The Italian Matchmaker (12 page)

‘She didn’t eat her husband, did she?’

Rosa laughed. ‘Sometimes, I’d like to eat mine,’ she murmured and Luca wondered how many times she had been unfaithful. This flirtatious dance seemed very well practised.

Rosa went away to serve other customers. She walked about the restaurant with her bottom out, her stomach in, her gait slow and sexy, conscious that Luca might be watching. In fact, Luca had turned his attention to the quay where Cosima’s little boy was jumping off a bollard. He sat up: if the child was there, his mother would surely follow.

Sure enough, Cosima appeared on the terrace, carrying a bunch of pretty white and yellow flowers. She walked past him without a glance, the scent of lemons in her wake. He watched her weave deftly through the tables and felt his desire mount. She wasn’t overtly sexy like Rosa, or as dramatically beautiful, but there was something about her that aroused him. He wasn’t used to women being aloof. He knew there was fire beneath the ice because he had seen it here on this very terrace. He took a swig of wine and watched her disappear inside. She posed a tremendous challenge.

Rosa brought him a plate of red mullet with roasted vegetables and potatoes. She insisted on waiting while he took a bite. ‘Very good,’ he said truthfully.

‘It’s all in the oil, infused with herbs and spices.’

‘Well, it reaches the spot!’

‘I’m so pleased. Can I get you anything else?’

‘Your cousin seems in a better mood today.’

‘She has her ups and downs. At least she has come in to help. She can do some washing up!’

‘Doesn’t she serve? You’re very busy.’

‘No, she’ll frighten the customers away. It’s important to smile and Cosima doesn’t smile very much.’

‘Doesn’t anyone make her smile?’

‘I smile enough for the two of us,’ said Rosa, bringing the conversation around to herself again. He noticed that she had reapplied her lipstick. It was as red as her dress.

‘You have a very pretty smile.’

‘Thank you,
signore
,’ she replied. ‘If you need anything else, just shout.’

Luca observed Cosima’s little boy and thought of his own daughters. He felt a wrench of guilt. He wasn’t the most attentive father. Oh, they had the best education money could buy, beautiful homes, and holidays in the most exclusive resorts. He spoiled them with presents and treats when they came to stay every other weekend. Now he realised that he was just buying their forgiveness for all his failings. He resolved to make it up to them.

The little boy stood on the bollard and threw a white feather into the air. Then he jumped after it, catching it before it fell. It was a solitary game. Other children played nearby, but he didn’t seem to want to join in. Eventually he stopped and wandered over to the
trattoria
. Luca looked to see if his mother was coming out of the restaurant, but she wasn’t so he turned back to the child. He was standing a short distance away, watching a large blue butterfly that was sitting on his hand, basking in the sunlight with open wings. He looked up and saw Luca. He froze with surprise and caught his breath, staring at him with big brown eyes.

Luca gave a little wave. The child approached tentatively. ‘Hello,’ said Luca quietly so as not to alarm him. ‘That’s a very beautiful butterfly.’ The child stopped a few feet away, a frown lining his young brow. Then he blew on the butterfly and it fluttered into the air, circling the geraniums a moment before settling on Luca’s hand. Luca was astonished. ‘You should give this to your mother,’ he said, but the little boy had run off, back to the bollard. Luca was left watching the extraordinary butterfly, which settled on the table, its wings like oil, reflecting all the colours of the rainbow.

He ate his lunch and drank a second glass of Greco di Tufo, then remained at the table with an
espresso
. The butterfly fluttered into the geraniums and the child grew bored of his game and mingled with the other children, pottering around the boats like street urchins. Finally, Cosima appeared and stood talking to Toto. The older man looked at her with tenderness and Luca deduced that they were father and daughter. Then he said something that made her smile. The sight gave Luca a jolt. There was a gentle beauty in her smile.

As she turned and began to walk towards him, the butterfly fluttered off the geraniums and into her path. She stopped in her tracks and watched its erratic flight a moment. She was still smiling and Luca felt emboldened to speak to her again.

‘That’s a very friendly butterfly.’ She turned her dark eyes to him as the butterfly settled on her shoulder, striking against the black of her dress. ‘It likes you.’

