The Getaway Girls: A hilarious feel-good summer read

by Dee MacDonald

  Maggie nodded. ‘Well, I’ve booked for a week, while we decide where we go from here.’ She looked around. ‘You’ll doubtless be staying with relatives anyway.’

  ‘I’m not counting on it,’ Connie said.

  * * *

  All three fell in love with Sorrento, perched on the cliffs above the marinas, even though it was buzzing with tourists. They ate dinner in the Piazza Tasso, the cafe-lined square, admiring the lemon and orange trees all around, laden with fruit. It was the home of Limoncello, which was Connie’s favourite liqueur, and their kindly waiter refilled their glasses several times without charge. As a result they tottered unsteadily as they explored the narrow cobbled streets full of artisan shops.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ Connie said, as they meandered back down the lamp-lit street, arm in arm for support, to where Bella now resided, ‘I’ve booked to see a Signor Eduardo Pozzi in Naples at eleven o’clock. If anyone can help me trace these elusive Martiluccis, apparently he can.’

  ‘Well, I’ll come to Naples with you,’ Maggie said, ‘because I’d like to look round a bit.’

  Gill sighed romantically. ‘And I’ll wait right here for my Alfie.’

  Twenty-Five

  THE LEGAL EAGLE

  Connie and Maggie took the Circumvesuviana, the train that circled the bay, stopping at all the small towns and at Pompeii, before taking them into the heart of the city. Maggie wanted to explore the dock area, while Connie headed towards the centre.

  ‘Be careful!’ she warned Maggie. ‘This city can be a bit dodgy.’ She remembered feeling slightly threatened on her previous visit.

  ‘Och, I can look after myself,’ Maggie retorted as they parted company. ‘Go find those relatives of yours and we’ll meet up later.’

  As Connie set off alone towards the busy central area, she began to feel unsure of herself in this city, where everyone and everything felt more intense and more foreign than anywhere else she’d visited in Italy. Becoming increasingly confused, she stopped in a shop doorway to consult her map but couldn’t work out her own position. She needed to ask someone how to get to the Via dei Pellegrini but the woman she stopped looked at her blankly, shrugged and continued walking.

  Connie’s confidence faded further. What on earth was she doing here? So far all she’d done was forward money to an unknown lawyer in the feeble hope of finding a few relatives. Perhaps any relatives might also look at her blankly, shrug, and walk away.

  Pull yourself together, Connie, she scolded herself. You’ve not come all this way to be so easily dispirited! She saw what looked like a businessman approaching. ‘Scusi!’

  Yes, he knew where the Via dei Pellegrini was, and directed her down a narrow side street with the promise that ‘you’ll see a big wide avenue at the end’. Five minutes later Connie found herself lost in a labyrinth of narrow streets and alleyways with tiny open-fronted shops, lines of washing overhead and everyone shouting their wares. ‘Hey, lady, you Eenglish?’ ‘You like nice shoes?’

  The heat was stifling. And it was some minutes before Connie, in desperation, asked directions from one of the shopkeepers. Taking her by the arm, he marched her back to a narrow passageway she’d already passed and dismissed as leading nowhere. ‘You go there,’ he ordered, ‘and then you see!’

  Feeling ever more anxious Connie obeyed, trying to resist the temptation to run along this dark, deserted alley. But then she rounded a corner and saw, with relief, light and noise and traffic ahead. The Via dei Pellegrini.

  The lawyer’s offices were situated over two floors above a bank, just off the main shopping street. Eduardo Pozzi, straight out of Italian Vogue, Armani-suited and immaculately groomed, ushered her into a large book-lined office, having first ordered his secretary to bring them coffees, pronto. He was tall for a Neapolitan, had a hooked nose, and looked to be in his mid-forties.

  ‘Allora, Mrs McColl!’ he said, as they sipped their espressos. ‘We meet at last! But first, I must see your documentation.’

  Connie handed over the marriage certificate, plus copies of local records, her father’s birth certificate and her own birth certificate. He studied them carefully for several minutes.

  ‘I will need some time to verify these and check them against our records,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you can come here again tomorrow?’

