The Italian Matchmaker (15 page)

He dressed in a daze. How was it possible to feel the fear of a child when he was a man in his forties? He walked out on to his balcony and gazed across the ocean. Beneath the moon the water shone silver like mercury. He thought of Cosima and her little boy and his fear turned to compassion. Her pain was so great she had tried to end it all. She wouldn’t thank him for saving her life. She had wanted to be with her son. But if the little boy was indeed her son, he too had wanted to save her. Luca knew he couldn’t tell her what he had seen; she’d think him crazy. Everyone would think him crazy. He couldn’t tell anyone.

He heard laughter down below where his mother presided over dinner on the terrace. Caradoc and Ma were obviously telling the story. The table listened, enraptured, their features illuminated by the flickering light of the hurricane lamps. He hoped they wouldn’t mention the little boy. He’d shrug it off, make something up. He had shut them out once before, he was damned if they were going to come back.

His stomach rumbled with hunger and he was in dire need of a stiff drink. He would have preferred to eat on his own, but the
palazzo
didn’t offer room service. Reluctantly he went downstairs. When he appeared on the terrace the table cheered and raised their glasses.

‘Darling, I’m so proud of you!’ his mother gushed, tears in her eyes.

‘Have a glass of Taurasi,’ his father said, reaching for the bottle.

‘You look better now,’ said Ma, turning to the rest of the table. ‘He looked very pale. I thought he was going to faint. He was the only one in that entire church who rushed to her aid.’

‘Who is she?’ Bill asked.

‘Is she pretty?’ asked Dizzy.

Ma rolled her eyes. ‘She’s tragic and beautiful. If she’d been ugly he wouldn’t have bothered.’ Everyone laughed, except Luca.

‘She’s called Cosima,’ he said, feeling a warm sensation as the wine reached his belly. ‘Her son drowned in the sea three years ago. She was trying to commit suicide.’

Dizzy gasped. ‘Oh, my God! I can’t understand why anyone could do such a thing!’

‘To be saved by a handsome stranger, of course,’ said Ma sarcastically.

‘I think you should pay the family a visit, Luca,’ said Caradoc, thinking of the pretty cousin in the red dress.

‘Of course!’ agreed Romina. ‘You must go and see them, darling. They will want to thank you.’

‘They have already thanked me. But she’ll hate me for having ruined her plans. It’s only a matter of time before she does it again.’

‘Then you have to tell her about the little boy,’ said Ma. Everyone turned to Luca.

‘What little boy?’ Romina asked. ‘You haven’t told us about a little boy.’

‘There was no little boy.’ Luca drained his glass. ‘I was confused. I was wet and cold.’

The professor was wise enough not to pursue it. ‘Let them come to you if they want to thank you,’ he said instead. ‘I guarantee you, they will.’

When the others retired to bed, Luca went for a walk along the beach. On his return, as he approached the folly, he heard the sound of footsteps in the undergrowth. He knew it wasn’t his father and it certainly wasn’t Ma or Caradoc. He smiled at the thought of Maxwell and Dizzy making up after their quarrel, stealing into the folly for a bit of nuggy bunny in that large four-poster bed, surrounded by erotic pictures and literature. He dismissed the idea at once. They seemed as passionate as a couple of jellyfish.

Although the moon was high, the shadows were dark and impenetrable. There was a crackling noise, then silence. He stood still, his heart thumping in his chest. Perhaps it was an animal, maybe a deer. He strained his ears, but heard nothing except the breeze rustling the leaves and the chirping of crickets. He sensed he was being watched, that whoever it was was aware of him and waiting for him to make a move.

Eventually, he was left with no choice but to take a step. When no sound came, he realised he must have been imagining the whole thing, and walked the remainder of the path to the folly. After all, at six feet four with wide shoulders and a body that had been honed by daily work-outs, he needn’t be afraid of anything.

Just as he reached the little portico of the folly a startled rabbit leaped out of the bushes into his path, before disappearing into the undergrowth. Luca took a deep breath, relieved. He tried the door, but it was locked. He shook his head and smiled wryly at his own stupidity. His mother had the only key. The episode at the
festa
must have shaken him up if he was imagining spirits in the shadows. He thrust his hands into his pockets and walked back to the
palazzo
.

