Paolo stared down at her, a blazing look in his eyes she now knew so well. ‘It’s already past midnight. Let’s go, cara, before I change my mind about going out tonight and carry you on to the bed that’s looking at us so invitingly.’
On the way out, catching sight of her reflection in the mirror by the door, Venetia hardly recognised herself. Gone was the defensive, guarded young woman of not so long ago: her eyes were shining, she positively glowed.
La Grotta E Il Tempio nightclub was a stone’s throw away from the hotel, at the top of the hill, looking down on the main town and the wide stretch of beach. The night was cool and balmy. Under the moonlight, the sea was fashioned of opal and pearl. The waters lay resignedly beneath an almost mauve sky; there was no wind.
The club had a most unusual setting. Set back from the road, its high rectangular entrance was cut into the dark cliffs that reared up almost sheer, like a rocky palace hugging the coast. From the street-level entrance, Paolo and Venetia descended almost fifty feet, along a narrow rock path that was interspersed with stairs leading deep into the cave. Halfway down, they could hear the soft strains of dance music. The path then widened out into a series of large grottoes, partly natural but in many places cut out to enlarge the cave into a stunning space. The first dance floor was set around the natural crevices. The rock was mostly the clean bluish-grey of limestone, but it was veined with red clay and sparkling white seams of spar. The acoustics were good and the lighting subdued, giving the place a real enchanted grotto atmosphere.
The place was not overcrowded and Paolo and Venetia sat down for dinner in a corner far away from the dance floor. They were given the house appetiser with the compliments of the chef, which consisted of thin slices of Buttariga and Pane Carasau.
‘I’ve never had this before. What is it, Paolo?’ Venetia broke off a mouthful and tasted it.
‘Buttariga is smoked mullet caviar marinated in olive oil. Pane carasau is also known as Carta di Musica, music bread, because it’s so dry and thin that it resembles pages of a score. The shepherds combine it with tomato sauce and eggs, so it makes a hearty dish that they call pane frattau.’
‘I really love this. I’ll buy some Buttariga to take back with me. I’m sure my friend Francesca will be amused – she’s a great one for trying new things.’
‘It keeps for months, so does the music bread.’
The waiter, when he came to take their order, recommended the homemade carraxiu, which he explained was achieved by laying a suckling pig, a calf, or a lamb in a hole dug in the ground and covering it with aromatic myrtle leaves. ‘The pile is then covered with firewood which gradually cures the meat, e ne fa una prelibatezza davvero succulenta, and makes it a really succulent delicacy. Tonight, signore e signorina, it is suckling pig.’
Paolo looked at Venetia. ‘So let’s try this truly “succulent delicacy”, yes, cara?’
‘Why not? I’m all for having a totally Sardinian night.’
Paolo glanced up at the waiter. ‘And what do you suggest for the main course?’
The man nodded courteously. ‘Costata di Vitello alla griglia con Funghi Spadellati, Crème brûlée di Mais. In Sardinia we have a great variety of mushrooms. This dish is made with the dittula mushroom, which is rare and has a most delicate flavour.’
They both ordered the grilled veal with mushrooms and Paolo requested a bottle of the local red wine, Torbato, which came from the region of Alghero where they had arrived by plane that morning.
The service was quick and the food delicious. Soon Venetia had forgotten about Allegra with her fiery black eyes, Antonio, Rufus and the incident of the torn dress, their near car crash – everything but the present, with its music and fun and laughter. She was enjoying every moment with a new gusto – that of a healthy young woman who felt good about herself and about the man who was sitting at her side, gazing at her with adoring eyes.
Soaking up the romantic atmosphere, Venetia smiled back at Paolo. ‘So, aren’t you going to tell me any more legends?’
