A Postcard from Italy

by Alex Brown

  ‘Oooh! Have you snogged him then?’ Jamie asked, his voice full of glee.

  ‘Nooo. Of course I haven’t,’ Grace admonished.

  ‘Well, you could do worse. I heard he’s a bit of a catch, to put it in Betty’s words.’

  ‘What do you mean? When did you and Betty talk about Ellis?’

  ‘That time I was waiting for you, before we went over to Connie’s flat. Between me and you, I got the impression that she’s hoping cupid might make a little appearance while you two are in bella Italia,’ he said with a flourish.

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ she reacted.

  ‘Well, Betty said you and he would make such a lovely couple.’

  ‘But he has a girlfriend,’ she told him, wondering why Betty would say such a thing, or perhaps Jamie was embellishing the conversation with Betty; it wouldn’t be the first time he’d tried to engineer a hook-up. When she had first split up with Matthew, Jamie had tried to set up a blind date for her with one of the doctors at the hospital where he worked … and it had all been very awkward.

  ‘Really? Oh that’s a shame, Betty never mentioned it,’ Jamie said, sounding deflated. ‘Or maybe Betty doesn’t like the girlfriend? Yes, that could be it … perhaps the whole family hates her and this trip to Italy is a big plan to sideline her in favour of you. Oh Grace, wouldn’t that be amazing? You could live in LA or wherever it is he comes from. Of course, I’d have to join you, what with being your best friend and all,’ he laughed, seemingly having it all worked out.

  ‘New York. He lives in New York,’ Grace interjected, and then promptly followed up with, ‘but don’t get carried away. He’s getting engaged. And anyway, there’s absolutely nothing going on between Ellis and me.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes I’m sure. But …’ Grace stopped talking.

  ‘I knew it. Something has happened hasn’t it?’

  ‘No. Well, yes, he’s been a bit flirty … I think.’

  ‘What do you mean “you think”? Either he is or he isn’t, what’s he done?’ And Grace told him about what happened at the airport and on the train and then tonight, how attentive he was, the compliments and then the arm looping thing and touching her hair. Silence followed. Then, ‘He fancies the pants off you! A man doesn’t say or do stuff like that unless he wants you. And that’s the top and bottom of it!’ Jamie declared.

  ‘Must you be so dramatic?’ she whispered. ‘What if I’m just being desperate?’

  ‘What do you mean, desperate?’ he puffed, as if the very notion was preposterous.

  ‘You know, imagining it all. It’s been a while. Maybe I’m out of touch and he’s just being friendly, a shoulder to cry on as it were …’

  ‘Oh, Grace, please tell me you didn’t cry on him? I want you to be having the time of your life, not feeling sad.’

  ‘No, not literally crying, as in crying actual tears. I just talked about Cora, what it’s really like looking after her. You know, how cruel she can be. And how indifferent the others are about it all.’

  ‘Ah, well that’s OK. Not that it’s OK what Cora says, and I will have a word with her before you get back. But it’s OK that you feel relaxed enough with Ellis to talk to him. I’m liking the sound of him already.’

  ‘But what if I’m letting my neediness and loneliness or whatever you want to call it get in the way of proper, rational thought. It could just be wishful thinking, that someone like Ellis would fancy me. It’s not like real life here. It’s a bit like being in a dream, in fact …’

  ‘OK, Grace, listen to me. Firstly you are not desperate. You are bloody gorgeous. You are bright, caring and kind,’ he said, echoing Ellis’s words from earlier in the restaurant. ‘Plus, you can knit the longest scarves in the entire universe.’

  ‘Oi, I thought you liked my scarves,’ she laughed.

  ‘I do, but they are a bit long, to be fair.’

  ‘OK. Maybe I do get carried away, but there isn’t much else to do when you’re sitting up all night on watch duty with a bedbound mother.’

  ‘Well, you’ll be able to knock that on the head when you get home and get a proper night’s sleep, as madam does not need her lamp turning on every five minutes! Anyway, getting back to the flirtation theory: he looped your arm through his, remember, you didn’t run after him all whiny-like and pleading, “Please Ellis, please, please, please flirt with me because I’m just sooo needy” …’

  ‘Ha-ha, you know what I mean, Jamie.’