That night he slept deeply with no intrusions. When he awoke to the dawn flooding the corners of the room, he wondered whether the events of the previous day had really happened. He got up and stretched, casting his eyes over the benign sea. The sky was clear and bright, the air infused with the smell of honeysuckle and lavender, the merry twittering of birds resonating across the gardens. He could see his mother practising her yoga on the terrace while a gardener watered the terracotta pots and borders with a hosepipe. He dismissed thoughts of the little boy and Cosima as if they had been part of a nightmare from which he had now awoken.

He breakfasted with his mother and Dizzy while Porci lay on the stones, his fat belly rising and falling as he slept. Smidge trotted around on her dainty little toes, avoiding Porci, whom she considered inferior on every level. Ventura came out with hot bread, fresh coffee and
brioches
. In the centre of the table was a bowl of pomegranates and peaches, from which Dizzy helped herself, avoiding the tasty
crescenti
which were damaging to her figure. Luca was starving, and sent Ventura off to make scrambled eggs, which he’d eat on toast with
prosciutto
.

The professor emerged in a cream linen jacket, Panama hat on his head, with Ma one step behind him in a long purple kaftan. ‘Good morning, my friends,’ he said jovially. ‘Something smells good over here.’

‘Darling Professor, come and sit down.’ Romina patted the chair beside her. ‘Did you sleep well?’

‘Like the dead.’

‘The dead don’t sleep in this place,’ grumbled Ma. ‘I could have sworn I heard footsteps up and down the corridor all night. I haven’t slept a wink.’

Romina tutted. ‘That was probably Bill, he wanders about when he can’t sleep.’

‘Well, he has a very heavy tread,’ said Ma grumpily.

Luca remembered the footsteps at the folly and wondered whether there had, indeed, been an intruder in the night.

‘Strange things happen in Incantellaria,’ he said as Ventura put a plate of scrambled eggs in front of him.

‘Well, there was no sign of blood on Jesus’ marble face,’ said the professor.

‘But they had a good knees-up anyway,’ complained Ma. ‘The fireworks kept me awake too.’

When Bill appeared, having been into town to get the English newspapers, the whole table turned and looked at him expectantly.

‘Good morning, everyone.’

‘Darling, did you corridor-creep in the middle of the night?’

‘Not that I’m aware of.’

‘And did you make a trip to the folly at about one in the morning?’ asked Luca.

‘There was someone at the folly?’ interrupted Romina.

‘I heard footsteps.’

‘Not you too!’ his mother wailed.

‘Not guilty,’ said Bill, dropping the papers on to the table, and pouring himself a cup of coffee. ‘Looks like I’ll be needing a strong one of these.’

‘Then it can only be the ghost,’ said the professor matter of factly.

‘Surely you, Professor, with your good brain, don’t believe in such things?’

‘A good brain does not only accept the tangible. Think of radio waves, my dear, and ultraviolet light to name but a couple. There is far more to this planet than can be experienced with our five senses. The
Marchese
was murdered in this very house; who’s to say his energy isn’t still here?’ Dizzy’s mouth dropped open in horror.

Romina gasped. ‘Murdered, here?’ She turned on her son. ‘You said you didn’t find anything out!’

‘I didn’t want to frighten you.’

‘You’re not frightening me, darling. I was the one who sent you two out on a mission, the least I can expect is that you come back and tell me what you have discovered.’

‘Well, as you’re interested, the Marchese Ovidio di Montelimone was having an affair with a local girl called Valentina who fell in love with an Englishman called Thomas Arbuckle. In a fit of jealousy the
Marchese
murdered her. Her brother took revenge and killed Ovidio, here in this
palazzo
.’

‘An honour killing,’ said the professor. ‘Very common in these hot-blooded countries.’

‘Oh dear, that is gruesome,’ said Romina. ‘The
Sunday Times
will love it!’

‘Ah yes, the
Sunday Times
,’ said Bill with a sigh.

‘Well, that accounts for the strange things going on up here,’ said Ma. ‘You should get the priest to come and exorcise the place.’

