by Noelle Clark
“I first started teaching him before he could walk properly. By the time he was five, he would help me get the lobsters and crabs out of the pots.”
“You taught him?”
“Sure, but now Bruno is on the scene, he gives Carlo the skills.” He saw her curious look. “His father left his mother before he was even born. A tourist, apparently.” He took a sip of the wine. “Teresa and I are childhood friends. She’s done it tough. We Lombardis—we keep an eye on them.”
Things started to fit together now. Carlo and his mother weren’t just close neighbors. They were extended family. A thought crossed her mind. Maybe Teresa could tell her more about Rosamanti and those outbuildings.
Stretching back on the towel, she looked around her. Paradise was the word that came to her mind, but she couldn’t think of a better one.
“I can see now why you painted those pictures for Nonna. They are a really good likeness.”
“Yet you at first thought they were…unnatural.”
“Nothing anyone could have told me prepared me for the color in the grotto.” She raised her eyes to the sky, shaking her head. “It is exquisitely beautiful. A gem.”
“Some people say Grotta Verde—the Emerald Grotto—is just as good. And a lot less people. It really does get crowded in the Blue Grotto.”
“When was the last time you brought Nonna here?” she asked gently.
He picked up a small cowrie shell, its gloss all worn off from the constant rubbing with other shells on the beach and examined it minutely.
Exhaling a large sigh, he looked up at Sarah.
“It has been a very long time. Nonna could not get down that track, and it was hard for her to lay down in the boat. I offered to take her on a tourist boat—even charter a boat—but she only wanted to go with me. Like old times, she used to say.” He smiled at the memory. “That is why I did those paintings for her. She loved them.”
Sarah poured more wine into the little cups. She pictured the map, drawn in a childish way with little whales spouting water and a big smiley sun up in the sky. She thought of the little girl who drew it, the image in her mind of Nonna at twelve years old, quite at odds with the dark and foreboding words of her clues. Either she had a good imagination and had read too many books about Pirate Barbarossa and his violent demeanor, or there was a reason for choosing those un-childlike words. Or…there really is a treasure, she thought.
“I spend a penny for your thoughts?” His face was so serious, as though he didn’t realize the mistranslation, that she burst out laughing.
“Che? What have I said?”
Forcing her mirth to be contained, Sarah put her hand on his arm.
“Nothing. It’s just that my Australian English is—well, full of crazy idioms—and what you said sounds funny to me.” She cleared her throat.
“Ah, but I still see you laughing in your eyes.”
“But I’m not laughing at you. I would never laugh at you. But I do laugh at funny things.” She paused, suddenly feeling serious. Her brows drew together. “Come to think of it, I never used to laugh much, not for many years anyway.” She looked into his eyes. “But from the moment I came here to Capri, from the second I met you, I seem to have done little else but laugh.” She placed a hand on his cheek. “You make me very happy, Pietro.”
Mollified, he placed his hand over hers.
“And you do the same to me, bella.” His face relaxed. “So, can I please ask what it was that was making you so pensive?”
Sarah sat up on the towel, crossing her legs in front of her.
“Do you know much about Nonna’s childhood? Did she too come here, climb, down that rough goat track, and pull a boat out of the cave behind us? Did she come here and swim in the Blue Grotto?”
“Si, of course. All Caprese have boats and know almost every cave, inlet, grotto, and rock on this island. This is our home.” He spread his hands out. “We are the people of Isolata di Capri.”
“I found a note, written by Nonna when she was just a young girl. She included a map. When Carlo was visiting me yesterday, I asked him if he could translate it for me.” She paused. “I’m not a hundred per cent sure, but I think that we either have a wonderful, childhood adventure documented—or there just might be something of importance hidden somewhere on the island. Nonna has left directions.”
His face somehow closed over slightly.
She cringed inwardly. Maybe she’s talking too much about Nonna—he’s still grieving for her. Maybe she’s invaded his privacy.
