Rosamanti (21 page)

“See what happens to girls who flirt with Italian men?” She felt his desire, his kisses caressing her body.

“I wasn’t flirting. I was perving.”

“Perving? What is that?”

She kissed his face, his lips, his neck.

“Perving is what Australian girls do to hunky, handsome, gorgeous men whom they fancy.”

“Va bene. Shall I show you what I would do to an Australian girl who perved on me?”

She let out a loud sigh. “I thought you’d never ask.”

* * *

It was late morning when Pietro walked down the steep drive and out to via Lo Capo on his way to Capri township. Sarah watched him go, knowing that he felt as though he was betraying his Nonna. But his honest nature was an ingrained trait. She knew he would be riddled with guilt if he didn’t hand these pieces over to the Caprese people, for them all to enjoy.

She turned back into the villa and climbed the stairs to her study. As she lifted the lid on her laptop, she was shocked to realize how long it had been since she even thought about her novel. She opened the document and read through the dot points of her outline. As she read them, all sorts of ideas jumped around in her head. She imagined Felicity French squeezing through an unknown subterranean tunnel, heard a roar and a crash, saw a rock fall, Felicity was trapped. Then she saw her swimming like a mermaid down deep into the pool at Grotta Tiberio, where Tiberius is said to have “relaxed” with young boys and girls. In her writer’s mind, Felicity dived down like a dolphin in the clear, white water, and her hand bent down to the sandy bottom, swirling the sand about, and picked up a treasure—a gold filigree ring with the letter T engraved on it.

Sarah’s fingers sped across the keyboard of her laptop, and once more, breathed life into Felicity French. The character became real—an adventurous, brave sleuth—who stood up to murderers, terrorists, and thieves. In previous books, Felicity had ousted rogue monarchs, crooked politicians, and bad cops. Once again, here at Villa Jovis, Felicity French would locate every tiny morsel of evidence and unravel every clue that was to be found in the ancient lair of the Emperor Tiberius.

Felicity French was on fire.

It was late in the afternoon when she heard a scooter pull into the graveled courtyard. Seconds later, Pietro called out from downstairs.

“Coming!”

She saved her document, noticing with pleasure that she had written over five thousand words. Off to a good start.

She stood stiffly, stretched, and headed down the stairs and into Pietro’s arms.

“Ciao, bella.”

“Ciao
, amore mio
.” He pushed her back and held her at arm’s length, his eyebrows raised in wonder.

“Brava! Your Italian is improving.” He smiled at her, pleased.

“How did you go at the Museum?”

He shrugged. “They said they will look at them and get back to me.” Resignation sounded in his voice.

He placed a bag of groceries on the kitchen bench while she opened the refrigerator and took out a jug of iced water, pouring two glasses.

“Was that your Vespa I heard?”

“No—well, not exactly.” His eyes twinkled. “It was my new Vespa. Come, I’ll show you.”

Taking their drinks with them, they wandered out to the courtyard. A shiny black Vespa sat in the shade where his old, beat up one used to park.”

“Wow. Very nice indeed.” She ran her hand over its glossy paintwork.

“Notice the extra-long seat? That should make it more comfortable for you.” It was indeed longer, by a few inches.

“You know, apart from the first time I ever got on your old Vespa, I kinda like having to sit so close to you. That first time was a bit…er…intimate for two strangers.”

He put his arm around her waist and held her close. “Ah, but we didn’t stay strangers for very long, no?” His eyes radiated love as he looked at her.

They moved back through the archway and sat in the shade of the pergola, the cool sea breeze rustling the leaves of the bougainvillea.

“By the way, I bought the new Vespa from Luigi. I also paid him for your electric bike. Is that OK? I mean, you do like it don’t you?”

“Oh sure. I just haven’t had much of a chance to ride it, but I do intend to. It’s far too hilly here on Capri to walk everywhere. I’ll fix you up with the money.”

He dismissed her offer. “Non è importante.”

Suddenly she remembered something. “Back in a sec.” She stood and ran over to the kitchen door. Her feet thudded as she ran up the stairs. In less than a minute, she was back, holding something wrapped in white tissue paper.

