When Luca heard the cars on the gravel he went to the front to greet the new arrivals.
‘Luca!’ Freya climbed out of the car and rushed over, arms wide. Romina smiled. The boy didn’t know what was good for him. ‘You look so well!’ Freya gushed. ‘You’re brown and relaxed! The rest has done you the world of good.’
‘It will do you the power of good too. A little sunbathing by the pool, walks along the beach, time to think . . .’ He didn’t want to spoil her arrival by telling her about Cosima. He’d find the right moment. He was sure she’d be happy for him.
‘I’m so pleased you encouraged me to come out,’ she said, linking her arm through his. ‘Miles couldn’t believe it. I think he’s still in shock.’
‘He deserves more than shock.’
‘A few days away is just what I need to get my head straight. I’ve had a ghastly time of it, I really have.’
‘Let’s go and have something to drink. I want to introduce you to two very dear friends of mine.’
‘Oh?’ She looked up at him, forgetting all about her children and her philandering husband in the warmth of his attention.
‘Then I’ll show you around.’
Outside, Ma, Nanni and Caradoc sat chatting on the terrace while Porci slept on the tiles in the sunshine, his belly round in spite of his apparent lack of appetite. The men stood up politely for Freya, but Ma remained in her seat, too sleepy and fat to move.
‘This is the in-crowd of Incantellaria. Here’s where it’s all at,’ said Luca, grinning broadly. ‘My uncle Nanni, eccentric bringer of the pig: Professor Caradoc Macausland, the wisest man in Christendom; and Ma Hemple, possibly the grumpiest woman this side of Naples.’
Ma extended her hand. ‘He’s so wrong about me. I’m by far the most good-natured person here. He just doesn’t understand my sense of humour. Too many years working in a bank with Sloanosauruses’
Freya giggled. ‘I can tell he’s wrong about you, Ma.’
‘It’s a pleasure to meet another pretty girl,’ said Caradoc.
‘The professor has a keen eye for the ladies,’ Luca explained.
‘I have a lovely girl down at the trattoria. She’s called Rosa and she’s as lovely as a spring rose.’
‘She’s a tart,’ Ma corrected. ‘Caradoc can’t tell the difference.’
‘At our age we don’t really care,’ said Nanni, recalling Fiyona’s white flesh and red pubic hair. ‘We’ll take what we’re given.’
‘Look who’s here!’ Romina called to her husband.
‘What a stunning place you have, Bill,’ said Rosemary, marching over to kiss him.
‘We’ve done our best.’
‘You’ve done better than your best,’ Fitz corrected, remembering what it had been like as a ruin. Most of the balustrade had collapsed and the tiles had been so covered with moss and weeds as to be entirely hidden. A putrid stench had poisoned the air; now he felt the garden restore him. It smelt sweet, of cut grass, pine and gardenia. He inhaled, expanding his chest like a peacock, taking pleasure from stepping back into the past.
Ventura and a butler brought out wine and crostini and they sat chatting. Ma took an instant dislike to Rosemary, which wasn’t a surprise; Ma disliked pretentiousness. Rosemary was out of her comfort zone and felt inadequate. She was better on home soil and among her own sort. Foreigners made her feel uneasy, as did people who felt happy around them. Although Fitz hadn’t mentioned Incantellaria in thirty years, and had barely raised an eyebrow when Bill and Romina had invited them to stay, there was something about his silence, as if he were hiding in it. She wasn’t jealous of Alba; after all Rosemary was his wife, but Incantellaria was a part of Fitz’s past that she had no claim on, so she was automatically suspicious of the place. But Fitz had wanted to come, he was keen to see what Romina and Bill had done to their home, and she couldn’t let him walk down memory lane on his own.
Ma took to Fitz on sight. It wasn’t just that he was handsome; he was genuine. There was no pretence in Fitz. He pulled Porci on to his lap and nuzzled him. The little pig grunted with pleasure, exposing his tummy which Fitz duly scratched. He was enthusiastic about everything, even Ma’s sense of humour, which was rare so soon after meeting her, and she didn’t mind that he gently teased her. In fact, she rather liked it.