He rolled over onto his stomach, resting on his elbows. He stared down at the mess of crushed shells. He took so long to reply, that she thought the worst—that he was very annoyed with her. When he did speak, it was with a mixture of sadness and concern.
“Nonna, before she died, told me she would leave me enough money to build my restaurant. She said she couldn’t give it to me while she was living, because it would have meant shame upon our family name. After she passed away, as her lawyer and only heir, I had to go through her affairs. There was nothing unusual there. Not even proof of ownership of Rosamanti—just the certainty that all Caprese know that the Lombardis built it in 1678. If you have found something, bella, then maybe it’s what Nonna was trying to say to me.” He turned his head and looked at her. “You see, with you arriving so soon after her passing, I had not the time—nor the heart—to go through her things.”
He turned his attention back down to the little shells, picking one or two up and examining them intently. She left him to his own thoughts. How could she be so insensitive? She longed to hug him, to tell him how sorry she was. But the damage was done now. She had changed everything by being overly curious.
Some time passed in silence. The sun stung her bare skin as it shone down on her arms. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out her sunscreen and began rubbing it on her legs and arms. He broke from his private reverie and rolled over.
“Here, let me put some on your back.”
Handing him the bottle, she turned around and felt his big strong hands smother her with a good coating of cream.
“That’s a sturdy boat you have.”
“I have lost many boats over the years. If you don’t move it when a big storm is coming, it gets crushed against the low roof in the cave.” He sounded more like himself. “I prefer the wooden gozzo—traditional fishing boats—but”—he shrugged—“this is what I have now.”
Relief swept through her as she realized he wasn’t angry with her. He seemed almost back to his usual self.
“Now that you can swim—ahem,” his amused smile was back, “I will take you on many journeys. You should see some of the other grottoes and the Faraglione rocks.”
“No wonder you have such big muscles!”
His robust laugh sprang out of him, his eyes crinkling up at the corners. He raised his arms at right angles, pumping his biceps, in jest.
“I think I just might use a little outboard motor for those longer trips.” He leaned over and kissed her. “You are incredibly lovely to be with. You make me laugh.”
“I guess I sounded dumb—but I didn’t know you had a motor.”
“Of course you didn’t. Please, don’t worry. I like how you make me feel. I’ve been much too serious for much too long.” He jumped to his feet and held out his hand. “Come on. It’s getting hot. Race you into the sea.”
She got to her feet, but was slightly less enthusiastic about swimming, watching him run down the narrow strip of beach and into the water, then plunging under. Instead, she waded in gradually, carefully monitoring the depth. The water was deliciously fresh and so clean that she could see her feet as they walked along the sand. She sank to her knees, just her head and shoulders sticking out, relaxing there while Pietro swam around like a dolphin.
Someone had told her once, that the Mediterranean Sea was much saltier than the oceans at home and made it easier to float. Gingerly, she put her hands down to the sandy bottom and let her legs float out in front of
her. It felt wonderful. She felt so light. Bravely, she tried to bring her arms out to the side, to see if she could float on her back. Water entered her nose and mouth and stung her eyes. She panicked, arms and legs flailing. Then two strong arms grabbed her and wiped the water from her face.
“Cara mia! What are you doing? Trying to kill yourself?” He sounded like a chiding parent.
Helping her to stand up, they walked into shore.
“I will teach you to swim. You will end up a champion swimmer and you won’t want to be out of the water for more than a day.”
Soon, they packed up all their gear and began the long and arduous climb up the steep old track. It was hard going, but eventually she reached the top, with Pietro close behind. The Vespa stood in the shade where they had left it many hours ago.
They rode into Anacapri and stopped for lunch at a little café with a wonderful view across the island to Capri township. Afterward, they boarded a chairlift which carried them to the summit of Monte Solaro, nearly two thousand feet above sea level.
“Oh wow! I can see the whole island!” For the first time, Sarah was able to see the rugged terrain of the island. Anacapri was set high up on the lee of Monte Solaro. A rugged ridge cut the island in half, and Capri township sat in a saddle high above Marina Grande. Lo Capo and Villa Jovis were visible through the haze, sitting high atop the giant headland at the far end of the island.
