by Maeve Haran
The cars were waiting outside to transport the bridal party to the cathedral.
As soon as they had gone, Claire consulted her timetable. The waiting staff, in black skirts or trousers and white tops, were ready to dive into action; someone was dispatched to brush down the red carpet that had been quickly laid on the back steps where the reception line would be; glasses were polished and champagne checked. Claire had decided that the wonderful Sesti wine from Montalcino came in such beautiful bottles that it ought not to be decanted. The water and white wine would be put out just before the guests arrived. The canapés were arranged on serving platters for the waiting staff to hand out with the champagne. The caviar and toro could only be plated at the last moment, but the garnish was already assembled, and the veal roasting in the hired catering ovens. So far, so familiar.
‘Is Martin ready with Daniela’s little surprise?’ Claire asked Monica.
‘I would have thought we’d had enough surprises from Daniela,’ Tony commented.
‘She’s going to release a flock of white doves as a symbol of the purity of their love for each other.’ Claire tried not to giggle.
‘I do hope she’s not going to say that or she’ll bring the house down,’ Tony pointed out. ‘I imagine this morning’s escapade is all over Lanzarella by now. Giovanni’s probably in the bar in the piazza embroidering the story as we speak.’
‘Men are so pathetic,’ commented Angela waspishly while Stephen and Tony looked apologetic. ‘Now, Claire, what can we do or would you rather we were out from under your feet?’
‘To be honest, I’d love a little space,’ Claire agreed. ‘But stay somewhere we can find you. Judging by this morning, anything could happen.’
‘I’ll just finish the table arrangements and make sure the seating plan’s where it should be,’ offered Monica.
‘I think I’ll hang on upstairs in the Bride’s Room just in case the dress does need adjusting,’ Sylvie announced.
‘And I’ll make sure Martin’s OK with the doves,’ said Tony.
‘Just you and me, then, Stephen,’ Angela teased. ‘It may be your home, but we need to make ourselves scarce for a bit. You know that little pagoda thing right at the top of the garden? Why don’t we steal a bottle of wine and hide ourselves up there? I don’t think any of the guests will penetrate that far but Claire can yell if she needs us.’
‘That’d be perfect,’ Claire thanked her. ‘Stephen, I’m so sorry at shooing you out of your own house.’
‘If the wine Angela’s talking about is that delicious Sesti, you can shoo me out anytime.’
Angela led the way to the pagoda. It was a perfect hideaway since they were within earshot of the wedding yet hidden from sight themselves.
Angela sat down and left Stephen to open the wine.
‘My mother had such a good time with all of you.’ Stephen handed her a glass. ‘She loved being one of the girls. And thank you for rescuing her from the degli Dei. She was so disappointed at how much the place had changed.’
‘That was why we couldn’t let you sell the villa to Hugo Robertson and see him turn it into a posh mausoleum.’
He smiled. Despite all the time that had passed since their Oxford days he still had the same smile. Boyish and enthusiastic. It would probably be the same at eighty. ‘I’m glad you and my mother sorted him out. I gather he turned out to be rather a shit.’
‘She told you about that? I don’t seem to be very lucky in my relationships.’ As soon as she’d said it she regretted it. It was too personal. And it sounded as if she was trying to make him feel guilty for something that had happened when they were in their twenties.
‘I don’t think I behaved very well . . .’
‘Stephen,’ she interrupted, ‘we were very young. We had no idea even what kind of people we were. That was what university was for. To find out.’
Stephen held her gaze intently. ‘I’ve thought about you a lot over the years, Angela. Even watched your TV shows,’ he confessed, looking suddenly sheepish. ‘I actually saw you at a couple of events. I almost came over. But I thought I’d look like I was impressed by your fame.’
‘I wish you had.’
A moment’s silence fell between them.
‘But you’ve been so successful yourself.’ She felt suddenly shy. ‘I followed your career too.’
‘Yes, it’s gone well but, lately, I’ve been bored by it. That’s why I came. Hoping for the Lanzarella effect. Maybe it’s age. I keep thinking I’d like to do something different. God knows what.’
