by Melissa Hill
Colette couldn’t help it, her curiosity got the best of her and her eyes immediately strayed in Luca’s direction. Yep, he was looking right at her.
‘I can feed myself, so there is no rush to find a wife.’ He smirked. ‘Or are you trying to get rid of me?’
‘Never!’ Mama Elene squeezed his chin and affectionately turned his handsome face towards hers. ‘You are my boy and always will be. I just want to see you happy.’
‘Somebody talking about me?’
It was like watching an Italian soap opera. As if on cue, a stunning woman wearing impossibly high heels teetered into the restaurant with a smile on her face and a shock of lustrous blonde hair that reached to her behind. She was wearing a stylish but skimpy outfit that showed off her every attribute – and there was plenty to be admired.
Again comparing herself to yet another paragon of Italian style, and finding herself sorely lacking in that department, Colette promptly stuffed a slice of bruschetta into her mouth.
The flavour of the tomato was rich but not overpowering, the basil was fresh, and the hint of garlic was just the right mix. Heavenly …
‘Lidia,’ Mama Elene greeted as Colette continued to listen. As ever, she was a silent observer of the lives of others. It seemed that even in Italy she couldn’t escape it. Though she noticed this time that the older woman’s greeting was not quite so effusive to the latest arrival.
Or was she imagining it?
The trio talked animatedly for the entire time Colette was there (though Mama Elene remained prompt and indulgent in her service of her customers), and throughout three courses they still seemed to have plenty to talk about.
As she finished her grilled shrimp and bresaola, Colette sadly realised she was running out of time to listen as she heard Jacopo’s taxi horn from outside on the street, signalling it was time to leave.
She got to her feet and walked towards the trio at the counter. She hated having to interrupt them, but she needed to pay her bill and get going.
‘Um, s’cusi,’ she began politely.
‘You’re ready to leave so soon? Jacopo is there already?’ Mama Elene questioned as she turned to look at her. She rushed to the door. ‘Ah, yes he is. I get you your bill.’
Colette’s finger automatically found its way to a strand of loose hair as she curled it self-consciously.
‘So sorry to disturb you,’ she apologised to the others at the counter as she took some money out to settle her bill. Jacopo was inside before it was paid, and from his exuberant greeting, it seemed the taxi driver was also familiar with the others present.
‘You enjoyed your meal?’ he asked Colette, hurrying over to her.
‘It was wonderful,’ she replied truthfully.
‘What I tell you? Jacopo knows the best restaurant. You come here again, si?’
Everyone’s eyes seemed to turn in her direction and Colette was sure her face was scarlet by now. ‘Of course.’
‘Next time you bring a friend,’ Mama Elene encouraged, smiling and presenting her with a shot of limoncello.
‘Oh, I don’t actually know anyone here,’ she said, staring at the glass, unsure if it would be rude not to drink it. She had no idea how potent these things were and she wasn’t really a drinker.
The older woman frowned. ‘What? You are here by yourself? No family? No boyfriend, even?’
‘No,’ Colette muttered, slightly embarrassed.
‘How long is your stay here in Positano?’
‘Just a few weeks. I’m not even sure if the place I’m staying is around here actually,’ she said truthfully, as she had very little information on the villa other than the street address. But she sorely hoped so. The town was picture-postcard perfect and from what she’d seen already, she wanted to explore every inch of it.
‘Yes, it is not far,’ Jacopo told her, ‘just back up that way – closer to Fornillo.’
‘And you’re here all alone?’ Luca said disbelievingly in English.
Colette’s tongue twisted in her mouth. She wasn’t sure why she couldn’t answer, so she just nodded and picked up the limoncello shot, downing it in one.
‘Well, now you know someone.’ Mama Elene reached in for another hug. ‘You come here as much as you like. I let you taste everything on the menu.’
Colette had to smile, despite the tartness of the lemon hitting her tongue and the alcohol almost making her retch.
