Silvana placed a hand on Gill’s arm. ‘I’m sorry he doesn’t recognise you. Most of the time he doesn’t recognise me either and we’ve been married for fifty years. We are about to have a little cruise to celebrate our golden wedding anniversary, but he has little idea of what’s going on.’
‘I’m so sorry.’ Gill gulped her gin as the nurse helped Fabio to collapse onto one of the sofas. ‘I’m sorry too that I bothered you, but I had no idea.’ No idea that he’d been married for fifty years either. And no idea that he’d been married when he bedded her in London. She had to get out of here, and fast.
‘You’ve taken the trouble to come here, so you must stay to have some lunch with us before we sail,’ Silvana said.
‘No, no, that’s very kind of you, but I really must go,’ Gill said hastily. ‘I’m meeting friends for lunch.’
‘Oh, that’s a pity. You’d be most welcome.’
‘Thank you, and it’s been lovely to meet you, Silvana. And I’m so sorry about Fabio.’ Gill drained her glass rapidly. She laid the glass down on the table and gazed at her ex-lover for a brief moment, then said, ‘Arrivederci, Fabio.’
He didn’t move. Silvana escorted her out onto the deck. ‘Would you like Pietro to take you back to the gates?’
‘No, thank you,’ Gill said, wobbling slightly as she stepped onto the jetty. ‘I’m fine, thanks.’
The two women shook hands and Gill, trying not to cry, headed back the way she’d come. It wasn’t until she was outside the gates that she let the tears flow.
* * *
Gill returned to a deserted Bella. Connie and Maggie were sightseeing in Rome and, for once, she was glad to have the place to herself to collect her chaotic thoughts. What had she expected, for goodness’ sake! Had she honestly thought that Fabio would be single, in perfect health, and welcome her with open arms after all these years? She should have left well alone. In her stupidity she’d imagined meeting him in the city for a coffee or a drink, strolling past the Colosseum, having a little flirt perhaps? She’d suspected, of course, that he’d be married, but widowed or divorced maybe. And she was genuinely shocked that he’d been married when they were shagging away in London. And he was still very much married. To the charming Silvana with her immaculately coiffed steel-grey hair. And the bracelets. She’d never visualised Fabio growing old, other than in an elegant and distinguished way, and she’d certainly never imagined him with dementia.
Gill made herself a salad and poured a glass of wine. It wasn’t as if she’d planned to be unfaithful to Alfie, because she loved Alfie, and prayed that he’d keep his promise to fly down to see her in Amalfi or wherever. All she’d wanted was to satisfy her curiosity about Fabio.
But then there was the yacht! She’d no idea Fabio had become so rich and successful. And, she had to admit, just for one teeny-weeny moment back there, she’d imagined cruising the Med, clad in designer clothes, bracelets on her wrist, and not even having to pour her own drink! She’d get rid of that poncy Pietro though.
Life could be cruel. Look at poor, poor Fabio. No amount of money or success would improve his condition. And here was she, seventy years old, fit and well, looking better than she had in years, with a new admirer and two great mates. What an amazing trip this was turning out to be. Gill finished her salad and decided to lie down.
* * *
When Connie and Maggie got back at about five o’clock they found Gill fast asleep, and snoring, on the settee. She awoke with a start as they came in.
‘Sorry to disturb you,’ said Connie, sitting down opposite and kicking off her sandals. ‘We’re knackered. And poor Maggie’s been mugged and didn’t even make it to St Peter’s.’
Maggie was pouring herself a glass of water.
Gill, fully awake now, said, ‘Oh, I’m so sorry, Mags. Are you OK? What did he take? Have you been to the police?’
‘Yeah, I’m OK,’ Maggie said. ‘And he didn’t get anything of major importance. And I’m not going near the police. Not that they’d find him anyway.’
‘What about you?’ asked Connie. ‘Did you manage to locate the famous Fabio?’
Gill sighed. ‘Yes, I did.’
‘And?’
‘And he’s got a yacht, a wife and dementia.’
