The Italian Next Door...

by Anna Cleary

  ‘Who, me? Are you sure? Two such splendid cooks as yourselves?’

  ‘No, no. There is one splendid cook here. And one who is a little…cosi, cosi.’ He waggled his hand modestly.

  ‘I wouldn’t know what to cook for you guys,’ she protested. ‘I’m no good at risotto, and after that ravioli sauce the other evening I wouldn’t dare try to compete.’

  Valentino roused himself from his newspaper and said gravely, ‘I believe we are in the mood for a Thai stir-fry. Isn’t that what you were hoping for, Nonno?’

  ‘Sì,’ the old man said excitedly. ‘A Thai stir-fry is the one thing I am wishing for.’

  Pia laughed uproariously at the very notion, but willingly shopped for the ingredients and whipped up her special as part of the evening meal.

  When the food was before him Enzio tasted his modest serving gingerly, then persevered, picking his way through it with extreme caution, his face puckered in polite agony. Valentino tucked into his without hesitation, to Pia’s intense relief, his eyes brimming with laughter with every glance at the old man’s pain.

  The delights of Enzio occupied only one piece of her precious, precious time. The best was Valentino, her friend, her playmate, her collaborator by day, her lover by night.

  Sometimes he would text her. I want you.

  Come to me, she’d reply.

  Up and down the moonlit steps they slipped to each other’s beds, until her feet knew every dip and rough spot between her gate and Valentino’s.

  Every magic night she waited, enthralled, for her lover’s key to turn in the lock, then he’d stride in as quiet and sure-footed as a big cat, slide under the covers and take her in his arms, the night-scented air on his skin, desire pulsing in his hard body. Sometimes he smelled of the sea and she guessed he’d been out in his boat, though to where he never would say.

  Every night held new adventures in excitement, with Valentino virile and thrilling in the fierce heat of passion, yet tender, and always, always concerned for her pleasure.

  A couple of times Valentino called her to him, and she flew down the stairs, tingling with anticipation, to where he awaited her in his moonlit courtyard, ready to spirit her into the villa and up the stairs to his bed. Somehow at first light she managed to wrench herself from his arms and run home through the dewy dawn.

  ‘Do you think he knows?’ she whispered to Valentino one passion-soaked midnight, when he was resting beside her in his bed, the embers of desire still aglow in his slumberous eyes.

  ‘Sure he knows.’

  ‘Then why must we be so secret?’

  A smile crept into his eyes. ‘If he knows officially, I will be forced to marry you.’

  ‘Heaven forbid.’ They both laughed, but avoided each

  other’s eyes.

  Valentino was keen to coax Pia into his boat. At first reluctant, she relaxed when she experienced how skilled and capable he was at manoeuvring the craft, and learned to enjoy the lazy afternoon hours fishing or sailing around the cliffs.

  Valentino showed her secret grottoes the tourists never saw, with fantastic stalagmites, and mysterious underwater light that turned the limestone walls impossible glowing shades from turquoise to emerald.

  Love held Pia in a state of rapturous suspension. She took hundreds of photos, but, conscious of her treasured days slipping by, dreading the goodbye, she was burning Valentino’s beauty into her memory.

  She wanted to savour every heart-stopping instant of her lover. Handsome and fit in his old beach clothes, laughing, his teeth a flash of white against his tan. Barbecuing a fish on a little fire he’d built for their lunch on a remote pebbled beach. Sporting with her in the waters of a tiny cove kinder than the one where she’d taken her plunge into the deep.

  There was the day he dropped anchor in a hidden inlet, protected from the view of passing vessels by a massive outcrop of rock.

  ‘I am insatiable for you,’ he said quietly when they’d finished every crumb of their picnic of prosciutto, panini and mozzarella washed down with wine. ‘It will kill me to leave you.’

  A blade stabbed her heart and she knew then with certainty that he would leave and she would be destroyed. ‘Then don’t.’

  ‘Truly?’ He kissed her, then rocked her slowly and passionately in his arms to the music of the gulls and the gently lapping waves. But just for an instant there’d been that searching expression in his eyes, doubt, perhaps even remorse, and she knew the day of his departure was closing in.

