The Italian Matchmaker

by Santa Montefiore

  ‘Oh, a couple of weeks now. One loses track of time. Your mother is such a perfect hostess, I don’t see much point in going home.’

  ‘What are you a professor of?’

  ‘History,’ Caradoc replied. ‘I specialise in Ancient History. This palazzo must have a rich heritage and I have told Romina that once I have found an interpreter I will endeavour to uncover its past. You see, I don’t speak Italian, only Latin which is helpful up to a point. Beyond that point it is utterly useless. The locals here don’t seem to speak any English at all.’

  ‘Ah, an obstacle then,’ said Luca.

  ‘Obstacles can be surmounted, if one uses a little lateral thinking. You are in my lateral vision, young man. Surely you speak Italian?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Good. I will enlist your help, Luca. The two of us will make a formidable team.’ He smacked his lips. ‘Holmes and Watson! What fun we shall have. I so enjoy unravelling mysteries.’ Luca was already planning to make himself scarce.

  ‘Darling, don’t dither. The professor likes his quiet time before lunch,’ she said now, waving at her son to join her on the terrace. Caradoc returned to his newspaper and Luca returned to his tour, following his mother out into the sunshine.

  There, at a long table nibbling on bruschette, sat a group of strangers. Luca’s heart sank. He had come away to avoid people. He had planned to spend time taking stock of his life, not sit around gassing with old people.

  He looked around. The view of the sea and town was spectacular, down into the heart of Incantellaria. Romina sailed up to her guests. ‘My friends, allow me to introduce my son, Luca.’ He wondered, looking at the group so comfortable there in the shade with their glasses of wine, if they had all been in residence as long as the professor.

  Romina proceeded to introduce them one by one, starting with a petite woman with curly blonde hair and big blue eyes. She wore a pale pink chiffon shirt tied in a bow at the neck. ‘This is Dizzy and her husband Maxwell, who live in Vienna, and that darling little creature on her lap is Smidge.’ Dizzy was stroking a fluffy white dog with long manicured nails.

  ‘Hello, Luca. We’ve heard so much about you.’

  ‘Hi,’ said Maxwell, running a hand over his balding head. ‘Good to meet you, finally! A man who bats on the same team!’

  ‘Maxwell works in finance too,’ explained Romina. Luca tried to stifle his irritation. Everything about Maxwell and Dizzy was repugnant.

  ‘And this is Ma Hemple.’ Romina placed her hands on an elderly lady’s soft shoulders. Ma was totally grey except for dramatic black streaks that swept from her forehead to the bun that was tied on top of her head, like a racoon. When she took off her large red-rimmed sunglasses her eyes were a surprisingly pale shade of green. Her lips were crimson, matching the poppies on her dress which she wore over wide black trousers. She was a large woman with a dry sense of humour some could mistake for rudeness.

  ‘About time!’ she said without smiling. ‘We were beginning to think your mother was making you up.’ Her accent was as upper class as the professor’s, her tone deep and fruity.

  ‘That is why I came, to save her face,’ Luca replied solemnly.

  ‘Well, just in time! Come and join us. There is a bruschetta left and it has your name on it.’ Luca had no option but to remain among this extraordinary gathering. He wondered where his mother had found them all. Her appetite for new people was voracious.

  ‘Isn’t this fun!’ said Romina, casting her eyes to the French doors in the hope that Ventura would appear with refreshment. ‘Silly woman! I’d better go and get her. We need more wine. Wine for my son!’

  As Romina disappeared inside, the professor emerged on Luca’s father’s arm. ‘Ah, here’s my boy,’ said Bill, grinning at Luca. He was tall and lean with thinning grey hair partially hidden under a stiff panama hat, a good-looking man with a wide, infectious smile. He was even-tempered and consistently jovial, which was just as well, being married to the mercurial Romina.

  ‘Hi Dad,’ said Luca. They embraced, clearly pleased to see each other.

  ‘So, what do you think of our new home?’

  ‘It’s spectacular.’

  ‘Not bad for an architect and a painter, eh?’

  ‘Not bad at all.’

  ‘How long are you staying?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ll take every day as it comes.’

  ‘Like us. That’s the joy of being retired,’ interjected the professor.

  ‘Or unemployed,’ Luca added wryly.

  ‘So I gather,’ said his father. ‘Time to try something different.’

