The Italian Matchmaker

by Santa Montefiore

  ‘Tied to his mother by love?’

  ‘He’s all she has. Maybe he doesn’t want to leave her alone in her grief.’

  ‘But she doesn’t have to be alone. You told me that love comes when you think you don’t need it. And that once you’ve discovered true love you can’t imagine how you ever lived without it. Well, I know what you mean. I’ve fallen in love. Really in love. You were right.’

  ‘The only good thing about being old is being wise.’

  ‘Some people grow old without acquiring wisdom along the way.’

  ‘I pity those poor fellows. Does she love you back?’

  ‘I think she’s beginning to. The trouble is her guilt.’

  ‘That’s only natural. You have to give her time. Judging by your lack of plans, time is something you have rather a lot of.’

  ‘I’ve told her about Francesco. That I have seen him in spirit.’

  ‘Does she believe you?’

  ‘She wants to. But she’s suspicious. I wish he’d give me something concrete so I can prove to her that he exists.’

  ‘It’s hard to believe what one cannot see or touch.’

  ‘I don’t want her to think I’m a fraud, using her son to get to her.’

  ‘I’m sure she knows you better than that.’

  ‘She’s The One, Caradoc. I know she’s The One.’

  The professor smiled indulgently. ‘Then tell her, my boy.’

  ‘Until she lets Francesco go, I don’t think she’ll give herself to me.’

  ‘Do you want to marry her?’

  ‘Yes, I think I do.’

  ‘And take her back to London?’

  ‘I can’t imagine her in London. Taking Cosima away from Incantellaria is like taking a beautiful panther out of the jungle and putting her in a zoo.’

  ‘Have you asked her how she feels about the zoo?’

  Luca recalled her whispered conversation with the priest. ‘I think I already know the answer.’

  ‘Then why don’t you stay here?’

  ‘And do what?’

  ‘Necessity is the mother of invention.’

  ‘Join the family business?’ Luca laughed. ‘I don’t think it’s my thing, brewing coffee all day.’

  ‘You’ll think of something. If you love her, you’ll work it out.’

  ‘I do love her, therefore I will work it out.’

  Caradoc looked at him with fatherly concern. ‘There’s one thing you have to do first,’ he said gravely.

  ‘And what’s that, Professor?’

  ‘You have to work out who you are. What you want out of your life. You have to find out what gives you the most joy, then you will know your life’s purpose. I think the answer will surprise you.’

  ‘Do you already know?’ Luca was surprised.

  ‘If I did, I’d be a great deal more helpful. But you do. Look deep inside you and wait for the answer to materialise.’

  Alba sat down at Panfilo’s desk and studied the Polaroids. There were fifteen of them. Fifteen windows into the past. She took her time with each picture, scrutinising every detail, straining her memory to remember what the place had looked like when she had been there with Fitz. She couldn’t help but admire Romina for having recreated it with such flair and good taste. It really was beautiful, in every respect, transformed with light and love. She laughed aloud at her self-delusion. The eerie picture she had nurtured in her mind for nearly three decades, fed with her fears and foolish fantasies, no longer existed. Romina had banished the ghosts by opening the shutters and letting in the sunshine. What had been an evil den of iniquity was now a perfectly pleasant family home. She wished she had the courage to ask if she could see it, but her pride prevented her. She couldn’t bear to admit she had been wrong.

  Finally, she came to the picture of the folly. It was exactly as it had been thirty years ago. Not one item had been moved or changed. The bed was the same, with the faded curtains and silk bedspread. The little dressing-table complete with pots of creams and glass phials of perfume. The Queen Anne mirror into which her mother must have so often gazed, was still at an angle, as was the chair upon which she must have sat while the Marchese lay waiting for her on the bed. The pretty little desk. The strangest thing of all, however, was the light. There was something other-worldly about it, as if it was illuminated not from the outside, but from within.

  Alba returned to her bedroom to find Panfilo sitting up in bed engrossed in a book. He looked at her over his reading glasses and guessed that she had looked at the Polaroids. Alba had no intention of admitting she had been snooping; she undressed and climbed into bed without a word. After a while, Panfilo switched off the light and snuggled up behind her, winding his arm around her waist and pulling her against him. She could sense him staring at her through the darkness, feel the unformed words balancing on his lips.