‘I was so sorry to hear about your wife. Everyone here seems to have loved her very much.’
Stephen smiled. ‘Even though she was Sicilian. That was quite a feat.’
‘Was it losing Carla that made you so ambivalent about the villa?’ She somehow knew he wouldn’t resent such a personal question.
‘Yes. But I couldn’t let the place go. Of course, it cost so little when we bought it.’
‘And it must be worth so much now.’
‘That wasn’t why I considered selling it. It was that I couldn’t work out my feelings for the place.’ He looked around him. ‘I’d come here and realize how special it was, how extraordinary. But it always made me feel more alone. I tried bringing friends, girlfriends even, but it always seemed to be Carla’s place.’ He glanced down towards the garden. ‘You know the statue by the hidden pool, the Venus bathing . . .’
‘We thought it was just a nymph.’ Angela jumped guiltily. Oh God, they would have to tell him it had gone.
‘Carla bought it. It always reminded me of her. She was such a happy person yet she could get this sudden wistful look of sadness, as if she were seeing something no one else could see, almost as if she could tell what would happen. Just like the marble statue. Stupid, really.’
‘Stephen, something awful’s happened. Someone’s stolen it. The statue.’
Stephen looked stricken. ‘But why?’
‘It just went the other day. Monica has asked your neighbour Constantine if he can find out anything. He knows everyone, apparently. Now we know the value it has to you, we must look properly, get the police in.’
Behind them they could hear the happy cheering and clapping from the bridal party as they took their places for the celebration.
‘Signora Gwilliams . . .’ Beatrice ran up through the garden looking anxious, ‘there is someone to see you.’
‘Can’t they wait until after the wedding?’
It was Hugo Robertson, with Tony pursuing him, and behind them two large types, who looked like doormen from the hotel, carrying something very large wrapped in a white sheet.
They put it down and Hugo removed the sheet. ‘Your missing statue.’
‘Oh, thank God, it’s your Venus, Stephen. But where the hell has it been?’
‘I saw it in Lerini market this morning,’ Hugo replied silkily, ‘and lucky for you I recognized it and assumed you might want it back.’
He glanced back at the wedding that was in full swing, the trestle tables and non-matching chairs with the deliberately planned air of a relaxed country wedding.
‘I can’t believe she’d actually prefer all this tat to the kind of elegant wedding we’d have given her, but then from what I’ve heard, she’s pretty damaged goods herself.’
For the second time in quick succession Hugo Robertson found himself at the other end of a commanding punch.
This time it was Angela who delivered it.
Stephen was watching her, deeply impressed. ‘You really do have a powerful left hook.’ He smiled at her teasingly.
‘I’ve been wanting to do that for some time,’ Angela announced to Hugo with satisfaction. ‘As a matter of fact, we were wondering if you had anything to do with its disappearance.’
Hugo laughed, nursing his rapidly swelling chin. ‘Then why the hell would I bring it back?’
‘No doubt to get back into Angela’s good graces,’ Tony commented nastily. ‘For some reason of your own.�
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‘This is entirely bloody ridiculous.’
Behind them, the moment had arrived to release the doves of purity. Martin and the handler had assembled their cages so that when one opened the others would follow. To thunderous applause, Daniela opened the first cage and a flock of terrified doves took wing in the direction of the pagoda.
With impressive precision, the lead dove shat over Hugo’s head and shoulders, staining his Armani suit with a fetching green which, as Angela was tempted to point out, went well with his eyes.
‘What the fuck . . .’ he shouted.
‘Probably a female,’ Angela murmured. ‘Possibly damaged goods.’
‘Actually,’ Stephen pointed out, ‘a bird shitting on your head is supposed to be good luck. Something to do with the odds against it happening being a million to one.’
Behind them, a figure in a trench coat and Russian hat, with a small dog tucked inside yapping furiously, shambled towards them. ‘Where’s Monica?’ he demanded, almost bursting with excitement.
‘Down amongst the wedding guests.’
‘Only she showed me this photograph of the missing nymph—’ He stopped, noticing the wandering statue. ‘Oh, she’s back. My friend thinks she may indeed be by Bernini, but much more important is this!’
