“Good God, the rudeness of that man!” Mrs. Waynebridge exclaimed when they were outside the gates. She took off her hat and fanned her hot face with it. “I’m all shaken up like a jug of cream.”
“He was horrible,” Celestria agreed. “I hope we don’t bump into him again.” Her legs were trembling. She wiped her eyes with her hand. “How dare he speak to me like that? He’s certainly no gentleman. I thought Italian men were meant to be charming.”
“He’s no more Italian than I am,” said Mrs. Waynebridge with a snort.
“Where’s he from, then?”
“Scotland.”
“He’s Scottish?”
“I’d recognize that accent anywhere, I would.”
“I was too shocked to notice.”
“What’s a Scotsman doing down here, I ask myself?”
“Probably looking after those sheep we saw yesterday.”
“I didn’t even see him coming.”
“I was only admiring the crypt.” Celestria’s voice grew quiet. “She was beautiful.”
“A young woman, was she?”
“Yes, his daughter, perhaps. I was intruding. You were right, Waynie, I shouldn’t have gone in there. It was none of my business. Oh, Lord, I’ve made a fool of myself.”
“You’re trembling.”
“I’m shaken up like a jug of cream, too,” she replied, relieved to reach the safety of the Convento.
“You haven’t made a fool of yourself, love,” said Mrs. Waynebridge reassuringly, pulling a sympathetic face. “You won’t be seeing him again. And if you do, just walk on t’other side of road. That’s what I do to them I don’t wish to speak to.”
Celestria fell through the door with great relief. The dogs rushed up to greet her, and she crouched down to press her face into their fur to hide her tears. Getting up, she glanced at her watch. It was half-past eleven. “Nuzzo will be here shortly. I’m going to go upstairs to freshen up.” She fled before Mrs. Waynebridge could see her crying.
Celestria closed her bedroom door behind her and leaned back against it for a moment. She shut her eyes and took a deep breath. “Oh, Lord!” she groaned, her limbs still quivering from her encounter. “What am I going to do?” She rubbed her face with her hand, then began to chew on the skin around her thumbnail in agitation. She walked over to the window and looked out, deep in thought. From there she could see into the courtyard below and on to the bell tower of the little church next door. She couldn’t see the city of the dead, although it rested just beyond, but she could smell the lilies from that crypt as if they meant only to mock her.
She had never, in all her life, been spoken to in such a rude manner. She felt humiliated, angry, and, to her horror, a little afraid. She hoped to God she never laid eyes on that man again. Let’s get the job done and go home, she thought to herself. I don’t want to be here a moment longer than I have to.
19
Half an hour later she stepped into the courtyard, feeling a great deal better, and found Mrs. Waynebridge talking to Nuzzo. He was dressed in a smart black suit with a waistcoat and pressed white shirt, and held his beret in his hands, leaving his thin gray hair to stick up in curly tufts. He gave a roguish smile, exposing large gaps between rather small teeth, raised his round, tourmaline eyes to Celestria, and bowed politely. “Buon giorno, signorina,” he said in a voice as soft as demerara sugar. Mrs. Waynebridge was clearly taken with him, for the apples of her cheeks blushed with the hue of a young girl discovering love for the first time.
“Good morning, Nuzzo,” Celestria replied, wondering how Mrs. Waynebridge had managed to communicate with him despite his lack of English. He seemed to read her thoughts.
“Io parlo leetle English,” he replied, illustrating with his forefinger and thumb, which he held up to his eye like a pair of tweezers.
“A little is better than nothing,” Celestria said briskly. “Are you ready, Waynie?”
The older woman nodded, clutching her handbag. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” she said breathlessly, following Nuzzo outside into the sunshine.
Celestria closed the heavy wooden door behind them with a loud clank. Once outside, she cast a quick glance across the dirt road to where the city of the dead stood in stillness and serenity, half hoping, half fearing, that the rude Scotsman would suddenly stride out. Nuzzo waited beneath the avenue of pine trees that lined the road leading into town.