‘Oh, Gill!’ Connie grimaced. ‘But you didn’t honestly think he’d be waiting for you, arms outstretched, did you?’
‘Not really.’
‘OK, so let’s hear it all.’
Gill told them of her visit to Il Delfino and found they were more amazed by the incredible coincidence of it being the same yacht as she’d inadvertently boarded in Cannes, than they were about the wife and the dementia.
‘Just as well you’ve got a spare Italian up your sleeve,’ Maggie said with a grin, before taking herself off to her bunk for a lie-down.
‘That mugging has really taken the stuffing out of her,’ Connie said.
* * *
Later, when Maggie was inside showering and Connie and Gill were sitting with cool drinks outside, Connie said, ‘I’m quite concerned about Maggie.’
‘Well,’ Gill agreed, ‘it must have been a scary experience.’
Connie sighed. ‘I wonder if she’s telling us the truth?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, she was very evasive about everything when she left so early this morning, and she’s been so morose all afternoon.’
‘So, what’s on your mind, Connie? You don’t think she’s heard from Ringer, do you?’
‘I wonder.’
‘Surely she’d have told us?’
‘Maggie wouldn’t want to worry us. I’m only guessing though. But we’ll soon be at the turning point of this trip and I can’t imagine he’s just going to obediently turn round and follow us all the way back. Something’s got to happen.’
‘Alfie wants to come down and join us in Amalfi. Perhaps I should tell him what’s going on?’
‘Oh Gill, you know Maggie would go ballistic!’
‘Yes, but we could all be in some danger, couldn’t we? We’ve spent the last few weeks looking over our shoulders every five minutes, and this is our trip as well as hers.’
Neither spoke for a moment.
‘We’ll make a decision when we get to Sorrento,’ Connie said. ‘Maggie’s found a tiny offbeat site there on the internet, so we should be safe. She’s booked it for the end of the week.’
‘And then there’s your Italian cousins.’
‘I’ll have to see the lawyer in Naples. I’ve got copies of everything I could find, and I’ve even got my grandmother’s wedding certificate. I’ve sent on the money they wanted and have an appointment for the beginning of next week. It’s probably a wild goose chase, but worth a try.’
‘You might find you’re heiress to a fortune. You could end up richer than Maggie!’
‘Mmm,’ Connie said thoughtfully, watching Maggie, with her hair wet, coming towards them. ‘I’m not at all sure that’s any guarantee of happiness.’
* * *
They skipped breakfast the following day and headed into the city for an early aperitivo and lunch on the Piazza Navona, background music vying with the sound of gushing water from Bernini’s famous fountain.
So many beautiful people in this city, Connie thought. She watched two teenage girls, arm in arm, golden-skinned, chestnut-haired, casually but immaculately clad in tight jeans and crop tops, as they sauntered by. She remembered the youngsters she’d admired at the Sacre Coeur in Paris, which seemed like a lifetime ago. I’d like to be young again, she thought. Somewhere like this. If Maria had married a fellow countryman I might have been born here. Even so, I am one quarter Italian, so perhaps that’s why I feel so at home in this country.
She’d had a call from Don, who had a rotten summer cold and wasn’t going to be able to make it to Rome, but he had every intention of seeing her in Amalfi, or wherever she ended up. Summer cold? Well, perhaps, but more likely some romantic tryst. You never quite knew with Do
n. Connie was used to his erratic ways, and now it suited her free spirit.
She watched one of the artists sitting in the middle of the piazza, between the fountains, sketching an overweight tourist. The locals came here to ply their art and sing their songs. A young tenor was serenading the customers in the ristorante on their right with a rousing rendition of ‘O Sole Mio’.
‘Not quite in Andrea’s class,’ Maggie murmured.
But he wasn’t at all bad. Nor were the couple of gymnasts somersaulting in front of the restaurant on their left. You could spend most of the day here, Connie thought, lingering over a drink and watching the world go by. And, in the evening, there would be la passeggiata, the nightly ritual of parading up and down, looking your best, admiring and being admired. Stopping for refreshments, exchanging coy smiles, starting conversations. Beats internet dating any day, she thought.