He got out his phone with the photograph of The Annunciation which Monica had taken. ‘He’s pretty sure it’s a real Filippo Lippi and if so, it’ll be absolutely priceless!’
‘Constantine, this is Stephen, the owner of the villa.’
‘So you’re the eccentric gentleman who owns a slice of paradise and never shows up? Well, if this is a Lippi, you’re an exceptionally rich eccentric.’
‘Actually,’ Angela was finding things too funny to contain herself, ‘he’s pretty rich anyway.’
‘I’m getting out of this mad house.’ Hugo tried to achieve a little dignity and failed. Being covered in green bird poo didn’t help.
‘Good idea,’ Tony congratulated him, hugely enjoying the situation. ‘Before we call the police to look into what really happened to this statue.’ He considered Hugo’s red and rapidly swelling jaw. ‘Of course, you may want to explain your own generous part in its rescue and why you got hit by a woman.’
‘Or press for assault,’ Hugo said nastily.
‘From what I hear of how the statue made its way from here to the market, I very much doubt that,’ Constantine challenged. He turned towards the sounds from the wedding party which was getting decidedly riotous. ‘Seems like people are having a good time. He addressed Hugo again. ‘You know, you really ought not to be such a sore loser, as our friends the Americans put it.’
‘Losing a slag of a bride and her pathetic husband? I prefer clients with a bit of class.’
‘Perhaps you soon won’t have any clients at all,’ Constantine purred as Hugo started forward.
‘Time you left.’ Stephen introduced his long body between Constantine and Hugo. ‘In fact, I don’t recall inviting you here in the first place.’
‘You’re just a rich idiot who inherited his money and doesn’t even know the value of his own property,’ Hugo accused.
‘As a matter of fact,’ Stephen was beginning to enjoy himself, ‘I didn’t inherit any money at all and I got rich by knowing exactly the value of property. I just don’t happen to value this one in monetary terms.’ He handed Hugo a handkerchief. ‘You may want this. It’s easier to insult people when you aren’t covered in green slime. Now please leave before I ask someone to throw you out.’
They all had the satisfaction of watching Hugo walk towards the wedding party, then think better of it and ignominiously dodge round the side and into the trees to avoid Marco, in case he had somehow heard his comments about the bride.
‘What a delightful character.’ Stephen grinned. ‘No wonder my mother didn’t want to stay in his hotel.’
Across the lawns they saw a swaying Daniela walking towards them, smiling blissfully.
‘It is a wonderful wedding,’ she enfolded Angela in an enthusiastic embrace, ‘but where are your friends? I want to thank them also.’
‘I’ll go and find them.’
Moments later, Angela was back, one arm linked into Claire’s, the other into Monica’s. Tony had fetched Sylvie from the midst of the happy throng and Martin, freed of dove duty, came along behind.
‘Thank you all,’ Daniela announced, her ample chest heaving. ‘It is just what I dreamed of. It is the best day of my life.’
‘She sounds as if she actually means it,’ Angela whispered, as the bride stumbled back to find her bridegroom.
‘For today anyway.’ Monica shrugged.
‘Monica, you’ve got so cynical!’
‘You heard what she got up to in the potting shed!’
‘Come on, Claire quite fancied Giovanni herself once.’
‘Correction,’ Sylvie pointed out, looking slyly at Martin, ‘it was the other way round. Giovanni fancied Claire. Don’t you remember, he called her his nymph?’
‘Well, he can’t have her.’ Martin put his arm round his wife. ‘Because she’s my nymph.’
Stephen, sensing this might be a moment to leave the friends together, suggested the men all help him move the marble Venus back to her natural resting place.
‘So,’ Monica asked the question they were all asking themselves, ‘now that Stephen’s arrived, what are we all going to do next?’
Twenty-One
‘We’ve booked our flights.’ Sylvie threw in the bombshell and stood back to see the reaction. ‘For tomorrow.’
They all knew it was inevitable, and yet it was a decision none of them had dared to make. Until now.