  ‘Tomorrow!’ Connie exclaimed. ‘Can’t you tell me anything today?’

  Eduardo Pozzi shook his head sadly. ‘Everything in the legal world takes time, Mrs McColl. Particularly in Italy. But, if you can be here at three o’clock tomorrow afternoon, I should be able to answer some of your questions.’

  He’s had my money for over a week now, Connie thought. Surely he must already have checked his records? And then she began to worry about handing over her precious documents.

  ‘You are not happy?’ he asked. As if sensing her doubts he added, ‘Let me photocopy your documents so that you can keep them with you. Please don’t worry!’

  With some relief Connie watched him set off in search of a photocopier. Five minutes later, feeling somewhat deflated but at least in possession of her documents, she was shepherded down to street level and given detailed instructions on how to get back to the station.

  The route was much more straightforward than the one she’d chosen to get there, and Connie was relieved to find not only the station but also Maggie, already seated outside the small bar opposite drinking coffee.

  She looked up as Connie approached. ‘How did it go? And where are all these cousins of yours?’

  Connie sat down with a sigh. ‘I’ve to come back tomorrow. Apparently he needs time to check this and that.’

  ‘Surely he’s had time already?’ Maggie asked, signalling the waiter. ‘You want coffee or something stronger?’

  ‘Coffee’s fine,’ said Connie, and proceeded to tell Maggie about her meeting with Eduardo Pozzi. ‘Anyway, what did you get up to?’

  ‘Oh, I just had a stroll around,’ Maggie said. ‘But I’d like to come back tomorrow as well.’

  ‘You would?’ Connie stared at her friend. ‘What, to look at the shops or something?’

  ‘Or something,’ Maggie replied with a grin.

  * * *

  Connie continued to be mystified by Maggie’s eagerness to return to the city. But Maggie was saying nothing other than she found the dock area interesting. And the following afternoon, as they sat together again in the train, they chatted about everything and nothing, other than what Maggie was going to be doing. They agreed to meet at the bar opposite the station again later before setting off in different directions.

  This time Connie found the lawyer’s offices without any trouble and was welcomed again by a dapper Eduardo Pozzi in yet another designer suit. That’s where my money goes, Connie thought wryly. And again he organised coffee and asked about her health, her family, her sightseeing and how she was coping with the extreme heat.

  ‘Signor Pozzi…’ Connie began.

  ‘Oh, call me Eduardo, please!’

  ‘Have you found out anything at all?’

  ‘Well,’ he said, gazing out of the window. ‘I have some good news and some bad news.’

  ‘Can I have the bad news first?’ Connie asked tentatively.

  He studied her over the top of his glasses for a moment. ‘Well, the bad news is that I cannot find a single Martilucci to whom you might be related. Not one.’

  Connie felt her spirits plunge. She had so hoped to find someone, however distantly related.

  ‘It seems,’ he continued, ‘that they were a very small family. We have practised law here for two hundred years and, in the late 1880s, we handled the affairs of one Marcello Martilucci who had a ristorante here at the docks. He came from Amalfi, he was married there and he had his children there, before he came to Napoli. There was one son and one daughter, but the son, Gino, died of tuberculosis in 1887.’ He spoke perfect English.

  ‘And the daughter?’

  ‘The daughter, who was called Maria, worked in the
ristorante, but all reference to her seems to have disappeared from the turn of the century.’

  ‘I think my grandfather was in the merchant navy at that time,’ Connie said, ‘so I’m guessing that he met her here in Naples.’

  ‘Most probably. And, if so, then it is likely that her parents would have disapproved. They would not want their daughter to be taken away from them.’

  ‘Particularly as they’d lost a son,’ Connie said with feeling.

  ‘Exactly! And is it likely your grandfather would have been a Catholic?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Connie replied.

  ‘So, another reason why the parents might not approve. But’ – he shrugged and smiled – ‘she was Italian, she was in love, and so she went to England to be with him.’

  Connie sighed. ‘Poor Maria! And the poor parents too, to have virtually lost both their children. I don’t suppose they ever saw Maria again.’

