Looking for a Hero (10 page)

I could see that some of the family were already down so I sneaked into the dining room, poured a cup of coffee from the tall dresser on the side and took it up to Kate, who had dozed off again. Sleeping is one of Kate’s talents, along with posing and looking cool.

Back downstairs, the atmosphere was like a wedding with people talking about what they were going to wear for the lunch party and how the day was going to unfold. All I knew was that I was looking forward to seeing Bruno again and wanted to pick my outfit very carefully. I put several outfits together in my head from what I’d brought while I tucked into freshly baked pastries, drank a perfect cappuccino and gazed out of the window at the view. Just as I was finishing, I saw through the open door that Bruno had arrived and was talking to the man behind the desk in the reception area at the front of the hall. He waved when he saw me and came over. He looked pleased to see me.

‘India,’ he said.
‘Ciao.
I was hoping to catch you. Have you got plans for the day yet?’

‘I . . .’

Dad got up from the table nearby and came over and slapped Bruno on the back.

‘Bruno.
Allora. E dando caccia a mia figlia? E vero?’

He’d asked, are you after my daughter then? I wanted to die - whatever cool I had managed to muster melted like an ice lolly in the sun.’Da-
ad
’

Bruno laughed. He didn’t seemed phased by Dad’s bluntness.
‘Si. E perche no! Non e difficile capire perche.’

I struggled to translate what he’d said. I think it was good and that he’d said, And why not? It’s not hard to see why.

‘Dad. Bruno.
Inglese per favore.
English please.’

‘I said . . . She is beautiful, Mr Ruspoli. I want to whisk her away for the morning, if that’s OK with you.’

I felt myself blushing but I felt chuffed. I liked the fact that he was so straight-forward, so different to most English boys I knew who would never admit to fancying someone. It was refreshing to meet someone who was upfront about it.

‘That OK with you, India?’ Dad asked in his usual loud voice, and everyone in the restaurant stopped eating breakfast and watched us as if we were characters in a play.

‘Um . . . yeah.’

‘In Italian,’ Dad demanded.

‘Si.’

People went back to their breakfasts, apparently satisfied with my reply. Bruno tugged on my arm. ‘Let’s go then.’

I quickly ran upstairs to grab my camera phone, then off we went. As I followed him down the lane and around the town, I felt as if I was walking through a romantic movie set. Bruno took me to Villa Ruffola, an old monastery down the steps from our hotel and just off the square through an ancient-looking wooden gate. It had lovely gardens with sculpted trees in enormous pots and benches hidden amongst the shrubbery from where you could sit and stare at the stunning views across the valley. Here and there was a white statue of a naked god or goddess and I couldn’t help but notice how they all had perfect bums.
Must have been all that hill climbing,
I thought.
Good for the buttocks.

Bruno produced a camera.

‘Stand by the statue,’ he said.

I did as I was told and then stood in the same position as the statue, with my hand on my hip and my chin raised.

Bruno clicked the camaera.
‘Bella,’
he said.’You are beautiful.’

After the gardens, we went back to the square and sat outside the restaurant where we had eaten the night before. We had cappuccinos and watched tourists climbing the steps of the cathedral, went into a couple of pottery shops, bought postcards, took photos. After that we walked, we talked and he took me into one of the five star hotels on the other side of the square to where my family was staying, partly to see the spectacular view from up there but also I think to show off– all the staff seemed to know him and greeted him in a friendly and respectful manner. One of the waiters offered to take a picture of us and I made a note to send it to my mates.

I found out a lot about Bruno as the hours slipped by. He was a Gemini, like me. He’d had a girlfriend until last year and they had split up because he felt it wasn’t going anywhere. He liked travelling, he liked world music – his favourite being anything with an Arabic sound, he liked art and talked about the postmodern period, which I had to admit I didn’t know a lot about but I made a note to look up when I got back to England. I loved being in his company and kept sneaking glances at him when I thought he wasn’t looking. He was like a work of art himself and I felt on a high to be with him. In turn, he kept looking at me and smiling.

‘You ask many questions, India Jane.’

‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I tend to do that. I’m interested in people.’