‘If that’s what you’d like, cara, I will oblige,’ he said, grinning and lighting a cigarette as they waited for their coffee. ‘There’s a very famous legend about the Gulf of Cagliari, which is called “Bay of Angels”. As the visitor comes into the Port of Cagliari from the sea, the first image that appears is the promontory of St Elias. Its most distinctive aspect is a limestone ridge at the top of the hill – it’s called “Sella del Diavolo”. Legend has it that after the seven days of Creation, God decided to give the angels a land where they could live in peace, with the condition that it had to be a place where there were no wars or evil. The angels searched long, until they came down on our earth and discovered the Gulf of Cagliari with its emerald sea, its green vegetation, and the pure white of its cliffs.
‘“Here is our uncontaminated place,” the Archangel Gabriel said, “we will make it our city of love and peace.”
‘The angels settled in what is known today as the Bay of Angels but this prompted the envy and anger of Lucifer who, before he was cast out of Heaven, rode his horse and, with his army of demons, declared war on the angels. The angels then brought about a storm, creating big waves in the Gulf and they made Lucifer fall from his horse. Archangel Gabriel rose into the air with his shining sword and the defeated Lucifer in fury threw off the saddle of his black steed. The saddle immediately petrified, forming the promontory known today as “The Devil’s Saddle”. ’
Venetia gazed at him. ‘I could listen to you for hours.’
‘And I can’t wait to take you into my arms. Let’s dance.’
‘Shall we go outside? I’d like to see the other dance floor.’
They made their way down some more stony steps that suddenly emerged out into the starry night at the base of the cliff. At the archway, there were two big lime-kilns, their massive stonework still intact. It crossed Venetia’s mind that they might have been the infinitely old watchtowers of some primitive tribe that had once lived there. A smooth slab of broad stone sloped down into the sandy beach and was joined by a cluster of flat stepping stones that led across the sand, whether natural or man-made it was difficult to say, so seamlessly did they blend with the surroundings.
The enormous second dance floor was set on the beach surrounded by widely spaced columns and conifer trees, giving the impression of an open-air Roman temple. Here the mood, the lighting, was ultra-romantic. The wild design of the nightclub was open and sparse, with no discernible railings or walls to inhibit the view or set boundaries for where the dance floor ended and the beach and sea began – a chimerical temple set in idyllic surroundings, a place made for lovers.
Paolo and Venetia were swept into the ocean of rhythm and glorious melody as Peppino di Capri’s smooth vocals seduced them with his classic rendition of ‘Luna Caprese’. The lilt and romantic ecstasy of the soaring strings and piano lent wings to their feet, transporting them a thousand miles from Sardinia. There was no desire in either of them for speech, the moment was too emotional for coherent thought; they simply let themselves drown in the passionate sensuality that surrounded them. Venetia looked up. The stars that blazed in the night sky above them matched those in her eyes. They seemed to be watching over them, full of promise, she thought. Her heart was tumbling with joy, fire flaming over her and through her. Paolo held her lightly but firmly, as if his hands were accustomed to her form. They were so perfectly attuned, not only in their steps but also in their cadence and flow of movement. Brushing their bodies against each other in measure with the music, it was clear to Venetia that, like her, Paolo was enacting in his imagination erotic gestures, warming her up for a night of rapturous lovemaking.
When the music swept to its finale she was a little breathless with the intoxication of it, and it was hard to open her eyes to the crowded stage, to come back to earth. All she craved was to melt into Paolo and rest there forever.
‘Let’s go
for a walk on the beach before going back to the hotel,’ Paolo suggested, his mouth still against her hair. ‘I don’t know where the time goes when I’m with you. It’s almost dawn and I’d like us to watch the sun come up together. Suddenly he paused and moved his head back, studying her anxiously. ‘Unless, of course, you’re tired, carissima.’
But Venetia was wide awake, her head and heart awhirl, her pulse beating a little faster. She was elated, her whole body flooded with the adrenaline that Paolo’s nearness and the romantic atmosphere on the dance floor had brought about.
Her uplifted, radiant face answered his question. Paolo paid the bill and they headed for the beach.
Venetia took off her sandals and Paolo his socks and shoes. The ash-coloured sand was cold and damp under their feet as they made their way closer to the shore. A wind blew in soft and cool from the wide dusk-blue Tyrrhenian; such a light breath, a zephyr, which floated over the rocks to where Paolo was heading.