  ‘No, I don’t. Tell me,’ he said, annoyingly.

  ‘Well, it’s been a while, since, well, since I first dated Matthew, so what if I’m reading it all wrong and Ellis isn’t being flirty at all? Just friendly. I know how casual it can all be these days, what with “swiping right” to hook up for sex.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be daft, Grace. You don’t just stop knowing if someone is flirting with you. Trust me, he is flirting.’

  ‘But he has a girlfriend, remember!’ Grace whisper-yelled right into the phone.

  ‘And? You don’t know her. And she’s not there. So what happens in Italy stays in Italy.’

  ‘Stop it. I couldn’t do that to another woman. It’s not right. You’re terrible.’

  ‘Am I? Or are you just virtue-signalling?’

  ‘Virtue-what?’ she asked, baffled.

  ‘Oh never mind,’ Jamie said, letting out a long puff of air. ‘Grace, you don’t know Jennifer, you don’t owe her anything.’

  ‘Oh, come on, what about the girl code? You know how destroyed I was when I caught Matthew—’

  ‘Forget about Matthew. And forget about that awful one with the horse teeth—’

  ‘Horse teeth?’ Grace quickly interjected.

  ‘Yes, that yoga one with the great big galloping horse teeth. Honestly, Grace, I don’t know why you have her on a pedestal the way you do – she really isn’t much of a looker. Not that it’s all about looks, but you know what I mean. You are a million times more beautiful than she is. Inside and out.’ Silence followed. ‘And no, I’m not just saying that because you’re my best friend. I’m saying it because it’s true. And can I tell you something else too while I’m at it?’

  ‘Why not? Seeing as you’re on a roll,’ she quipped, bracing herself for what was about to come.

  ‘Good. Can you tell that I’m feeling brave with you hundreds of miles away and not next door like you usually are?’ And he paused to take a deep breath before launching back in with, ‘If you stopped using what happened to detach yourself from life – yes, it was disgusting and shitty and heartbreaking what Matthew did – but nobody died and now you have to let it go. Move on already, Grace.’

  ‘You know, I had already come to that conclusion,’ she jumped in.

  ‘Excellent. So we are on the same page. You can do this, Grace. You can get your life back and move on. You always could. Look at you now. In gorgeous Italy. And you travelled there all by yourself by putting one foot in front of the other without counting a single step, I trust?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Well, there you go. You are strong, Grace. Now, get your backside out there, darling, and live your best life!’

  ‘And that told me,’ Grace thought as she ended the call …

  The next day, Grace felt remarkably renewed and full of vigour after possibly the best night’s sleep ever. And it was absolute bliss not having to get up in the night to see to Cora every twenty minutes. Long may it continue when she returned home. Having had the foresight to pack her trainers, Grace had actually gone for a run, something she hadn’t felt like doing, or indeed had the energy for, in ages. She had run all along the Santa Margherita promenade as the sun had been peeping over the tips of the lush green, pine-tree-clad cliffs, and it had been amazing, making her feel joyous and euphoric and like absolutely everything was possible. She knew it sounded cheesy, but she really did feel brand new, and that she could be whoever she wanted to be here in Italy where nobody, apart from Ellis, knew her or anything about her. I
f there was a way to bottle the feeling so she could keep hold of it when she got back to London, then she was determined to find the recipe for what felt like a magic potion.

  After the run she had gone back to the hotel to shower and meet Ellis, and so it was now almost midday by the time they had hiked all the way up the tiny, winding mountain roads to reach Via Arancia. They had thought it would be a nice way to see more of Santa Margherita and of course the breathtaking view of the Riviera, away from the promenade and the tourists, but they hadn’t anticipated quite how far it would be. And Grace now wished that she had eaten more for breakfast. Even though it was delicious – hot coffee with a big bag of cornetti which they had torn apart and eaten slathered with deliciously salty butter and locally made peach jam that she had bought to share with Ellis from a little bakery she’d discovered near the harbour. They had sat on the balcony of their adjoining bedrooms and gazed wistfully at the tranquil vista, content in each other’s company. Ellis had asked if she was OK after their heart-to-heart last night and she had told him yes, and that he had helped her far more than he would ever know.

