Laura's Locket

by Tima Maria Lacoba

  LAURA’S LOCKET

  I opened the train window and the cool air rushed in. Although it was January, I wanted to breathe in the wintery air. The wind bit my face and made my cheeks tingle. It was refreshing after sitting for an hour in an overheated train compartment. I’d already taken off my coat, scarf and woollen cap, and my angora jumper was scrunched up on the seat.

  In the distance, the Mediterranean Sea sparkled in the late afternoon sunshine as our train snaked around the narrow precipice of the southern Italian coastline. Jagged cliffs dropped away inches from the iron tracks that barely clung to the rocky earth.

  ‘Sorrento, next stop!’ I said with a smile, then left the window and pulled my bag down from the overhead shelves.

  My two best friends, Beth and Angie, also hopped up from their seats to lift their bags down. We’d known each other since seventh grade, and there was rarely a weekend the three of us didn’t have a sleepover at one of our homes. At school we’d been nicknamed “The Three Amigos.”

  And this was our very first trip overseas. I couldn’t wait to start our Amalfi holiday.

  We linked arms, jumped up and down on the spot and squealed. All through our senior year we’d planned this trip to celebrate the end of high school, worked at part time jobs and saved as much as we could. Our parents made up the shortfall, as did my aunt Judy, Dad’s sister. She chose our hotels and even paid for mine.

  I glanced out the window just as we passed a secluded cove and the gentle undulations of an inflated palm tree close to the shoreline caught my eye.

  ‘Look at this. An artificial tropical island!’ I said and pointed. ‘Must be anchored to a rock below the waves or something.’

  Beth and Angie squeezed in next to me and stuck their heads out the window.

  ‘A fake palm tree. That’s classic!’ Beth said while clawing away tendrils of her long, black hair the wind had whipped around her face.

  Beth’s family had migrated from Mumbai when she was three, and their house was only a street away from mine in Earlwood. Her dark exotic looks were in stark contrast to my coppery locks and lavender-coloured eyes. I envied her being able to stay out in the strong Australian sun, whereas my pale skin turned pink within five minutes.

  ‘Does it belong to a resort or something?’ she added. ‘Wonder if there’re more?’ Her ebony eyes scanned the coastline ahead.

  It seemed so out of place. The beach was empty: no deck chairs, umbrellas or the usual summer paraphernalia. But then, it was January, and all the resorts were closed. Perhaps this was one thing they’d forgotten to pack away for the winter.

  ‘You know, Laura, I’m still surprised your parents let you go. They’ve got to be the most over-protective people I’ve ever met,’ Angie said, a thick, faux fur hat tucked so low over her curly brown hair I could barely see her eyes.

  Even before we had purchased our airline tickets, Angie had splashed out on the latest winter fashions. That the hat was too big for her didn’t matter—it was “in!” Masking her eyes as it did, I worried she could trip and hurt herself.

  ‘Well, it’s only-child syndrome, so I can kind of understand,’ I added quietly. It had taken a lot of persuading on my part. I’d asked my aunt Judy to talk to them too. She and Dad were close, although I knew she wasn’t keen on my trip either. ‘But Angie and Beth’ll be with me. I’m not going alone,’ I’d told her. ‘You know them. Pleeease?’ It worked.

  ‘That’s cos you look so young. No one’d guess you’re an adult. I reckon you’ll have to pull out your passport every time you order a drink,’ Angie said as she pushed the hat back off her brow for the umpteenth time.

  I stuck my tongue out at her and she laughed. So did I.

  ‘They’re probably worried you’ll meet some foreign guy and won’t want to come home,’ Beth said.

  I shook my head. ‘No way!’ I had no intention of doing anything of the sort, but the prospect of meeting a hot Italian guy was exciting. I was on holidays, so why not have a little romance? The problem is my handicap. It’s not a physical one, more like a weird genetic anomaly—I age slowly, very slowly. At eighteen, in the prime of life, I hadn’t got my period yet. And, I was still a virgin. How embarrassing!

  ‘We’re here!’ Angie squealed. The train rounded another bend and began to slow. She leant her head further out, gripping her oversized, fur hat. ‘It’s so pretty.’

  Clusters of red-roofed houses and three-to-four-storey buildings honeycombed the cliff side all the way to the sea. In the marina, only a few boats bobbed on the waves, large luxury yachts among them.

  Beth and I tried to see past Angie, but the wind stung my eyes. I flopped back into my seat and threw on my jumper. ‘C’mon you guys, we’ll be there any minute. Better get your stuff together.’

  ‘Should we get a taxi or walk to the hotel?’ Angie’s voice sounded muffled as she struggled into her shocking-pink anorak.

  ‘No way we’re going to lose you in a crowd wearing that thing,’ I teased.

  Angie laughed and dipped her knee in a mock curtsy. ‘No way, matey. Besides, it’s so this season.’

  I rolled my eyes, but I admired Angie’s love of bright colours and her ability to wear them with such unabashed confidence.

  ‘Laura, you’ve got the map.’ Beth took charge. ‘How far’s the hotel from the station?’ She checked her reflection in the aisle window and adjusted her beret.