As for Freya, Ma watched her with Luca. Romina had told her they were very old friends and that Freya suspected her husband of having an affair. Ma couldn’t understand why people got married in the first place; it wasn’t in a man’s nature to remain faithful. That Freya was enamoured of Luca was plain to see. Luca was clearly fond of her. But love? If Romina were a dog, she’d be barking up the wrong tree. The object of Luca’s desire was in an entirely different forest. Ma sat back to watch events unfold. Love was the best spectator sport.
During lunch Romina enlightened her new guests with the bloody history of the palazzo. Fitz’s face was a mask, giving nothing away. Rosemary and Freya were gripped, hanging on her every word. ‘And guess what, Valentina’s family still live here in Incantellaria,’ she said when she had finished the story. Fitz’s mask slipped a moment and he went pink. ‘Valentina’s daughter owns the trattoria. It’s still the family business.’
Rosemary gritted her teeth and retained her composure. She had hoped Fitz’s great love would have moved away, or died. ‘Alba’s married, presumably,’ she said.
‘Yes, to Panfilo!’ Romina reminded them.
‘The photographer,’ Rosemary recalled. Freya remembered her stepfather going very quiet when they had mentioned Incantellaria.
‘You’ve been here before, haven’t you, Fitz?’ said Romina.
‘A long time ago.’
‘Did you come here, to the palazzo?’
‘It was a ruin.’
Romina rubbed her hands together gleefully. ‘What was it like?’
Rosemary sat up straight as Fitz told the table of the eerie cold, the rotten smell, the overgrown garden and the crumbling palace. ‘We were exploring,’ he explained.
‘We?’ said Ma.
‘An old friend.’
His evasiveness aroused Ma’s interest. ‘An old friend. How very mysterious.’
‘Not at all,’ said Fitz, coolly. ‘It was Alba. I haven’t seen her in thirty years.’
The table fell silent. Rosemary was appalled that he had mentioned Alba by name; he had somehow insulted her by bringing up his old love. Freya was astonished that the woman Fitz had nearly married was so closely tied to the story Romina had told them of the murder in the palazzo. The men looked at Fitz with admiration – Alba was a beauty.
‘Well, aren’t you a dark horse!’ said Bill, passing around the wine. ‘What will Alba think when you turn up at the trattoria?’
‘I shouldn’t think she will even remember me. It was thirty years ago.’
‘You don’t have to go to the trattoria,’ said Rosemary with a strained smile. ‘We can stay here. I can’t think of anywhere nicer.’
‘Of course you should go.’ Ma saw through Rosemary’s silly ploy. ‘You can’t come all the way out here and not see her.’
‘I’d be very curious to see an old flame!’ agreed Romina.
‘Don’t get too excited.’ Fitz tried to make light of it. He could sense Rosemary’s discomfort as if she had suddenly grown a skin of prickles.
‘I won’t miss this,’ said Ma. ‘It reminds me of a Shakespeare play.’
‘Which one?’ asked Caradoc.
‘Ah, that depends how things pan out!’
Rosemary felt as though she were drowning. ‘It’ll be fun,’ she said, wanting to add ‘at my expense’. She checked herself. She was being unreasonable. After all, it was thirty years ago.
While the oldies slept off their lunch, Luca gave Freya a guided tour of the property. He knew he should tell her about Cosima, but he didn’t want to put her in an awkward position. She had come to seek refuge from her troubled marriage. The last thing she needed to hear was that he was on the poi
nt of asking Cosima to marry him. It wasn’t fair that his joy should detract from the purpose of her visit.
He felt bad at having flirted with her, and wanted to take back everything he had said that had been inappropriate. She had been right; while he had felt insecure, she had been a calm, familiar harbour. But he was a man for the high seas and, now he had regained his strength, he no longer wanted that safety. He hoped she wasn’t thinking of leaving Miles.
He took her around the gardens and down to the folly, which she found as enchanting as he knew she would. They sat on the bed where he had made love to Cosima and finally, after discussing the beauty of the little building and the tragedy of its history, they talked about Miles.
‘I never thought Miles would be the type to stray,’ she said, curling a lock of hair behind her ear. ‘He’s not exactly a ladies’ man.’
‘Who is she?’
‘One of his regular bridge four. She’s not even attractive. She’s got lanky brown hair and a round face.’ They both laughed.