‘Don’t be sorry. I like it. I like that you want to know all about me. And now I want to ask about you because don’t forget that I am Gemini too.’ And so he fired all my questions back at me and it was only when he asked if I had a boyfriend that I realised that I hadn’t thought about Joe once since I had met Bruno – and that was a record because, most days, I thought about Joe every hour.

‘Not exactly’ I replied. I didn’t want to admit that the one boy I was in love with didn’t want to know. ‘I . . . It’s complicated. I’m sort of between boys. It didn’t work out with one,’ (I thought that a half-truth would do) ‘and . . . er . . . I’ve just met someone new.’

‘Me too!’ Bruno beamed. Actually I had meant Tyler, and I had been about to tell the half-truth about him in order to make it sound like I had a whole coachload of boys after me. Erin used to tell me that boys often want what other boys want. It’s an ego thing with them, and the more desired by others that you appear to be, then the more they desire you.

‘Might be you,’ I said with a smile. ‘Might not.’

‘In that case . . .’ said Bruno, and as he took my hand, I felt a frisson of electricity run through me,’. .. I am going to have to win you over.’ He looked directly into my eyes and my stomach lurched like he was pulling me towards him.

‘Like a knight of old,’ I said.
If only he knew the truth,
I thought. I was his from the second I saw him.

When it got closer to Nonna’s lunch, we walked hand in hand back to the hotel and for a few minutes we stood outside the arch that led to the gardens. He leaned towards me and hesitated. I looked at his lovely face and leaned towards him, then leaned back. We met each other’s eyes and laughed. We knew that we were both thinking the same thing. Our first kiss. When should it be?

He took a breath as if getting back control, kissed me lightly on the forehead and gently pushed me towards the gardens. ‘Later,
amore’,
he said.

I nodded, turned and ran to get dressed.

Every moment away from him was too long, like I had been eating a bowl of the most divine ice cream and it had been wrenched away from me.

I texted the girls in London and Erin in Ireland and sent off the photo.
M in lurrrrve. Havefnd prfct boy,
I wrote.

Erin was first to respond.
Ohmigod. He is gorgissimo. I am in lurve too. Has he got a twin?

My outfit for the lunch was a dress of rust-coloured silk that Mum had picked out for me. It had a halter-neck and flared out from my waist in a swirl to my knees. Aunt Sarah had lent me her aubergine cashmere pashmina and some amber drop-earrings to wear with it. I went downstairs to find Mum and Dad and they beamed when they saw me.

‘India,’ Mum said.’You look a picture.’

‘Those colours are perfect on you,’ said Dad.’My little girl all grown-up.’

I couldn’t help grinning. I felt grown-up, sophisticated. I was in one of the most beautiful places in the world with my family and I thought I was falling in love with a boy who liked me too. Life couldn’t be better.

Everyone had dressed up for the lunch. Mum looked stunning in an off-the-shoulder sea-green dress which made her eyes look greener than ever. Aunt Sarah was wearing a chic black linen dress with a big shell necklace that suited her dark hair and brown eyes. All the boys were wearing suits, even Dylan, who looked so cute, and for once Kate, who normally lived in jeans, had made an effort and was wearing a red silk dress with her hair loose down her back. With her customary big black sunglasses, she looked like an A-list celebrity. Outside the weather was still unseasonably warm as the family made their way en masse up the lane to the villa where lunch was being held. After winding our way up the slopes and several sets of steps, we turned into an old wooden doorway where a path was lined with urns full of pink and red geraniums still in bloom. At the top of the path was Nonna’s house - a tall white villa with green shutters and a wrought iron veranda. I’d loved going there and had always fantasised that, one day, I would have a home just like hers with cool interiors, beautiful gardens and a view to die for. In her garden were monkey puzzle trees and Cyprus trees to the left, a statue of four cherubs to the right and, behind them, the mountains and the sea. One of the cherubs was missing an arm. I smiled as I remembered why. When we were little, Lewis had run for a ball, tripped and reached out for one of the cherubs. As he fell, he took its arm with him. Nonna had never told him off for running as Dad did later when he heard about the incident, but gave him ice cream instead.

