‘It would be a pleasure,’ Ma retorted. ‘But first I’ll come with you to the folly. I can’t sit on my behind all day or it will lose its shape.’
The three of them sauntered down the path to the little stone folly. Nanni breathed in the floral scents of the garden and sighed. ‘You live in a paradise, Romina. I’d be happy to lie down one day and die amidst such peace and beauty.’
‘Be my guest, Nanni, but do us all a favour and lie on something we can carry!’ Romina unlocked the door.
Ma and Nanni followed her, their eyes adjusting to the darkness. ‘Perhaps I will lie down in here,’ he said. ‘Though it looks like someone has already had the same idea.’
Romina ran her hand over the quilt, still imprinted with the shape of the intruder. ‘Not again!’
‘Just like Goldilocks,’ said Ma.
Romina threw up her hands. ‘This isn’t funny any more. Someone has a key, or steals my key, to get in here. But who?’
Nanni picked up a silk scarf. ‘What’s this?’ It smelled of perfume. Romina snatched it and held it up to the light.
‘This isn’t mine.’
‘Nor mine,’ Ma added. ‘Pale pink and blue are not my colours.’
‘It smells of a woman,’ said Romina, narrowing her eyes. ‘Dizzy?’
‘Well, they left this morning. So, we’ll soon find out if it doesn’t happen again.’
‘Could they have been so devious?’ Romina turned the scarf over, looking for a label. ‘Well, it’s an Italian label. MOM.’
Ma shrugged. ‘I’ve never been very good at brand names.’
‘Means nothing to me,’ said Romina. ‘SOS would have been more appropriate!’ Then her face darkened and she looked at her brother in alarm. ‘Marchese Ovidio di Montelimone.’
16
Romina sat in the shade with Porci in her lap, recovering from the discovery of the mysterious silk scarf. Ventura brought her a cup of coffee while Luca, Ma and Nanni discussed who the intruder might be. ‘It’s a woman’s scarf. It smells of a woman’s perfume, too.’
Luca brought it to his nose. ‘A very sweet perfume. I’d recognise it if I’d smelt it before.’
‘Who else has the key?’ Nanni asked.
‘Only me!’ Romina wailed.
‘Might she be climbing in through the window?’ Ma suggested.
‘No, there are bars on the windows and they are never opened.’ Romina blinked back tears. ‘Why on earth would someone want to sleep in there?’
‘Change the lock.’ Nanni was surprised that his sister hadn’t done so already.
‘No,’ Luca intervened. ‘Let’s catch her. She’s not doing any harm, so let’s lie in wait. This old codger I met with Caradoc, in the church, said that rumours of ghosts have grown up over the years because lights were seen up here even though the place was uninhabited. Perhaps it’s the same person.’
‘Someone who doesn’t want us here,’ said Romina anxiously.
‘A homeless person, perhaps,’ said Ma. ‘I do hate homeless people. They never bathe.’
‘Whoever she is, I’m going to find her,’ said Luca confidently. He thought of Cosima. ‘You know, I know someone who might just shed some light on all of this.’
Luca was grateful for the excuse to go into town. He found Rosa in the trattoria with Toto. The place was very quiet; only one elderly couple sat drinking coffee on the terrace. His first instinct was to ask after Cosima, but the sight of Rosa’s enthusiastic face warned him against provoking her jealousy. She rushed off to make him coffee, then sat down to join him. ‘How are the children?’
‘Having a blast.’
‘And everything up at the palazzo?’
‘When are you going to come and visit?’
‘When my father gets around to taking the photographs. He’s busy with a job in Positano at the moment.’
‘Bring your children. They might like a swim.’
‘I will.’
‘Tell me something. What do you know about the old Marchese?’
‘Only what my mother has told me, or let slip over the years. She doesn’t like to talk about it. My father told me that during the war people did what they could to survive, even eating dogs! The Marchese was rich. He fell in love with Valentina. Times were hard, he was her ticket to a better life. She’d disappear to their love-nest up at the palazzo . . .’
‘Love-nest?’
‘Yes, there’s a little house on the top of the cliff, overlooking the sea.’