  ‘Probably not. Travelling was a slow and expensive business back then and the Martiluccis were not rich people.’

  ‘So it looks as if my father was the only grandson, and only survivor of that family.’

  ‘Correct. I will have my staff double-check all the records to make quite sure.’

  ‘Oh, please don’t go to any trouble,’ Connie said, feeling utterly deflated. ‘I realise now that there’s probably little chance of finding any relatives.’

  ‘Would you like the good news now?’ He drained his espresso.

  ‘There’s good news?’

  Signor Pozzi smiled again. He had beautiful teeth. ‘Well, the good news is that there is a property involved – their property, near Amalfi. Perhaps they went back there sometimes, who knows? But no one has ever claimed the place.’

  ‘What sort of property?’ Connie could feel a little excitement fizzing its way up through her disappointment.

  ‘Probably around three thousand square metres. And there’s a pile of stones where the house used to stand. But the view is wonderful! Meraviglioso!’

  ‘Could I see it?’ Connie asked.

  ‘Yes, of course. But I must emphasise that there is some legal work to be done before I can confirm that it might be truly yours, although I cannot see too many problems.’

  ‘This is incredible!’ Connie wondered for a moment if she was in shock. ‘I can’t believe that nobody has claimed it over all these years.’

  Signor Pozzi sighed. ‘I can tell you now that, in all of Italy, there are countless unclaimed pieces of land. Italians have always emigrated – all over the world, to North America, South America, Australia, everywhere! And they have left behind land, and houses, with no one to claim them. The house has fallen down, the land is overgrown, and local farmers have let their sheep and goats graze there for years. Because it belongs to no one. Yet.’

  * * *

  ‘How did it go?’ Maggie asked, as she and Connie met in the bar opposite the station.

  ‘It was a tad complicated,’ Connie said. ‘Some good news, some bad news.’

  ‘Well, don’t tell me till we’ve ordered a drink. I’m parched! Are we ever going to feel cool again?’ Maggie gasped as she collapsed against the back of the metal chair.

  ‘England awaits,’ Connie reminded her as they ordered beers.

  ‘Right, let’s hear about these relatives then.’

  ‘Disappointing news,’ Connie replied.

  ‘What, they all went to Newcastle with your granny? And are dishing out ice cream to this very day?’

  Connie laughed. ‘No such luck.’

  ‘They’re all Mafioso then?’

  ‘No, they just don’t exist. Maria’s brother died when he was young and her parents didn’t appear to have any siblings.’

  ‘But that’s ridiculous! Italians had huge families in those days, Connie!’

  ‘Well, the Martiluccis didn’t.’

  Maggie thought for a moment. ‘And you’re sure this lawyer’s on the level?’

  Connie nodded. ‘Yes, I think he is.’ She was feeling incredibly sad. She’d told herself all along there was very little chance of finding anyone but, now that this had turned out to be the case, the finality of it was quite devastating. There was an echo of losing family all over again. ‘I would so like to have found somebody.’

  ‘So you’ve come all this way for nothing?’

  ‘Not exactly, Maggie. I just might have somewhere to park Bella for free.’

  Maggie looked mystified.

  ‘It seems there’s some unclaimed family property,’ Connie continued. ‘A plot of land with the ruins of a house, halfway up a hillside. Near Amalfi. Great sea views apparently.’

  ‘My God, that’s fantastic!’ Maggie raised her glass. ‘Hey, I’m sitting with a landowner! When will you see it? What will you do with it? Oh, Connie…!’

  Connie laughed and took a gulp of her beer. ‘I don’t know anything yet. And I don’t want to get too excited until all the legal stuff is sorted out. The lawyer reckons there should be no complications but reminded me that there’s lots of bureaucracy in Italy and nothing gets done in a hurry.’

  ‘Oh wow, Connie! I’m so pleased for you! You’ve come all this way to find the pot at the end of the rainbow!’

  Connie laughed. ‘Well, I hadn’t thought of it like that!’

  ‘And you deserve it. You’ve had some rough deals, and this looks like great news. Do you have any details about the place?’

