by Noelle Clark
He shrugged. “I will find a temporary home for Geraldina and will give the chickens to a friend I know who can take them.”
She had not expected this. Somehow, Rosamanti, without this friendly, undemanding man about the place, didn’t seem quite so attractive.
“I noticed a number of outbuildings, out beyond the garden. What are they?”
He looked up, surprised. “Oh, one used to be where we cured our olives. There are several small buildings here. Years ago we had cows and pigs; one was for curing pork.”
“But from the window upstairs—when I look toward Villa Jovis—there is a larger building. Pink walls. It looks large enough to be a house.”
“Oh.” Shutters briefly darkened his happy face. “Si, it is—was—a casa. It was once the goatherd’s cottage. But it is all boarded up now.”
“Is it habitable?”
He glanced up sharply. Something in his expression told her she was treading on forbidden ground. A look crossed his face as if he finally understood where she was going with her line of conversation. He stood up.
“Sarah, I must go to work now. Zia Maria has given me some time off to help you, but I need to get back to the restaurant now.” He turned to go out the door.
“I-I’m sorry if I’ve been rude. I was just wondering if…”
He turned and smiled, but some of the warmth had left his handsome face.
“Non importa. I’ll organize for someone to come and take Geraldina and the chickens.” Then he was gone. She heard the Vespa start and kept listening until she heard it turn onto via Lo Capo, then fade away to nothing.
A sudden, inexplicable sensation of loneliness settled upon her. It was ridiculous to feel like this. After all, she had come there precisely to be alone. Taking a deep breath, she went back upstairs and made up the bed in the room she wanted to use as a bedroom. She had already washed the curtains and re-hung them. Opening her large suitcase, she moved the clothes into the chest of drawers, hanging up some dresses in the wardrobe. She took out two framed photos and stood them on the little dressing table. In one, the happy faces of her daughter, with her boyfriend, beamed out. The other was a snapshot of Ted and her taken on board the Manly Ferry in Sydney. She remembered how happy they’d been that day. Only weeks later, he was diagnosed with cancer. She kissed the tip of her index finger and touched both photographs lightly with it. She gave a small sigh, walked out of her bedroom, and went up the short hallway to the room that was to be her study.
Pietro had helped find her a desk and together they had struggled to get it up the narrow stairs, placing it at the open window. She unzipped her backpack and took out the laptop. By the time she had unpacked a few books, some pens, and notepaper, she was ready to start writing. A feeling of euphoria welled within her, creeping up and up, suffusing her with the long, lost drive that she knew was a signal that her muse was returning.
“At last I seem to be in the right place. Thank you, Nonna.” A little sob surprised her as it bubbled its way out of her throat. She knew she was a little over-emotional at the moment, but somehow she felt this was a good thing. She needed to allow herself to just be who, and what, she needed to be.
Looking around her study, renewed enthusiasm left her enormously satisfied. She flung the windows wide open and latched back the external wooden shutters. Reaching up, she unhooked the curtain rod from the two hooks. No need for curtains on this window. Standing before the wide open window, she listened intently for any sound. Satisfied little cackles came from the direction of the chicken coop. The cries of various birds became clear, but she wasn’t familiar with the bird sounds here. And then, as if calling her name, she heard Geraldina bleating loudly. She glanced at her wristwatch, surprised that it was so late. Time to feed her. She went downstairs to the kitchen and grabbed a plastic bucket from the shelf, and filled it with apples and whatever fruit and vegetables she could find in the refrigerator. As she went out the door, she picked up her straw hat from the rack and slapped it on her head. With a spring in her step, she set off down the track to Geraldina’s hut.
* * *
She spent an hour with Geraldina. At first nervous of the big goat, she used the food to let Geraldina know that she was friendly. After a while, she watched as Geraldina knelt down on her two front haunches, her backside poking up in the air. Soon, she flopped her bulky body down and lay on the ground in the pose of the Sphinx. Watching her, Sarah was taken aback when the goat burped, and her cheeks puffed out, filled with the food she had previously eaten. Sarah decided to join Geraldina down on the soft hay of the goat yard, and sat next to her in the shade. It was relaxing watching the old goat chewing her cud, and Geraldina certainly seemed to enjoy the company. After a long while, Sarah went to collect the eggs. The chickens made a great fuss over her, but were grateful to be fed. Placing the eggs in her hat, she carefully carried them back up to the kitchen.