‘You’ve been in there?’
Rosa blushed. ‘Yes.’
‘How did you get in?’
She glanced around to make sure they weren’t overheard. ‘Mamma has a key. Valentina’s key. She’d let herself in and wait for the Marchese. Isn’t that romantic!’
‘Does your mother know you’ve been up there?’
‘I haven’t been in it for years,’ she hissed. ‘Don’t ever tell her. She’d murder me.’
‘Does your mother ever go up there now?’
‘No. She won’t go near the place. You see, when she came out here she was about my age. She came to find her family because her father had never told her about her mother. Of course, she never knew why. She thought it was because her step-mother was jealous of her. The truth was that her parents were never married and her mother was leading other lives. The Marchese was jealous that Valentina was going to take Alba to London with my grandfather – he wrongly believed the baby to be his – so, he murdered her. If he couldn’t have her, he would make sure no one else could.’
‘And Valentina’s brother murdered him.’
‘Yes. In your palazzo. My mother had an English ex-boyfriend who came out to win her back and they both went up to see the ruin.’ Luca thought of Fitzroy and things began to shift into focus. If Rosemary had the slightest idea of Alba’s beauty, she’d have a fit. ‘They found Nero, this weird man who the Marchese had adopted as a child, I think. He told them that the Marchese was murdered because he’d killed Valentina. It was such a shock. Mamma found the place so desolate and evil she has never returned. Wild horses wouldn’t drag her there.’
‘So how does she feel about your father photographing the place for the Sunday Times?’
‘She won’t talk about it. My father teases her relentlessly. She shrugs it off, but I can tell she doesn’t like it. The thing is, my father always gets his way. She can’t deny him anything.’ She paused. ‘I wish my marriage was as solid as theirs.’
Luca finished his coffee and walked back to the car, heavy with diappointment at not seeing Cosima. Little by little she was seeping into his subconscious, carving a place for herself in his heart. Then it occurred to him that he might as well drive up to her house. There was no point skulking around hoping to bump into her. He didn’t want to impose, but he was sure she liked him too. Perhaps because he was the only link she had to her son; he hoped it was more than that. He knew he had to take things slowly; she was fragile. It was that fragility that aroused in him a desire to protect her.
He reached the house and parked the car beneath the twisted eucalyptus tree. He felt awkward, like a teenager on his first date, and his stomach churned with nerves. The laughter of children was carried on the breeze with the barking of a dog and the occasional braying of a donkey. He shouted to alert them to his arrival. ‘Hello! Is anyone at home?’ To his surprise it was Cosima who herself came around the corner to meet him, drying her hands on a tea towel.
She was wearing a pale yellow dress with a short ivory cardigan and flip-flops. Her dark hair was clipped up on the back of her head, leaving long tendrils around her face and down her neck. She wore silver bracelets on her wrists and a little silver crucifix that shone against the creamy toffee of her skin. As she approached, he could smell the warm lemon of her scent. He longed to touch her and thrust his hands in his pockets, not trusting himself.
‘This is a surprise,’ she smiled. ‘I was just baking a cake.’
‘I hope I’m not disturbing you.
’
‘Of course not. You can help me ice it.’
‘Somebody’s birthday?’
‘Panfilo’s. He doesn’t care much for birthdays, but the children like to have a party. They made such a mess baking it, I think I’ll ice it myself. Are you any good at cake decoration?’
‘The last time I baked a cake was a hundred years ago.’
‘And the last time you ate one?’
‘Very recently. I’ve never said no to a slice of cake.’ He followed her around the house to the terrace. Beata was asleep in the shade, her sewing on her knee.
‘My grandmother is in no position to help me,’ she said with a laugh. ‘It’s lucky you showed up or I’d have had to do it all on my own.’
‘Where’s your aunt?’
‘Alba’s a law unto herself. When she’s not at the trattoria she’s out walking along the cliffs or on the beach. She’s very solitary.’
Luca wondered whether Alba’s refusal to discuss the palazzo was masking a deep fascination with it. She held the only other key to the folly. Could the mystery intruder be Valentina’s own daughter?
