The Italian Matchmaker

by Santa Montefiore

  Eugenio gave a low whistle. ‘So this was the Marchese’s love-nest.’

  ‘How do you know it was his love-nest?’

  ‘It’s legendary. Valentina used to meet him here. It was their special place.’

  ‘I haven’t changed a thing. I kept it exactly as it was.’

  ‘The Marchese was a notorious pervert,’ he said with a chuckle. He leaned over to read the spines of the books neatly lined up in the bookcase. ‘Erotica. That doesn’t surprise me.’

  ‘If he were alive I’d point the finger at him,’ said Romina, folding her arms.

  ‘He’s dead and I still point the finger at him.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous! Dead people don’t come back. When you’re dead you’re dead. That’s it. Full stop.’

  ‘Well, there’s no sign of a break-in. Nothing stolen. No damage. Nothing.’ He shrugged. ‘As I said, there’s nothing I can do until she turns up again. In that case, call me.’

  ‘Maybe she won’t come back. Maybe, she’ll grow bored and go somewhere else,’ said Romina hopefully.

  ‘I’d take a good look at your staff, signora. And keep that key close to you at all times. I think you’ll find it’s nothing.’

  After dinner, Luca and Cosima strolled along a small stony beach. It was twilight. The first stars were just visible, twinkling through an indigo sky, the waxing moon as shiny as a polished silver coin. He told her about his marriage, his divorce, his work and how it had all begun to suffocate him. He explained how coming to Incantellaria and meeting her had changed him.

  ‘I feel alive, aware of all my senses. Aware of everything around me from the smallest flowers to the breeze on my face. I came here for some peace, so that I could work out where I wanted to go, what I wanted to do. I never expected to metamorphose into someone different.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘I never expected to fall in love.’ They walked on in silence until he pressed her for an answer. ‘And you? Are you falling in love with me too?’

  She took a deep breath. ‘Yes, Luca. I’m falling in love with you. But I’m afraid.’

  ‘Of what? Rosa?’

  ‘No, not my cousin. I’m afraid of allowing myself happiness. Whenever I feel happy something squeezes my heart to remind me of Francesco.’

  ‘You don’t feel you deserve happiness after what happened to your son?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He stopped and drew her into his arms. ‘Francesco wants you to be happy. He doesn’t blame you. If it wasn’t for him you’d have drowned.’

  ‘I want to believe.’

  ‘Look, I saw him earlier today on the quay. When you left, he ran after you. He had a spring in his step. Then he grinned at me and waved.’

  The longing glittered in her eyes. ‘I want to believe with all my heart.’

  ‘Trust me, Cosima. I wouldn’t lie to you. This is all very new to me. I’m bewildered by it too.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘I didn’t want to make you sad.’

  ‘Don’t you see? That is the one thing that will make me happy.’

  They continued to walk, their arms wrapped around each other. Instead of Francesco’s name hanging over them like an oppressive shadow, they talked about him openly. Cosima’s anguish was lifted and she talked about her son with pleasure, recounting his antics and the funny things he had said. Luca was intrigued by the child who was only visible to him, but he longed for undeniable proof of his spiritual existence to give to Cosima. He had no idea how to talk to a spirit.

  They sat on the pebbles and Cosima pushed her doubts to the very back of her mind. She let her desire take over and became aware only of the rough sensation of Luca’s bristles against her skin, the warmth of his lips on hers, the strength of his body as he enveloped her. With Luca she felt safe. She felt herself again. The last three years she had been nothing more than a mother without a child to love. Now she felt like a woman again, loved by a man.

  Eugenio came home from the palazzo to find Alba and Rosa preparing dinner. His wife fell on him with excitement. ‘So, what’s it like up there? Tell me everything.’

  Alba went back into the kitchen to check on the pasta. She didn’t want to hear about the palazzo.

  ‘It’s astonishing,’ he said, taking off his cap and scratching his scalp. ‘I saw the Marchese’s love-nest.’

  ‘Did you find the intruder?’

  ‘Just as I thought. Nothing.’

  ‘How very dull. Not even a little ghostie?’ Rosa ran a scarlet fingernail down his chest.

  ‘Not even a little ghostie.’

  ‘I’d like to make love to you in that little folly.’

