He got up and showered, then went to find his mother.
‘Can I borrow your car? I want to go into town for coffee.’
‘You don’t need to go into town, darling. I’ll make you coffee myself.’ Romina couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to leave the palazzo.
‘I like it there by the sea.’
She gave him a knowing look. ‘Pretty girls,’ she said, winking at Ventura. ‘Men are all the same! Go on then. You can fill the car up with petrol while you’re down there.’
She watched him go and her heart swelled with pride. He was so tall and handsome, with his wide shoulders and straight back. What he needed was a nice Italian girl to love and look after him. Claire had become an avaricious creature who expected everything to be done for her. She was selfish and ungrateful.
‘Now, Ventura,’ she said, brushing Claire out of her mind. ‘You have to get over your fear of going upstairs. Ghosts don’t exist. They are all in your imagination. Control it or find another job. I don’t want you frightening the maids and I cannot carry excess baggage around this place. Pull your weight or leave.’
Ventura looked at her in astonishment. ‘But I know there is someone up there.’
‘The house is full of guests. It is hardly a surprise that you hear footsteps.’
‘They say it is haunted.’
‘Who says?’
‘Everyone.’
‘Gossip. This place hasn’t been occupied for years. Really, Ventura, you can’t believe the idle chit-chat of peasants who have nothing more to do than spread rumours.’ Ventura made to speak, but Romina silenced her with the wave of her hand. ‘Enough. Now, you go and make up the rooms. I don’t want to hear another word about ghosts.’ It’s all I ever heard as a child, and I won’t listen to any more!
Luca parked the car in the piazza. The little square was busy. The caffè where he had met Maria was full of customers sitting at round tables beneath green parasols. Waiters in black and white took orders and poured wine into large glasses. A few elderly tourists emerged from the hotel, and children played on the grass while their mothers and grandmothers chatted on benches. The town had a festive air and Luca wondered what was going on.
The narrow street down to the quay was blocked by cars and scooters, tooting their horns in fury at the car in front that had stalled on the incline. On the sea front, children ran about looking at the boats and chatting to those tending them. The restaurants were filling up, especially on the terraces as everyone wanted to be outside. He saw a large boat arrive, laden with tourists, and decided to grab a table at the trattoria before they were all taken.
Rosa was taking an order when Luca appeared. She shouted to Toto, her voice quivering with excitement. ‘Show Luca to a nice table. He’s a very special customer.’ She winked at him flirtatiously. Luca smiled; Rosa’s ebullience was contagious. Toto showed him to a table on the edge of the terrace, beside a large stone container of red geraniums.
‘From here you can watch the world go by,’ said Toto.
‘What’s going on today?’ Luca asked. ‘Is there some sort of festival?’
Toto shrugged. ‘Nothing unusual for a Saturday.’
‘Of course, it’s the weekend. I’m on another planet!’ He sat down, amused that he had lost track of time. While he had nothing to do, all the days were the same.
‘You’re not from here?’ Toto asked. The younger man’s Italian accent was not familiar.
‘From London,’ Luca replied.
‘But you speak Italian so well.’
‘My mother’s Italian. She lives up at the palazzo.’
‘Palazzo Montelimone.’ Toto gave a slow whistle. ‘That’s quite a place.’ Toto was caught off guard. He rummaged around for something else to say but only managed, ‘What will you have?’
Rosa appeared in a flash of crimson. ‘I’ll take the order,’ she said, dismissing him with a gentle nudge of her hips. Toto withdrew to seat a group who had just disembarked from Sorrento. ‘So, what will you have? I can recommend the red mullet, it’s fresh today.’
‘I wasn’t planning on having lunch, just coffee,’ he replied.
‘You can’t come here and not eat! A growing man like you. Besides, Fiorelli’s is famous for its cooking. My great-grandmother passed her recipes to my mother and she has passed them to me. We guard them possessively. Why don’t you let me choose something for you? Go on! Live a little.’
Luca was won over. Besides, he had nothing else to do. ‘All right,’ he said, handing back the menu. ‘You choose. I’ll have some wine, too. A glass of Greco di Tufo, chilled.’