  Wary of spoiling the precious time left, she kept quiet about her search for the cocktail dress for Lola’s forthcoming party. Luckily, Positano abounded in boutiques. She found a dreamy, silky, floaty dress with shoestring straps that didn’t break her meagre budget, and hung it with her other things in the wardrobe.

  Valentino had remained so tight-lipped about her visit to Capri she began to wonder if he’d forgotten. Then on the night before she was due to go, in a moment of respite from passion, he said, ‘What time does the boat collect you?’ He was leaning on his elbow, tracing the line of her body with his finger.

  She tensed, then kissed the inside of his forearm. ‘Noon.’

  He drawled, ‘I gather from that pretty dress I see poking out from that cupboard door you’re still set on going?’

  ‘Yep. And I gather from that frown you’re still dead set against it.’

  ‘Certamente.’

  ‘But you understand my reasons. I’m not disregarding your experience there. But at the same time I have absolute confidence in Lauren. If I had anything to fear she would never have—’

  ‘Sì, sì. I understand you think you must do it for your cousin’s sake. But I can’t accept it is necessary.’ His eyes held hers, fierce and implacable. ‘You are forcing me into something that goes against every grain of my being.’

  She sat up, studying him curiously. ‘What?’

  He breathed harshly through his nostrils, looking thunderously grim. ‘If you must insist on being so reckless, you leave me no choice. I am coming with you.’

  She wasn’t sure whether to be thrilled or horrified. On the one hand she was quite relieved to have a companion, on the other she couldn’t forget the explosive dynamics of his meeting with Lola.

  ‘They might be very surprised,’ she said weakly. ‘They mightn’t have catered for an extra person.’

  A tinge of cynical amusement crossed his face. ‘Have no fear,’ he said sardonically. ‘I will try not to embarrass you. I will behave with the courtesy the occasion demands.’

  She bowed her head. ‘Maybe that’s what I’m worried about.’

  She dialled the number Lola had given and informed Lola’s boatman that Valentino would sail them to Capri. Though the day of the journey sparkled, the trip across the turquoise water was rather tense, with a silent, inscrutable Valentino at the helm. The buzz of energy she sensed emanating from him could have lit the entire coastline.

  ‘If it’s only sex, drugs and rock’n roll you’re worried about, I’m sure I can cope with them,’ she ventured at one point.

  ‘It’s more likely to be sex, drugs and money laundering,’ he growled.

  She shook her head at him.

  What did he have to be so nervous about? They were hardly likely to hold her down and pump her full of narcotics, were they? Or push her off a cliff. Or sling her into a moat filled with crocodiles. From what she’d heard, Lola’s husband was rarely even there, so she doubted she’d have to worry about him.

  Her biggest worry was more likely to be social. The wife-swapping could be uncomfortable, though she’d be damned if she’d agree to swapping Valentino. And what if her clothes weren’t good enough? What if the place was thronging with movie stars? Or, worse, royalty and heads of state?

  How did one correctly greet a princess? she wondered. Should she curtsey, a revolutionary like her? She wished now she’d read all those trashy magazines in the hairdresser’s with greater attention.

  When Capri eventually loomed before the
m, a giant limestone rock formation pointing at the sun, she drank it in

  eagerly, the craggy cliffs, the whitewashed town sprawling down to the marina where the boats were moored. The massive yacht she’d seen in the harbour at Positano was moored a little way out, riding at anchor on the waves, dwarfing other craft. As they passed it by she craned up at its glossy port side in an attempt to see the deck. It was hardly smaller than a cruise ship.

  Dominico was there to greet them at the jetty as arranged, then escorted them to the port where a uniformed driver waited.

  Pia barely had time to see much of Capri town, beyond an impression of crowded narrow streets, hotels, restaurants and bars crammed with tourists. Both she and Valentino were ushered into a sporty little car with the top down and whisked up a steep, narrow road overhung on one side with shrubberies and bougainvillea, with hairpin curves and views to rival the Blue Ribbon.

  Luckily the trip was brief.

  They drove through a pretty village with more whitewashed villas, grander and more luxurious than she’d noticed below. Narrow lanes and picturesque alleys flashed by her, and, at every turn, spectacular views of the island and the bay.