‘I think it does,’ she replied. ‘I shall wear it as a brooch.’ She began to walk away.

‘Your son has a real gift with insects.’

Her shoulders stiffened and she turned around to glare at him with stunned disbelief. ‘What did you say?’

‘Your son brought it to me. It belongs to him,’ Luca explained.

She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, as if his words had caused her pain. Luca’s heart lurched at her reaction and he frantically tried to work out what he had said to cause offence. He made to speak but she dismissed him with a sniff, muttering ‘Foreigners!’ under her breath. Then she turned and strode off without a backward glance. Her son broke away from the other children and hurried after her. The butterfly remained on her shoulder.

Luca finished his coffee, his good mood evaporating. He waved at Toto for the bill, but it was Rosa who brought it. ‘I think I offended your cousin,’ he said, handing her some notes. ‘Keep the change.’

Rosa waved her hand dismissively. ‘She is easily offended. Think nothing of it.’

‘I didn’t mean to upset her.’

‘You’ll get used to it. I upset her all the time. Join the club, it’s very large.’

‘Tell her . . .’ he began, then stopped himself. There was no point. He was nothing to her, just a tactless foreigner. Maybe he shouldn’t have mentioned her son. He hoped he hadn’t got the child into trouble.

‘Don’t bother to apologise,
signore
,’ said Rosa with a grin. ‘If you have offended her, she’ll
never
forgive you.’

 

Luca returned to the palazzo and lay by the pool, so disgruntled he could barely concentrate on his book. Dizzy and Maxwell came to join him, which irritated him all the more. Finally, in order to escape them and lift his mood, he called Freya.

Freya was at her desk writing letters when the telephone rang. Mildly irritated by the intrusion, she picked it up and hooked it under her chin. She had a village fete meeting at four and she had wanted to get all her admin done beforehand. ‘Hello,’ she said briskly.

‘Is this a bad time?’

‘Luca!’ She put down her pen and sat up excitedly. ‘You haven’t returned any of my calls!’

‘I’m deleting my messages without listening to them.’

‘Is that wise?’

‘I need a break.’

‘So, how is it? Is it wonderful?’

‘Well, I’m lying by the pool. It’s hot and sunny. Life is good.’

‘I’m so pleased. You really needed a rest. What’s the
palazzo
like?’

‘They have done the most splendid job. It’s glorious. As you can imagine, Mother has paid attention to every detail. It’s going to be photographed by the
Sunday Times
. The journalist arrives in a few weeks. God knows what she’s going to dig up. The place has a rather bloody history.’

‘Tell me!’ Freya had forgotten all about her admin. It wouldn’t matter if she was late for the meeting. She’d make some excuse.

‘An old marquis lived here during the war. His mistress was a local beauty called Valentina. She was also fucking a famous mafia boss and a Brit whom she was on the point of marrying. The marquis, in a fit of jealousy, murdered her.’

‘Oh my God! That’s terrible.’

‘Then, Valentina’s brother murdered him in the
palazzo
.’

‘
Your palazzo
?’

‘Exactly. Ventura, the maid, won’t go upstairs because she says the place is haunted.’

‘Well, is it?’

‘Of course not!’

‘Great story, though.’

‘It gets better. Valentina had a daughter called Alba, by the Brit. She lives here in Incantellaria.’

‘It all sounds thrilling.’

‘Its beauty takes your breath away, Freya.’ He suddenly sounded serious. ‘I’d love to show it to you.’

She hesitated a moment. ‘I wish you could show it to me, too.’

‘Where’s the lovely Miles?’

‘Out and about. I don’t know.’

‘Are you getting bored of him?’

‘No!’ she laughed. ‘Whatever gave you that idea?’

‘Optimism.’

‘Haven’t you found a pretty Italian yet?’

‘I don’t want an Italian,’ he replied, feeling once again the sting of Cosima’s rebuff.

‘What about Annabel? She’s been asking after you. You haven’t returned any of her calls either.’ She heard him groan. ‘You slept with her, didn’t you?’

‘Mistake,’ he replied.