Nuzzo helped them into the cart with great gallantry, as if he were an old-fashioned knight. Mrs. Waynebridge gave her hand willingly, and a little feebly, Celestria thought, in order to prolong the moment. Celestria stepped up swiftly. Nuzzo, however, gave her minimal attention; he had eyes only for Mrs. Waynebridge. Once they were settled, he withdrew a paper bag from inside his jacket. “Mele,” he said, revealing two shiny red apples.
“How thoughtful,” sighed Mrs. Waynebridge, taking one and handing the other to Celestria.
“I thought you mistrusted Italian men,” Celestria hissed.
“I do,” she replied, turning the apple around in her fingers. “But I’m enjoying the fuss. I haven’t received the attentions of a man for, God knows, fifty years. Alfie gave up once he’d won me. That’s what men are like. It’s all in the chase.”
Cypress trees rose up to a clear blue sky, where a few large-winged birds floated on the air above the cliffs. The sea undulated gently, waves glittering like sequins in the sunshine. After a while little bells rang out across the fields where sheep grazed, dropping their white heads to chew on the rough grasses and herbs that thrived there. Mrs. Waynebridge’s heart grew light with pleasure as the new sights filled her spirit with the taste of adventure. She liked the heat, she liked the smells of thyme and rosemary that flourished among the rocks, and she liked the sight of Nuzzo as he turned and smiled at her with tenderness.
Celestria thought of her father and what he’d think of her traveling so far to seek vengeance for his death. She hoped he would be proud. Even if she found nothing, at least she had tried.
Out in the fresh air that swept in off the sea, Celestria shook her head and allowed the breeze to blow through her hair, leaving a faint trace of pine. The sun shone warmly on her skin, and the horizon stretched as far as she could see, stirring within her something sweet and melancholy. A group of grubby children mucked about among the rocks, waving to Nuzzo as they passed, and a skinny mongrel chased the cart, snapping at the wheels playfully. A few other horses and carts trotted by, and Nuzzo stopped for a chat, laughing heartily with an elderly man whose horse pulled a large load of timber destined for Gaitano’s new library.
Finally, Nuzzo drew up alongside a path that led down to a secluded cove. The path was well worn by the footprints of children who liked to play there after school. Today it was quiet. Nestled against the cliffs, it lay in tranquillity like a secret bay. As they stepped onto the stones a trio of white birds flapped their wings and scattered into the sky, leaving to the waves the remains of the seaweed they had been pecking at. “Isn’t this charming,” said Mrs. Waynebridge, taking off her hat and patting her hair to check it was still in place.
“I should have brought my bathing suit,” Celestria replied. “I can’t strip off here in front of our friend, can I?” Nuzzo didn’t understand. He found a spot in the shade and put down the picnic basket Luigi had prepared for them. Unfolding a rug, he gestured to Mrs. Waynebridge.
“Thank you,” she said, smiling.
“Grazie,” said Nuzzo, nodding at her with encouragement. She shifted her eyes to Celestria, but she was busy taking off her shoes to walk in the waves.
“Grazie,” Mrs. Waynebridge repeated.
“Brava!” enthused Nuzzo, nodding excitedly. “Grazie.”
“Thank you,” said Waynie with a chuckle.
“Sank oo,” said Nuzzo.
“No, no. Thank you,” Mrs. Waynebridge repeated, emphasizing the “th.” “Th…th…thank you.” Nuzzo copied her, placing his tongue against his top teeth.
“Thank yo
u,” he said, pleased with himself.
“Very good,” she exclaimed, clapping her hands. Nuzzo opened the basket and pulled out a bottle of wine and two glasses.
“Oh, how very nice,” said Mrs. Waynebridge in surprise.
“Vino,” he said, holding out the bottle. “Vino.”
“Vino,” Mrs. Waynebridge replied. “Grazie.”
“Bravissima!” he said with such exuberance that Mrs. Waynebridge found herself roaring with laughter. He poured two glasses and gave one to Mrs. Waynebridge.
“La signorina?” he asked, looking over to Celestria, who was now in the water, holding up her trousers so they didn’t get wet.
“Leave her,” Mrs. Waynebridge suggested, touching his arm. He looked down at her fingers on his arm and grinned. Mrs. Waynebridge pulled her hand away, appalled at her own forwardness. She took a hasty sip of wine.