We made our way inside where other family members had already gathered in the hall. The decor was of the same period as the hotel, with panelled walls and dark wood antique furniture, and everyone was chatting and laughing while waiters dressed in black and white handed out bellinis and canapes. I inhaled deeply. The smell of beeswax polish and lavender took me right back to when I was tiny and first visited Nonna here.

‘A drink for the Cinnamon Girl,’ said Dad. He handed me a flute of the champagne and peach juice, and waiters began to usher us through to the back of the villa to a room which was set for lunch. It looked lovely, as if set for a wedding and, for a nanosecond, I imagined it was mine and Bruno’s. Each table had a white cloth and a centrepiece of gold winter pansies. In the middle of the room, Nonna sat looking every inch the matriarch of the family. Like Aunt Sarah, she was wearing black linen and she looked so stylish and happy as she greeted all her family.

I took my present (a framed painting I had done of Nonna’s villa) and put it on a table near the doorway with the others. I was about to turn away when Bruno came up and stood behind me. I leaned back against him and he nuzzled into my neck. I really wanted to turn around, but I thought that our first kiss should definitely not be in full view of my relatives. He smelled divine, of lemon and Cyprus (I know which scents are which because of Mum making her bath oils and perfumes for Aunt Sarah’s shop). His scent made my stomach contract in a way that felt lovely. He caught my hand and we walked into the room. Lewis raised an eyebrow and grinned and I smiled back. I didn’t even mind if he or Dad said something uncool - nothing could ruin this day. Bruno went to sit with his family while I went to sit with mine, but we kept glancing at each other all through the lunch. It was like he was a magnet and I couldn’t take my eyes off him and he clearly felt the same - like we had a secret that no one else was in on.

At first I could hardly eat. I struggled through the first course of Parma ham and, by the time the main course of pasta arrived, I had no appetite. But, when the waiters brought chocolate mousse and raspberries, it was so delicious that I had to have mine
and
the half of Mum’s that she couldn’t finish.
Chocolate mousse is the food of love,
I told myself as I licked my spoon.

After everyone had eaten, there were several speeches and Dad’s in particular got a lot of laughs as he recalled the time when he was a boy and drove his mother insane with his singing and rehearsing the piano and whatever other instrument he could lay his hands on. Nonna listened to it all with a smile and tears in her eyes. After the speeches, various family members got up and did their party piece. Dad and his brother Fabio sang a wonderful duet. Dylan played the piano. One of my cousins who is nine danced some ballet. An old auntie recited a piece of poetry. Her husband sang some opera. The atmosphere was wonderful. A truly happy occasion.

As the tables were cleared away, some of the adults moved outside to enjoy the view, while inside a space was made for a dance floor. Bruno came to join me as soon as the disco music began to play, putting his arms around me and holding me close. We danced a little and made up our own steps for a few numbers, and then the DJ played a ballad and Bruno pulled me even closer.
I am in heaven,
I thought as I closed my eyes and let my head lean against his shoulder. This feels so completely right.
We fit together.

Suddenly Bruno took my hand and led me away from the dance floor.

‘Where are we going?’ I asked.

‘You’ll see,’ he replied and he pulled my hand so that we were running. We went out of the villa, out of the grounds and further up the lane.

‘I’ve been saving this for last,’ he said. ‘The best view in the whole of Ravello.’

We reached a wooden door similar to the one that led to Nonna’s house and then walked past a lovely old house, through gardens, under a pergola and then out to a terrace where there were four pillars covered with an arched roof. Bruno put his hands over my eyes. ‘Trust me,’ he said as he pushed me gently forward.

We walked a few more steps and then he removed his hands. ‘Now open your eyes.’

I did as I was told and there before me was the most stunning view of all. Mountains, coastlines and, far, far below the sea. I felt like I was standing up in the heavens gazing down - in fact, we were so high up, it made me feel dizzy. I stepped back to catch my breath and Bruno caught me, pulled me to him and looked deep into my eyes. I moved towards him then, at last, he pressed his lips on mine. The whole world disappeared around us and I returned his kiss with all the emotion that I could muster.

When we finally drew apart, we looked at each other and smiled. ‘India Jane,’ he said.

‘Bruno,’ I replied.

There was nothing else to be said.