Freya was pleased. ‘I’ll fend her off. You were obviously too good . . .’

‘You remember?’

‘No! It was a long time ago.’

‘I remember every inch of you.’

‘Oh, Luca. You shouldn’t.’ But his words made her feel so desirable.

‘We were good together. Why don’t you come out?’

‘I couldn’t.’

‘You have a nanny.’

‘What would Miles think?’

‘Bring him too. I’ll find suitable distractions for him.’

‘Don’t be silly.’

‘Come with the children in the holidays. I’m sure to have the girls while Claire goes social climbing. They can all play together and I can show you around Incantellaria.’

‘Miles would never let me. He’s suspicious of you.’

‘How very unreasonable of him. Bring your mother.’

‘She thinks Incantellaria is a dull little place.’

‘Only because Fitz once had a girlfriend here. There’s nothing dull about it; if anything, it’s far too colourful for its own good. Think about it. It’s perfect.
Almost
perfect,’ he added with emphasis. ‘You’d make it complete.’

She hesitated a moment. Luca was feeling much more cheerful. ‘I don’t think I can, Luca,’ she said at last.

‘Why? I’m not going to eat you.’

‘You’re a dangerous flirt and Miles knows that.’

‘Then I’ll just live off the memories.’

‘Make some new ones, Luca, with someone else. We’re just friends, remember.’

He sighed. ‘I remember. Game, set and match to Miles.’

Energised by his conversation with Freya, he swam some lengths, his mind on Freya and the improbability of an affair. But, for every moment he thought of Freya, he twice rejected Cosima’s face. It surfaced continuously to eclipse hers like an unexpected moon.

Dizzy moved her sun-lounger farther away from the water as Luca splashed her with his energetic swimming. Maxwell received business calls from Vienna and spoke very loudly in German, pretentiously adding the odd English word for emphasis. When Luca got out, Caradoc had appeared, sitting in the shade, reading a book.

‘Ah, Professor,’ he said, wrapping a towel around his waist.

‘You
are
full of energy,’ Caradoc observed, putting down his book.

‘I went to the
trattoria
,’ Luca explained.

‘Was that delightful girl there? The one in red?’

‘Rosa.’

‘Ah, the lovely Rosa. Yes, was she there?’

‘She works there, Professor. I think she’s always there.’

‘Then I should make a daily pilgrimage.’

Luca laughed. ‘She’d love that.’

‘I’m past my prime now but, between you and me, I was a bit of a rogue in my day.’

‘I’m sure you still are.’

‘I’m a bit long in the tooth now. I can only remember the good old days.’

‘I saw the widow too,’ Luca said ruefully.

‘She rejected you again? That must have dented your pride.’

‘I don’t know what I said to upset her.’

‘Well?’

‘Long story, but her son was there and he gave me a butterfly. Then, when Cosima passed, the butterfly flew on to her dress. I told her it looked pretty and she almost smiled.’

‘You thought you had her then. A pretty fish on the hook,’ the professor said shrewdly.

‘Let’s just say she was warming to me.’

‘Then what?’

‘I mentioned her son and she looked at me with such venom.’

Caradoc frowned. ‘Now, why would she do that?’

‘I can’t imagine. Then she muttered “foreigner” under her breath and stalked off.’

‘You’re not entirely foreign. You were speaking to her in Italian, were you not?’

‘Of course. What she meant was that I’m not from here.’

‘She doesn’t trust you. That’s the problem.’

‘She doesn’t know me,’ Luca complained.

‘Girls have noses for men like you. Don’t deny it, Luca, my boy. I know you. Takes one to know one. Why do you think we get along so well, you and I? Because we’re the same underneath. We like pretty girls and in my day they liked me. I got into a fair bit of trouble. Then I grew up.’

‘What made you grow up?’

‘Love. Love changed everything.’

‘Myrtle.’

‘My Myrtle. I won’t love again.’ He looked at Luca with affection. ‘You’ll know what I mean one day.’

Luca shrugged. ‘I’m not sure I’m designed for love.’

‘That’s just when it hits you. When you don’t think you need it. Then, you can’t believe you lived so long without it. Now going back to that delightful girl . . .’