  I retrieved the Lonely Planet Guidebook from my coat pocket. ‘Um… on here it looks really close; down the hill from the station. Fifteen to twenty minutes to the Piazza Tasso maybe?’

  ‘Okay, walk then?’ She turned to face us, eyebrows raised. We’d elected Beth as our unofficial leader, being the oldest. At nineteen she was already engaged to her long-time boyfriend, Ashley. She was even on the Pill.

  Angie looked at me and shrugged. ‘Sure. We’ve been sitting for ages.’

  She had a point. After the first twelve hours of the twenty-two hour flight from Sydney, the novelty had worn off and I couldn’t wait to land. At the Bangkok stopover, I practically ran from one end of the terminal to the other; not so much to catch our connecting flight, but for some exercise.

  The train stopped, and we followed the other passengers along the platform. Heads down, faces concealed in scarves and bundled up against the cold, they dispersed leaving us staring at a sparsely populated square—the Piazza Angelina Lauro.

  In less than fifteen minutes we stood before a set of tall, scrolled wrought-iron gates, behind which we glimpsed an imposing, terracotta-coloured building. The sign read: Grand Excelsior Vittoria Hotel.

  It would be our home for the next three days.

  * * *

  Several hours later, we’d unpacked, napped and now sought food. It was dark, but the piazza teemed with people, their faces illuminated by the decorative street lanterns that swayed in the evening breeze. It was magical. The only drawback was the local boys who whistled and followed us down the street as if they had nothing better to do.

  Angie and I giggled, but Beth shooed them away. I did my best to ignore them by looking in the shop windows, as we explored the old part of town, and putting my hands in my coat pockets when they tried to grab hold of them. My stomach grumbled in anticipation as the enticing aromas of cooked garlic and olive oil, interspersed with the sweet scent of lemoncello, wafted from each café and restaurant we passed.

  One of the boys, with enticing brown eyes and his dark hair curling over his collar, approached me, whispered something in Italian, and kissed me full on the mouth. I pushed him back.

  That’s when he appeared.

  Tall, commanding and with his straight blonde hair flowing over his shoulders, he seemed to materialise from nowhere.

  The boys backed off. T
he one who kissed me, turned and ran. The others followed.

  ‘They won’t bother you, now,’ said the man. His deep blue eyes transfixed me—I couldn’t look away. He gazed at me, as if waiting for a response, but I was speechless. It’s not everyday a girl comes face to face with such a beautiful man.

  Angie nudged me with her elbow.

  ‘Ah, thank you,’ I finally managed.

  ‘My pleasure!’ He smiled and my insides turned to jelly. When he lifted my hand to his lips I resisted the urge to sigh. It was such an old-fashioned, yet romantic gesture. No one had ever kissed my hand before. His gaze remained on my face, and even though people walked by, I barely noticed—there was only him.

  Beth coughed. ‘Okay, let’s get going. Time for dinner.’

  ‘I’d recommend that place over there.’ The man pointed to his left—La Dolce Vita. ‘I hear it’s good.’ His velvety voice had a slight accent, not Italian. French perhaps? ‘By the way, my name’s Philippe.’

  He is French!

  ‘I’m Laura and this is Beth and Angie,’ I indicated my friends.

  ‘Charmed.’ He inclined his head.

  ‘Would you like to join us?’ Angie asked. She looked at him eagerly from beneath the brim of her hat, hazel eyes sparkling.

  Please say, yes!

  He seemed about to answer, when his gaze slanted past, to somewhere behind us, and his brow creased in a frown. He hesitated before saying, ‘Regrettably, no. I’m… expected elsewhere. Please excuse me.’ With a final glance at me, Philippe disappeared into the crowd.

  The three of us stared after him. Angie let out a sigh. ‘First day in Europe and we meet the hottest of hotties!’ She then turned to me and slapped my arm. Her hat had slipped further down and now sat just above her nose, which was pink from the cold. ‘Why didn’t you ask him to stay? It was obvious he liked you!’

  ‘He was just being polite, and besides, I didn’t know what to say!’

  ‘Being polite? I don’t think so!’ She grinned. ‘He couldn’t get his eyes off you, Laura.’

  She and Beth exchanged glances. ‘Ooooh!’ They sing-songed.

  I rolled my eyes and started to walk in the direction of the restaurant Philippe suggested. But secretly, I was thrilled and hoped we’d bump into one another before the girls and I left Sorrento. Beth and Angie caught up with me and linked their arms through mine.

  ‘You know, that was a bit weird,’ Beth stated.

  ‘What was?’ I asked.

  ‘The way he shows up like some kind of white knight, rescues you from a bunch of silly boys, stares at you like he wants to eat you, and then disappears.’

  I laughed. ‘Eat me?’

  ‘Yeah, like this!’ Angie leapt in front of me, pushed her hat back off her face and gave me the smouldering-eyes look. ‘I will eat you, my little chicken!’ she said in a mock French accent.

  Beth burst out laughing. ‘Classic!’

  I pulled Angie’s hat back down onto her nose and laughed, too.

  ‘Did you see those guys’ faces?’ Beth said. ‘The way they backed away from him.’ She was always the thinker. ‘What if he’s mafia or something?’