Mama Elene was the quintessential Italian matriarch she’d read about, there in the flesh.
Already Italy was living up to everything she’d dreamed about – perhaps even surpassing it. Though she didn’t think she’d be consuming any more limoncello.
‘Thank you. I’d love to.’
Chapter 15
Then
‘Hello?’ a timid voice called out, calling Annie to lift her sunglasses and look up from her magazine.
As far as she knew she was the only one at the villa this afternoon. The French students had left around midday, and the German couple had said something about going off for the day to visit the ruins of Pompeii.
They had very politely asked Annie to join them, but wandering around in the heat looking at ancient dead people petrified in molten lava wasn’t her kind of holiday.
After last night’s exploits, she’d decided to just have a quiet day lazing by the pool. While Valentina had mentioned that there’d be more guests arriving, Annie certainly wasn’t anticipating having to do a meet and greet.
Standing up above the terrace now was the mousiest-looking girl she’d ever seen. She had luminous red hair tied up in bun, with plastic-framed glasses on her face, and pale freckled skin.
Her clothes were reminiscent of the kind of hand-me-downs Annie would’ve worn in her teens, but at least her figure wasn’t too bad. She had that and her flaming hair going for her – even if there was little else.
‘I’m Annie. Are you staying here?’ she asked, jumping up from the sun lounger. Poor thing looked harmless and a bit terrified, to be honest, and instinctively Annie’s heart went out to her.
‘Colette,’ the other woman answered in a very definite English accent. ‘And yes, I think have a reservation here, but I’m not sure where I’m supposed to check in exactly.’
‘Ah, things are pretty casual round here,’ Annie commented airily. ‘There’s no check-in as such, but someone will be coming round later. You the one from England then?’
‘Yes.’
‘Right. I didn’t think you looked very American. The manager, landlady – or whatever they call them in Italy – told me that there were two other girls arriving this week,’ Annie supplied, throwing on a sarong.
She put on her flip-flops, hopped up the steps and led the new girl through the courtyard and into the house.
‘Oh. So how do I get my room key?’ Colette was still holding onto her humongous suitcase for dear life as they went through to the kitchen. She looked to be a couple of years younger than her and so timid, Annie thought, even in the way she moved.
‘Like I said, Valentina will be around this evening. In the meantime, just relax and rest up after the journey. It’s hot out there today. Did you have something to eat? Are you here for long?’
‘Yes, three weeks. Just a break away from work, really.’
‘Wow, you must have some job,’ Annie chuckled, ‘if you can afford that much time off.’
‘No, it’s not that. It’s a family business, a bakery in Brighton. My mother and sister arranged this trip for me as a gift,’ Colette explained.
‘So you’re here on your own?’ Annie probed, suddenly conscious of the fact that she was the one asking all the questions. Hairdresser’s habit. But she was intrigued by the fact that she was a fellow lone traveller.
‘Yes, it’s a bit of a dream of mine to come to Italy. I meant to after uni but it didn’t work out. But I know a bit of Italian, so …’
‘Well, you’ll be handy to have around so. I haven’t a word. In fairness, I was lucky to get throug
h school, let alone learn a foreign language,’ she laughed. ‘I work as a hairdresser in Dublin.’
‘Dublin, Ireland?’ a third voice called out then, and Annie and Colette both turned to see a gorgeous blonde standing under the front door arch.
She was naturally tanned, model-thin, and looked as if she’d stepped straight out of the magazine Annie been reading, with her expensive designer clothes, artfully tousled hair, designer bag on her arm and obligatory Louis Vuitton suitcases at her feet.
All this doe-eyed beauty yet unashamedly sensual, and with a confident air that made Annie feel threatened on sight.
‘The American?’ she asked rhetorically.
‘Yeah, the American,’ the other woman drawled. ‘Kimberley Weston. You guys can call me Kim,’ she introduced herself as she glided into their midst, extending a hand to Colette and then Annie.