Eventually, she climbed up the stairs and sat in front of her laptop. She opened the lid and booted it up. Her fingers hovered over the keys, desperately wanting to start typing, but nothing came. She picked up her notebook and pen, and began jotting down bullet points. Plots, characters, location. Gradually, she got herself back in the mind of Felicity French, PI. She remembered how Felicity spoke, her mannerisms, her quirks. But the Felicity that came out on paper this time around was different. Instead of the brash, confident, busty, blonde, Felicity French, PI had a soft streak—a bit of insecurity at times—and a lot of heart. As she got to know the new Felicity, she began to like what she saw. Now all she had to come up with was a good mystery.
* * *
The shadows were long and the blue sky had streaks of brilliant orange and pink flashing through it when she finally looked up from her laptop. She saved her document and activated sleep mode. As she climbed downstairs, she heard a familiar nasal whine and recognized it as Pietro’s Vespa. The quickening of her heartbeat caught her by surprise. She rushed out the back door into the courtyard just as he rode up and parked in his usual spot under the arch of the wisteria.
“Buon pomeriggio, Sarah!” He laughed aloud when he saw her brows draw together as she struggled to understand what he said. “I thought that one might confuse you.” His warm smile was a welcome sight after his abrupt departure this morning. “I said, good afternoon, Sarah.”
“Grazie.” She smiled broadly back at him.
“Good, good.” He nodded his head. “Your Italian is improving. However, you will rarely hear the expression buon pomeriggio spoken, and probably never from me. It is very formal. Between good friends, we use ciao.”
“Ciao, come stai Pietro?” They both smiled. He lifted up the seat and pulled out a couple of plastic grocery bags. Lifting the scooter onto its stand, he walked over to her and kissed both of her cheeks. She smiled, thinking she could quickly get used to this charming Italian custom.
He opened one of the plastic bags, reached in, and pulled out a thick brown paper bag. Holding it aloft, he proudly declared, “Your dinner!” Striding into the kitchen, he put the bag on the wooden table. Opening it, he drew out a bottle of wine, some cheese, bread, and some bright blue crabs tied up with string.
“Granchi vivi. They are still alive. We will cook them later, no?” His face glowed with happiness. “You are not allergic to seafood, I hope?”
“Even if I was, I’d eat them! They look delicious.”
“They are delizioso!” He lifted his hand to his mouth and kissed the tips of his gathered fingers with a loud peck.
Amused at this oh-so-Italian gesture, she laughed. “I can’t believe I have my very own personal Italian chef!”
His eyes sparkled as he looked at her, a smug grin spreading on his mouth.
“Si, and Italian chefs are the best in the world!” He winked, and they both laughed. Feigning mock hurt, he continued. “OK, so this wonderful chef will go and collect the eggs. Then he’ll milk his girlfriend, Geraldina, who does not laugh at his Italian ways.” With his nose in the air, he
looked around for the bucket to put some fruit and vegetables for Geraldina.
“Too late. I fed Geraldina and the chickens earlier. In fact, I think you now have a rival for Geraldina’s affections. We got on famously.”
His eyebrows shot up in astonishment, making her laugh again.
“No, I don’t believe it! And did you milk her too?”
She shook her head. “One step at a time. Pietro. Will you teach me to milk her, though? I don’t want you to send her away.”
His face turned serious for a fleeting moment. He looked as though he was about to hug her. “Oh, I see. You have stolen my girlfriend’s love, eh?” Then his smile beamed again. “Come on, bella, our Geraldina awaits us.” He put his arm casually across her shoulders and guided her out the door and down the pathway leading to the goat shed.