The kitchen smelt of baking and Luca’s mouth began to water. She poured him a glass of lemonade. ‘You know, there’s this beautiful old farm not far from here with a lemon grove that covers an entire hill. These lemons are from there.’ She watched him take a sip. ‘Good, isn’t it?’
‘Very good.’ She took an apron off the back of the door and tied it around her waist.
‘A wonderful old woman owns it called Manfreda. Of course she doesn’t harvest the lemons herself, she’s too ancient for that, but she always gets the boys to leave a basket for us. She knew Immacolata, you see, and is very fond of Alba. What she doesn’t know about Incantellaria and the war isn’t worth knowing. There’s something magical about that farm because whatever the weather, her lemons are always big, yellow and juicy.’
‘I’m beginning to think Incantellaria is magical.’
‘So, you know about the carnations . . . ?’
‘Yes, the morning the beach was covered with them.’
‘You should talk to Manfreda. Many strange things have happened here. Whether you choose to believe them or not is another matter. So, what do you do, Luca?’ She began to pour icing sugar into a bowl.
‘I worked in finance for twenty years, then I woke up one morning and realised I was spending my entire life on a treadmill that gave me no satisfaction. Sure, it made me rich, but it didn’t satisfy my creative side.’ He grinned bashfully. ‘I’m still looking for something that does.’
She listened as she stirred butter into the mixture with a wooden spoon. ‘If you could do anything in the world, what would you do?’
‘Good question. I’m not sure.’
‘Do you paint?’
‘No.’
‘Write?’
‘Sadly not. This would be the perfect place to write a novel.’
She paused for a rest and looked at him pensively. ‘What was it that banking lacked?’
‘It didn’t leave me with anything concrete.’
‘Just figures on computer screens. Nothing to take home with you at the end of the day, like these lemons.’
He took a lemon from the fruit bowl and squeezed it. ‘Nothing concrete about these lemons. What are you grinning at?’
‘You,’ she replied, scraping her finger on the spoon and putting it in her mouth.
‘Why?’
She added more icing sugar and continued to stir. ‘Because it’s very clear to me what you should do.’
‘Do tell me. I’ve been trying to work it out for weeks.’
‘Plant something and watch it grow.’ It was as if she understood his deepest desire. She placed the spoon in front of his mouth. ‘Try a little, it’s good.’
The mixture melted on his tongue. ‘Very good.’
‘But it needs more lemon.’ She cut one in half and squeezed it into the bowl. The juice ran through her fingers.
‘You smell of lemon. Do you spray it on, or do you bathe in it?’
‘Neither,’ she replied, laughing. ‘I drink it.’
She wiped her hands on her apron, went to the drawer and took out two spatulas. ‘One for you and one for me. This goes all over the cake, not into your mouth.’ She placed the sponge cake in the middle of the table then scooped a large dollop of icing on to the end of her spatula and began to spread it over the cake. Luca copied her.
‘You’re not bad,’ she said. ‘For a beginner.’
He pretended to be offended. ‘Are you saying I don’t know how to ice a cake?’
‘You only know how to count. This is creative.’
‘I have a dormant creativity, remember.’
‘Well, let’s wake it up then.’ She brought over a tin of small colourful sweets. ‘Let your imagination flow.’
‘You want me to put these on the cake?’
‘Yes. It’s a children’s cake. You can’t go wrong.’
‘I’m not afraid of a few sweets,’ he scoffed. He longed to kiss her. How different she was from the woman he had chased outside the church. He placed the sweets around the edge of the cake.
‘That shows a methodical mind,’ she commented, leaning across and resting her chin on her hands.
‘What does this show?’ He dipped a red sweet in icing then very carefully stuck it on the end of her nose.
‘Now I’m going to kiss it off,’ he said softly. She didn’t move. Luca leaned forward and kissed the end of her nose, licking off the icing and the sweet. He pulled back a little to gauge her reaction. ‘I didn’t come here to do this,’ he said. ‘But you’re so beautiful, I can’t restrain myself.’ He placed his lips on hers and kissed her again.