Colette greeted her eagerly, a look of undisguised wonderment on her face. Annie wasn’t so easily impressed, and she tried to restrain the naked envy crawling up her spine. Colette might not be a trust-fund baby, but this girl certainly was.
Annie had an innate issue with rich people. She wasn’t – obviously – and those who were had made her life hell every day for as long as she could remember. Especially in secondary school.
It was bad enough to be the adopted child of a lower working-class family with few lessons in etiquette, no friends and few prospects for improving your situation. The only reason Annie was even at that particular school was because her mother cleaned the parish priest’s house and everyone knew it. The mostly well-off pupils took particular delight in tormenting her because of it.
Kim looked exactly like one of those girls who took pleasure in Annie’s pain.
‘So your own names?’ the American asked, sitting down on a stool and crossing her long legs under the countertop. She casually flung her expensive bag on the seat next to Annie’s as if it had come from a high-street chain instead of a Fifth Avenue designer boutique.
‘Annie O’Doherty,’ she finally answered as the question began to loom uncomfortably in the air. ‘And this is Colette. She’s just arrived, too.’
‘Turner,’ she supplied. ‘Colette Turner, but Colette is fine.’
She really was too sweet, Annie thought as she looked at how the younger woman responded to questioning. Her words were soft, her eyes seemed to seek out anything but the gaze of others. She also watched how the younger girl covertly studied Kim’s attire and then her own. There was no comparing the two.
Kim was pure glamour. Colette was pure … twee.
‘Where in America are you from?’ Colette asked.
‘Manhattan.’
‘New York? Wow.’
Annie started to become self-conscious as she listened to Colette and Kim chat easily about their backgrounds and education. Annie couldn’t help it, she felt uneasy at being unable to join in the conversation. Grand when it had just been Colette, but Kim was so much more worldly and confident.
Then she thought of something and looked at her watch, having come up with an idea to help find common ground.
‘Well, Valentina won’t be around for another while yet, and since we’re going to be sharing this place, I suppose we might as well get the party started. Drinks, anyone?’ She slapped an exuberant hand against her thigh. ‘There’s a bottle of grappa in the press.’ She winked.
She couldn’t help it; it was her failsafe way of easing her anxiety. A few drinks to help get to know people had always been Annie’s social crutch.
And Colette certainly looked like she could do with some loosening up.
‘Hey, sounds good to me,’ Kim chimed in, and Annie automatically warmed to her a little more.
They moved back outside to the terrace and soon she and Kim were drinking up a storm, the alcohol loosening their inhibitions, just as Annie had anticipated.
Colette wouldn’t at first. She looked at the glasses of Italian liqueur as if it was some kind of poison.
‘It won’t bite,’ Annie urged. She’d promised herself to cut back on the drinking and she had, but she was on holiday after all. And it wasn’t as if she was in a position to get sloshed and into trouble. Not here, anyway.
‘Yes, go on,’ Kim urged. ‘Have some fun. We’re in Italy, one of the most beautiful places on earth. And I think a toast is in order.’
‘Great idea,’ Annie enthused, thinking that maybe the American was OK after all.
The notion seemed to find home with Colette too, as she tentatively took a glass and had a measured sip.
‘Here’s to la dolce vita!’ Annie sang, raising her glass to the others.
‘La dolce vita,’ Kim and Colette chimed in return.
Chapter 16
Now
‘Morning, Amanda,’ Annie sang out a greeting as she walked into the salon, her four-inch heels making a satisfying click against the black-and-white marble tiles as she walked.
Amanda was her new receptionist – the last, a girl by the name of Tori, had failed to live up to her customer service standards and had been let go only two weeks after she started.
The new girl was only a week in but doing pretty well.
#GlamSquad was now one of Crumlin’s most popular hair salons. Annie had done exactly what she’d promised Felicity all those years before. A little while after her jaunt to Italy, she’d taken the money the older woman had gifted her and set up a small one-person enterprise in a dingy unit not far from her flat.