‘Rubbish!’ Romina scoffed. ‘Anyhow, the priest won’t come up here as I’ve barely set foot in his church. Religion is not my thing. I was given too much of it as a child and now I can’t be doing with it. So I hardly think he’s going to hurry to my aid.’

Ventura appeared with the telephone. ‘A call for
signore
Luca,’ she said, handing it to him. Luca got up to take it in private. Claire was the only person who had the number of the
palazzo
.

‘Hello,’ he said, positioning himself at the other end of the terrace.

‘Are you having a nice time out there?’ she asked.

‘Sure. How are the children?’ Her friendly tone made him suspicious.

‘Fine. No one found you yet?’

‘No.’

‘People are getting desperate. They’ve even started calling me!’

‘Who?’

‘One or two journalists.’

‘Tell them I’m abroad. They’ll give up in the end.’

‘I’m not your secretary. I’ve told your friends to leave messages on your mobile. You’ll get back to them when you’re ready.’

‘You make it sound as though I’m ill.’

‘Well, it is an illness of sorts, isn’t it?’

‘When can the girls come out?’ he asked, changing the subject.

‘Well, that’s why I’m calling, actually. You see, we’ve been invited to Barbados over half-term and I was wondering whether you’d have the girls then. I’ll send them out with Sammy. It’s only for a week.’

‘Of course,’ he replied. ‘I’d love to have them.’

‘I’m so pleased. Friends of John’s have a house in Sandy Lane.’

Luca didn’t rise to the bait. ‘When will you send them out?’

‘Next Friday. You can send them back the following Friday.’

‘That’s fine.’

‘I mean it’s only fair that I take some time off, you know, I’m with them twenty-four seven. You were always travelling or working, so it’s good for you to spend time with them other than alternate weekends. You’ll really get to know them. They’re adorable girls.’

‘You don’t need to tell me that, Claire. I’ve said I’m happy to take them. I’m not blaming you for going away. In fact, I’m delighted to have the opportunity to have them with me.’

‘Oh, good.’ She sounded relieved. ‘I don’t want you thinking I’m not a good mother.’

‘Why would you care what I thought?’

‘Don’t be like that,’ she snapped. ‘I only want a little appreciation for all I’ve done over the years.’

‘You have it, Claire.’

‘So, I’ll send them on Friday. I’ll call you with the details. You will pick them up yourself, won’t you?’

‘Of course.’

‘I don’t want some chauffeur they’ve never met.’

‘You have a great time in Sandy Lane.’

‘Well, I’m sure I will,’ she said brightly. ‘John knows everyone.’

 

‘She won’t eat,’ said Alba in exasperation. ‘She just lies in bed, staring at the ceiling, waiting to die.’ She allowed Panfilo to wrap her in his arms. ‘I don’t know what to do any more.’

‘You’ve done all you can, my love,’ he replied, kissing her hair. ‘She has to do the rest on her own.’

‘But she’ll die.’

‘Then she’ll be where she wants to be, with Francesco.’

‘You can’t say that! She’s thirty-seven years old. She has her whole life ahead of her. I have a responsibility.’

‘She’s Toto’s responsibility.’

‘But I’m the mother she never had. I was there during her growing up. I love her like my own daughter.’

‘Don’t let Rosa hear you say that.’

‘Rosa knows that. There are many ways to love.’

‘Cosima needs more than love to rouse her out of the rut she’s got herself into. She needs will and a change of mind. Perhaps Rosa’s right, all this fussing over her is enabling her to wallow in self-pity. While she’s doing that she doesn’t have to face up to her life.’

‘You mean, she’s frightened to move on?’

‘That’s exactly what I mean.’

Rosa sat on the end of Cosima’s bed. Her cousin was pale, her hair dark against her pillow. She looked frail. ‘I’m sorry we haven’t been getting along,’ said Rosa, finding it difficult to apologise. ‘I didn’t understand.’ When Cosima failed to reply, Rosa stood up and walked over to the little shrine with its burning candle. Francesco’s face grinned out from his photograph. ‘You know, the man who rescued you is called Luca. He’s very handsome. I think you should thank him.’

‘I don’t want to thank him. He did me a disservice.’ Cosima turned her face away.

‘He risked his life for you.’

‘He should have left me alone.’