  ‘Don’t say it,’ she warned.

  ‘Don’t say what?’

  ‘That you know.’

  ‘That I know what?’

  ‘I’ve seen them, okay.’

  ‘Have you?’ He played ignorant.

  ‘I still have no desire to go up there though.’

  ‘Of course you don’t.’ He kissed her neck.

  ‘I couldn’t help looking at them. They were there on your desk. You put them there on purpose.’

  ‘It’s my desk!’

  ‘They were in plain view.’

  ‘On my desk.’

  ‘I didn’t want to see them, but I couldn’t help it.’

  ‘You’re a prisoner of your own convictions, Alba. I couldn’t care less whether you looked at them or not.’

  She rolled over and let him wrap his arms around her. ‘Here’s the one place in the world I feel totally safe,’ she whispered. ‘Here, pressed up against you.’

  ‘As irrational as you can be, we belong together.’

  ‘You think I’m irrational?’

  ‘You rather enjoy a melodrama.’

  ‘I do not!’

  ‘Just a little bit.’

  ‘You’re absolutely wrong about that,’ she insisted.

  ‘But you’re irresistible.’

  ‘I’m glad I have at least one redeeming feature.’

  ‘You have many. Now stop talking and let me kiss you.’ He placed his lips on hers and felt her smile beneath them.

  Feeling reckless, Luca drove to Naples to buy Cosima a ring. Caradoc was right: love had hit him when he had least expected it and now he couldn’t imagine ever living without it. Cosima filled his soul with something warm and sweet, right to the very farthest corners. He liked who he was when he was with her. She had no idea how wealthy he was, but loved him for himself. He would buy her the world if she let him. If only he could buy her back her son.

  It didn’t take long to find a ring he felt would suit her. It had to be a diamond and it had to be simple. The ring stood out from all the others in the same way that Cosima stood out from all the other women he had ever met. A large solitaire. As big as a candy.

  He recalled buying an engagement ring for Claire. He hadn’t chosen it himself but had sent her off to design it with a jeweller she was fond of. He had simply paid the bill, which was less than he had expected. Back then she hadn’t been spoiled. During the ten years of their marriage she had acquired a knack for homing in on the most expensive items in the shop – and shopping had been her greatest pleasure. From Rodeo Drive to via della Spiga to Bond Street, Claire had a vast capacity to acquire and she never wore a party dress twice. Cosima was from a simple family and she had simple tastes. Unlike her cousin, Cosima seemed content with what she had. Perhaps the death of her son had taught her the unimportance of material wealth. The only things of any value to her were the people she loved. He recalled her face when he had given her the earrings and her pleasure filled his heart with bubbles. He wanted to buy her every jewel in the shop.

  As he drove back down the coast he decided it was time he brought his own car out to Italy. If he was going to
settle here he needed to put down some roots, make a home, think of something constructive to do. He imagined making love to her. He imagined spending the rest of his life with her. He couldn’t wait to propose in the good old-fashioned way. But Freya was arriving that weekend with her mother and stepfather so he’d have to wait until they had gone. Then he would take Cosima to the beach at sunset and go down on bended knee. At his age there was no point wasting time.

  Back at the palazzo, Romina confronted him about the intruder. ‘I was showing Panfilo the folly yesterday when I threw open the shutters to see, to my horror, a pile of cigarette butts outside the window. Imagine! This woman could set fire to the place. You have to find her, Luca, and make it soon. Enough of your romancing. Really, you should be taking stock after having put your children through such a terrible divorce, not throwing yourself into the arms of unsuitable girls.’

  Luca deliberated which thoughtless statement he should address first. Then he felt the bulk of the engagement ring in his pocket and his intolerance evaporated. ‘Look, Mother,’ he said calmly. ‘I know who she is.’

  ‘You do?’ She threw up her arms. ‘How long have you known?’

  ‘A while.’

  ‘Who is she?’

  ‘That I can’t divulge. I need to speak to her first. But rest assured, she poses no threat to your safety.’