‘Right away,’ she replied with a long, lingering look.
Luca sat back in his chair. He enjoyed people watching. It was something he had never had time to do. Now he noticed everyone around him, from what they were wearing to the small gestures that passed between them. He tried to work out relationships, dynamics and moods. Rosa brought him wine. He took a sip.
‘You like it?’ she asked.
‘Perfect,’ he said, taking off his sunglasses. His blue eyes were the colour of the little fishing boats on the beach. ‘Are you still in trouble?’ he asked, angling for news of her mysterious cousin.
‘I’m always in trouble with Cosima.’
‘How long has she been in mourning?’
‘Too long. Three years. It’s time she put on a pretty dress and found a husband.’ She gave a little sniff. ‘You know, she can be quite pretty when she makes the effort.’
Luca was amused by her unguarded malice. ‘What does she do?’
‘Very little, because my mother feels sorry for her. She’s meant to keep the books. Of course, she used to work here full-time, but she became a drag. This is a pretty place – we don’t need a black widow spinning misery.’
‘She didn’t eat her husband, did she?’
Rosa laughed. ‘Sometimes, I’d like to eat mine,’ she murmured and Luca wondered how many times she had been unfaithful. This flirtatious dance seemed very well practised.
Rosa went away to serve other customers. She walked about the restaurant with her bottom out, her stomach in, her gait slow and sexy, conscious that Luca might be watching. In fact, Luca had turned his attention to the quay where Cosima’s little boy was jumping off a bollard. He sat up: if the child was there, his mother would surely follow.
Sure enough, Cosima appeared on the terrace, carrying a bunch of pretty white and yellow flowers. She walked past him without a glance, the scent of lemons in her wake. He watched her weave deftly through the tables and felt his desire mount. She wasn’t overtly sexy like Rosa, or as dramatically beautiful, but there was something about her that aroused him. He wasn’t used to women being aloof. He knew there was fire beneath the ice because he had seen it here on this very terrace. He took a swig of wine and watched her disappear inside. She posed a tremendous challenge.
Rosa brought him a plate of red mullet with roasted vegetables and potatoes. She insisted on waiting while he took a bite. ‘Very good,’ he said truthfully.
‘It’s all in the oil, infused with herbs and spices.’
‘Well, it reaches the spot!’
‘I’m so pleased. Can I get you anything else?’
‘Your cousin seems in a better mood today.’
‘She has her ups and downs. At least she has come in to help. She can do some washing up!’
‘Doesn’t she serve? You’re very busy.’
‘No, she’ll frighten the customers away. It’s important to smile and Cosima doesn’t smile very much.’
‘Doesn’t anyone make her smile?’
‘I smile enough for the two of us,’ said Rosa, bringing the conversation around to herself again. He noticed that she had reapplied her lipstick. It was as red as her dress.
‘You have a very pretty smile.’
‘Thank you, signore,’ she replied. ‘If you need anything else, just shout.’
Luca observed Cosima’s little boy and thought of his own
daughters. He felt a wrench of guilt. He wasn’t the most attentive father. Oh, they had the best education money could buy, beautiful homes, and holidays in the most exclusive resorts. He spoiled them with presents and treats when they came to stay every other weekend. Now he realised that he was just buying their forgiveness for all his failings. He resolved to make it up to them.
The little boy stood on the bollard and threw a white feather into the air. Then he jumped after it, catching it before it fell. It was a solitary game. Other children played nearby, but he didn’t seem to want to join in. Eventually he stopped and wandered over to the trattoria. Luca looked to see if his mother was coming out of the restaurant, but she wasn’t so he turned back to the child. He was standing a short distance away, watching a large blue butterfly that was sitting on his hand, basking in the sunlight with open wings. He looked up and saw Luca. He froze with surprise and caught his breath, staring at him with big brown eyes.