‘Have you come to this beach before? You appear to know your way quite well.’
‘Yes. When I first visited the island, I stayed at a small hotel not far from here. But it’s all changed now – you know, built up. It was almost deserted in those days.’
Walking now on the wet sand by the sea’s edge, Venetia felt the night-cooled water fresh over her toes, a delicious sensation. The wind touched her cheek and she looked up quickly at the greyish light. The moon was fading but was still flooding the dark glassy surface of the water with metallic light, creating a silvery staircase leading from their feet all the way to the moon. She took out the clips that held her hair up, her eyes lingering on the reflected image on the sea. ‘It’s so beautiful,’ she sighed.
Paolo slipped his arm from under hers, stopped, and drew her to him. ‘You’re the one who’s beautiful, la mia bella sirena,’ he whispered.
How she loved the feel of those firm strong arms round her. His eyes as he looked directly into her face were bright, but they and his whole expression were infinitely serious. Somehow, she felt closer to him than she had ever done before, almost as if a door had suddenly been opened, admitting her to the part of his life hitherto hidden from her. It was altogether a wonderful, but also a very frightening feeling – as though this burgeoning love of theirs was so fragile, it could be shattered by the outside world any time, and her happiness snatched away from her in a flash. Her mind returned to that night in Venice when they had taken a gondola ride, when she had first allowed herself to surrender to the intoxication of romance and passion that Paolo knew how to stir up in her blood.
‘Will you take me to your palace in the moon, where the stars shine always bright, and the angels sing all night a beautiful lover’s hymn?’ She gazed up at the deep-blue eyes that watched her intently.
Paolo smiled wistfully. ‘You still remember, amore mio?’
‘How can I forget? I was already in love with you then, but didn’t want to admit it.’
He took her hand and they began to stroll slowly along the sand again.
The beach was deserted, apart from two or three solitary dark shapes of fishermen wading to and from their boats, carrying tackle and jars by lamp-flare, the residue of a night’s fishing. They found a solitary rock and sat on it by the fringe of the clear and laughing water breaking softly on the sand at their feet. Behind them there rose a semicircle of mountains. The sun was not yet up, the air redolent with the fragrance of the sea breathing all around. It was lighter now, the sky not yet coloured by the sun, but brilliant, as the blue expanse caught whatever glare there was in its imperceptible movements. And then suddenly above the surface came the full flush of a red dawn. Glowing rose, fuchsia and bright red, with flaming oranges and golden yellows, it reached out to the rest of the island: to the towering cliffs and near mountain tops; over the small craggy town; on the aerial lines of straight cloud all the way to the north; and on the Tyrrhenian Sea. Over its wild blue, there stretched this blazing rainbow of vibrant hues, burning its colours across the vanishing greys of paleness.
Paolo turned towards Venetia and took her in his arms. When he spoke, his voice had that quiet but intense earnestness that could come to it at times, and his gaze burned fiercely with emotion.
‘I love you, Venetia, with a passion I would not have thought myself capable of. Every beat of my heart, every breath I take, and every thought in my head is overflowing with my love for you. You are all that a man can desire.’ For a long charged moment he gazed at her, searching the amber eyes that were melting as they looked into his. He cupped her face in his hand. ‘I desperately want you to marry me, tesoro mio. Will you do me the honour of sharing my life and becoming my wife?’
Venetia could not answer at once, but that wasn’t because she was in any doubt as to her feelings, or what her answer might be. She had been attracted to Paolo from the minute she had set eyes on him, and their chemistry seemed to be effortless but up to forty-eight hours ago, she had not been sure as to the depth of her love for him. Yet suddenly she was possessed of richness and warmth of feeling such as she had never felt before… unless it was on that one single occasion, so long ago, when Judd had asked her to marry him. The road to truth can be winding and treacherous, and though we can ignore the signposts along the way and hurry through our lives either fearful or unnoticing, just like the sun and the moon can never be hidden, soon enough it cannot be denied. When it is spied, the heart knows in a moment of revolution that it has arrived.