  ‘Look, there’s a single-track road over there,’ Ellis said, pointing behind a tree to an opening. They could see a small field with what looked like an abandoned white stone hut in one corner surrounded by long grass.

  ‘Shall we take a look?’ Grace asked, flapping the hem of her T-shirt around in a desperate attempt to create a breeze, for it was roasting hot up in the mountains, especially in the clearing without the shade from the pine trees.

  ‘Sure,’ Ellis said, walking on, and then, ‘Grace, come and take a look at this,’ he added, excitedly, over his shoulder, ‘I think I can see the powder pink villa up ahead.’

  They walked on side by side for a little while longer until they came to another clearing with another abandoned white stone hut in a field, this time with goats mooching around in the grass, the brass bells on collars around their necks jingling merrily.

  And then it appeared in full splendour.

  The powder pink villa where Connie had actually lived.

  It had to be. And it was absolutely glorious.

  Between the pine trees on the far side of the field, Grace could see a magnificent three-storey villa accessed by a long path and surrounded by citrus trees. The orange and lemon scents were intoxicating in the heat. Chalky pale pink render with stunning archways led on to terracotta-tiled verandas swathed in pink bougainvillea.

  ‘Wow. Who lives in a place like this now?’ Grace pondered, imagining a movie star, or a singer perhaps, for it was truly impressive and would most likely take a whole team of people to maintain it. She wondered if they would mind them taking a look inside, as she’d really love to see where Connie had actually lived and where she might have written the diaries that Grace was still reading through.

  Lifting a hand to shield her eyes from the dazzling sun, Grace gazed at the breathtaking view all around her: sea water glittering below, a majestic cruise liner on the horizon, a cloudless blue sky above. Rows of higgledy-piggledy sun-bleached painted pink, white, blue and green houses hugging the mountainsides, their shutters thrown open wide. And people on scooters zipping along the narrow, bendy roads. She could hear cicadas singing in the trees and in the moment it felt, and looked to Grace, like a perfect paradise.

  Closing her eyes momentarily, she drew in a big lungful of the deliciously fragranced citrusy and pine-laden air and focused on taking a snapshot of the scene to have permanently etched in her mind’s eye. And to think that Connie would have seen this exact view too. In fact, she most likely stood in the very spot that Grace was in now, as they were on the only road that led right up to the powder pink villa.

  ‘Come on, let’s go and find out,’ Ellis said, spontaneously grabbing her hand and practically running her all the way to the gates at the entrance to the long path. On a pillar to the right-hand side was an intercom pad. He pressed the buzzer. No answer. Grace gave it another press, but still no answer.

  ‘What now?’ she said, her heart sinking with disappointment as she looked again at the gate. It was securely locked and padlocked. As she was pondering all the options, a black cat with white splodges on its face came sauntering towards them.

  ‘We climb over?’ Ellis suggested, pulling his wallet and mobile phone from his pockets and handing them to her. ‘In case they fall out,’ he shrugged by way of explanation. ‘I’ll go first and then you can come over and join me.’

  ‘What?’ Grace exclaimed, aghast. ‘You’re not serious, are you? We can’t just break in to Connie’s house. We don’t even know for certain it’s the right villa – I can’t see the Casa di Donato name plaque anywhere, can you?’ she said, stalling for time as she racked her brain to try and come up with a less risky option.

  ‘No, but it has to be. The guy in the hotel told you so; he even said Mr Donato lived here. Come on, it’ll be fine. There’s nobody in there, you can see the shutters are all down on the windows. Maybe it’s a holiday home now …’

  ‘But it’s still wrong. What if there’s security inside? You know, guard dogs and such like. And look up there.’ She pointed to a CCTV camera at the top of the pillar. But before she could stop him, Ellis had stuck his foot on a groove in the ironwork of the gate and managed to pull himself up high enough to swing his other leg up and over the top. Within seconds he was jumping down onto the grass on the other side of the gate with a boyish grin on his face, his dark brown hair flopping into his eyes, and Grace couldn’t help but see a glimpse of a much younger man, the boy he’d once been, and it was appealing to see this fun, effervescent side of him. Even if he was scaring the hell out of her with his risk-taking. The cat, keen to see who the intruder was, came running towards Ellis, before brushing up against the side of his leg, then did a little spin as if trying to catch its tail like an excited dog.