The 360 degree view was surreal, almost like being in an airplane. The bright blue sky stretched to the far horizons, meeting with a cobalt sea. She clearly saw the Amalfi Coast and Sorrentine Peninsula. Farther north, she saw Mount Vesuvius, even the islands of Ischia and Procida. She wished she had brought her camera.
Instead of taking the chairlift back down to Anacapri, they decided to walk. It was still hot, but the walk was relatively easy and offered the chance to see up close the vineyards and lemon orchards growing on the rocky mountainside. They were hot and thirsty by the time they reached Anacapri, so stopped for some freshly squeezed blood-orange juice. Refreshed, they rode back to Rosamanti on the little Vespa, arriving just in time to milk Geraldina and to collect the eggs.
Later that evening, after they had eaten a simple meal, they sat together, hand in hand, under the pergola.
“That was a simply fantastic day. Thank you.” She rested her head on his shoulder. Strings of bright lights, far out at sea, moved slowly across the horizon. The large cruisers, all lit up like Christmas trees, constantly plied the waters around Italy, visiting the islands and the gorgeous towns along its coast.
“Si, it was wonderful.” He stifled a yawn. “But now I am tired. I am lucky that I don’t have to work at the restaurant tomorrow. Can I spend the day with you?”
She turned to look at him.
“I would love that.” She kissed him quickly on his cheek.
Together they stood and, arm in arm, walked into Nonna’s little kitchen and upstairs to bed. Later, as she lay in bed, listening to his deep, even breathing, she thought back over the events of the day. It simply could not have been more perfect. Again, she thanked her lucky stars for bringing her here to this idyllic place—and to this wonderful man.
Chapter Eight
Sarah stirred, half opened one eye, and squinted at the pale light coming in through the wooden shutters. Needing more sleep, she tried to roll over, but she couldn’t move. At first, in her sleepy daze, she thought it was one of Nonna’s cats who normally slept with her. She smiled as she realized it was Pietro. She felt his weight against her and his heavy arms surrounding her, their bodies touching from their faces all the way down to their toes.
Through the haze of sleep she sighed, contentment dripping from every pore. She had no idea what she’d done to deserve this second chance at happiness, but the state of blissful joy in which she now found herself was a gift to be treasured. She recalled how they’d gone to bed early and held each other as they fell asleep.
She yawned and rolled onto her side, foggy clouds drifting across her thoughts as she teetered on the edge of again falling asleep.
Soft fingers drew lines up and down her back, breaking into her doze. When she felt the sensation tracing the outline of her lips, she jerked, opening her eyes slightly to see two black ones staring at her. Even in the semi-darkness, she saw them smoldering like hot coals. Then she noticed something prodding her—something hard.
“Cara mia, I’m not tired anymore.” He whispered into her ear. She closed her eyes again, wanting more sleep. Small, soft kisses rained down all over her face. She tried to push him away.
“Soon, Pietro. Later.” She rolled over, her back to him, and tried to drift back into her slumber.
“OK, I’ll wait until you wake.”
Within thirty seconds, he started teasing her again, running his lips up her arm, trying his very best to be persuasive. Frustrated, she rolled onto her back.
“I’m too tired.” She kicked off the clammy bed covers, noticing the air feeling hot and humid.
“Si, bella.” Something in his tone made her open one eye. Pietro, his head cradled in his hand, was gazing at her tenderly. She sighed and smiled. He leaned forward and brushed his moist, soft lips lightly across hers.
“Good morning.”
She stretched, then wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing him closer. He kissed her again, then slid his lips down her neck to her breasts. Her nipples hardened instantly, and a warm feeling melted slowly through her. The prodding she’d felt earlier returned and he shifted, found her legs with his, and squeezed between them. Trying to elicit some enthusiasm in her, he playfully nuzzled her with his erection.
“See? I’m wide awake now, bella.”
Oh, she could see all right. He was definitely not tired.