Luca gave a little wave. The child approached tentatively. ‘Hello,’ said Luca quietly so as not to alarm him. ‘That’s a very beautiful butterfly.’ The child stopped a few feet away, a frown lining his young brow. Then he blew on the butterfly and it fluttered into the air, circling the geraniums a moment before settling on Luca’s hand. Luca was astonished. ‘You should give this to your mother,’ he said, but the little boy had run off, back to the bollard. Luca was left watching the extraordinary butterfly, which settled on the table, its wings like oil, reflecting all the colours of the rainbow.
He ate his lunch and drank a second glass of Greco di Tufo, then remained at the table with an espresso. The butterfly fluttered into the geraniums and the child grew bored of his game and mingled with the other children, pottering around the boats like street urchins. Finally, Cosima appeared and stood talking to Toto. The older man looked at her with tenderness and Luca deduced that they were father and daughter. Then he said something that made her smile. The sight gave Luca a jolt. There was a gentle beauty in her smile.
As she turned and began to walk towards him, the butterfly fluttered off the geraniums and into her path. She stopped in her tracks and watched its erratic flight a moment. She was still smiling and Luca felt emboldened to speak to her again.
‘That’s a very friendly butterfly.’ She turned her dark eyes to him as the butterfly settled on her shoulder, striking against the black of her dress. ‘It likes you.’
‘I think it does,’ she replied. ‘I shall wear it as a brooch.’ She began to walk away.
‘Your son has a real gift with insects.’
Her shoulders stiffened and she turned around to glare at him with stunned disbelief. ‘What did you say?’
‘Your son brought it to me. It belongs to him,’ Luca explained.
She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, as if his words had caused her pain. Luca’s heart lurched at her reaction and he frantically tried to work out what he had said to cause offence. He made to speak but she dismissed him with a sniff, muttering ‘Foreigners!’ under her breath. Then she turned and strode off without a backward glance. Her son broke away from the other children and hurried after her. The butterfly remained on her shoulder.
Luca finished his coffee, his good mood evaporating. He waved at Toto for the bill, but it was Rosa who brought it. ‘I think I offended your cousin,’ he said, handing her some notes. ‘Keep the change.’
Rosa waved her hand dismissively. ‘She is easily offended. Think nothing of it.’
‘I didn’t mean to upset her.’
‘You’ll get used to it. I upset her all the time. Join the club, it’s very large.’
‘Tell her . . .’ he began, then stopped himself. There was no point. He was nothing to her, just a tactless foreigner. Maybe he shouldn’t have mentioned her son. He hoped he hadn’t got the child into trouble.
‘Don’t bother to apologise, signore,’ said Rosa with a grin. ‘If you have offended her, she’ll never forgive you.’
9
Luca returned to the palazzo and lay by the pool, so disgruntled he could barely concentrate on his book. Dizzy and Maxwell came to join him, which irritated him all the more. Finally, in order to escape them and lift his mood, he called Freya.
Freya was at her desk writing letters when the telephone rang. Mildly irritated by the intrusion, she picked it up and hooked it under her chin. She had a village fete meeting at four and she had wanted to get all her admin done beforehand. ‘Hello,’ she said briskly.
‘Is this a bad time?’
‘Luca!’ She put down her pen and sat up excitedly. ‘You haven’t returned any of my calls!’
‘I’m deleting my messages without listening to them.’
‘Is that wise?’
‘I need a break.’
‘So, how is it? Is it wonderful?’
‘Well, I’m lying by the pool. It’s hot and sunny. Life is good.’
‘I’m so pleased. You really needed a rest. What’s the palazzo like?’
‘They have done the most splendid job. It’s glorious. As you can imagine, Mother has paid attention to every detail. It’s going to be photographed by the Sunday Times. The journalist arrives in a few weeks. God knows what she’s going to dig up. The place has a rather bloody history.’
‘Tell me!’ Freya had forgotten all about her admin. It wouldn’t matter if she was late for the meeting. She’d make some excuse.
‘An old marquis lived here during the war. His mistress was a local beauty called Valentina. She was also fucking a famous mafia boss and a Brit whom she was on the point of marrying. The marquis, in a fit of jealousy, murdered her.’
‘Oh my God! That’s terrible.’