The sting of tiny tears pricked the back of her eyes. If she didn’t know better, she’d say she was high on something—perhaps Geraldina’s methane. A peal of laughter burst from within her at the sheer stupidity of her thoughts.
Pietro stopped and stood in front of her, his head cocked to one side and his eyes quizzical.
“I did something funny?”
She controlled her giggles with difficulty. “No, not at all. It was just a—girl thing—between Geraldina and I. Come on, she’s waiting.”
* * *
While Pietro set to work in the kitchen, she prepared the table out under the pergola, picking a posy of colorful flowers from the garden and popping them in an old jam jar filled with water. Next, she found a stash of candles in a cupboard in the shed and placed one on the table. It wasn’t long before he came out with plates of bright orange crabs, their shells cracked and ready to eat. The meat was sweet and delicate.
“You like, bella?”
“They’re delicious. Thank you.”
“Mio piacere. I love to cook for you.”
The balmy twilight turned into a glorious evening. They watched the stunning sunset in silence. A few clouds, hanging low on the western horizon, made for a colorful show, and every now and then one of the large cruise ships heading from Naples crossed over the orange horizon, its shape clearly silhouetted. A light breeze stirred the air and rattled the leaves of the nearby trees, causing purple blossoms to drop from the thick vine cover growing over the pergola. The candle flickered and jiggled, casting shadows onto the garden beds and pots around them.
“More vino?”
“Mm, yes please. It’s lovely.”
“That’s lucky. You see, Nonna’s cellar has hundreds of bottles of good wine, just waiting to be drunk. Our family has always made our own vintage.”
“A cellar? I didn’t realize there was a cellar. Where is it?”
“Show you tomorrow. Too dark now.”
He handed her a glass.
“Salute, bella. May you be fantastically happy here at Rosamanti.”
“Salute. Grazie. Thank you, Pietro.”
They sat happily in the pergola, the only sound coming from an occasional night bird and the loud chirruping of cicadas. The moon began to rise behind them.
“Come, we should walk up to the headland to get a better view.”
Pietro picked up the bottle of wine and the glasses and indicated to her to follow him. She walked behind him up a steep but well-trodden pathway. After about ten minutes, they reached a flat area atop the big headland that she recognized from her study window. They sat down on the grassy knoll and looked across to the east where the big full moon again made its slow climb, spreading gold on the waters of the calm, dark sea. The sheer beauty of the place was very moving.
Trapped in the moment, she hardly noticed Pietro remove the glass from her hand. She detected the silhouette of his head as it blocked her vision, then his warm, soft lips caressed hers. It was a mere whisper of a kiss, but tender. He pulled back.
“I couldn’t help myself, bella. Do you mind?”
She didn’t know what to say. She shook her head. Did she mind? No. No she didn’t mind at all. But no words would come out.
“Ah, I see. Then please forgive me. The wine, the moon…”
She reached out in the darkness and placed her palm gently on his cheek, unable to speak. His big hand covered hers, then his strong arms embraced her. His kiss this time was warm and robust. She found herself responding. It was delicious. He parted her lips with his tongue and probed for hers. Caught up in the moment, she touched his tongue, tasting saltiness, mixed with wine. Somewhere deep down, something fluttered—oh so delicately—through her. His embrace became tighter. Linked together, they lay back on the spiky turf, their kiss becoming more passionate.
Suddenly, she couldn’t breathe. She twisted her head, breaking the seal of their lips. Pushing him back with her hands, she sat up.
“Bella?”
Tears gushed out. A sob caught in her throat.
“I’m so sorry, Pietro.” She searched for the right words. “I…I’m just…not ready. Please forgive me, but I didn’t want to lead you on.”
He placed his hands on her shoulders, and tenderly pulled her to his chest, caressing her hair as she cried.
“Ssh, bambino. Cara mia. I understand. It’s OK.”
After her crying had eased, he took out a handkerchief and wiped the tears. She took it and gave her nose a good blow. Through blurry eyes, she saw that the moon was way up in the sky, almost right above them. She took a deep breath.