He rolled, now lying over her, resting on his elbows, his face close to hers. “I’m so happy to see you are also awake.” He smiled a sweet, smug, victory grin.
She gave a small laugh, acknowledging his persistence.
He bent his head and kissed her passionately. “Voglio baciarti!” His voice was barely recognizable, distorted with desire and passion. “I want to kiss you forever.”
He moved his lips from her breasts down to her soft belly, kissing, caressing it so tenderly that shivers of delight swept over her, tingling every nerve in her body. He shifted down, kneeling, and she shivered at the delicious feeling of his fingers gently exploring her. When his head went down there, she knew the most wonderful feeling in the world was about to sweep through her. He had definitely succeeded in arousing her. She wanted it. She wanted it bad.
Letting out a loud moan, she opened up to him, grabbed at his arms and allowed herself to float into an intensity of pleasure, the likes of which she had never before known. Patiently, he brought her to her peak of arousal, sensing just when was the right time to move. Somewhere in the fuzziness of reality, she saw him stand and roll on the protection. Then he came down on her again, kissing her passionately, murmuring beautiful Italian words.
“Amore mio.” His lips were gentle, but forceful.
Returning the passion, she felt as though she could fly to the moon. Her breathing was coming faster and faster. As he slid deeply inside her, she cried out with pleasure. With every thrust, she thought she would explode. She scrunched up her toes as pulsating began inside her, building stronger and faster, then an explosion of exquisite pleasure radiated through her whole body, right to her fingertips. Waves of pleasure swept over her for a long time, gradually abating. All of a sudden, Pietro called out, and she felt him come inside her.
They lay together, breathing hard and lightly perspiring in the humid air. Eerie green-grey light seeped through the cracks around the wooden shutters on the bedroom window. She glanced at the clock and, surprised to see how late it was, reached up and pushed the shutter open. Thick, dark clouds diluted the normally brilliant sunrise. The roosters shrieked more loudly than usual, and the hens seemed uneasy, chattering and clucking fussily.
A loud thun
derclap made them both jump. Another quickly followed, rumbling and growling around the villa. The cacophony of noise from the hen house became louder, the sounds of the birds penetrating the succession of deafening thunder. Yet another clap, sounding much closer, shook the floorboards and rattled the glass in the windows. Pietro jumped up and pulled on some shorts.
“Geraldina! The chickens!”
He bolted down the stairs and the kitchen door banged shut. Another clap of thunder rent the air, and lightning lit up the dull, grey sky. The heavens opened and a deluge of heavy rain fell down, making a deafening din on the roof. She quickly threw on some clothes and ran out to help with the animals.
When she got to the chicken coop, Pietro, glistening wet from the rain, was busy dropping black plastic sheets down over the open sides of the pen, tethering them with little straps. Sarah heard Geraldina’s frightened bleat above the thrum of the rain and the loud explosions of thunder.
“Go back to the villa. It will hail soon.” He turned and ran down to the goat shed.
She turned and started running back up to the house. In the distance, she heard a dull roar, getting louder and louder. Suddenly, hailstones pounded her, smacking into her head and bouncing off the rocks on the path, sounding like someone had opened a bag of marbles and tossed them from a height. The rain became heavier. Thunder boomed ominously, preceded by piercing threads of lightning, illuminating the gloomy morning with blue-white light. Keeping her head down, she kept on running, frightened should it strike her, or one of the exposed rock outcrops that dotted the surrounding landscape.
Breathless, she reached the sanctuary of the kitchen door and dived in to its gloom. She grasped the edge of the old wooden table, feeling her heart beating wildly. The close proximity of the lightning made her jump, as the windows of Rosamanti rattled and shook.
Eventually, the worst of the storm eased, the thunder rumbling grumpily out to sea, and the rain slowing to a light mist, then completely stopping. She looked out the kitchen door down toward Geraldina’s yard. Seeing no sign of either Pietro or the goat, she walked down, hoping they were all right. As if to mock the events of the past half hour, fresh sunlight and patches of blue sky appeared, replacing the dark and foreboding sky of such a short time ago.