  ‘What a relief!’

  He looked at his mother sternly. ‘On another note, my romancing, as you put it, has nothing to do with you. I’m old enough to choose my own girlfriend without you writing her off as unsuitable.’

  ‘But darling, you don’t have a very good track record.’

  ‘I think I’ve learned from my mistake.’

  ‘So you go from one extreme to the other. Cosima is a simple girl from a simple little town. She is not sophisticated enough for you. You need a woman who’s seen the world, not a provincial.’

  ‘I don’t think you know what I need,’ he replied, controlling his irritation.

  ‘I’m your mother. Of course I know what you need.’

  He could only laugh at her delusion. ‘You never change!’

  ‘You’ll move on from Cosima, then find someone in the middle. Like Freya. Don’t pretend you aren’t a little in love with her. You were green with jealousy when she married Miles. She, too, has made a mistake. Now you can both leave your mistakes behind and start afresh together. The palazzo is big enough for six children.’

  ‘You’re dreaming.’

  ‘It’s only natural that I should want more grandchildren. If Bill had let me I would have had a dozen children of my own.’

  ‘Freya’s not for me, Mother.’

  ‘She’s always been for you. Sometimes the one you love is . . .’

  ‘Right beneath my nose,’ he said, finishing the cliché for her.

  ‘Exactly. Now her husband is straying it’s a good excuse for her to bail out.’

  ‘She loves Miles. Don’t you think she should try to win him back, for the sake of her children?’

  ‘That depends how far the rot has set in. Perhaps it is irreparable.’ She smiled mischievously. ‘When she sees you, she won’t want to win Miles back!’

  ‘I love Cosima,’ he stated firmly.

  ‘You think you love Cosima.’

  ‘No, Mother. I know I love Cosima.’ She opened her mouth but he silenced her. ‘Don’t even think about telling me how I should feel.’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘Just don’t do anything rash. Take her to London first and see how she fits in. I think you’ll find she’s a fish out of water.’

  But Luca didn’t have the will to argue his case. He didn’t need to. He had already made up his mind.

  29

  Freya, Rosemary and Fitz arrived in Incantellaria on a perfect sunny day. Romina had arranged for them to come in by boat in order to enjoy the sight of the medieval town from the sea, the way it was built to be seen. Fitz’s stomach churned with nerves. He hadn’t been back in thirty years. He didn’t even know whether Alba still lived there. Perhaps they had sold the family trattoria and moved away. Thirty years was a long time. He shrank at the thought of finding another restaurant in the place of Fiorelli’s. In his heart he wanted everything to be just as it was; even her.

  He couldn’t confide in Rosemary. She had always been disdainful of Incantellaria, ever since he had told her about Alba and that she had tried to get him to follow her there. It had been Rosemary who had finally dissuaded him, and over the months that followed they had grown close. The only reason she had come now was because she didn’t want him to encounter his old love on his own. So, he didn’t communicate his longing. He could only hold on to the railing at the back of the boat and wait. Preparing himself for the worst, he envisaged nightclubs and smart boutiques, expensive hotels and a beach crowded with under-dressed, over-bejewelled Euro-trash.

  Freya hadn’t told her mother about Miles’s affair. She didn’t want to worry her. But she had done as Luca had advised and confronted Miles. Of course he had denied it, accusing her of being paranoid, of not trusting him. But she was certain. The evidence weighed too heavily against him. The telephone calls, the texts she’d read on the sly, the evenings away playing bridge. She knew the woman’s name: Felicity Cranley. One of his regular bridge four. She wasn’t even very pretty. With the plane ticket to Naples in her handbag, she had given him an ultimatum. He had one chance. The next time she’d take the children with her and she wouldn’t come back. Miles had been stunned into silence.

  There was something wonderfully liberating about sitting in that boat without her husband and children. Alone with the wind in her hair, the scent of salt and thyme in the air, the anticipation of seeing her old flame, Luca, burning a hole in her stomach. She felt her excitement mount and looked over at her stepfather who had blanched the colour of a stick of celery. She assumed he was seasick, and smiled sympathetically. Rosemary noticed too and rubbed his back. How could he explain what was making him ill? Surely after thirty years . . . ?