  ‘What exactly, I don’t know.’

  ‘You’ll figure it out. Here, have a chair and a glass of wine, that’ll do you the power of good.’

  Romina returned followed by Ventura, an attractive young girl with long brown hair and dark eyes, carrying the professor’s walking stick in one hand and a bottle of rosé in the other. ‘Don’t forget to put some food out for Porci,’ said Romina, pulling out a chair. ‘Porci was a house-warming present from your uncle Nanni, Luca.’ Luca raised an eyebrow. His mother didn’t usually like dogs, even little white fluffy ones like Smidge. ‘He’s a pig,’ added Romina, flapping her napkin and placing it on her lap. ‘A darling little pig!’

  ‘Who wears a nappy inside,’ said Ma. ‘A most uncommon sight. Though, I would say he has a certain hoggish charm.’

  ‘He’s a cutie,’ chirped in Dizzy. ‘But he’s naughty because he doesn’t like Smidge.’

  ‘Who’s to blame him?’ said Ma under her breath.

  ‘The only reason he’s not on the menu is because your mother wants the children to see him,’ said Bill to Luca.

  ‘They’ll adore him,’ Romina gushed.

  ‘And if they don’t, we’ll eat him,’ said Ma.

  Two butlers in uniform appeared on the terrace with trays of food. The professor’s eyes brightened at the sight of the feast, but Ma gave a heavy sigh. ‘What are we to do with all of that? Am I not fat enough already? The little pig is going to be a lucky little pig, troughing on the remains of our banquet.’

  ‘Remember, I don’t eat carbohydrates,’ said Dizzy with an apologetic laugh. ‘They make me bloat.’

  ‘More for the pig,’ Ma said, obviously irritated by Dizzy. ‘Is there anything else you don’t eat?’

  ‘Oh yes . . .’ Dizzy began but Ma’s snort silenced her.

  ‘You must be fun to live with.’

  ‘Right, darlings, tuck in!’ Romina instructed excitedly.

  ‘Except for you, Dizzy. You can watch us eat,’ said Ma. Dizzy looked sternly at her husband, who chose to ignore her, helping himself to a healthy bowl of spaghetti.

  They dined on tomato and garlic pasta, steak and vegetables followed by cheese and a raspberry soufflé. By the time coffee was served they were light-headed with wine and sleepy from so much food. Luca lit a cigarette and sat back in his chair. Romina smoked too, inhaling contentedly while her guests settled their stomachs with mint tea and black coffee.

  ‘I’m going into town after a little nap,’ said the professor. ‘Do you want to come with me, Luca? I could do with your help.’

  ‘I think I’ll hang around here this afternoon,’ he replied. He rather fancied lying in the sun by the pool.

  ‘There’s a lot of local talent,’ said Maxwell.

  ‘Italian girls are so pretty,’ gushed Dizzy.

  ‘But they all end up as fat as me,’ said Ma.

  ‘It’s those carbohydrates,’ said Dizzy with a smile.

  ‘I want to show you the folly,’ said Romina.

  ‘The one thing we kept exactly as it was,’ Bill added.

  ‘Oh, it’s a fabulous little Hansel and Gretel house,’ enthused Dizzy. ‘Though Smidge got a bit restless in there, didn’t you, darling?’ She kissed the dog on her mouth, provoking a grimace from Ma as the dog’s little pink tongue flitted across her mistress’s lips.

  ‘Consider your husband!’ said Ma. �
�Dogs lick their bottoms.’

  ‘Because they can,’ Max said with a smirk. Ma’s fleshy lips twitched in suppressed amusement.

  Romina stood up. ‘Come, Luca,’ she said.

  ‘Who are all these people?’ he asked as they walked down a narrow path that wound its way through the garden to the cliffs.

  Romina shrugged. ‘People we have picked up along the way.’

  ‘Do you always have the place full of . . . freaks?’

  ‘Darling!’ she chided. ‘We have all sorts, old friends and new friends alike. I love to fill the palazzo with interesting people from all over the world.’

  ‘When are they leaving?’

  ‘I don’t know. People come and go, but most of them want to stay. Incantellaria has a particular magic. Once you come here, you don’t want to leave.’

  ‘I think that has as much to do with your free and bountiful hospitality as it has to do with the magic of the place.’

  ‘Darling, that’s very unfair. My friends are not unwelcome parasites, but people I choose to entertain in my house. I have a gift for friendship.’