“It’s very good. Go on, have some. Vino, you.”
“Io?”
“Yes, you. It’s very good.” She took another sip. Nuzzo sat down beside her and brought the wine to his lips.
“Good,” he said.
“Good,” she repeated.
“Buono,” he added.
“Buono,” she repeated.
“Lei è brava e buona,” he said, his shiny eyes twinkling at her, knowing she wouldn’t understand. “E bella,” he added under his breath. “Buona e bella.”
“The water’s cold!” Celestria called out, smiling broadly. “But it’s lovely.”
“Come and have something to eat,” Mrs. Waynebridge shouted back.
“I’m not hungry,” she replied. “Besides, I’m too excited to eat.”
“Excited about what?”
Celestria sighed. “I don’t know. I feel excited, and I don’t know why.” Her toes tingled, her hair danced on the breeze, and, to her surprise, she felt her heart inflate with happiness. “This place is just adorable. I want it to belong to me. My own special bay.”
“I think, love, this is one thing your grandfather can’t buy you.”
Celestria turned around and faced out to sea. How different the water was from the navy water of Cornwall. She closed her eyes and let the sun warm her cheeks. How far she was from England, her mother, Uncle Archie and Aunt Julia, Uncle Milton and Aunt Penelope, her grandmother and the boys, David, Lotty, and Melissa—she was hundreds of miles from home. Down on that secluded bay, so removed from the grim events that had brought her here, she was overcome by a completely new and exhilarating feeling. She felt free. She sensed her father right here with her. He had belonged in Marelatte. Whatever it was that had drawn him here was now drawing her, too.
“I think we should eat,” said Mrs. Waynebridge to Nuzzo, feeling her stomach twisting with hunger. “It’s just you and me.” She rested her eyes on his irregular features and smiled with pleasure. “And I couldn’t be happier with the company.”
They arrived back at the Convento at teatime. Mrs. Waynebridge went upstairs to tidy herself, the sea wind having messed up her hair. Celestria, who hadn’t eaten lunch, was now ravenous. She made her way across the courtyard, past sleeping dogs, through the kitchen garden, where the young family of black cats snoozed among pots of sage and basil, into the kitchen. Luigi was washing up. She could smell the risotto. “Is there any left?” she inquired, lifting the lid off the saucepan. “Lord, it smells good!”
“Lei vuole mangiare?” he asked, holding out a bowl.
“Lovely,” she exclaimed.
“La Signora Halifax mangia a tavola,” he continued, gesticulating through to the dining room. Celestria understood the word Halifax and skipped through.
“Ah, Mrs. Halifax. You’re eating late, too!”
“I was out painting and completely forgot the time,” she said. “I think I’ve burned my nose. It feels awfully sore.” She rubbed it self-consciously.
“It is a little red. I burned my cheeks; they’re smarting. I don’t care, though,” she said, sitting down. “Mama would scold me for ruining my skin. She thinks brown skin is very common and ugly.”
“She’s wrong. It suits you,” Mrs. Halifax replied. “You’d suit anything, dear. You’re blessed with a lovely face, whatever the color of your skin.”
Luigi brought her a bowl of risotto and some bread. When he offered her wine, she took it without hesitation.
“Have you had a pleasant morning?” Mrs. Halifax asked, watching Celestria take a forkful of risotto, closing her eyes in pleasure.
“Actually, I’ve had the most enchanting day, in spite of a shocking start.”
“A shocking start? My dear, that doesn’t sound good.”
“You know you said that I should visit the city of the dead?”
“Isn’t it marvelous!”
“It’s beautiful. In fact, Waynie and I were so moved we even went into one or two of the crypts.”
“I bet you didn’t find a single withered flower in the entire place.”
“No, but I did find the rudest man in Italy.”
Mrs. Halifax raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Goodness, he must have been very rude indeed; the Italians are an outspoken lot. Who was he?”