  ‘I don’t think that will be possible, now the case is being handed over to Inspector Luca.’ He didn’t bother to hide the resentment in his voice.

  ‘So, he’s really going to guard the door?’

  ‘I think so. How else is he going to find the intruder?’

  ‘I love a mystery!’

  ‘I don’t think there is a mystery. But you know what? I think she’s turned the place into a hotel.’

  ‘You’re not serious!’

  ‘I am. There were so many people up there.’

  ‘Don’t tell Mamma. She’ll be furious!’

  ‘Don’t tell me what?’ said Alba, appearing in the doorway with a large bowl. Eugenio and Rosa exchanged glances.

  ‘It looks like that woman has turned the palazzo into a hotel.’

  Alba almost dropped the bowl. ‘What? Are you sure?’

  ‘She had so many guests. There must have been at least fifteen people on the terrace,’ he exaggerated. ‘Drinking wine, playing cards.’

  ‘Won’t it be good for business?’ Rosa asked.

  ‘Incantellaria can’t take all these people.’

  ‘I don’t think fifteen are going to make a big difference.’ Eugenio enjoyed teasing his mother-in-law.

  ‘You don’t know how many that place can hold. She might have fifty by August . . .’ Alba sank into a chair. ‘I don’t like the thought of that place being turned into a palace of amusement. They’re probably dining out on the history, taking tours around the rooms. It’s not right.’

  ‘She seems nice to me,’ said Rosa. ‘A little eccentric, but fun.’

  ‘I won’t have you going up there, do you hear!’

  ‘You can’t stop me, Mamma. I’m twenty-six. And anyway, what harm will it do? Romina’s invited me with the children. They have a swimming pool.’

  ‘I bet they do,’ Alba interjected angrily. ‘For all their guests.’

  Rosa narrowed her eyes. ‘Is it the guests you’re worried about, or the fact that she’s rebuilt the ruin?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Alba didn’t want to discuss it any further. ‘You can go up there if you must, but I’ll never set foot in that evil place again.’

  20

  The day after his dinner date with Cosima, Luca spent the morning in the pool with the children. Coco now threw herself into the water without inhibition, diving off her father’s shoulders with a cry of delight. Little by little she gave way to the child in her. Her happiness was infectious as she settled back into the size of her skin.

  At eleven, inspired by the desire to give Cosima something special, Luca set out to find the woman with the lemon farm. He remembered her name: Manfreda. So, he asked at the hotel in the square and was given directions. The farm was called La Marmella.

  He drove along the same winding road he had travelled the evening before with Cosima, smiling as he envisaged handing her a basket of lemons and watching the surprise on her face. He didn’t worry about Rosa finding out. When she saw how in love they were, she’d understand. He had only flirted with her mildly and, anyway, she was married.

  After a few miles he reached the lemon grove on the hillside. The slope was planted with row upon row of trees, their rich green leaves shimmering beneath the midday sun. He turned into a drive lined with ancient plane trees, and drove across the shadows to the house at the e
nd.

  La Marmella was a charming Italian farm house made of sand-coloured stone with a weathered, pink-tiled roof and peeling yellow shutters. The façade was adorned with rampaging bougainvillea among whose little red flowers swarmed butterflies and bees. He parked in front of the house and pulled on a long iron pole to ring the bell inside. After a while he heard the scuffle of feet, the unbolting of locks and finally a small, scruffy little woman appeared. She was as delicate as a bird; her watery blue eyes alert.

  ‘Hello, my name is Luca Chancellor, I’m a friend of Cosima . . .’

  At the mention of Cosima’s name the old lady’s face softened. ‘Cosima is a dear friend of mine, too,’ she said. ‘Come in.’

  ‘I’m looking for a lady called Manfreda.’

  ‘That is me. I’m not too old to answer my own front door.’

  She led him into a colonnaded courtyard of cobbled stones. In the centre was an old well, now used as a flowerpot, overflowing with orange bougainvillea. The place was in dire need of repair and repainting but its shabbiness had charm. The sun tumbled in through the open roof and a couple of doves flew out into the bright blue sky, their coos echoing against the ancient walls of the palazzo.

  ‘You have a beautiful home,’ said Luca.