  When the boat motored around the cliffs and into the bay of Incantellaria, the three passengers stared at the exquisite view without uttering a word. Fitz scanned the sea front for Fiorelli’s but they were still too far away. He was encouraged, however, by the fact that little seemed to have changed. Blue boats were still dragged up on to the stony beach, the buildings were familiar, and above them rose the mosaic dome of the church of San Pasquale. Memories assaulted him like loose pages of a diary carried on the wind. Snippets of his visit, from the moment he saw Alba on the quay to their leaving together, in no particular order, tossed out by his subconscious. He tried to hold on to them, to savour them one by one, but they were already landing and it was Romina, not Alba, who was waving at them from the quay.

  As they disembarked to Romina’s enthusiastic welcome, Fitz raised his eyes to where Fiorelli’s had once been. It was still there.

  ‘You look better,’ said Rosemary. ‘Poor Fitz got so seasick,’ she explained.

  ‘Oh dear! Was it terribly bumpy out there?’

  ‘A little,’ said Rosemary. ‘Better now, darling?’

  ‘Much,’ Fitz replied, feeling restored.

  ‘Luca’s waiting for you at the palazzo,’ said Romina to Freya. ‘He is so excited to see you.’

  ‘I’m excited to see him,’ said Freya. ‘I’ve been longing to see your place.’

  ‘You won’t be disappointed. It’s just been photographed for the Sunday Times magazine. Panfilo Pallavicini took the photographs himself.’

  ‘How wonderful,’ Rosemary gushed, not wanting to expose her ignorance. The name meant nothing to her.

  ‘I booked two taxis. My car is too small to fit us all in and I wasn’t sure how much luggage you had.’ She dropped her eyes to the row of navy Globetrotters. Rosemary travelled heavy. ‘Just as well,’ she added.

  ‘I hate not having the right thing to wear,’ Rosemary explained. ‘I almost brought the kitchen sink, but assumed you already had one.’
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  Romina laughed. ‘A few actually.’ Fitz’s gaze lingered on the trattoria, imagining Alba as she had been thirty years before with her funny short hair and simple floral print dress, so different from the Londoner she had been in Mary Quant mini skirts and blue suede boots. Her defiance had gone: in its place a serenity, a contentment he had envied. He wondered what she was like now. Whether she had held on to that inner peace or whether she had moved back to a metropolis and her old redoubtable self. He half expected her to run out, arms outstretched, to greet him. But he saw only strangers on the terrace.

  ‘That’s Fiorelli’s,’ said Romina. ‘Luca spends his entire time in there drinking coffee. We’ll go there if you like, the food is very good. The lady who owns it is married to Panfilo the photographer.’ Fitz wondered whether she was talking about Alba. He wanted to enquire, but Rosemary’s ears were as sharp as a fox terrier’s. He didn’t want to upset her.

  ‘Well, this is very beautiful,’ Rosemary conceded as they climbed into the car. ‘A quaint little place, but very charming.’

  ‘It has a fascinating history.’

  ‘Really? I can’t imagine anything has ever happened here. It looks very sleepy.’

  ‘I will tell you over lunch. It’s a wonderful story and we, in the palazzo, are at the very heart of it.’

  Fitz remembered the town surprisingly well. It was a lot busier than it had been thirty years ago, and the satellite dishes certainly hadn’t been there then, but it was mostly unchanged. He felt a frisson as they drove up the hill. The last time he had seen the palazzo had been with Alba, when they had climbed over the gates and explored the ruin. Nothing had ever held her back from getting what she wanted.

  They arrived at the gates, the same gates that he and Alba had scaled, and swept up beneath the cypress trees. There was nothing sinister about the place now. It had been rebuilt and repainted, the gardens brought to heel and tamed. He imagined it looked a lot like it had when it was originally built. Romina and Bill had restored it so cleverly it didn’t look new.

  Freya was enchanted by Incantellaria and the palazzo. She could see why Luca hadn’t wanted to return to London. Surrounded by such harmony she would be the same. She wished she had been able to bring her children with her. How they would love the fairytale palace and the pretty town.