While Emily whispered Freya’s secrets to Hugo, Luca began to feel an unspoken connection with Annabel, like a pair of thieves recently returned from a robbery. They walked on, chatting like old friends, with the undertone of a growing sexual chemistry. Luca didn’t notice the glances that Freya threw in his direction. She had invited Annabel for his amusement, but now that they seemed to be enjoying each other’s company, she didn’t like it.
The house party returned hot and flushed, their hair wet but their spirits high. The smell of roast lamb wafted down the corridor from the kitchen. Heather Dervish had come from the village to cook and Peggy, the cleaner, who lived in the cottage at the end of the drive, had come to help serve. Peggy had replaced her usual dowdy clothes with a bright red smock dress with matching red tights and silver-buckled shoes into which she had only just managed to squeeze her marshmallow feet. Freya did a double take, gathered herself and said, ‘Gosh, Peggy, you look splendid, but you needn’t have gone to such trouble on our account.’
Peggy smoothed her hands down her dress. ‘I haven’t worn this in years,’ she replied proudly. ‘Do you think I’m mutton dressed as lamb?’ Freya ran her eyes up and down the sixty-eight-year-old widow’s fulsome body and decided not to tell the truth. After all, Peggy had dressed up for her stepfather’s benefit and he’d be highly amused. She went over the top every time he came to visit.
‘I think you look lovely,’ she said. Peggy’s plump cheeks managed a weak blush.
The house party assembled in the drawing-room and Miles opened a bottle of champagne. The fire was lit, filling the room with the sweet scent of apple wood. Outside, the drizzle had turned to rain that rattled against the window panes like small stones. Luca sat on the sofa with Annabel. He could smell her perfume, sweet and overpowering. She leaned against him so that their shoulders touched. ‘If you had to fuck anyone in this room or die, who would it be?’ she asked, her face as innocent as an angel’s. ‘Present company excluded,’ she added hastily. ‘That way you don’t have to be polite.’ He gazed down at her with sleepy eyes and, although he would have chosen Freya, beyond any shadow of doubt, the thought of Annabel after dessert was a tempting one.
‘Present company included,’ he emphasised. ‘It would have to be you.’
At that moment the tall, handsome figure of Fitzroy Davenport filled the doorway. ‘Any left for us?’ he asked, nodding at the champagne bottle Miles had just emptied.
‘Fitz!’ Freya exclaimed, hurrying across the room to greet her stepfather. ‘Where’s Mum?’
‘Here, darling, not far behind.’ Her mother squeezed past her husband. Rosemary Davenport was slim and vivacious with highlighted blonde hair cut to her shoulders and pale grey eyes like her daughter’s. She was proud of looking much younger than her sixty-six years and practised Pilates three times a week with a group of PLUs, the abbreviation Rosemary and her friends used for People Like Us. She was efficient and sociable and the first to admit that she was a little pushy: ‘If I hadn’t been pushy I would never have got Fitz up the aisle. A man like Fitz needs a pushy woman. Pushy women get things done.’
She glanced at her husband. He was blessed with enduring youth. His hair was still sandy with only the slightest hint of grey about the temples and he was more handsome now than when she had met him. For a man twice divorced he had been surprisingly acquiescent about giving marriage another go. She wasn’t the type of woman to let a good man like Fitz slip through her fingers. She might not be the beauty that some of his ex-girlfriends and wives had been but, in spite of Freya and her three half siblings, Rosemary was in pretty good shape. If she let herself go, she’d look like his mother.
‘For you, Fitz, I’ll open another bottle,’ Miles announced, working his thumbs under the cork.
‘I’ve left Bendico and Digger in the car,’ said Fitz, referring to his two yellow Labradors. ‘Might take them out this afternoon. You can show me that coppicing you’ve been doing.’
‘I’ll need to work off Heather’s lunch.’
‘I should go and say hello. How is the eccentric Peggy Blight?’
‘A fright. Don’t let her put you off your lunch.’ The two men laughed. Miles popped the cork and poured the bubbling Moët & Chandon into a tall flute.