‘What’s got into the man?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe I’m too wholesome for him.’
‘Wholesome is a good thing,’ said Luca kindly.
‘Maybe he wants dirty sex, someone who’ll do all the kinky things I don’t want to do.’
‘What kinky things don’t you want to do?’ Luca couldn’t help himself.
She blushed. ‘I don’t know. Miles hasn’t exactly asked me to do anything. He’s very conventional. I’m just trying to find an explanation.’
‘So, you gave him an ultimatum?’
‘I told him to finish it or I’ll take the children and leave him.’
‘I imagine you put the fear of God in him?’
‘I think I did.’
‘I’m sure he’ll do what’s right.’
‘But can I trust him now? I’m not sure I can.’
‘You have four children who need you to trust him, or at least to make the marriage work.’
‘Yours have adjusted, haven’t they?’
‘Yes, I think so. But I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Coco and Juno came for a week and it was great, but naturally they’d be better off if Claire and I had stayed together.’
‘But now they have the best of both worlds. Time with Mummy in England and time here with Daddy.’
‘It hasn’t been easy for them. Every child wants their parents to love each other.’ He looked at her steadily. ‘Do you still love Miles?’
She didn’t hesitate. ‘Of course. But he’s hurt me.’
‘If you didn’t love him he wouldn’t have the power to hurt you.’
‘We’ve been married for ten years. I can’t imagine life without him. I was arrogant enough to think I was the centre of his world. I never imagined he’d fall in love with someone else. I feel as if he’s knocked the wind out of me.’ She smiled sheepishly. ‘I’m not so arrogant any more.’
Luca touched her shoulder. ‘You’ll go back in a few days and he’ll have ditched the dog. You’re going to have to make a real effort not to let it destroy you.’
‘I know. If he gives her up, I’ve got to let it go. It won’t be easy.’
‘But you’ve shown him you mean business.’
‘I don’t think he ever imagined I’d just run off like this.’ She grinned. ‘I think you’ve put the wind up him, Luca.’
‘Me?’
‘Yes. I told him I was coming out here to see you. If anyone can provoke his jealousy, it’s you.’
‘I’m glad I’m helpful.’
‘You’re more than helpful,’ she replied, squeezing his hand. ‘You’re a real friend.’
30
Fitz was nervous about seeing Alba again in spite of the fact that they had both married and found happiness with other people. Thirty years could be reduced to almost nothing when it came to the emotions. Alba had broken his heart. Rosemary had put a plaster over the wound, but beneath the superficial healing it still remained open. He didn’t suffer the same acute pain as in those first few months after she had left, and time served to dull the discomfort, but the ache was always there. A niggling regret. A longing for something precious. He often wondered about her and fantasised about what might have been. Now, gazing at the beauty that was Incantellaria, he wondered whether he would have been happy here. He wished he could say with certainty that he would not.
Romina loved nothing more than what she described as a ‘situation’. She would have never imagined Fitzroy Davenport and Alba Pallavicini together. He was so incredibly English – a cigar and slippers sort of man – while Alba was so Italian. Her father might have been English, but Incantellaria had brought out the Italian in her. She and Fitz were as different as a Great Dane and a sleek black panther. She didn’t see the parallels with her own marriage – Romina wasn’t a woman who was self-aware. If things had been different, Fitz might have ended up running the trattoria instead of being married to the well-meaning but bossy Rosemary. She could barely restrain her impatience to thrust the former lovers together and wished she could whisk Rosemary off to give them time to talk about the past without her hanging over them like a fearsome judge. Rosemary wouldn’t allow them a moment alone. Women like her were fragile beneath their brittle exteriors and seething with jealousy. She had done well to ensnare Fitz and Fitz was a fool to have got caught!
After a guided tour around Palazzo Montelimone, Romina gathered up the house party and squeezed them into Nanni’s car and her little yellow Fiat. Freya stayed with Luca in the folly. She had no desire to watch Fitz and his old girlfriend humiliate her mother.