  ‘So I have to spend my holiday with a bunch of nutters?’

  ‘If you came more often I wouldn’t have to fill the house with other people. You know I would put you and the children above all my friends. Anyway, don’t write them off so quickly. Caradoc is fascinating. His knowledge of history is vast and wonderful. You should ask him about it. I think that is what keeps him young – history and poetry.’

  ‘What about Maxwell and Dizzy? They’re beyond dreadful!’

  ‘Yes, they are rather dull, aren’t they? Friends of your cousin Costanza. It is not often that I come across bad apples in the apple cart! They must leave. We might have to pretend the palazzo is haunted!’

  5

  They wandered down the hill, through a second avenue of cypress trees to the folly, a small grey stone building overlooking the sea. ‘This is it,’ said Romina. ‘Isn’t it enchanting?’ It was perfectly symmetrical with a tall window either side of a large double door.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said, turning the key in the rusty old lock. ‘A lovers’ hideaway perhaps.’ The door creaked open, revealing a harmonious square room with terracotta walls and a domed ceiling painted with a fresco of fat little cherubs in a pale blue sky. In the centre was a four-poster bed with heavy silk drapes that were once green. In front of one window stood a pretty walnut desk; before the other, a dressing-table. The walls were covered with paintings of nude boys, the bookshelves full of erotica. In an alcove stood a replica statue of Donatello’s David.

  ‘The previous owner clearly loved sex,’ said Luca in amusement. ‘Who was he?’

  ‘We don’t know. The sale was done through solicitors. I think the man must be very old. He didn’t take anything with him. The palazzo was built by the Montelimone family about four hundred years ago. A famously grand family. I gather the late Marchese was quite a character because whenever I mention him people raise their eyebrows. After he died I don’t know who bought it. No one wants to elaborate. Perhaps they don’t even know. Anyway, when we found it it was a ruin and completely empty but for an old leather chair and a bed, which we burned. But this was beautifully preserved. It didn’t feel right to change it. It’s rather beautiful, don’t you think?’

  ‘Have you been sleeping in here?’ Luca asked, pointing at the unmade bed.

  ‘No,’ said Romina, pursing her lips irritably. ‘I think your father must have been coming in here for a nap. The only place to get a little peace. I don’t allow our guests to come in here. I keep it locked.’

  ‘I don’t blame him, the bed looks very comfortable.’

  ‘Yes, it does, doesn’t it?’ she agreed, placing her hands on her hips. ‘Still, I don’t like anyone to use it, not even your father. There’s something rather sad about its state of neglect. Now you’re here to translate, I’ll send the professor off to find out about the previous owner. Give the old man something to do, he’s such a character. And I’m rather intrigued, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ Luca replied, his curiosity mounting. ‘Why would someone leave without taking their belongings with them?’

  That afternoon he lay beside the pool reading a Wilbur Smith novel. The sun was warm on his skin, a silky breeze keeping him pleasantly cool. He forgot about the professor. Later, he borrowed his mother’s car and drove into town, parking the car in the square that was dominated by the church of San Pasquale with its white walls and mosaic dome. In the centre there was a little park with palm trees and benches where women sat gossiping in the shade while children played around a fountain, giggling, with excitement. Luca recognised one little boy as the child on the beach. He was the only one not wearing a school smock. He looked around for the boy’s mother, but she was nowhere to be seen.

  It was pleasant not having to talk to anyone or explain himself. He wandered over to a caffè and ordered an espresso, then sat back and smoked languidly. It wasn’t long before he had company. ‘Buona sera.’ The woman was slim and olive-skinned with curly brown hair and the confident gaze of a sophisticated manipulator. ‘Do you have a light?’ Her full lips curled into a smile, her eyes promised more.

  ‘Sure.’

  She leaned forward and puffed on the flame. ‘You’re not from here.’

  ‘No, just visiting.’

  ‘You’re a tourist?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You sound Italian, but with a hint of something else. Where are you from?’

  ‘London.’

  ‘An Italian living in London. Why ever would you want to do that when you could remain here in God’s own country?’

  He laughed. ‘I’m beginning to wonder myself.’

  She let the smoke float out between her lips. ‘May I join you?’

  ‘Sure,’ he replied, finding it hard to resist when she was offering herself on a plate.