‘If I had to fuck anyone in the room?’ Annabel mused, looking around. ‘Present company definitely excluded, it would have to be Freya’s delicious stepfather. I like tall men. He’s a good example of a man who just gets better and better. He must be late sixties, but he has the appearance of a much younger man. Yes, I think there’s a lot of life in that old dog!’
‘And present company included?’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she teased. ‘Miles has already been road tested and proved very proficient indeed. Does a girl go for the dead cert or a man who looks like he has what it takes, but might be a terrible disappointment?’
‘I can assure you, you won’t be disappointed,’ he said, grinning at her confidently.
‘I’ll think about it over lunch.’
‘Of course, I have the advantage. Miles isn’t available.’
‘Nor is he handsome. That’s an advantage too – but also a disadvantage.’
‘Why?’
‘Because handsome men prize themselves very highly, usually get what they want and therefore treat women badly. They have no respect for what doesn’t challenge them.’ She stood up as Peggy appeared in the doorway to announce that lunch was ready. Everyone stared in astonishment at the red ensemble, except for Fitz who approached her with a beaming smile.
‘My dear Peggy!’ he exclaimed. ‘You’re a vision in scarlet.’ She blushed the colour of her tights.
‘Thank you, Mr Davenport. Just something I threw on this morning. Nothing special.’
Lunch was in the dining-room at a large round walnut table. Freya had placed an elegant display of arum lilies in the centre and used the silver and crystal she’d been given as wedding presents. It was still raining, the clouds, heavy and bruised, moving slowly across the sky. Freya lit the candles because it was so dark, and the golden glow enhanced the cosiness of the room that was as stylish as its mistress.
Luca sat on Freya’s left with Emily on his other side. Fitz was placed on Freya’s right. As they tucked into the lamb Fitz caught up with Luca, whom he hadn’t seen in a very long time.
‘Freya married Miles, I married Claire, we drifted,’ said Luca simply. ‘Now I’m divorced I’ve returned to my old friends. Freya has welcomed me back without rebuke.’
‘I’m sorry your marriage didn’t work out.’
‘So am I.’ He shrugged. ‘But it’s life.’
‘I’ve been through it twice. I sympathise.’
‘Third time lucky, then,’ said Luca. ‘I don’t think I’m going to be in any hurry to tie myself down again.’
‘There’s no need,’ interjected Freya. ‘You have two adorable little girls to give all your time to.’
‘I like being married,’ said Fitz. ‘Rosemary picked me up when I was at a low ebb and has organised my life ever since. I don’t know what I’d do without her.’
‘Claire just spent my money and nagged,’ Luca said wryly.
‘All women nag,’ said Fitz. ‘I hear you quit the City.’
‘Yes, I’ve done my bit.’
‘It was all over the financial pages.’
‘I didn’t read them.’
‘No one can understand it. You’ve put the fear of God into them. Do you know something they don’t?’
Luca shook his head and grinned. ‘I woke up one morning and realised I was working like a clockwork mouse programmed to make money. To make rich men richer. It’s a soulless existence. Money, money, money. How much money do I need to be happy? How much do I need to be free? I want more, I just don’t know what it is yet.’
‘What are you going to do?’ Fitz asked.
Luca shrugged. ‘That’s the million dollar question.’
Freya joined in. ‘I told him to take
the summer off. Go to Italy and stay with his parents in their new palazzo on the Amalfi coast.’
Fitz’s eyes lit up. ‘The Amalfi coast?’
‘It’s a small fishing town called Incantellaria. You’ve probably never heard of it.’
‘Incantellaria,’ Fitz repeated, turning pale. ‘Bill and Romina have bought Palazzo Montelimone?’
‘You know it?’ Luca asked.
Fitz glanced nervously at his wife. ‘I went there once, many years ago. The palazzo was a ruin.’
‘My parents bought it about three years ago. It took two years to renovate.’
‘But what a perfect team!’ Freya exclaimed. ‘Bill’s an architect, Romina’s an interiors painter. I bet it’s stunning.’
‘They wanted to recreate it as it was before a fire almost destroyed it in the sixties. Return it to its former splendour. I haven’t gone out there yet. I’ve been too busy. I haven’t seen them in months. Now I’m free I just might pay them a visit.’