En route to the Pantheon, Gill bought a pair of gold leather trainers, which she put on immediately.
‘I never liked trainers before,’ she informed the other two. ‘But I’ll be able to walk as fast as you now. Do you think Alfie would approve?’
Alfie dominated her every conversation. Would Alfie like this? Would Alfie like that? Did they think Alfie would really come down to join them in Amalfi or somewhere? Yes, he’d said he would but still… Should she stay on in Italy if Alfie asked her to? Would that be crazy? Should she learn some Italian? Did Connie and Maggie really really like him?
Gill was on the phone to her lover several times a day. She knew that when he called her ‘cara’ he meant ‘dear’ or ‘darling’, but couldn’t get her head round the fact that she had to call him ‘caro’.
‘In most European languages you have to alter the word ending depending on whether you’re referring to a man or a woman or a masculine or feminine noun,’ Connie endeavoured to explain. Gill looked blank.
‘Didn’t you do French at school?’ Maggie asked.
‘Yeah, but I didn’t pay much attention. It’s such a long time ago.’ Gill grinned. ‘But I’ve just remembered Bobby Carter who sat right behind me in French. He was so good-looking and we all fancied him like mad! He groped my boobs once when I was coming out the toilet.’ Her face lit up with pleasure.
‘I can see you had a very rounded education,’ said Maggie. ‘And do you know,’ she continued, reading from the guide book, ‘that this is the largest unsupported dome in the world and they reckon it was built around 2000 years ago.’
They were standing inside the Pantheon and gazing upwards at the famous hole in the top of the dome.
‘And,’ Maggie continued, ‘nobody knows the exact composition of the material but it’s structurally very similar to modern-day concrete. How about that?’
‘And lots of famous people are buried here, including Raphael,’ Connie added.
Gill was still gawping at the hole in the dome. ‘What happens when it rains?’
‘You get wet,’ Maggie said.
* * *
The following day they arrived early at St Peter’s Square for their half-day walking tour of the Vatican. Much to Maggie’s relief they’d paid to skip the line, which was much better than waiting for hours in a queue in the heat of the day.
They began with the Vatican Museum, where the young, good-looking guide regaled them with tales of saintliness and scandal, and explained how the Vatican popes had put together one of the world’s greatest collections of private art. There were Raphael’s Rooms, the Cabinet of Masks, the Gallery of Maps, and finally the Sistine Chapel. While all around people marvelled at Michelangelo’s frescoes, Gill complained about having a crick in her neck with all the looking up she was having to do.
And, finally, St Peter’s.
Maggie was glad she’d come. She felt a definite sense of peace as she genuflected, found a pew and sat with her head bowed. Dear God, she thought, I don’t know if you exist or not. But, if you do, I really need your help now. Please tell me what to do.
Connie and Gill had moved on to admire Michelangelo’s early sculpture of the Pietà – the Pity – showing Mother and Son, with Mary holding the body of Christ after the crucifixion. Connie said she’d been moved to tears when she saw it first many years previously, and she was moved to tears again now. She thought of Ben, and how she’d seen his poor little body after the accident. No mother should have to endure that.
Gill, rarely sensitive, must have guessed, as she put a comforting arm round Connie.
All three were completely exhausted, physically and emotionally, as they emerged into the heat and noise of the outside world again.
* * *
There was so much more of Rome to see, but Maggie had booked the site in Sorrento, so they headed off, promising to see more on the way back. They sang ‘Arrivederci Roma’ as they set off from Ostia, Maggie driving and Connie in the passenger seat, on the road to Naples and Sorrento and Amalfi. And goodness knows what else? Connie wondered. At least she’d made an appointment with the lawyers in Naples. And then what? Would the three stay together? Would they all turn round and drive all the way back to the UK? The thought did not appeal, particularly with Ringer on their tail. There hadn’t been sight or sound of him for some time now so perhaps he’d finally given up the chase, Connie hoped. Even so, he was unlikely to be waiting with his arms outstretched to welcome Maggie home. What would she do?