‘Time I got back to my business. I’ve stayed away far too long.’ Sylvie stood up and shook out her brightly coloured skirts. ‘There’re only so many excuses my staff can make to clients about why I’m not there.’ She glanced across at the three men who were trying to decide if Venus was back in the right position. ‘There’s one thing I’ve been thinking about: I want to build bridges with my daughter. Persuade her I’m not always an embarrassment. Get to know my grandchildren better. And I’m planning to include Tony more in the business instead of treating him as a slightly annoying encumbrance. After all, he does have useful skills.’
‘Charm,’ agreed Monica.
‘Negotiating skills,’ Angela agreed. ‘It was he who persuaded Marco to go ahead with the wedding.’
‘Humility,’ Claire pointed out. ‘He’s ready to admit when he thinks he’s wrong.’
‘Another thing I’ve learned,’ Sylvie smiled happily, ‘is that I’d never make a wedding planner. I’d rather face a roomful of rich Russians than plan another marriage. It’s too damn stressful. Unless,’ she glanced meaningfully at Angela and Monica, ‘it was one of your weddings.’
They both laughed uproariously. ‘Well, that isn’t going to happen!’
Claire and Sylvie exchanged a meaningful glance. ‘Of course it isn’t,’ Sylvie agreed. ‘Absolutely no way. How about you, Claire? Back to catering anniversaries and funerals?’
‘As a matter of fact,’ Claire announced, ‘I rather thought I might open a cafe. Just lunchtimes, you know, and ask Martin to help me. I do think Martin’s mellowed.’
As if in confirmation, they could hear Tony and Stephen laughing at some joke Martin had made.
‘It’s the old Lanzarella magic again,’ Monica agreed.
‘I suppose the big test will be whether he comes over all grouchy when we get home. But I sort of think he won’t.’
‘And you’re absolutely sure about Luca and the lemons?’ Angela asked gently.
Claire nodded. ‘I realized it when Evan and Belinda came, and then when she might have lost the baby. It isn’t that I’m gagging to be a granny but it reminded me of reality. We’re all told change is good, even at our age, but the change has to be rooted in something more than a fantasy. So, for me, change will be opening a cafe.’
‘You do realize,’ Sylvie
pointed out, ‘that opening a cafe is the most popular fantasy in the UK and even more stressful than being a wedding planner? How about you, Angela?’
Angela sighed. ‘The funny thing is, I really don’t know. I thought I would want to start another business, but coming here has changed that.’
‘That old Lanzarella magic . . .’
‘I feel a bit adrift, which is not like me at all. I might do some travelling – after all, there’s nothing to make me go home. No commitments apart from my mother. I felt quite sad about that and then I remembered – I’ve got you lot!’
‘Yes!’ seconded Monica. ‘The Lanzarella Women’s Cooperative will still be together! Maybe we could even take on some tasks. Thank God I’ve got the painting Constantine gave me. It means I can stop worrying about money all the time and have some choices – like not living with my mother!’
‘Will you go back to Great Missenden? What about the big city? We’re quite near, me in Chelsea, Angela in Marylebone, apart from Claire, who insists on living in Twickenham for reasons best known to her.’
‘It’s very nice in Twickenham!’ protested Claire.
‘I’m not really the big city type. I like the wide open spaces and fresh air.’
They saw that the men were heading back towards them.
‘Shall we all go out to dinner tonight? Our last night together in Lanzarella?’ Sylvie suggested. It hardly seemed possible that they had got so used to having each other around. ‘And then tomorrow Tony and I will head back to reality and the Riskovs. You do know, husband dear, that Mr Riskov offered to bump you off for cheating on me?’
Tony looked seriously shaken.
‘Naturally I turned him down,’ Sylvie said with a twinkle. ‘This time.’
‘Could I have a word, Angela?’ Stephen asked.
‘Come on, you lot, time to pack,’ Sylvie chivvied, looking knowingly at Claire and Monica as she did so.
‘I just wondered if you were planning to stay on?’ Stephen asked as soon as they found themselves alone. ‘Or will it be too strange without the others?’
‘To be honest, I’ve no idea what I’m going to do,’ Angela admitted truthfully.