They turned to Fitz expectantly. ‘What took you to Incantellaria?’ Luca enquired.
Fitz stared down at his plate. ‘A very special woman.’ He said the words with such tenderness Freya felt the hairs stand up on her arms. ‘Before I met your mother, Freya,’ he added tactfully.
‘Apparently it’s a very secret place,’ said Luca.
‘Secret and secretive,’ Fitz confirmed. ‘Once you start digging in Incantellaria, there’s no telling what you’ll uncover.’
2
Fitz took the dogs out alone after lunch. Miles was required at the bridge table. This was a relief for Fitz who wanted time with his memories, as bright now as if they had just received an unexpected polishing. He strode up the track towards the woods. Digger and Bendico disappeared into the field in pursuit of hares. The dark clouds had moved on, taking the rain with them. Now, patches of blue were visible and occasionally the sun shone, catching the wet foliage and making it glitter.
Incantellaria. The very word pulled at his heart, creating a mixture of regret and longing. He couldn’t help but think of what might have been. Now he was old he appreciated the miracle of love and the fact that, having let it go, he would never get it back.
He remembered Alba as she had been when he had fallen in love with her, now thirty years ago: her expression defiant, her strange pale eyes at odds with her Mediterranean skin and dark hair, her laugh wild, her careless disregard for other people, her irrepressible charm. He remembered her vulnerability too, her need to be admired, her unexpected love for little Cosima, the niece she had found with her mother’s family when she had set out to Incantellaria in search of them. The joy with which she had accepted his proposal and returned with him to England. The day she had wrapped her arms around him and told him she wanted to go back to Italy. That she couldn’t live in England. She had implored him to go with her. She had insisted that she loved him – but not enough. Not enough. ‘Don’t say it’s over. I couldn’t bear it. Let’s just see. If you change your mind, I’ll be waiting for you. I’ll be waiting and hoping and ready to welcome you with open arms. My love won’t go cold, not in Italy.’ He had let her go and he hadn’t followed her. Her love must have gone cold. Alba needed love like a butterfly needs the sun. He entered the woods and walked up the well trodden path. Ferns were beginning to unfurl with the first signs of bluebells, their shoots bright green and vibrant against the brown leaves and mud. The air was sweet and damp, the twittering of birds animated as they went about building their nests. He wondered where Alba was now. Had she stayed in Incantellaria or had she grown bored of that sleepy little town and moved to somewhere more exciting? Perhaps she had married, had children. At fifty-six she might even be a grandmother. Did she think of him as often as he thought of her? The twist of regret in his heart would never go away. Oh, he was happy enough with Rosemary. But, after Alba, there was no falling in love again. He had closed his heart and married with his head. However, he often wondered what his life might have been like had he followed her to Italy. Dreams that came and went like clouds across the sky, some dark, others light and fluffy, but always the sense of having missed a golden opportunity.
‘Is Fitz all right?’ Freya asked her mother as they sat on the sofa in the drawing-room, sipping coffee out of pretty pink cups. ‘He went very quiet over lunch.’
‘Things are a bit tense at work. One of his favourite authors is moving to A.P. Watt.’
‘Poor Fitz. He should retire.’
‘So I keep telling him. He works so hard. But he loves what he does. He won’t quit until he’s dead. But losing Ken Durden is a real blow.’
‘I should have gone out with him.’
‘Don’t be silly, darling. He likes going out on his own.’ She patted Freya’s knee. ‘What a lovely house party you’ve got this weekend. I’m pleased you’ve found your old friend Luca again. My goodness, isn’t he handsome?’
‘He’s been through a ghastly divorce.’
‘Well, he does look a little frayed around the edges. More rugged than he used to be. You did well marrying Miles. Men like Luca are good for fun, but not for ever.’
‘Oh, Mum!’ Freya protested. ‘That was a long time ago.’
‘I’ll never forgive him for hurting you. But that’s all water under the bridge, isn’t it? I bet he regrets it, though. They always do.’
‘Have you heard of Incantellaria?’ Freya asked her mother.