  ‘See, the cat is pleased to see me. He doesn’t mind us being here at all,’ Ellis said, crouching down to stroke the cat’s head. ‘Ah, look, she’s called Gypsy,’ he added, taking a look at her pink velvet collar. ‘Come on,’ he encouraged, pushing his hand through the railings. ‘Put my phone and wallet through and then pass me your bag. I can probably cup both hands together around one of the railings if you want a leg up.’

  ‘I can’t climb over!’ Grace said, horrified, scanning the wrought-iron gate that was at least ten foot high as she tried to ignore the rivulet of sweat that was snaking a path all the way down her back. She felt panicky all of a sudden, even though she was absolutely desperate to see inside Connie’s gorgeous villa. But what if they got caught? What if the police arrived and they were carted off to an Italian jail? She knew Jamie had said for to live her best life, be more adventurous and all that, but getting herself arrested in a foreign country was surely a step too far. It was insane.

  ‘Why don’t we just come back later and see if there is somebody in then?’ she proposed. ‘Or we could look for other houses nearby … stick to the plan to talk to the neighbours. That’s what we said.’

  ‘But there aren’t any neighbours, Grace. We’ve trekked for half a day and Connie’s villa is the only one for miles around. Giovanni di Donato certainly was a recluse! We don’t have to go inside … I’m not suggesting we actually break in,’ he grinned mischievously, scooping Gypsy up into his arms.

  ‘Well, that’s good,’ she replied, looking all around in a desperate attempt to see if anyone was coming to catch them. The CCTV camera could be linked to the nearest police station for all they knew, and the carabinieri could be on their way. Oh God. Why does he have to be so presumptuous and forward?

  Grace was racking her brains trying to decide what to do, looking at Ellis’s pleading, puppy-like toffee-brown eyes and adorable but wholly inappropriate grin, when she heard a sound on the path behind her. Footsteps. Running. A man’s voice yelling something in Italian, and then:

  ‘Hey. What’s going on?’ the voice added in perfect English with a hint of an Italian accent. Grace s
wivelled around to see a tall, dark and extremely good-looking man running towards her with an attractive woman wearing a floaty kaftan over a leopard-print swimsuit dashing along after him.

  ‘Tom. Be careful,’ the woman yelled, pushing her shoulder-length brunette bobbed hair behind her ears. ‘They might be armed.’

  ‘Georgie, stay back. I’ll deal with this,’ the guy said urgently, pushing the sleeves of his crisp white shirt up, as if contemplating a dual or something. With his black curly hair, model looks and passionate aura, Grace thought he looked like a young Gregory Peck, or Elvis or Cary Grant, or a combination of all the sexy Hollywood heartthrobs that she enjoyed admiring in her favourite films.

  ‘But he’s got hold of Gypsy,’ the woman stated, striding right up to the gate and elbowing Tom out of the way, then turning to Ellis she pushed up her shades, looked him directly in the eyes and said, ‘Do you speak English?’

  ‘Sure do, ma’am,’ Ellis said casually, giving Gypsy another stroke and making Grace gulp. People were passionate about pets and so she wished Ellis would just put the cat back down on the ground, because who knew what this woman was going to do if he didn’t. She looked fierce, with her hands planted firmly on her hips, blue eyes blazing and her nostrils flaring, and Grace secretly felt a little bit in awe of her fearless boldness.

  ‘Good. Then step away from my cat right away, or I’ll …’ She paused as if deciding on the appropriate repercussion for Ellis if he didn’t do as she’d instructed, ‘I’ll get over that gate and take her right off you and then you will be extremely sorry. What are you, American?’ she demanded in a deadly voice.

  ‘Yep,’ Ellis replied, his face a mixture of apprehension and amusement.

  ‘Well, I can tell you that I have stood up to far bigger Americans than you before,’ she started, pointing a pretty sparkly gold-painted fingertip in Ellis’s direction. Grace surreptitiously inspected her own raggedy nails and made a mental note to venture to a salon some time soon as part of her rejuvenation plan. ‘Oh yes, a ginormous pretend cowboy at JFK airport! And he had a clenched fist this close to my face too!’ And she lifted a balled hand up to her own face to demonstrate the proximity. ‘After I messed up all his travel documents.’