“So much has happened that I totally forgot about this. I bought it for you when I went shopping to Anacapri, when you were in Naples.” She handed him the small parcel.

He felt the parcel all over, then looked up at her, his eyes curious. Then he slowly ripped the paper, revealing a statue of a goat, painted in the local style of yellow flowers, green leaves, and blue of the Mediterranean. He looked up at her, smiling.

“My Geraldina!” He leaned forward and kissed her on the lips, then on each cheek.
“
Grazie, bella.” His voice was barely a whisper.

She looked at him, wishing she could give him more to show how much she loved him. If she could, she would give him the world.

He took a good drink of the iced water. “I thought
I would cook
osso bucco
for you tonight. Do you like it?”

“I’ve only ever had it once and it was delicious. But aren’t you going back to Zia Maria’s restaurant tonight? She must be desperate without you.”

He stared out at a big white ship on the blue water. “Mm. No. Actually, I have been visiting with Zia today, and I resigned my job there.” He brought his gaze back to Sarah. “Paulo, who has been helping out in the restaurant, is looking for permanent work, and he gets on well with Zia. She is happy for me. She said it was about time I pursued my dream.”

Sarah felt her eyes widening, her eyebrows rising.

“Your dream?”

“Si. The dream of opening a restaurant of my own.”

“This is like pulling teeth. Tell me, Pietro. Tell me.” She turned her shoulders to face him, her head jutting forward, her face only inches from his.

He casually lifted his arms and linked his fingers behind his head. Settling back in the chair, he again looked out to sea, his eyes dreamy.

“Si, bella. I have decided to call my new restaurant
Alberto’s
. In memory of my grandfather. And in honor of my Nonna.”

Sarah leaned forward and hugged him. He brought his arms down and held her tight.

“I went to the bank today and secured a loan for the renovations.” He held her back and looked into her eyes. “I wondered if you would help me with the décor—and, you know, everything?”

“I would love to. I’m honored that you asked.”

“Well, if it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be going ahead with it. But you have made me think about things differently. Nonna always said that, as soon as she had some spare money, she would help me get it started.” He looked at his hands fiddling with the glass on the table. “Well, she never had spare money, and her treasure is one we cannot keep, and even if we could, I would never sell those figurines.” He looked up at her. “So now I will do it on my own.”

Sarah’s creative brain was still in overdrive from her productive day of writing, adrenaline coursing through her body. A crazy thought crossed her mind, right out of left field.

“Pietro, did Nonna ever give you any clues about the Roman dog and cat statues? Maybe she left you a letter with her Will or something?”

He tilted his head to one side.

“Si, there was a letter to me with all her papers. She asked me to bury her next to Alberto. She had bought the cemetery plot a long time ago.”

Sarah waited in silence while his thoughts scoured the letter from his dear Nonna.

He cleared his throat before continuing. “She said I had brought respect back to the Lombardi name. That I deserved the inheritance. She said she was glad that I had not turned out like her father—hard and cruel.” He looked up at her, his eyes shining. “But, bella, there
is
no inheritance. I can’t sell those figurines—they belong to the people. However,” his eyes scanned over the white-washed walls of the villa, “there is Rosamanti. And it is my home, which I will never sell.”

She sat quietly, thinking through what he had said. Silently, she stood and walked into the house, returning a few minutes later with her notebook and a pen. After she sat back down, she slipped Nonna’s map and letter with the three clues out and spread it on the table.

“Pietro, I believe that there
is
an inheritance. I don’t know what it is, but I think there is something to discover.”

“Cara, we found her treasured cat and dog. The fourth clue you found in the tunnel led us to that.”

“Yes, but why wasn’t the clue about the cat and dog included with the other three? It was written on a totally separate piece of paper.” She tapped her fingers on the flimsy paper.

He remained quiet.

“I’d say,” she began, “It’s because she wrote the clue on the scroll much later. At a rough guess, I’d say she wrote it in about, oh, 1938.” He looked at her intently, trying to understand her meaning.