  Valentino clasped her hand in his and she clung to it.

  ‘This is Anacapri,’ the driver informed them. ‘Soon we will reach the Villa Fiorello.’

  A few minutes beyond the town the road started another steep ascent. The driver turned down a narrow road little more than a ledge along a cliff, then into a gateway in a high fence of white stone. An avenue of cypresses led them to an elegant, spreading villa with arches and an immaculate garden of hedges and velvet lawns and azaleas. A helicopter waited on the roof.

  The driver opened her door for her and she stood on the gravelled drive, looking around and realising from what looked like a massive drop at one side that the villa was indeed perched on an outcrop of cliff, its lower levels cunningly engineered to be flush with the cliff face.

  Calm. Calm was what was needed, and a strong mind. She was well past her disorder. She could swim, she could sail, and she’d already proven she could fly in more ways than one. She was determined not to make a fool of herself here before Valentino. Still, her heart-rate picked up a bit, as if to remind her she wasn’t infallible.

  The driver rang the bell and the grand front doors were opened by another employee, this one in the white jacket of the house steward. He took her bag and Valentino’s overnighter with a smooth bow and invited them to follow.

  They strolled into a vast white room of silver-veined marble, barely furnished apart from a graceful fountain in its centre. The sun’s rays from a skylight positioned directly above it turned the fountain’s spray crystalline. Pia turned to exclaim to Valentino, but before she’d had time to fully absorb the miraculous beauty of it Lola appeared from a doorway, then hurried across to them, hands outstretched.

  ‘Pia, darling, and Tino. How you have managed to surprise us, but welcome at last.’ If her eyes lacked warmth when they fastened on Valentino, her smile was determinedly correct. ‘Some of our guests are here already. Giancarlo is with them by the pool. Let me show you to your rooms.’

  Amidst many enquiries about their trip, their health and events in Positano, she led them down long broad corridors to a spacious white room with elegant white furniture, long mirrors and a wide low bed. White satin curtains covered an entire wall.

  ‘This room is one of the most highly prized by our guests,’ Lola said, beaming. ‘Giancarlo wanted you to have it, darling, since it is your first time.’

  ‘Oh, and it is beautiful,’ Pia exclaimed, overwhelmed by such thoughtfulness. ‘Heavens, look at the size of this bathroom. We could give a party in here.’

  ‘It wouldn’t be the first,’ Lola said with a gurgle of laughter. ‘Make yourself as comfortable as you please. And now, Valentino…your room…’

  ‘Oh.’ Pia exchanged a glance with Valentino. ‘I think we’d prefer to share, if you don’t mind, Lola.’

  Lola’s lashes flickered but only for an instant. ‘Of course, darling. As you wish.’ She made a small moue. ‘I wondered, of course, but didn’t like to enquire. Anyway, lunch is by the pool, just out there and along to your left. Oh, and you might wish to change. Pool things are in here.’ She opened the doors of a cunningly inset wardrobe. ‘Don’t be shy to make use of anything you see here. And anything else you need, just ring. If it’s humanly possible, our staff will provide.’

  When she was gone Pia plumped on the bed.

  ‘Just look at this place. Wow. To be filthy rich. Are you going to stand around glowering and looking furious the whole time we’re here?’

  ‘Not the whole time.’ He sprawled beside her. ‘Not when I’m looking at you.’

  ‘Good.’ She gave him a resounding smack on the lips. After a while she got up to inspect the wardrobe.

  ‘Oh, my God.’ Her eyes opened wide.

  An entire collection of very scanty bikinis, casual clothes, dresses, frocks for formal occasions, shoes, bags and accessories crammed the shelves and hanging space. The labels were an eclectic bunch. Paris, Milano and New York all figured strongly, with Barcelona well represented amongst the shoes. ‘Just look at this. Most of these things are in my actual size. Lola is certainly thoughtful.’

  Valentino eyed the collection with a frown. ‘Are you planning to wear them?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Lola certainly was thoughtful. And she had a pretty good eye for estimation. It was kind of her, utterly generous, to want to clothe her guest like a catwalk princess. Pia wondered if all the guests were offered the same facility. What about afterwards? Should she have the clothes steam-cleaned? What was the protocol here?

