‘I was terrified, Candice.’ I point across the bay. ‘We were standing on the edge of that cliff. Nico wanted the sea in the background and thought it would make a dramatic photo.’ I shudder as I remember my genuine fear, and how he seemed to find it funny.
She passes the photo back. ‘What colour was your dress?’
‘Sage green, and the hat was a sort of mossy green. The fur cape was a golden sable. It was beautiful, much silkier than mink. It belonged to Lena’s mother way back when.’
I tuck the photo into the side pocket of my bag, next to the other one. One that was taken some years later in exactly the same spot. But this time there’s just me. Me and a crude wooden cross.
45
Candice picked up her phone and took yet another picture of the sparkling bay beneath. They were sitting on the balcony, Jenny swaddled in one of the hotel’s thick dressing gowns, her feet tucked into complimentary slippers.
‘I feel like I’m in heaven,’ sighed Candice. ‘I’ve never been to a more beautiful place. And have you seen all them little toiletries in the bathroom? There’s shampoo, conditioner, bath salts and even a teeny-tiny sewing kit.’
‘You can take them home if you want, love.’
‘Really? And the dressing gown and slippers too?’
Jenny laughed. ‘Absolutely not.’ She paused as Candice stared at her phone. ‘Have you rung him yet?’
‘No, I can’t bear to spoil the mood. We’ve exchanged messages and I’ve kept it breezy, but I can’t speak to him just yet. I’ve got the upper hand for once.’
‘What time is it now, Candice?’
‘Half past seven.’
‘You’d better get your skates on then, love. Stefano’s coming to take you for a drink down on the harbour. He’ll be here at eight.’
Candice scrambled to her feet. ‘What? How do you mean, a drink?’
‘I’m not sure what’s so hard to understand. I need an early night. It’s been a long day. Now off you pop and get yourself ready.’
The cool shower felt good on her hot skin as she washed away all the grime that seemed to accumulate when travelling. She deliberated for far longer than she should about what to wear, eventually settling on a beige wrap-around dress decorated with navy polka dots. Whilst nowhere near the glossy length it once was, her hair had grown enough to accommodate a curling iron. She fixed the subtle waves with hairspray and applied the bold red lipstick Beau had asked her to stop wearing because in his opinion it made her look like a tart. He’d thrown away all the colours he disapproved of, but this one had been nestling inside the lining of her handbag. She chalked up a victory to herself as she pouted in the mirror, then glanced at the screen as her phone lit up with the first few words of his message. Babe, where are u? I miss u. Please pick up. Her thumb hovered over it for a second before she tossed the phone into a drawer and headed down to reception.
Stefano was already there, sitting on a sofa with his legs crossed, one arm stretched across the back, the other pressing his phone to his ear. He’d changed into white chinos and a black polo shirt and, astonishingly, no socks, even though he was wearing brogues. It must be an Italian thing. He waved as he saw her approach, then spoke into his phone. ‘Devo andare. Ciao.’
He greeted her with a polite handshake, then stepped back holding his arms out wide. ‘Bellissima.’
She caught the aromatic scent of his cologne, light and citrusy, like the mandarins she usually only associated with Christmas.
‘Come, come,’ he continued. ‘Your grandmother insist I take you for a cocktail and we can watch the sunset.’
‘Oh . . . um . . . Jenny’s not my grandmother. She’s my . . . well, she’s a friend, and I’m really sorry she’s so pushy. Honestly, it’s fine, I’m sure you’ve got better things to do.’
‘Well, she’s paying for my time.’ He placed his hand in the small of her back and indicated the door. ‘But this one is, how you say? On the house.’
The sky had taken on a burnt orange hue as the sun dipped towards the sea, growing bigger and redder by the minute. Stefano secured them a table outside, overlooking the harbour, and held up his hand to a waiter. ‘Due Negroni, per favore.’
He turned to Candice. ‘Forgive me if I order for you, but you have to try a Negroni.’ He kissed his fingers. ‘It is just about the most perfect cocktail. It is the colour of the sunset itself. You will love it.’