Eventually she did well enough at that to afford not only a better place to live but much bigger premises, and was now in a current state-of-the-art salon in a busy shopping centre filled with all the best equipment and modern furnishings.
Since then, she’d flourished even more.
She’d taken on staff so she no longer had to style everyone who came through the doors herself, with a complement of four stylists and a (brand new) receptionist. The place had a string of regulars and plenty of passing trade from the centre. In truth, every time she set foot in this snazzy spot, Annie still couldn’t quite believe her luck that this trendy salon was really hers.
Her dark hair was twisted into a messy bun atop her head, and her make-up was flawless. Her bag was Kate Spade, her leopard-print dress was from Whistles and her shoes Kurt Geiger. It was a far cry from her TopShop sale rail younger days.
Now Annie had a glamorous reputation and image to uphold.
She stalked across the salon floor to her office, a small room down the back, close to the wash-basins.
Inside, a plethora of photographs lined the walls of her workspace: images of her favourite people and her favourite places – some of which she’d actually visited, like Positano, and others she hoped to travel to in times to come, like Paris and Australia.
She kept those there for inspiration.
Her desk was a minimalist IKEA affair with a comfortable executive chair behind it. Annie settled in that chair now to get started on the latest stock inventory and purchase sheets.
It hadn’t been easy building a business on top of all her commitments, and she’d had to learn how to do much of the admin and accountancy stuff herself in between salon appointments and trying to drum up new customers.
She no longer counted stock but she checked the sheets, made the orders, and ensured her business had everything it needed.
The things she could no longer do herself, like VAT and tax, she’d employed professionals to see to, and now, five years on, things were finally working like a well-oiled machine.
She turned her attention to that morning’s post, raising an eyebrow when she saw a familiar logo on one of the envelopes and prying it open to find Kim Weston’s invite to Villa Dolce Vita’s grand reopening in Italy.
Annie smiled. So she’d actually done it then.
Though, as always where Kim was concerned, she felt an instinctive pang of envy, and quickly pushed it aside.
Of course she had done it – the same girl never let anything faze her.
As if she could just swan off to Italy for a long weekend at such short notice. She had a business to run.
She then spotted the flight and hotel confirmations, and how everything had been booked and paid for.
Nice, but Annie was perfectly able to pay her own way. Then she took a deep breath.
There she was getting her back up again – exactly the kind of thing Kim used to always warn her against. She should just accept her friend’s generosity and leave it at that.
But Annie couldn’t help it. Despite their closeness that summer, there was always a fault-line where she and the other two were concerned – and probably always would be.
Right from that first day at the villa, she’d always felt somewhat on the outside and knew she’d never share the same rapport Colette and Kim had, and probably still did now.
But maybe that was understandable.
In truth, Annie was somewhat surprised to actually get the invite. Colette and Kim had kept in much closer contact since that summer in Italy – they had even attended each other’s weddings, whereas Annie couldn’t make either at the time.
She didn’t think they ever resented her for that or anything, but in all honesty, she hadn’t really expected their time together to spill over into their lives once they got back home.
It was just a holiday thing. Time and place.
Of course, it was easy to keep up with Kim’s life on social media (or at least the version she shared of it) and she knew that she now had a young daughter with her gorgeous husband Gabriel.
Annie had met the couple briefly when one time Kim was on a business trip to Dublin, and he was exactly the kind of guy the likes of Kim Weston would find herself ending up with – a drop-dead gorgeous hunk with oodles of natural charm and an even greater amount of adoration for his wife.
Again, Annie chided herself for her envy.
Kim deserved this, she’d worked hard for it – yet like everything, the success of The Sweet Life all seemed to come about so easily for her. After that summer, she’d practically fallen into her highly lucrative mindfulness guru and successful social-mediainfluencer role without even trying. And with support from the right people aiding her all the way, making introductions, bankrolling her investments, everything …