  I hadn’t thought of that. Beth could be right. He had the air of authority, and his cashmere coat was well-cut; definitely designer wear. But then, many Italians were well dressed.

  We stopped in front of the restaurant and looked through the windows. The place was full.

  ‘He doesn’t have to be Mafia. What if he’s a cop?’ I suggested.

  Angie pushed open the glass doors. The delicious scent of garlic bread hit my nostrils and I forgot Philippe. This place was popular, and just as I thought we would have to go elsewhere, one table was vacated. We made a beeline for it. I chewed on a breadstick as we decided our order and absently glanced out the window—and almost choked.

  His face stared back at me!

  My heart leapt. I blinked and he was gone. I blinked again. Had I imagined it? Not likely. Maybe he changed his mind?

  The restaurant door opened and an elderly couple walked in. My heart dropped.

  Get a grip! It had only been a chance meeting. The probability of bumping into him again was so remote it didn’t bear thinking about. Yet, deep down, I hoped we would.

  * * *

  The next day we were on the train to Pompeii. It was the first item on our to-do list. Soon we were standing in the once-thriving hub of that dead city—the Forum—an ancient plaza that had hummed with people, now eerily silent as the shadow of Vesuvius fell over the ancient temple of Saturn.

  I stared up at it in horrified fascination.

  Being winter, few tourists were about. I tried to visualise the terrified chaos of the people who had once lived here. The preserved casts of children and even infants who had died that day two thousand years ago brought tears to my eyes.

  I thought of Naples where our plane had landed. It was situated at the base of the deadly mountain. ‘You know if Vesuvius ever erupts again, Naples will become the next Pompeii.’ I said.

  ‘Great!’ Beth glared up at the volcano. ‘Better not happen while we’re here.’

  ‘When was the last time it did?’ Angie asked.

  I flipped through the pages of our tour booklet. ‘1940s.’

  ‘Seriously? That’s not that long ago.’ She stuck her face right up against the glass barrier where a whole family group was preserved. When she drew away, an impression of her forehead and nose remained for a brief moment.

  ‘That’s so sad,’ I said. ‘Those poor people didn’t make it out.’

  ‘Gives me the creeps,’ Beth said, pulling her red coat tighter and buttoning it up. ‘Wanna leave for Positano tomorrow?’

  ‘No!’ I said too quickly. Philippe’s face appeared in my mind and I wondered where he was and what he was doing? If we left now, I might miss a chance meeting. My friends looked at me, then at each other and shrugged.

  That night, we dined again in the same restaurant. My eyes lingered on the window, but I didn’t see his face. Nor did I glimpse him in the streets. It began to rain, and as we ran through the hotel entrance, it was pelting down.

  * * *

  Tap! Tap! The sound woke me. Tap! I sat up, rubbed the sleep from my eyes and checked my watch. One a.m. The sound came from the direction of the glass balcony doors. The moon was full, and by its light I caught the glint of something hanging in the window. It appeared to be attached to a dark object stuck to the glass. The wind outside buffeted it against the pane. That’s what was making the tapping sound.

  My heart jumped into my throat. Was it a cat burglar?

  I pushed aside the feather quilt, threw on my dressing gown and padded to the balcony. I stood and debated whether to open the doors and retrieve the object.

  Tap! Tap!

  Curiosity won. I turned the handle, opened the door enough to retrieve the object, and quickly shut it again. I held a white card from which dangled a spiral seashell, on a silk ribbon. Its pearly surface caught the glint of moonlight.

  I switched on my bedside lamp.

  Laura,

  We met yesterday on the street and I would

  like to see you again.

  I’m downstairs in the lobby.

  Please come!

  Philippe

  My stomach clenched. How did he know where I was staying? Had he followed us? Maybe Beth was right, and he was in the mafia, or… or some kind of psycho.

  I groaned inwardly and sent up a silent prayer. Please, don’t let him be a stalker! Well, there was only one way to find out.

  I promised Mum and Dad, and my aunt, I wouldn’t go anywhere alone. Did the hotel foyer count? I’d still be in the same building, so technically I wouldn’t be on my own, and there were bound to be night staff around.

  I dressed in minutes, opened my bedroom door and crept out into the lounge. Beth’s door was slightly ajar as I tiptoed from the suite.

  Philippe stood facing me when the elevator doors opened. My breath caught in my t
hroat at the sight of him. His shoulder-length blonde hair was tied back with a black ribbon, and the black leather jacket emphasised his wide shoulders.

  He took my hand, kissed it and said, ‘Thank you for coming. I know it’s very late for you,’ as he led me into the grand lobby where soothing, romantic music was piped through the speakers. No one else was about except the night clerk at the reception desk, who glanced up briefly as we strolled past.

  C’mon, Laura, find your tongue! ‘Ah, don’t you sleep?’

  ‘I had… work to complete. Can I get you a drink?’ he asked, indicating a plush, brocaded seat for me.

  ‘No, thank you.’ My heart hammered in my chest, but I tried to appear calm. I smiled and kept my hands behind my back so he couldn’t see how nervous I was. ‘How did you know my hotel?’