  ‘I’ll have an espresso. My name is Maria Fiscobaldi.’

  ‘Luca,’ he said.

  ‘The coffee here is good. But if you want a tip, the best coffee is at Fiorelli’s. Down on the quay. You should give it a try.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘How long are you staying?’

  ‘I have no idea.’

  She grinned. ‘Long enough to see the best view in Incantellaria?’

  ‘Sure. Where’s that?’

  ‘I’ll show you after coffee. I assure you, you won’t see better.’ She had mischief in her eyes.

  Luca summoned the waiter and ordered two coffees. He was going to be buzzing on so much caffeine. Maria sat back on her chair and appraised him. He knew that look well: the sleepy eyes, the knowing expression, the flush of admiration on her cheeks, the naked lust vibrating in the invisible space between them. He knew sex could follow, but he wasn’t in the mood. He hadn’t come for that, even though she was beautiful. Their coffees arrived and they chatted. She told him about her life and he was content to listen, weary of talking about himself. After an hour, he paid the bill and got up to leave.

  ‘You’re not coming to see the view?’ she asked, disappointed.

  ‘Another time, perhaps.’

  ‘You don’t know what you’re missing.’

  ‘Then it’s my loss.’

  ‘Thank you for the coffee.’

  ‘It’s a pleasure.’

  She smiled suggestively. ‘On the contrary, the pleasure is all mine.’

  Luca returned to the palazzo. His mother was talking to Ventura and another maid in the hall. ‘My darling, where have you been?’

  ‘Into town,’ he replied.

  ‘Isn’t it pretty?’

  ‘Prettier than I expected,’ he said with a grin.

  ‘Come out and have a drink. Dinner is at nine.’

  ‘I think I’ll go and take a shower.’

  ‘Don’t be long. The professor was asking after you.’

  Luca rolled his eyes. ‘I don’t want to have to talk to th
at old codger. I’m here on holiday.’

  ‘Well, you’re going to have to and that’s that.’

  Luca retreated upstairs. When he finally stepped on to the terrace, Dizzy was sitting talking to his mother. Bristling with irritation, he joined them. ‘So, how was your afternoon?’ he asked Dizzy.

  She smiled sweetly, tossing her blonde hair. ‘I had a very relaxing time lying in the sun and reading my book. Then Max and I slunk off for a little nuggy bunny.’

  ‘Nuggy bunny?’ Luca repeated.

  ‘Yes, when you cuddle up in bed together like two little bunnies.’ She pulled a face of mock guilt. ‘So indulgent, but the bed is so comfortable one doesn’t want to get out.’

  ‘I’m so pleased. I bought the very best Frette sheets,’ said Romina.

  ‘We’re going to Capri tomorrow. Why don’t you come with us?’ Dizzy asked Luca.

  ‘Thanks, but I think I’ll hang around here and play nuggy bunny all by myself.’

  His mother shot him a look. ‘Luca’s very tired. He needs to rest.’

  Luca conversed in monosyllables during dinner and didn’t stick around for coffee. Romina made excuses for him. ‘He’s going through a very difficult time. He’s quit the City, divorced his wife and doesn’t know what he wants to do. I need to find him a nice girl.’

  ‘There are plenty of girls in town,’ Caradoc suggested. ‘Italian girls are very easy on the eye.’

  ‘Not a local girl,’ Romina scoffed. ‘Gracious no! I’d hope for a girl with a bit more class.’

  ‘I don’t think marriage is high on Luca’s agenda,’ cautioned his father.

  ‘It’s very high on mine. Men are better when they’re married. Look at Nanni,’ she said, referring to her brother. ‘He’s a disaster!’

  ‘I wouldn’t wish Nanni on anyone,’ said Bill.

  ‘On second thoughts, neither would I!’ Romina agreed.

  For the next few days, Luca managed to make himself scarce. He was polite but aloof. He spent most of his time reading by the pool or walking along the stony beach, lost in thought. In spite of the beauty of Incantellaria he was unable to lift the heaviness in his soul. He considered Maria and felt his heart sink. Maria, like so many other women he had encountered, was like a delicious honey pot. After eating all the honey there was nothing left but the empty pot. His spirit yearned for something more. A pot that remained always full. A honey that lasted. Maybe he wasn’t cut out for long relationships, but destined to flit like a bee from flower to flower, never settling for long.