There was the sound of footsteps. They sprang apart and continued to decorate the cake as if nothing had happened. Cosima wiped her nose with her hand.
‘Hello Luca.’ It was Beata, woken from her nap. ‘I didn’t see you come in.’
‘You were asleep, Nonnina,’ said Cosima calmly. ‘Do you want to help us with Panfilo’s cake?’
Beata leaned over to take a look. ‘I think you’re doing a good job of it by yourselves. How are you, Luca?’
‘Well, thank you.’
‘Good. I’ll leave you to it then. The children will be thrilled.’ Beata left the room.
Cosima began to giggle. ‘We’re behaving like school children.’
‘I never kissed anyone at school.’
Cosima shook her head. ‘I don’t believe that for a minute!’
‘Why don’t we go somewhere where I can kiss you properly, without being caught by the headmistress!’
Cosima put the cake in the fridge, took off her apron and led Luca out through another door. ‘I’ll show you my favourite place in the whole of Incantellaria,’ she said. As they walked through the olive grove, he took her hand. She didn’t pull away. ‘I used to play here as a child,’ she said. ‘I didn’t have brothers and sisters to play with, so I played with my father or Alba. We’d always walk here and I’d skip around the trees. It’s quiet but for the rhythm of the sea and the chirping of crickets. I like the smells too. Pine and wild thyme. Can you smell them?’
‘Yes. And lemons.’ He looked at her and the sweet way she looked back at him made his stomach flip.
They reached an old lookout tower, crumbling and redundant. ‘This is where I feel most at peace. Where I come to remember Francesco. When I look out over such a vast horizon, to the mists that blur the line of the sea, it’s hard not to believe in Heaven.’
Luca pulled her into his arms, longing to erase her frown with his lips. ‘Don’t be sad, Cosima,’ he said. ‘Francesco found me so that I could pass on a message to you. That he’s in spirit. That he’s always with you.’ Luca curled stray wisps of hair behind her ear.
‘I hope you’re right.’
‘I’m either right, or I’m mad.’
‘You’re not mad, are you?’
‘Mad for you,’ he
replied softly, then kissed her lips that parted for him.
Luca had kissed many women, most of whom he couldn’t recall. But he had never had such a deep feeling of tenderness. She pulled on his heart so hard that it almost hurt. He wanted to wrap her up and protect her from her fears, to kiss away her pain and watch her cry with joy instead of sorrow. Most of all he wanted her to love him back.
17
When Rosa came home she found Cosima in the kitchen humming cheerfully as she bustled about washing up a bowl and two wooden spatulas. The room smelt of baking. A few sweets were scattered on the floor.
‘Hi.’ She opened the fridge. ‘The children sure made a mess of that!’ she laughed, on seeing the cake. Cosima didn’t comment. ‘So, how are they?’
‘Very excited about Panfilo’s party.’
‘Excited about staying up, too,’ said Rosa, sitting down with a glass of juice. ‘It was quiet today. Very dull. Where’s Mamma?’
‘She hasn’t come back yet. Beata’s gone home and left the children with me. She’s coming back for the party.’
‘What have you got?’
‘Balloons, of course.’
‘He hates birthdays.’
‘But the children love them.’
‘He’s very indulgent.’ There was a buoyancy to Cosima’s movements that made Rosa suspicious. She was far too happy for a woman who, only a week ago, had tried to drown herself. ‘Why are you in such a good mood?’
‘It’s such a beautiful day.’
‘It’s beautiful every day.’
‘But today is more beautiful than all the others.’
‘Well, if you say so. It’s the same as all the others if you ask me.’ Rosa glanced down at her chipped nail polish. ‘I’m going outside to find the children.’
Luca returned to the palazzo for a swim. It was hot and he needed to cool his ardour. As he propelled himself up and down the pool he recalled that kiss by the fort; sweet, tender, passionate, but much too short. He would have stayed there all the night had she been willing. It was all he could do not to unfasten the buttons on her dress and slip it off her shoulders. Instead, he had forced himself to take things slowly: this was Italy, not England where the girls were only too eager to jump into bed. As he came up for air he heard his daughters with Sammy.
The Italian Matchmaker Page 16