“I don’t know. He was so unpleasant, I didn’t introduce myself.” It felt exciting to talk about him. Perhaps Mrs. Halifax would shed some light on his identity. “I was simply admiring the beautiful photograph on the little altar when he shouted at me, bellowing from the doorway like a monster.” Mrs. Halifax put down her fork and tried to interrupt, but Celestria ignored her. “I imagine the girl was his daughter. He was Scottish. What a Scotsman is doing down here, I can’t imagine. Perhaps it’s the sheep. There are sheep in Scotland, aren’t there? I have to say, I have never been so insulted in all my life. He hadn’t even bothered to brush his hair. He was a sight.”
Before Mrs. Halifax could utter a single word in reply, they both became aware of the man who now filled the archway that led through to the little sitting room with his dark, unruly presence.
Celestria dropped her fork into her risotto and gasped. “Oh, Lord!” she exclaimed. “It’s you!”
He strode over and extended his hand. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up, revealing brown, muscular arms covered in light brown hair.
“My name is Hamish McCloud,” he said, unsmiling. “I can’t say it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
20
Celestria was at a loss for words. As if by remote control she introduced herself and allowed him to take her hand. The sensation of his skin against hers caused her stomach to flip. She returned his stare with defiance, but her entrails turned to jelly.
Finally he spoke, his Scottish accent soft and smoky. “I should apologize for shouting at you, but in my defense, you were trespassing. The woman in the photograph was my wife. As for sheep, I have little to do with them unless they are on my plate, medium rare, with a little mint sauce and red currant jelly. I don’t brush my hair very often; I don’t see the point. I’m an artist, not an office clerk. If you don’t like it, don’t look at it. I’m sure we can avoid each other if we try. I hope I have answered all your questions. If I see you again, I will endeavor not to shout.”
Celestria didn’t know whether or not he was joking. His expression was deadly serious. How could she have known that he was next door, listening to her every word? When she didn’t reply, he turned on his heel and left through the kitchen, disappearing out into the gardens. Celestria felt as if she had been hit by a tornado.
Mrs. Halifax picked up her fork and continued to eat the risotto. “Well, my dear,” she said casually, “I tried to warn you, but you did plow on.”
Celestria’s appetite had disappeared. “What’s he doing here?”
“He’s Freddie and Gaitano’s son-in-law.”
“Ah,” said Celestria. It all made sense. “He was married to their daughter.”
“Natalia. She died three years ago. It was a terrible tragedy. She fell from the cliff. Killed instantly.”
“M
y intrusion was unforgivable.”
“Not at all,” said Mrs. Halifax kindly. “The city of the dead is open to everyone. You are free to wander wherever you desire as long as you treat the place with respect. I can’t imagine they’d welcome a band of noisy children kicking footballs, but you and Mrs. Waynebridge weren’t causing any trouble. No, I’m afraid Hamish has been deeply troubled ever since his wife fell from that cliff. He used to be the funniest man you could ever meet. He had a wonderfully infectious sense of humor and a lightness of spirit that was a joy to be around. He’s a gifted pianist and painter, but I don’t think he’s painted much since Natalia died. Dark scenes, I fear. A pity, when he’s surrounded by such beauty.” She watched Celestria for a moment. “Don’t worry, his bark is worse than his bite. He’s just uncomfortable with himself, that’s all. Death is a hard thing to get over. He must feel abandoned and alone. He loved her so very much.” She lowered her eyes and finished the last of the risotto. “My little boy died of polio. I’ve never got over it. Somehow the years pass, we look and sound older, but inside we’re still the same, with the same hearts. I miss him as much now as I did that first, terrible year. I understand poor Hamish. But he will move on, eventually. Of course, he doesn’t know that, does he? We all have to move on in the end. Life is for living, and the moment we all meet up in the next world will come soon enough.”
“I’m sorry about your son.”
“He was a dear little boy.”
“What happened to Hamish’s leg?”
“He fell off his horse, hunting. It was years ago, when he was in his twenties. It’s given him trouble ever since. Some days are better than others. He doesn’t always need that stick.” She gave Celestria a conspiratorial look. “He’s attractive, though, isn’t he?”
“He’s rude,” Celestria corrected petulantly.
“Yes, he is, but he can be so very charming.”
Sea of Lost Love Page 23