  She looked at her canvas bag, then with a sigh got up and started to unload it. There was nothing wrong with her swimsuit. It had been fine at Bondi last year, it was fine in Positano and it would be fine here. She just hoped Lola wouldn’t be offended if she didn’t wear her designer clothes.

  In fact, in her view the strappy dress with the butterfly print she was wearing was one of her most flattering. And it still looked clean and fresh. Surely it would do for a pool lunch? Did she have to swim?

  ‘Does this look all right?’ She got up and examined herself in the mirror, then needing more light, strolled across to the curtains and pressed a button in the wall.

  Mistake.

  Her heart jumped into her mouth and she reeled back. With an exclamation, Valentino sprang up as well.

  Through the glass, seemingly at Pia’s feet, gaped a thousand-foot drop. Hurriedly she pressed again and the curtains swished smoothly back together. When her lungs started working and her blood stopped booming in her ears, she forced herself to try again.

  This time she stood back a little.

  Beautiful, she told herself, breathing carefully. The view was beautiful. A sweeping vista of emerald, blues and aquamarine. Craggy cliffs and undulating shoreline. Pretty villas and gardens. Sea and sky, and, across the bay, Vesuvius. Spectacular.

  Deliberately she left the curtains wide open. She could get used to this. She could.

  Valentino stood beside her and deliberately pressed the button to close them. ‘Do you mind, tesoro? I find that view very unnerving.’

  She could have kissed the man.

  The pool party was well under way. Languid people lay on loungers and sipped drinks, or nibbled the canapés circulated by the ubiquitous staff. The pool, in a vast elegant space with a glass ceiling made Pia think of ancient Roman baths. Some couples were entwined in the water, or hanging at the side chatting, while others stood in bright clusters twittering like rare parrots, eating, drinking and glittering with jewels despite their pool togs.

  A few faces seemed vaguely familiar, but Pia couldn’t say she recognised anyone famous.

  Lola undulated up looking voluptuous in a bikini with a see-through wrap, and took them on a leisurely progress around the groups, introducing them.

  A balding grey-haired man inte
rrupted his conversation to shake hands and greet Pia kindly. ‘Ah. So you are the cousin of our clever Lauren. You are most welcome.’

  Lola introduced him as her husband, Giancarlo.

  After the delicious food was served, Lola invited her guests to drive down to the town to visit her little gallery.

  Valentino was as interested in the gallery as Pia, so they joined the people piling into the several vehicles and were driven into the village. Pia and Valentino were the only guests interested in viewing the works for sale in Capriccio. Most of the people had been before and wanted to stroll around the streets, look at the shops, possibly with a view to buying something, and visit the gelateria.

  Pia enjoyed walking around looking at the works, discussing them with Lola and Valentino and hearing their different perspectives.

  In the photographic section Pia happened upon one of Lauren’s pictures, with a hefty price tag. ‘Wow. Lauren’s work is worth a lot, these days.’

  ‘Yes,’ Lola said seriously. ‘Yours could be too, if you were to show here.’

  Pia looked at her with surprise and some bemusement. ‘You’re kind, but how can you say that? You’ve never seen my work.’

  ‘But I have,’ Lola exclaimed. ‘Two of your pictures were on the Internet from the South Australian Festival. Lauren showed me.’ She glanced across at Valentino, who was examining a modern work across the room, and lowered her voice. ‘She’s told me so much about you. You and she both have the romantic temperament. Like Lauren you are un artista. A bohemian. Your art must be your first consideration. You need…’ she spread her arms wide ‘…space. In your home, your life, your friends… A lover who has dreams.’ She glanced again at Valentino, and Pia followed her gaze. At the same moment Valentino turned his dark head to look at them. His eyes glinted and Pia knew at once he’d heard what Lola said.

  Afterwards Pia and Valentino strolled around the small town, waiting for the other guests to rejoin them.

  ‘Lola is impressed with your work,’ he commented.

  Pia felt a little jar of warning. ‘So she says.’