She glanced across at Maggie, marvelling how the three had become such friends on this journey. Not for the first time, Connie had discovered that you could never tell about people just by looking at them; you could mentally write them off before you knew the first thing about them. Let’s face it, she thought, I’d never have chosen these two as friends, not in a million years! But friends they had become, and she already dreaded the thought of parting with them at some point, because sooner or later they all had to get back to the real world. And of course they could all remain friends in London. If they all went back to London. Connie had a feeling some sort of crunch was coming.
They reckoned on a four-hour drive if the traffic wasn’t too bad. But the traffic was horrendous; everyone in Italy appeared to be going on holiday and the first part of the journey, which was inland, was slow and tedious. They lost sight of the sea until they got to Terracina, and then decided to lunch in Gaeta, a small city at the southern end of the Lazio region, about fifty miles from Naples. Gaeta was situated on a promontory surrounded by water on three sides, where they discovered that everyone in Italy had decided to lunch as well. They finally managed to locate a parking spot for Bella and a space in a busy restaurant near the harbour for themselves. They ordered salads, which arrived liberally sprinkled with the dark oval olives for which the area was famous.
They set off again, Connie in the driving seat, to tackle what they hoped would be the final hour.
‘Whatever happens,’ Connie said, ‘I do not want to be driving into Naples. It’s manic at the best of times from what I remember.’
Maggie was studying the map and looking out for signs while Gill, sitting behind as usual, could be heard talking to Alfonso on her phone. ‘Oh, caro, that would be wonderful!’
‘What’s she up to now?’ Maggie muttered.
‘I bet he’s coming down here to see her,’ Connie said.
‘Do you think he’s as keen as she is?’
‘I wouldn’t be surprised.’
‘Really?’ Maggie was gazing out of the window but almost missed the turning to take them round the bay. ‘Quick, take the first right!’
‘Thank God!’ Connie sighed with relief as she turned off, glad to escape the slow-moving chaos ahead, the tooting of horns, the yelling of drivers at each other, and the never-ending heat. It was even hotter here than in Rome, and accompanied by an assortment of smells, few of them pleasant. And Andrea Bocelli was singing ‘Funiculì, Funiculà’.
Gill was humming as she poked her head forward. ‘Guess what? Alfie’s flying down tomorrow, with Toto, and he’s booked us into a little hotel in Positano for
five days! That’s near Amalfi, you know?’
‘Yes, I know where it is,’ Connie said.
An hour later, still in heavy traffic, they arrived at the little park near Sorrento, having pulled in several times to admire the beautiful Bay of Naples, Vesuvius lurking above.
‘What a stunning coastline!’ Maggie exclaimed. ‘And what a fabulous part of the world! And your poor old granny left all this lot behind for Newcastle!’
‘Love conquers all,’ quoted Gill from behind.
The camping site was tiny, but very orderly. There were generous spaces for four large vehicles, and it had a small shop, a toilet and a shower. It was also very expensive, but Maggie had insisted on booking it from Rome, mainly because it was ‘off the beaten track’, and it was only a ten-minute walk into Sorrento. Maggie, of course, was paying. Connie had long since given up worrying about such extravagances and was only too relieved to switch off the ignition, stretch her aching limbs and peel the shirt away from her sweaty body. There was a slight breeze from the sea but it, too, was hot. Everywhere shutters were drawn, shops were closed, fans whirred and locals slept. Shortly it would cool down a little, shops would reopen, and people would reappear.
Gill had already collapsed onto her bunk and Maggie had a wander round to check on the facilities.
‘I don’t want to drive again for a long time,’ Connie said when Maggie came back in. ‘We can get the train from the station in Sorrento which will take us back round the bay to Pompeii and to Naples. And we can get a bus to Positano and Amalfi.’
‘We’ve done damned well to get here in one piece,’ Maggie remarked as she poured herself a cold drink.
‘And with only a couple of dents,’ Connie said. ‘And this is the end of the road, geographically at least.’
The Getaway Girls: A hilarious feel-good summer read Page 24