt a more laid-back approach for a change.

  ‘Where on earth are you?’ Bernie started, skipping any pleasantries.

  ‘Italy. But I’m guessing you know that already or you wouldn’t be asking,’ Grace said, her buoyant mood deflating immediately.

  ‘Charming! And there’s no need to be flippant, Grace. It’s really not on, you know,’ Bernie huffed.

  ‘What do you mean? Being flippant, or me having some time off?’ Grace asked, glancing away from Ellis who was sorting out the second bottle of wine with the waiter, then topping up her glass and pouring some for himself.

  ‘You know what I mean. You swan off to Italy without so much as a courtesy call to let any of us know. Sinead and Mikey had no idea either. And Mum has been calling me, practically in tears. She’s devastated that you’ve gone off and left her with the neighbour. In fact, I couldn’t believe my own ears when she told me you had disappeared. What on earth possessed you to do such a thing?’

  ‘Stop it!’ Grace said, before gulping down a big mouthful of wine.’

  ‘I beg your par—’

  ‘Why must you always exaggerate so much?’ Grace was almost certain that their mother wasn’t devastated at all. Most likely, she couldn’t wait to see the back of Grace for all the complaining she did about everything Grace did for her. That was another thing that Grace had gained clarity of thought over since being away from her normal life: that her mother was an ungrateful, selfish cow (there, she had said the ‘c’ word again, if only in her head, Jamie would b
e pleased), who enjoyed tormenting the only one of her grown-up children who could be bothered to care for her.

  ‘Well, if you’re going to be like that,’ Bernie huffed.

  ‘Like what?’ But Grace didn’t wait for an answer, instead she took a deep breath and decided to stop this conversation before it turned into a row and then ruined her evening, and so changed tack with, ‘Look, Bernie. Mum is absolutely fine. I haven’t just left her with a random neighbour as you’re implying. I left her with Jamie, who we have all known for absolutely ever. He is very experienced and he’s actually a real nurse, remember, and Mum likes him, much more than she likes me, so I have no idea why she would be crying on the phone to you.’

  ‘What is that supposed to mean? What are you saying? That I’m lying?’ Bernie said, indignant.

  ‘No, that’s not what I’m saying.’ Grace mouthed, ‘sorry’ to Ellis, and he shook his head and smiled in solidarity before picking up his own phone and busying himself with looking at the screen. ‘Bernie, I’m saying that I will call Jamie later and make sure that Mum is OK.’

  ‘Well, if you had made an effort to call her before now, then you would know that she isn’t. She said that you left two days ago and you haven’t even phoned her once. You can’t just not bother with her, you know.’

  ‘That’s rich coming from you …’ Grace said, the words spilling out of her mouth before she had a chance to properly think through the consequences. She had wanted to avoid a full-blown argument, if only for her own self-preservation, and now she’d gone and lit the touch paper by confronting Bernie with her ‘lack of bother’ for their mother.

  ‘How dare you! I love my mother more than anyone. She means the world to me,’ Bernie exploded so passionately that, if Grace hadn’t known better, she might be convinced that her sister truly meant every single word. ‘And don’t you think I wished that I had time to look after her like you do, but I don’t, Grace. I’m a very, very busy person with a responsible job an—’