Alba had made an effort with her appearance. Not that she didn’t normally, but today she knew the chances of Fitz walking into the trattoria were very high and she wanted to look her best. She had washed her hair, leaving it to fall down her back in shiny waves, and chosen a black dress imprinted with red and green flowers that hugged her curvaceous body, emphasising the swell of her breasts and the rounded lines of her hips and bottom. She wasn’t as slim as she had been when Fitz had known her, but she knew she looked good for a grandmother. There came a time in a woman’s life when she had to choose between her face and her figure. Alba had reached that point and chosen her face. The extra pounds made her skin look plump and youthful but her waist was thicker than she would have liked. She painted her eyelashes and applied a little blusher, hoping no one would notice and draw attention to it. She hadn’t told Panfilo that Fitz was coming. The chances were they wouldn’t meet. Panfilo had gone to Milan for a few days and, even if he were to come home, a man as self-assured as Panfilo wouldn’t be concerned about the sudden arrival of an old flame of hers. She didn’t even think he’d be curious. As she left the house she hoped Fitz would pay her a visit after all the trouble she had gone to.
It seemed everyone was at the trattoria that day. Rosa and Cosima were serving tables while Toto was chatting to the regulars. Lunchtime was busy. A big boat brought tourists from Sorrento and there was barely a spare seat in the whole town. Alba was so distracted that she didn’t notice Rosa’s smug smile or the way she bounced off the balls of her feet when she walked. The two barely spoke to one other. Only Cosima commented on Alba’s appearance, telling her how good she looked. Alba grinned at her and replied ‘Vecchio pollo fa buon brodo – Old chicken makes good broth.’
By teatime, Alba’s excitement had waned. She had sat at the table in the corner going through the accounts for long enough, barely daring to go out in case Fitz turned up and caught her off guard. She wasn’t sure how to react. She didn’t usually spend all day in the trattoria. ‘I’m going home,’ she said to Cosima at last. Her good mood had deflated. She was like a girl who’d been stood up on her first date. ‘You can hold the fort with your father and Rosa. I’ll see you later.’ As Alba strode off across the terrace, something made her stop in her tracks.
There, walking up the quay, was Fitzroy Davenport. He hadn’t changed at all, perhaps a little grey around the temples and a little more weat
hered, but he had those boyish good looks that didn’t age very much. He saw her too and his face opened into a wide, infectious smile. He forgot about Rosemary, a few yards behind him. It was thirty years ago and he was striding towards the love of his life.
‘My God, I can’t believe it’s you,’ he said, kissing her cheek. ‘I can’t believe you’re still here. You haven’t changed a bit!’ She smiled up at him and Fitz saw beyond the fifty-six-year-old woman to the girl he had fallen in love with.
‘I said I’d wait for you,’ she whispered. His face clouded. ‘Well, I couldn’t wait for ever, could I?’ She was teasing, but beneath his laugh he was choked with regret.
‘I should have known better.’
‘So, how do you like your old friend?’ said Romina, as if she were the mastermind of their reunion.
‘Very much,’ Fitz replied, reluctantly letting Alba go. He felt his wife at his side. She linked her arm through his possessively. ‘This is Rosemary,’ he said. ‘My wife.’
Alba took in the perky woman Fitz had married instead of her. ‘Welcome to Incantellaria.’
‘Very nice to meet you,’ replied Rosemary, who had already noted Alba’s dark beauty and astonishingly pale eyes. ‘I’ve heard so much about you.’
Fitz knew what Alba would think of Rosemary and the laughter in her eyes confirmed his suspicions. ‘Come, let’s find a table where we can all sit and catch up,’ she said, leading the way across the terrace.
‘I must sit in the shade,’ said Ma, helping Caradoc as he walked stiffly, leaning on his stick.
‘Where’s the lovely Rosa?’ he asked.
‘She’s gone home to her children.’
‘Words cannot express my disappointment!’
‘Well, isn’t that a relief!’ said Ma. ‘You can keep quiet then.’
They all sat down. Alba wished she could be alone with Fitz, but it was impossible. That wife of his reminded her of her stepmother, the woman she had rudely referred to as the Buffalo. Who’d have thought that Fitz would end up with a woman like her? She noticed the helpless look in his eyes. He wished he were alone with her, too. Instead, they had to catch up in front of a curious audience and a jealous wife. She raised her hand and summoned her niece. ‘Cosima, why don’t you bring everyone tea and coffee?’
The Italian Matchmaker Page 28