  ‘It’s very old, like me. We could both do with a face-lift.’ She held the door-frame for support. ‘Let’s go outside, it’s a lovely day.’

  They sat out on the terrace, overlooking the sea below. The garden was wild with voracious weeds and overgrown shrubs. Inky-green cypress trees swayed in the breeze and roses grew in abundance up a crumbling wall.

  ‘I’m too old for a house of this size,’ she explained dismissively. ‘My sons live in Venice and Milan, my daughter in Geneva, and I’m rattling around here like a dice. Gelasio and Vicenzo run the lemon grove. It doesn’t bring in much, but it gives me such pleasure and those young men have worked here for thirty years. Do you like lemons, Luca?’

  ‘I adore lemons, signora.’

  ‘Like Cosima,’ she nodded knowingly. ‘You’re in love with her, aren’t you?’ Her question disarmed him. ‘You’re wondering how I know.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘You have love written all over your face. There was a time when young men spoke about me with the same look of devotion. I haven’t forgotten!’ She turned serious. ‘She’s a very special woman.’

  ‘That’s why I wanted to come and meet you. I want to buy her lemons as a present. She says yours are the best in Italy.’

  ‘How very sweet. I don’t have much to do with them these days. I’m nearly a hundred!’

  ‘You can’t be!’ he said gallantly.

  ‘That’s because I have the eyes of a young girl looking out of a decrepit old casing.’

  ‘Cosima claims she can recognise your lemons from any others in the world!’ Manfreda pulled a face at the absurdity of this idea. Luca shrugged. ‘I believe her.’

  ‘Then I’m flattered. It would be rude not to be! You can have as many lemons as you like. But first, tell me a little about you. I haven’t seen anyone all day and I’m bored. I can still appreciate the company of a handsome young man. Give an old lady a treat. You’re from London, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes. Is my Italian so bad?’

  ‘Not at all. In fact, it’s very good for someone whose father is English.’ Luca began to feel uneasy. ‘I’m not a witch,’ she reassured him. ‘I don’t have a broomstick and I’m afraid of heights. Cosima has told me about you.’

  ‘I should have known,’ he said. ‘She’s enormously fond of you. I’m sure she tells you everything.’

  ‘I like to consider myself a grandmother to her. She lost her mother as a little girl and, although Alba has been as good as a mother can be, she will always carry the burden of rejection.’ Her face crumpled. ‘Then to lose her son as well. Cosima has suffered more than most. She’s a bird with a broken wing. I’d do anything for her. Anything at all.’

  At that moment a young girl appeared in the doorway. ‘Ah, Violetta, you’re back. Would you please bring us some lemonade? That’s my maid, Violetta. She’s Gelasio’s daughter. A delight and very helpful.’

  ‘You must have known Cosima all her life,’ said Luca.

  ‘Of course. She was an enchanting child, as she is an enchanting adult. You can imagine how I felt when she gave her heart to a married man. Such a precious human being throwing her life away for a man who would never treasure her as she deserved to be. She made a bad choice. But nothing in life is wasted. I know that through experience. Even the bad times are laden with important lessons to be learned. I’m ninety-six and I’m still learning, every day.’ She leaned forward, her eyes as sharp as an eagle’s. ‘If she hadn’t lost her heart to Riccardo she wouldn’t have conceived Francesco. If she hadn’t had Francesco she wouldn’t have known unconditional love. Fate delivers with one hand and takes with the other. Now she has lost Francesco, who knows what Fate will deliver?’ She smiled at him. ‘You are going to be good for her, I can tell.’

  ‘I want to protect her too. But she has to let me.’

  ‘Give her time. She hasn’t let another man into her heart since Riccardo.’ Violetta emerged with a tray of glasses and a jug of lemonade. ‘But lemons? That’s a good start. I don’t believe anyone has ever had the idea to give her lemons.’

  Luca drove back to Incantellaria with a boot full of lemons to find Caradoc on the terrace reading Pushkin. ‘Where have you been, young man? I haven’t seen much of you in the last few days. It’s a girl, isn’t it? Not my girl?’

  ‘Not your girl,’ Luca reassured him. ‘Yours is married.’

  ‘Why haven’t you told me? Aren’t we partners in crime?’ He stood up stiffly and shook out his legs.