‘Then, Valentina’s brother murdered him in the palazzo.’
‘Your palazzo?’
‘Exactly. Ventura, the maid, won’t go upstairs because she says the place is haunted.’
‘Well, is it?’
‘Of course not!’
‘Great story, though.’
‘It gets better. Valentina had a daughter called Alba, by the Brit. She lives here in Incantellaria.’
‘It all sounds thrilling.’
‘Its beauty takes your breath away, Freya.’ He suddenly sounded serious. ‘I’d love to show it to you.’
She hesitated a moment. ‘I wish you could show it to me, too.’
‘Where’s the lovely Miles?’
‘Out and about. I don’t know.’
‘Are you getting bored of him?’
‘No!’ she laughed. ‘Whatever gave you that idea?’
‘Optimism.’
‘Haven’t you found a pretty Italian yet?’
‘I don’t want an Italian,’ he replied, feeling once again the sting of Cosima’s rebuff.
‘What about Annabel? She’s been asking after you. You haven’t returned any of her calls either.’ She heard him groan. ‘You slept with her, didn’t you?’
‘Mistake,’ he replied.
Freya was pleased. ‘I’ll fend her off. You were obviously too good . . .’
‘You remember?’
‘No! It was a long time ago.’
‘I remember every inch of you.’
‘Oh, Luca. You shouldn’t.’ But his words made her feel so desirable.
‘We were good together. Why don’t you come out?’
‘I couldn’t.’
‘You have a nanny.’
‘What would Miles think?’
‘Bring him too. I’ll find suitable distractions for him.’
‘Don’t be silly.’
‘Come with the children in the holidays. I’m sure to have the girls while Claire goes social climbing. They can all play together and I can show you around Incantellaria.’
‘Miles would never let me. He’s suspicious of you.’
‘How very unreasonable of him. Bring your mother.’
‘She thinks Incantellaria is a dull little place.’
‘Only because Fitz once had a girlfriend here. There’s nothing dul
l about it; if anything, it’s far too colourful for its own good. Think about it. It’s perfect. Almost perfect,’ he added with emphasis. ‘You’d make it complete.’
She hesitated a moment. Luca was feeling much more cheerful. ‘I don’t think I can, Luca,’ she said at last.
‘Why? I’m not going to eat you.’
‘You’re a dangerous flirt and Miles knows that.’
‘Then I’ll just live off the memories.’
‘Make some new ones, Luca, with someone else. We’re just friends, remember.’
He sighed. ‘I remember. Game, set and match to Miles.’
Energised by his conversation with Freya, he swam some lengths, his mind on Freya and the improbability of an affair. But, for every moment he thought of Freya, he twice rejected Cosima’s face. It surfaced continuously to eclipse hers like an unexpected moon.
Dizzy moved her sun-lounger farther away from the water as Luca splashed her with his energetic swimming. Maxwell received business calls from Vienna and spoke very loudly in German, pretentiously adding the odd English word for emphasis. When Luca got out, Caradoc had appeared, sitting in the shade, reading a book.
‘Ah, Professor,’ he said, wrapping a towel around his waist.
‘You are full of energy,’ Caradoc observed, putting down his book.
‘I went to the trattoria,’ Luca explained.
‘Was that delightful girl there? The one in red?’
‘Rosa.’
‘Ah, the lovely Rosa. Yes, was she there?’
‘She works there, Professor. I think she’s always there.’
‘Then I should make a daily pilgrimage.’
Luca laughed. ‘She’d love that.’
‘I’m past my prime now but, between you and me, I was a bit of a rogue in my day.’
‘I’m sure you still are.’
‘I’m a bit long in the tooth now. I can only remember the good old days.’
‘I saw the widow too,’ Luca said ruefully.
‘She rejected you again? That must have dented your pride.’
‘I don’t know what I said to upset her.’
‘Well?’
‘Long story, but her son was there and he gave me a butterfly. Then, when Cosima passed, the butterfly flew on to her dress. I told her it looked pretty and she almost smiled.’
The Italian Matchmaker Page 9