  ‘Only that it’s completely overgrown and the house, like I said, is a pile of stones. Seems funny when you think of all these buildings surviving for thousands of years, and my great-grandparents’ house hasn’t lasted two hundred years.’ Connie consulted a scrap of paper. ‘Apparently there’s about three thousand square metres.’

  ‘Gosh, Connie, that’s more than half an acre!’

  ‘Is it? I’m hopeless at maths.’

  ‘You could build the house again and forget about buying a home in England.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know that I’d want to do that. But I really have no idea, Maggie. I haven’t got my head around this yet.’ Connie wondered if this might change her life, or would it simply be a possible holiday escape for her and the children? ‘Anyway, what about you? Did you explore?’

  Maggie drained her beer. ‘Yes, the dock area here is fascinating. Some weirdos hanging around, mind you, but I just walked quickly and avoided eye contact. Like being on the Tube!’ She glanced at Connie. ‘I may even come back again.’

  ‘What, just to see the docks? If you fancied the shops I’d come with you.’

  ‘No, I really fancy the docks,’ Maggie replied. ‘Now, shall we be on our way?’

  Twenty-Six

  JOURNEY’S END

  When they got back to Bella, they found Alfonso making himself a coffee while Toto ran round excitedly and Gill packed.

  ‘This could take some time,’ Connie informed him. ‘Gill isn’t known for travelling light.’

  Alfonso had flown down to Naples with Toto and hired a car from the airport, with which to transport Gill to their love nest in Positano.

  ‘The thing is,’ Gill called out, ‘the hotel won’t take Toto. Sorry and all that, but could you have him here, please? Just for a few days? He seems to be house-trained too, so he must have belonged to somebody once.’

  ‘He very good dog,’ Alfonso confirmed.

  ‘Oh my God,’ said Maggie, ‘we need a dog here like a hole in the head!’

  ‘We could probably manage,’ Connie said, stroking Toto’s head.

  Maggie sighed. ‘Well, he’ll be all yours!’ she told Connie.

  Then Connie told Alfonso about her visit to Naples.

  ‘Is wonderful!’ he exclaimed. ‘When you find where is this place, I shall drive you there.’

  ‘Grazie mille, Alfonso! I have some directions written down, so maybe in a couple of days…? Signor Pozzi has said that it may take some months to get any sort of legal certificate of ownership, or deeds, or whatever they call them here.’


  ‘Maybe years,’ Alfonso said cheerfully. ‘But, non importa! It give you time to decide what to do.’

  At this point Gill appeared dragging two enormous bags.

  Alfonso looked at her and then at the bags. ‘Cara, I only here for five days!’

  ‘Yes, well,’ said Gill. ‘Anyway, what’s all this about a house or something?’

  * * *

  The following morning Connie and Maggie – and Toto – headed for Pompeii. A welcome breeze had sprung up which made exploring the ancient ruins much more enjoyable.

  At first, both were silent as they absorbed the magnitude of the disaster and tried to imagine the horror felt by the residents, knowing there was no escape from the deluge of ash and pumice descending upon them back in ad 79. They marvelled at the amphitheatre, the Temple of Jupiter and the House of the Tragic Poet, with its elaborate mosaic floors and frescoes.

  But it was among the humbler streets that they could better imagine how it might have felt that fateful day.

  ‘These were ordinary folk, just like us,’ said Maggie.

  ‘With young families,’ Connie added. ‘And dogs.’ She kept Toto on a tight lead, having carried him in as surreptitiously as she could, unsure of whether dogs were permitted entry or not. She also carried some plastic bags as she wasn’t too sure of his toilet habits.

  Maggie was wandering round what must once have been a living room. ‘At least it would have been quick.’

  ‘Yes,’ Connie agreed. ‘Doing the washing-up one minute, solidified forever the next.’

  Maggie grinned. ‘And just think of all those goings-on in the bedrooms! I bet you’d never have thought, as you were banging away, that you’d end up as a museum piece!’

  * * *

  Connie, with Toto on her knee, and Maggie were on the bus the following day, heading for Positano to meet up with Gill and Alfonso. Connie double-checked to make sure that she still had the precious piece of paper, with directions from Amalfi to the property, in her purse.