  ‘We are. I just wanted to see how it went before I told anyone.’

  ‘Is she as juicy as a ripe fruit?’

  ‘She puts all the fruit to shame.’

  Caradoc nodded his approval and gave him a firm pat on the back. ‘Not a word, I promise,’ he said, limping over ot the card table. ‘Anyone fancy a rubber of bridge before dinner?’

  There was no time for bridge because Coco and Juno were putting on a show. They performed a ballet on the terrace in the new tutus Ventura had made for them. Everyone was charged one euro to watch, and found a beautifully illustrated programme on their seat, made by the girls under the supervision of their grandmother. To great applause and a wolf-whistle from Caradoc, they pirouetted and twirled to the music of Peter and the Wolf.

  As soon as he could get away after dinner, Luca met Cosima at the trattoria. ‘Are you free to come with me?’

  ‘It’s not busy tonight. I’ll tell my father I’m going out.’ She disappeared into the restaurant, emerging a few minutes later with a cardigan over her shoulders.

  ‘I have something for you,’ he said. ‘A little present. It’s in the car boot.’ He led her up the street to where he had parked the car in the square.

  ‘What is it, a dog?’

  ‘Better.’ The boot swung open to reveal a basket full of lemons.

  ‘Oh, Luca! They’re beautiful!’ She picked one up and pressed it to her nose. ‘They’re from La Marmella!’

  ‘So you really can tell?’

  ‘They’re the best in the world. Thank you!’ She flung her arms around his neck.

  ‘If that’s the reaction I get, I’ll buy you lemons every day.’

  ‘Then I will kiss you like this every day.’ She pressed her lips to his. ‘That’s the best present you could ever give me.’

  He closed the boot. ‘Where do you want to go?’

  ‘You choose.’

  ‘Okay, let’s go to the folly at the palazzo. I want to show it to you.’

  She blushed. ‘The Marchese’s love-nest.’

  ‘The very same.’

  ‘I went up there once with Eugenio when the palazzo was still a ruin. The folly was perfectly preserved.’

  ‘My mother hasn’t changed anyt
hing.’

  ‘Do take me. I’d love to see it again.’ He went to open the passenger door but she took his hand. ‘No. I know a better way, a secret walk up the cliffs. I don’t want to spend such a beautiful night in the car.’

  She led him along the sea front to a secluded pebble beach. At the far end was a little grassy path that snaked its way up the hill. It was already dark, but the moon was sufficiently bright to illuminate their way. Crickets rattled in the bushes and the odd salamander scurried across the path before freezing in the grass until they had passed. They walked slowly, talking about nothing, enjoying the romance of the night and their secret excursion up the cliffs.

  Finally they came to the folly. Luca was amazed how easy it was to get into the grounds of the palazzo, and wondered whether this was the way the mystery intruder entered.

  Luca turned the key in the lock and slowly opened the door, half expecting to find someone inside. But, to his relief, the room was empty. He delved into his pocket for his lighter and lit the lamp on the dressing-table. The little room was warm and smelled pleasantly woody. He locked the door and watched Cosima wander around the room, taking in every detail, her excitement mounting. ‘It’s an erotic paradise,’ she murmured. ‘The books, the paintings, this statue here of Donatello’s David.’ She traced her fingers over the marble, lingering a moment on the wanton curve of his hip. ‘The Marchese might have been a murderer but he was a great sensualist.’

  ‘With exceedingly good taste.’

  She pulled a book from the shelf. ‘Casanova,’ she read the spine with a grin. She opened it at random and read out loud: ‘“With that, she pulled off her cap, let her hair fall, took off her corset, and, drawing her arms out of her shift, displayed herself to my amorous eyes even as we see the sirens in Correggio’s most beautiful canvas. But when I saw her move over to make room for me, I understood that it was time to reason no more and that love demanded I should seize the moment.”’

  ‘Love demands that I should seize the moment, too,’ said Luca, moving closer.

  She put the book down and walked deliberately over to the bed, avoiding him in a sensual dance, making him wait, enflaming his ardour. ‘I imagine Valentina must have spent many happy hours in here,’ she mused, running her fingers down the curtains that hung from the four posts. ‘I wonder if he built this for her.’