The waiter returned a few moments later with their drinks. Candice prodded at the slice of orange with her straw. ‘What’s in it?’
‘Gin, Campari and sweet vermouth.’ Stefano held his glass to hers. ‘Salute.’
‘Salute,’ she parroted. ‘Cheers.’
She took a sip, feeling the hit of the alcohol instantly. ‘Whoa. I’ll be rockin’ by the time I’ve finished this.’
His jaw was shadowed by stubble and his eyes were hidden behind Ray-Ban Aviators in which she could see her own reflection.
‘Do you live here then, Stefano?’
He flicked his head towards the steep road leading out of the village. ‘Sì, up there on the right. I have my own business. Private hire, limos for weddings, that sort of thing. It’s good.’ He took another gulp of his drink, nodding towards the sun, only the top hemisphere now visible as it slid into the sea. ‘And you can never tire of that view.’
Candice agreed. ‘It really is amazing.’
‘It’s a simple life, but I love it. I work in Milano once and it was . . .’ he shook his head, looking down at the table, ‘it was too . . . I mean, the people, they were too busy rushing around. Nobody had the time to say hello, and I like to ease myself into my day, you know? Get up early, take a stroll, have a coffee. You can do that here. It’s nice.’
‘You sound like a middle-aged man,’ Candice giggled. ‘How old are you actually?’
‘Twenty-nine.’
‘A few years older than me, then.’ She changed the subject. ‘Jenny used to live here, you know.’
He sat up a little straighter and placed his elbows on the table. ‘Really?’
She could feel his breath on her face. ‘Yes, she married an Italian, came to live over here during the war. She really wanted to see it before . . . before she . . . um . . . well, you know.’
‘You said she’s here for the seventy-fifth anniversary of what happened.’
Candice nodded. ‘Yes, she hasn’t told me much about it, but she said it’s something she felt she had to do before she dies. She’s a hundred years old, you know.’
Stefano slumped back in his chair. ‘No, never. I don’t believe it.’
‘She looks good, doesn’t she? She’s amazing.’
Stefano picked up his phone and aimed it at the setting sun. He showed the photo to Candice. ‘I’ve taken this shot many times before, but it never disappoints.’
She looked at the photo showing her Negroni in the foreground, the thin dome of the orange sun behind and the sea reflecting the amber glow. ‘Stunning. Can you send it to me, please? I’ve not brought my phone out with me.’
‘Of course. What is your number?’
She reeled off the digits parrot-fashion. ‘I think you might need to drop the zero and put something else in front. I’m not sure.’
‘I know it,’ he said, punching the numbers into his phone. ‘All done.’ He held his empty glass aloft. ‘Now, are you ready for another?’
She fought to keep her hand steady as she tried to find the slot for the key card. It was gone eleven and Jenny would no doubt be fast asleep. The green light appeared and she heaved the door open, slipping straight into the bathroom. She regarded her face, flushed with alcohol, a smattering of newly appeared freckles across her nose. She changed into a hotel robe, crept into the bedroom past Jenny’s sleeping form and retrieved her phone from the drawer. Twenty-seven missed calls from Beau. She shoved the phone into her pocket and edged out onto the balcony. After the coolness of the air-conditioned room, the warm breeze was comforting. Bolstered by the drink, she r
ang him.
He picked up immediately. ‘Babe, where the fuck have you been? Why haven’t you returned my calls? I’m out of my mind here.’
She spoke coolly. ‘There was no need to worry. I texted you to say I’d arrived safely. That was all you needed you know.’
He was silent for a second. ‘What’s up, Candice? You sound weird.’
She leaned on the balcony railing. It was the moon’s turn to put on a celestial show, lighting up the sea with a band of ghostly silver. ‘I’ve been out for a drink, Beau. A cocktail, actually. It was lovely. Sooooo relaxing.’
‘Are you pissed, Candice?’
‘I might be,’ she giggled.
She could hear the breath coming out of his nose, like a bull about to charge. ‘So, you’ve been out on the lash whilst I’ve been sitting here worried sick?’
‘Worried that I might be having some fun without you, you mean?’