“My husband and I said goodbye to each other a long time ago. He made me promise I wouldn’t let the memory of him get in the way of my future happiness. But, Pietro”—another small rogue sob choked her—“I haven’t kissed anyone other than my husband since I was sixteen. It’s going to take me some time to find my new self and move on.”
He kissed her forehead. “I am a patient man, Sarah. I relish your company. I love your laugh. I want to be your friend. Will you let me?”
She wrapped her arms around him. “I want to be your friend too.” They hugged for a long time. She felt the rise and fall of his breathing through her thin blouse. She wasn’t sure, but every so often, she thought she heard it catch slightly.
He was the first to let go. He stood up and held his hand down to her.
“Come on. Time for me to go now. If I’m late for work in the morning, you’ll incur the wrath of Zia Maria, and trust me, you don’t want that.” In the darkness, she heard the smile in his voice.
They walked down the dark track to the villa. He turned to her, kissed both cheeks, then jumped on his little blue Vespa and disappeared into the night.
Chapter Four
Sarah woke early. She had taken a long while to fall asleep the night before. It wasn’t just the different bed. It wasn’t just the three cats who had joined her, sharing it with her as they must have shared it with their beloved previous owner. Maybe it was the complete lack of sound—no traffic, no neighbors’ televisions blaring—total silence. Or perhaps it was the moon that streamed in through the window, lighting her room enough that she swore she could have read by it. But most likely, she thought, it was due to the conversation racing through her mind, almost like she had a mini version of herself sitting on each shoulder—one saying she shouldn’t have allowed the kiss to happen, and the other saying It’s time, girl. Ted would be happy. Whatever it was, she finally drifted off into a dreamless sleep.
The sound of chickens proudly announcing the birth of new eggs woke her. The clucking pierced her sleep-deprived brain, but somehow she found the noise of their cackling comforting. She bounced out of bed and showered. Dressing in comfortable shorts and a T-shirt, she went down to the kitchen and fed the cats. Then she took out two fresh eggs and some of Geraldina’s milk from the refrigerator. Soon she was sitting at the little table out under the pergola, eating a plate of creamy scrambled eggs.
On the table next to her was a notebook. She needed a routine. She couldn’t be spending all her time with the animals. She decided to rise early every morning and get all the animal feed
ing and egg collecting over and done with. Then she would have a quick breakfast, and sit at her laptop until lunchtime—no matter what. After lunch, she would go for long walks, exploring different parts of Capri. Later in the afternoon, she would milk Geraldina. “Right. Sounds good. Now I have to make sure I stick to it.”
With all the determination of someone who’s just made a New Year resolution, she sat at her laptop for five hours straight, trying to come up with a watertight mystery for Felicity French to solve. She knew she would have to cajole Felicity into finding deftly hidden clues that would lead her to the resolution. After hours of typing—and then deleting—she pushed her laptop back and rested her elbows on the desk, cupping her face in her hands. She recognized the sinking feeling all too well. She looked out the window at the idyllic view and realized she’d traveled half way around the world to be here, and yet nothing would come. Anger started to replace frustration.
“Aagh!” She stood up, banging her fists on the desk and nearly knocking her chair over backward. “What’s wrong with me?” She flounced downstairs and out the back door. Marching through the garden, she took the first pathway she came to. With long, purposeful strides, she tried to channel her anger into her footsteps, stomping them out on the hard, rocky earth. Her eyes focused on the ground in front of her, watching the soles of her gym shoes connect with it.
Eventually, breathless, she stopped and raised her eyes, shielding them from the bright sun beating down on her bare head. She found herself high up on a big headland, and around her were rows of ruins, tumbled over as though a strong wind had blown over complete walls. Villa Jovis! The realization sent a tingle up her spine. Pietro had said he would bring her here on his day off. A sense of excitement began to replace the despondency.
“Now, here is a real life mystery!”
Built in the early centuries, Villa Jovis was a luxurious retreat for the reclusive—and odd—Emperor Tiberius. It was from this very spot that he ruled, half-heartedly, the Roman Empire.