‘Yes. Only because your stepfather nearly went out in pursuit of an ex-girlfriend just after we met. I talked sense into him, though. No point trying to put something together that’s irreparably broken. Besides, it’s a sad little place. No life. It’s between Sorrento and Capri. Overlooked on the map. Italy wasn’t the place for Fitz. He’s too English. Can you imagine Fitz marrying a foreigner?’ She gave a shrill laugh.
‘So, she wasn’t his “big love”?’
‘Gracious no!’ Rosemary retorted a little too quickly. ‘She broke his heart, but I put it back together again. Why do you ask? Did he mention her?’ The sudden flash of anxiety surprised her. Thirty years was a long time to hold on to fear.
‘No, Luca brought up Incantellaria,’ Freya replied hastily. She couldn’t tell her mother of the wistful look on Fitz’s face when he had mentioned the woman who had taken him there. ‘I’m just curious about his past. Everyone has a past and I bet Fitzroy’s is rather colourful.’
‘He was quite a catch.’ Rosemary smiled proudly. ‘Not only devilishly handsome, but also a budding literary agent. You know he used to represent Vivien Armitage?’
‘Vivien Armitage! She’s huge.’ Freya was suitably impressed. ‘You never told me that.’
‘She’s dead now. But she’ll continue to be read for decades. People never tire of stories of unrequited love and broken hearts. Don’t forget, I had had my heart broken too, by your father. Fitz and I healed together and I saved him from dying of boredom in Incantellaria.’
‘Luca’s parents have bought a palazzo there, overlooking the sea.’
‘How lovely,’ said Rosemary, her tone patronising. ‘A pleasant escape.’
‘He might be spending the summer there, while he works out what he wants to do. He’s quit the City and everyone’s talking about it, so Miles says. He’s really put the cat among the pigeons.’
‘A sleepy little place like that is probably just what he needs right now, though I bet he’ll come scuttling back to England in the autumn. I can’t imagine there’s a great deal to do in Incantellaria.’
Fitz returned from his walk and put the dogs in the back of his Volvo Estate after giving them their lunch and a bowl of water. They lay on tartan blankets panting against the glass and he lingered a while, stroking their silky heads, his thoughts lost among the olive groves, his senses recalling the smell of figs that had always pervaded that place. Finally, he shut the boot and pushed his memories back into the far corners of his mind to gather dust. There was no point dwelling on regret.
The drawing-room was tranquil. Th
e children raced around outside while the grown-ups played board games, sat chatting or reading the Sunday papers. Peggy cleared away the coffee cups, bumping into Fitz in the hall as she returned to the kitchen. ‘My dear Peggy, you can’t carry all that on your own,’ he said, taking the tray from her.
‘Oh, I’m used to it now.’
‘Perhaps, but none the less, it’s heavy.’ She followed him down the corridor into the kitchen where Heather Dervish was packing up her things to return home.
‘What a splendid feast you cooked for us today,’ he exclaimed.
‘I’m glad you enjoyed it,’ she replied, placing her apron in her bag and zipping it up. ‘I’m coming back to cook dinner.’
‘Shame I won’t be here to taste it.’
‘I’m cooking a cheese soufflé and there’s treacle tart for dessert. I know you like treacle tart.’ She picked up her bag and made for the back door and her little white van.
Fitz pulled a face to show his disappointment. ‘My favourite.’
‘Next time,’ she said, giving a little wave. ‘See you!’
‘I’d better go home and put my feet up, too,’ said Peggy, loading the cups into the dishwasher. ‘Otherwise I won’t make it around the table tonight.’
‘The prospect of treacle tart will get you through dinner, Peggy,’ he replied.
‘Oh, I don’t imagine there’ll be anything left for me.’
‘Then we’re in the same boat.’
‘It’s my favourite, as well. Though, at my age I have to be a bit careful.’
He looked her over appreciatively. Peggy sucked her stomach in, barely daring to breathe. ‘You’re a fine figure of a woman. I’d say a little treacle tart would do you nothing but good.’
She giggled. ‘I admit I don’t deny myself much.’
‘I’m glad to hear it. Life’s too short to make those sort of sacrifices.’ He gave her a genial smile. ‘Have a restful afternoon, Peggy. If anyone deserves a rest, it’s you.’
The Italian Matchmaker Page 2