He ignored her remark. ‘I hope you’re not going over the top with your spending. I know what you’re like, Candice. Bloody clueless when it comes to money. I don’t think you should—’
‘Yeah, well I’m sick and tired of hearing what you think.’
She revelled in the shocked silence, fighting the urge to laugh even though the situation was far from amusing.
‘What did you just say?’
Even the menacing tone was not enough to dampen her spirits. ‘You heard me.’
‘Candice, babe.’ He gave a nervous laugh. ‘What’s got into you? I miss you so much and I don’t like it when you ignore me. It makes me feel—’
She cut him off. ‘I have a message for you.’
‘What message?’
‘What’re you doing on the twenty-fourth of May?’
‘How the hell do I know? What’re you on about?’
‘It’s your father’s funeral. Peter, isn’t it? And your mother – Marcia, I believe her name is – said she would really like you to be there. Text your brother for the details. His name’s Jay, by the way, but I expect you remember that.’
Without giving him a chance to respond, she ended the call, turned off the phone and shoved it into her pocket.
46
I feel thoroughly refreshed after a good night’s sleep. I didn’t even stir that much when Candice rolled in at God only knows what hour. I can see her now out on the balcony, her face tilted up to the sun as she inhales the invigorating sea air.
‘Candice, love. Are you ready to go?’
She acknowledges me with a wave and comes back into the bedroom. ‘I never want to leave this place, Jenny,’ she sighs, flopping onto the bed. ‘It’s just magical. A place where you can leave your cares behind and relish the tranquil beauty.’
I smile to myself, not sure why she’s suddenly talking like a travel agent. ‘Get my frame, would you? I’m going without the chair this morning. The sun’s put the marrow back in my bones and I’m not letting it go to waste.’
She links her arm through mine as we amble along the seafront. There’s no sandy beach here, just a smooth pebble one, and it’s all the better for it. Sandy beaches are overrated in my opinion. All that grit. It gets into crevices you didn’t know you had. This beach has pebbles of all shapes, sizes and colours; greys, browns, creams and pinks jumbled up into one glorious glossy mess. I have to take a deep swallow as I think of Eva and the pink marbled pebble she gave to me that day, all those years ago.
‘Are you all right, Jenny?’
Candice shakes me out of my reverie and I manage a bright reply. ‘Course, I am, love.’ I pat the back of her hand. ‘Never better.’
It only takes about fifteen minutes for us to shuffle along to our destination. I have to bite down on my lip as I stand and stare at the once-familiar building. The occupants may be different, but the tiny café still feels homely and welcoming, the smell of freshly baked focaccia wafting through from the kitchen. There are half a dozen tables outside, each with a red-checked tablecloth held in place by some ingenious clips. We used to have to weigh the tablecloths down with pebbles off the beach. I have to steel myself as the memories come unbidden, memories of devastation and . . . the screams. Oh God, those screams. I close my eyes, grip my frame and take a steadying breath. Fortunately Candice doesn’t seem to have noticed my distress.
‘This one?’ she asks, pointing to a table. ‘Or would you prefer the shade?’
I gather myself. ‘No, love, the sun’s fine.’ I pull my straw hat down to shield my eyes, but it’s so good to feel the warmth on my body. ‘Now, you have to try the focaccia, Candice. It’s a speciality of the village.’ I raise my hand to the young waitress and she approaches, pulling a pad out of her apron pocket. ‘Sì?’
‘Buongiorno. Potremmo avere due focaccia e due cappuccini per favore.’
Candice is staring at me open-mouthed, and I must admit I do feel a frisson of pride that I can remember some basic Italian, although in reality it’s schoolgirl level these days.
The waitress returns with our order, and the minute she places the hot focaccia on the table, I’m transported back, as though I’ve boarded a time machine. I look at the bread with its dimpled crust filled with tiny pools of olive oil and its covering of salt crystals. I could make this with my eyes closed back in the day.
Candice leans down and sniffs it. ‘Mmm, it smells delicious. My mouth’s actually watering.’
I tear off a piece and hold it over my cup. ‘It’s traditional to dunk it in your coffee first.’