So it was with Venetia as she looked into the face of Paolo.
Now she was only conscious of his closeness and the clasp of his arms round her. Now she knew the truth of her feelings.
‘Yes, yes, my love! All I want is to be in your arms – to be kissed by you, to belong to you, to become your wife.’
His eyes widened, burning blue. ‘The only thing I’m afraid of is that your kindness and generosity to me have been out of some sort of compassion. So I must ask you again, amore mio, can you love me enough to put up with my… handicap? Will you marry me despite the amnesia, and the nightmares that come with it?’
A lump rose in Venetia’s throat. She gave him her heart in her answering look, gave him without pretence, what in truth had long been his.
‘How can you doubt it? You’ve given me a new life,’ she whispered as she put her arms around his neck and drew his head down towards her, pressing her feverish lips against his in a long, passionate kiss.
Paolo’s mouth moved downwards and he nipped gently at the soft silk-like skin of her neck, his hands working their magic on her bare shoulders, her arms and over her breasts, which by now were hard mounds, the taut peaks pushing rebelliously against her corsage, demanding his attention.
The sun was now fully up and already it was growing hot. They broke apart slowly, and their eyes skimmed the azure levels of the sea and the turquoise ripples, which in the new morning had the transparency and depth of jewels.
Paolo looked down at Venetia amorously, his thumb moving a slow, sensual trace across the contours of her face. He smiled, moving his mouth close to hers. ‘Shall we go back to the hotel? Our bodies are calling each other, and we mustn’t leave them waiting, amore.’ He gave her soft, biting kisses in between the words.
Venetia felt her blood singing and caressed his cheek tenderly. ‘Yes.’
They walked back to the nightclub, where a handful of guests still lingered aimlessly. The music had stopped and the waiters were busy tidying the place.
Suddenly Venetia had the uncomfortable impression she was being stared at. She turned and met the steel-grey gaze of Umberto. She gasped and would have stumbled had Paolo not held her up.
‘What’s the matter, cara?’
‘Paolo,’ she said in a choked voice, ‘Umberto is behind us.’
Surprised, Paolo stopped and turned. He recovered himself immediately and smiled sardonically. ‘Buongiorno, Umberto, what good wind brings you
to Sardinia?’
The Count ignored him and shouted at Venetia, who had marched on. ‘Vedo che vai ancora in giro con quel bastardo mutilato, I see you’re still hanging around with that mutilated bastard!’
Venetia winced at the harsh name Umberto had just called Paolo, obviously alluding to his amnesia. The man was surely off his head on something; the best thing was to ignore him.
‘Did you think I’d forgotten about you, Venetia? Did you think I’d let you get away that easily after you humiliated me? I have friends in all sorts of places, you know. I had you followed when you went off to see our friend here.’ He shot Paolo a contemptuous glance.
‘You’re drunk!’ Paolo told him and turned away. Striding alongside Venetia and taking her arm, he accelerated his step towards the club’s beachside exit.
As Paolo and Venetia reached the road and began the walk back to the hotel, Umberto had gained on them, and he called out to Paolo: ‘Se sei un uomo mi combattere! May the best man keep the pretty lady as a trophy!’ Coming behind Paolo, he tried to catch him by the neck.
Quick as a flash, Paolo shifted sideways and turned his upper body straight, his shoulders square, as if waiting for Umberto’s blow. Then, as the Count came towards him, Paolo quickly stepped forward with one leg, bending his knee, and thrust his fist sideways in a sharp movement, striking the Count in the face.
Umberto stumbled backwards, recovering his balance in seconds. Scanning around quickly, he picked up a steel pipe from the side of the road and hurled himself at Paolo, who jumped back to dodge the blow, simultaneously turning his body slightly and executing a front kick to Umberto’s face, completing the counter-attack with another punch to the face, which sent him almost flying against the wall.
Venetia stood horrified, but also bemused at Paolo’s agility and the precision of his blows. ‘Stop it, please, stop it!’ But they weren’t listening, too engrossed in the fight.
The Echoes of Love Page 33