“I’d guess that she wrote it after her father forbade her to see Alberto again. I think she went one last time through the tunnel, gave him the black dog, and then left the scroll deliberately in the tunnel for her child—or as it turns out, her grandchild—to find.”

He stared at her as if she had gone mad. After a few minutes, he picked up the clues written by a little twelve year old Nonna and read them aloud.

“Read them to me in English?”

“Like a dog, you seek the bone. White becomes blue, behold the hue. Take your last breath, you now face your death.”

She squeezed his arm and brought her face closer to his.

“Are you sure?”

His eyebrows rose. “Of course I’m sure.”

She flipped the pages of her notebook to where, that morning so long ago now, she and Carlo had sat in the drawing room while Carlo translated the clues for her. She had written them down.

“White becomes blue,
beware
the hue!” She exhaled. “Carlo was so sure there was murder, mayhem, bodies and chests of gold, that he must have translated it wrongly!”

Pietro leaned over and turned the notebook to face him. He shook his head.

“No, see?” He held the flimsy letter up for her to see. “She has put a line through here and written over the top. It says,
‘bianco diventa blu, ecco la tonalità.’
It is
behold
the hue. I told you, Nonna loved la Grotta Azzurra.”

They stared at each other.

It was Sarah who spoke first. “I think we can safely assume that, if there is indeed an inheritance, a treasure, as Carlo calls it, then it will be hidden in the Blue Grotto.”

Pietro’s eyes bored into hers.

“And you know what, bella? I think I know exactly where it is.” A broad smile spread across his handsome face, making him look so young and boyish. His eyes shone as he told her the secret that Nonna had told him as a little boy.

“There are many underwater ledges and caves within the Blue Grotto. Locals know about them, they always have. But Nonna, when she was young, found one that nobody else knows about. I had forgotten it, you see, until now.
Take your last breath, you now face your death.
She told me she found a small entrance, way under one of the ledges, quite deep down.” He stopped and shook his head. “Nonna was a very brave girl.”

He looked at her, his eyes shining with excitement. “Well, she entered the tunnel, on a single breath from way up on the surface of the water, not knowing if she would have enough air, or even to be able to back out, to survive.” His voice was full of admiration. “But she surfaced, her face breaking through into a dome. She said it sparkled with crystals, but more importantly, it had a small pocket of air between the roof of the dome and the top of the water.” He looked at her earnestly, his eyes glowing. “I would bet my soul that this is the place Nonna would hide her treasure. She and I are the only people who know about it.”

Excitement coursed through her veins. She had felt Nonna’s strong presence here at Rosamanti from the first moment she set foot inside the kitchen. She knew, with certainty, that Nonna was watching over them—that Nonna had, somehow, brought she and Pietro together. And now she had helped Pietro to find what Nonna had left to him.

Pietro’s voice bubbled with enthusiasm. “As soon as Carlo gets home from school, I will go and tell him he must come with us very early tomorrow morning. There’s no way we could leave him out of this adventure.”

Sarah and Pietro hugged. Neither knew what to expect, but the signs in Nonna’s clues pointed to something. At the very least, it would give Pietro another reason to be close to his Nonna. A final message of love.

Chapter Fifteen

It was still dark when they set off from Rosamanti in Bruno’s golf cart. They waited at the end of the steep entrance to Teresa’s house and within seconds, saw little Carlo running down the drive, the whites of his eyes shining. He nimbly jumped in the back and threw his towel and a small bag on the seat beside him.

Teresa waved them off enthusiastically. The golf cart, painfully slow on the hills, hummed as it wound its way up and down, and round and round the steep and twisting lanes and roads, eventually arriving at the small clearing in the shrubs atop the cliffs near the Blue Grotto. The trio piled out, grabbed their things, and carefully climbed down the steep, rough path that led down to the little sandy cove.

Pietro and Carlo entered the cave and pulled out the boat. When its pointy bow poked out of the cave, Sarah went over and leaned her weight to the process of moving it across the sand to the water’s edge. Pietro reached into the boat and pulled out a bright orange lifejacket from under the triangle in the bow, handing it to her, then he looked up at the lightening sky.