Candice pulls a face. ‘Ew! That’s disgusting. A digestive biscuit I could just about handle, but dunking bread in your coffee?’ She shakes her head. ‘Not for me, thanks.’
‘Nor me.’ I laugh. ‘When in Rome and all that, but you have to draw the line somewhere.’
I tear off a small piece and pop it into my mouth, savouring the long-forgotten taste. ‘Did you have a nice time with Stefano?’ I ask as casually as I can manage. I’m sure she must think it’s all a set-up, but honestly, it’s not. I merely asked for a local driver-cum-guide who could speak excellent English and who could be on hand during our week’s stay to ferry us around when needed. It’s just a bonus that Stefano looks as though he could have modelled for Michelangelo.
She rubs her forehead. ‘I did, thanks, but I think I had one too many Negronis. My head’s bangin’.’
‘Oh dear. Well, it’s good to see you letting your hair down.’
She stirs a lump of brown sugar into her coffee. ‘I rang Beau when I got back.’
Oh God. Just when we were having a nice time, she has to bring him up. ‘And?’
‘I told him I had a message for him. That his mother wanted him to attend his father’s funeral and Jay would text him the details.’
‘Lord above, Candice. What did he say?’
‘No idea. I hung up and switched off my phone.’
So she does have a backbone after all. I should never have doubted her. ‘What’re you going to do now?’
She gazes out over the bay. ‘Let him stew for a bit, I suppose.’ She tries to sound casual, but the two deep ridges between her eyebrows betray her worry.
‘For what it’s worth, love, I think you’re doing the right thing. Don’t let him spoil your holiday.’
‘And how are we this morning, ladies?’ Stefano appears at our table, shifting his sunglasses to the top of his head and pulling up a chair. He nods to the waitress, who returns seconds later with a double espresso. ‘Grazie mille, bella.’ He lifts the tiny cup and downs it in one go. ‘Ah, that is better.’ He rubs his hands together. ‘Now, what is the plan?’ He’s wearing a lemon T-shirt today that’s stretched across his chest, showing off his . . . pecs, I think the word is. His hair is as black and shiny as liquorice.
‘Candice and I are taking a little stroll around the market, and this afternoon I would like it if you would accompany her on the hike to the top.’
‘The top of where?’ asks Candice.
Stefano and I share a knowing smile. I point to the five tree
s standing proudly on the peninsula, resplendent against the brilliant blue sky. ‘Up there. I was telling you yesterday.’
‘Oh yes,’ she says, looking genuinely thrilled. ‘I’d like that.’ She places a hand on Stefano’s forearm. ‘If it’s not too much trouble.’
I can see from his expression that trouble is the last thing he considers it to be. ‘My pleasure, bella.’
47
‘Will you be all right, Jenny? I’m not sure I like leaving you all alone like this.’
‘Stop fussing, Candice. I told you, I’ll be grand. It’s lovely out there on the balcony and I’ll be able to see you walking along the beachfront, and if I had a pair of binoculars, I’d even be able to see you on the top too.’
Candice adjusted her vest top in the mirror. ‘You don’t think this is too revealing, do you? Beau’d have a duck fit if he saw me out in it.’
‘Well, Beau’s not here, so let’s not waste our time and energy thinking about what he would or wouldn’t like.’ Jenny smiled in appreciation of the outfit. ‘I didn’t realise you had such long legs, Candice. And they’re so brown.’
‘Out of a bottle,’ Candice confessed. ‘They normally look like corned beef.’
‘And those shorts . . . well, I don’t think I’d have the confidence to carry them off.’
Candice ran her finger under her eyes to remove traces of errant kohl. ‘Not many hundred-year-olds could.’
Jenny laughed. ‘I meant when I was your age. That’s even if microscopic frayed denim shorts had been a thing back then.’
Candice turned away from the mirror. ‘Too much?’
‘Not at all. You look beautiful.’
She pulled on her white Converse. ‘These are all I’ve got. Do you think I’ll manage?’
‘It’s been a long while since I’ve been up there, love, but I expect they’ll do. You go off and have the best day. You deserve it.’
The Memory Box Page 23
