‘Hope the brakes work,’ said Dylan when we touched down with a soft thud and the noise from the plane engine grew into an earsplitting roar as we careered down the runway.
After getting off the plane and collecting our luggage, we made our way out to the car park where the black Mercedes that Nonna had sent for us was waiting. Once in the car, we settled back into the leather seats, and Kate and I listened to our iPods for a while, then Dylan and I played word games to pass the time because it was dark outside and we couldn’t see anything out of the window. Usually this is my favourite car ride in the world – the Amalfi coastline is stunning. On this particular night, all we could see were the lights of Naples in the distance, more lights as we drove past Sorrento, Positano and Amalfi and fewer as we got on to a mountain road which wound around and around up to Ravello.
‘Here at last,’ said Dad after an hour and a half and we saw a dimly lit narrow cobbled street in the near distance.
Our driver drove into the street through an ancient-looking archway then parked the car and we all got out and stretched our legs. I breathed in the air. It smelled different immediately, fresh and fragrant with a scent I couldn’t place – something herby and sharp. A middle-aged man appeared from nowhere and he and the driver unloaded our baggage on to an open trolley like the ones you find at the airport, only this one had a driver’s seat at the back, like on a tractor. After the cases were all piled up, the man began to drive along the street in the direction of our hotel. Everything for that end of town goes up on these trolleys because the streets are too narrow for cars, and it is a regular sight to see trolleys loaded down with boxes of supplies going past.
Dad was beaming from ear to ear.‘OK, everybody follow me.
Dinner in the square before we go up to the hotel.’ He put his arm around Mum and off they marched.
Kate, Dylan, Lewis and I followed him into the square where we soon saw people we knew sitting at one of the open cafés that surrounded the cobbled piazza. It was a warm night and felt more like summer than November. Dad was in his element going from table to table hugging and smiling as he greeted old friends. It seemed like the whole Ruspoli family had gathered there: aunts, uncles, cousins, Ethan, Jessica and the twins – and Nonna, who seemed overjoyed to see all her family. She’s a tall handsome woman with silver-grey hair pulled back into an elegant bun. She wrapped me in her arms when she saw me.
‘India Jane, look how tall you have become since last time. And beautiful, bella’, she said with a smile.
I hugged her back and then, as others came forward to greet her, I moved away so that they could have their turn. It was then that I spotted a boy at a corner table and my heart stopped. He was a total babe, so good-looking he had to be a model. Tall with a mane of dark hair and a chiselled jaw, he was wearing a tweedy overcoat with a red scarf and jeans and exuded glamour and elegance. He glanced over when Dad called for me to sit at the table next to his and then he did a double take.
‘India Jane! Chi e? E tu?’ he asked.
I felt myself blush as I tried to muster up my Italian. ‘Do I know you? Er ... Si ... Lo ... Ti conosce? Is that right? Do I know you? Er . . . Mi dispiace ma non parlo Italiano bene. Infatto e robaccia.Ohmigod! Bruno!’
Send photos! demanded Erin, Brook, Leela and Zahrah after I’d texted to let them know that Bruno had grown up to be a love god.
We had spent a fab night having supper in the square and, because there were so many people to see and catch up with, I only got to talk to Bruno for a few minutes. However, every time I glanced over at where he was sitting, he looked up and caught me watching him. Or he’d been glancing over and I’d turn and catch him. It happened so many times that it was impossible to pretend that we weren’t totally checking each other out. In the end, we both laughed and when the meal was finished, coffees and limoncellos had been drunk by the adults and people were beginning to wander off in the direction of their hotels, he came over to me and gave me a warm hug.
‘Non fa niente. C’incontriamo eparliamo domani. D’accordo?’ he asked, which I quickly translated in my head to mean: Let’s get together and catch up properly tomorrow, shall we?
‘Si, d’accordo,’ I replied which I hope meant OK. ‘Um . . . as long as there are no . . . oh what’s the word for . . .’ I made a noise like a frog. ‘A . . . you know, frog?’
‘Frog. In Italian is rana.
‘Oh yes.’
‘Is OK, speak English with me. It is good for me to practise,’ he said.
‘And my dad would say it’s good for me to practise my Italian but I doubt you’d understand much.’
‘Then speak English. I won’t tell him. So you were saying? Frogs?’
I nodded. ‘Yes, I’d love to catch up as long as there are no frogs and no fighting. Er let me see if I can say that. . . Si, d’accordo. Ma senza rane e senza pugnati.’
He laughed. ‘Very good. Ah si, I remember – I used to put them into your bed.’Then he looked directly into my eyes and I felt my insides melt. ‘No frogs,’ he said. ‘I promise.’ His expression grew cheeky. ‘Unless . . . there’s one that needs kissing to turn him back into a prince.’
I looked around the square as if I was searching for someone. ‘Can’t see any frogs,’ I said.
‘Shame,’ he said, then he made a frog noise which made me crack up laughing. ‘OK. Night, India. Ciao, bella.’
‘Ciao,’ I said, and I inwardly punched the air as he walked away and disappeared up one of the narrow streets that led away from the square.
Kate came over and looked after him.‘Well, get you,’ she said.
‘What do you mean?’ I asked and tried to sound innocent, but I knew that I had a great big smile on my face.
‘Bruno, huh?’
‘We were just chatting. Er . . . What’s he up to now?’ I asked because I’d seen her talking to him over supper.
‘Student,’ she replied.‘Doing business studies. He wants to go into hotel management, follow in the family business. He’s going to be a very rich boy one day – his dad owns three hotels in the area now.’
‘Three? Wow. Er . . . Do you fancy him?’
Kate looked in the direction Bruno had gone off in. ‘Who wouldn’t? But chill, it looks like he only has eyes for you so you’re safe. Besides Tom would kill me.’
Phew, I thought. I’d hate to compete with Kate. She wasn’t just stunning to look at, she could also out cool anyone and most boys seemed to love that. Luckily her relationship with Tom seemed back on track.
Our hotel was behind a tall wall on the hill beyond the main square. I woke the next morning, scrambled out of bed and flung open the shutters to a picture-postcard view of brilliant blues and greens – fields on the mountain opposite were terraced all the way down into the valley, sea in the distance where boats looked like toys, the jagged coastline jutting out and stretching on into the distance.
‘India,’ groaned Kate as she pulled a sheet over her head. ‘Close the shutters.’
‘Oh come on, Kate, it’s a beautiful morning. We’re in Ravello —’
‘And India has the hots for a local boy so has to wake up the world,’ said Kate, looking at her watch. ‘It’s eight-thirty. Go and get me a coffee and maybe I’ll forgive you.’
I pulled on my jeans and a red jumper and happily set off to get breakfast. I feel on top of the world, I said to myself as I hopped down the stairs, which is funny because I almost am. The hotel hadn’t changed since my childhood. The interior was dark and cool in contrast to the sun sneaking in through the open windows and casting its light on heavy walnut furniture and marble floors. I had always liked the fact that the hotel had the look of a private house with antique-looking books stacked here and there and sepia photos of unsmiling people looking out from silver frames. I often wondered who they were – they looked like farmers from a long gone era, dressed in their best black with stiff collars for the photo. As I passed through the hall, I noticed a huge bowl full of oranges and their scent w
hich filled the air.
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.
Looking for a Hero Page 7
