The Italian Matchmaker (6 page)

‘I think that’s the loveliest entrance I’ve ever seen,’ he said when he returned to the car.

‘You know, when we saw it for the first time it was nothing but stones and ivy. The garden had taken over, climbing in through the holes and seeding itself in the rooms. Only one of the two towers was left standing. It was so sad. So neglected. It was as if it had given up, abandoning itself to its fate like a beautiful woman crippled by age. I fell in love, Luca.’

‘How did you find it if the owner didn’t want to sell?’

‘By chance. I was painting a
palazzo
just outside Sorrento and the lady who owned it mentioned this place. She said that if she had had the money she would have bought it and resurrected it herself. She had beautiful taste, so I was intrigued. I drove here on my own and took a look around. No one was at home. I called your father and told him he had to come and take a look. We were thinking of retiring to Italy anyway. I knew this would be an incredible project for both of us. Having worked for other people all our lives, what fun to work for ourselves!’

Romina parked the car on the gravel in front of the
palazzo
. The building was of the same sand-coloured stone as the town. The windows were capped with ornate baroque pediments and opened on to ornamental iron balconies. Heavy brickwork gave way to plaster on the first and second floors and the roof was covered with pink tiles, rising into two magnificent towers. It stood nestled among lofty pine trees and inky green cypresses. ‘Come, darling. Let me show you inside.’

The door was vast and arched and made of old oak. Within it was a smaller door that opened into a hall of large square flagstones. ‘These stones are the original ones,’ said Romina, leading him through into a pretty courtyard. ‘I scraped my foot over moss and grass to find them underneath. What a find!’ In the centre of the courtyard was a stone fountain where the trickling sound of water was gentle and constant. Against the walls between the windows, were lemon trees in large terracotta pots. The floor was a mosaic of smooth round pebbles and flat square stones. The effect was stunning. Luca wasn’t surprised. His mother might be eccentric but she had a sharp intelligence and enormous talent when it came to aesthetics.

In the main body of the house, the rooms had tall ceilings, bold mouldings and walls painted in the original colours of pale blue, duck-egg grey and dusty pink. ‘I wanted to return it to its former glory,’ Romina explained, gesticulating at the antique tapestries and marble fireplaces. ‘We kept everything we could from the original building. It represents two years’ work. Your father and I have poured our souls into it, not to mention a great deal of money. Now, where is he?’

Luca followed his mother into a drawing-room where French doors opened out onto a terrace overlooking the gardens. He was surprised to find an old man in a three-piece tweed suit reading
The Times
. He looked up over his spectacles and nodded formally. ‘This is my son, Caradoc,’ said Romina, her wide trousers billowing as she glided over to him. ‘And this, Luca, is our dear friend Professor Caradoc Macausland.’ The professor extended a bony hand, so twisted with arthritis that it resembled a claw.

‘Please don’t consider me rude for not getting up to greet you, young man,’ he explained in his clipped 1950s English accent. ‘I walk with a stick and it seems to have walked off without me! Must be that charming girl.’

‘Ventura,’ said Romina with a melodramatic sigh. ‘She thinks she’s being helpful leaning it against a wall way out of reach.’

‘So, you are the famous Luca,’ said the professor. ‘Your parents speak very highly of you.’

‘They are biased,’ Luca replied, wishing he didn’t have to bother with the old codger.

‘It would be unusual if they weren’t. Isn’t it splendid here?’

‘It certainly is.’ Luca noticed how at home the professor looked in that leather armchair. ‘How long have you been here?’ he asked.

‘Oh, a couple of weeks now. One loses track of time. Your mother is such a perfect hostess, I don’t see much point in going home.’

‘What are you a professor of?’

‘History,’ Caradoc replied. ‘I specialise in Ancient History. This
palazzo
must have a rich heritage and I have told Romina that once I have found an interpreter I will endeavour to uncover its past. You see, I don’t speak Italian, only Latin which is helpful up to a point. Beyond that point it is utterly useless. The locals here don’t seem to speak any English at all.’

‘Ah, an obstacle then,’ said Luca.

‘Obstacles can be surmounted, if one uses a little lateral thinking. You are in my lateral vision, young man. Surely you speak Italian?’

‘Of course.’

‘Good. I will enlist your help, Luca. The two of us will make a formidable team.’ He smacked his lips. ‘Holmes and Watson! What fun we shall have. I so enjoy unravelling mysteries.’ Luca was already planning to make himself scarce.

‘Darling, don’t dither. The professor likes his quiet time before lunch,’ she said now, waving at her son to join her on the terrace. Caradoc returned to his newspaper and Luca returned to his tour, following his mother out into the sunshine.

There, at a long table nibbling on
bruschette
, sat a group of strangers. Luca’s heart sank. He had come away to avoid people. He had planned to spend time taking stock of his life, not sit around gassing with old people.

He looked around. The view of the sea and town was spectacular, down into the heart of Incantellaria. Romina sailed up to her guests. ‘My friends, allow me to introduce my son, Luca.’ He wondered, looking at the group so comfortable there in the shade with their glasses of wine, if they had all been in residence as long as the professor.

Romina proceeded to introduce them one by one, starting with a petite woman with curly blonde hair and big blue eyes. She wore a pale pink chiffon shirt tied in a bow at the neck. ‘This is Dizzy and her husband Maxwell, who live in Vienna, and that darling little creature on her lap is Smidge.’ Dizzy was stroking a fluffy white dog with long manicured nails.

‘Hello, Luca. We’ve heard so much about you.’

‘Hi,’ said Maxwell, running a hand over his balding head. ‘Good to meet you, finally! A man who bats on the same team!’

‘Maxwell works in finance too,’ explained Romina. Luca tried to stifle his irritation. Everything about Maxwell and Dizzy was repugnant.

‘And this is Ma Hemple.’ Romina placed her hands on an elderly lady’s soft shoulders. Ma was totally grey except for dramatic black streaks that swept from her forehead to the bun that was tied on top of her head, like a racoon. When she took off her large red-rimmed sunglasses her eyes were a surprisingly pale shade of green. Her lips were crimson, matching the poppies on her dress which she wore over wide black trousers. She was a large woman with a dry sense of humour some could mistake for rudeness.

‘About time!’ she said without smiling. ‘We were beginning to think your mother was making you up.’ Her accent was as upper class as the professor’s, her tone deep and fruity.

‘That is why I came, to save her face,’ Luca replied solemnly.

‘Well, just in time! Come and join us. There is a
bruschetta
left and it has your name on it.’ Luca had no option but to remain among this extraordinary gathering. He wondered where his mother had found them all. Her appetite for new people was voracious.

‘Isn’t this fun!’ said Romina, casting her eyes to the French doors in the hope that Ventura would appear with refreshment. ‘Silly woman! I’d better go and get her. We need more wine. Wine for my son!’

As Romina disappeared inside, the professor emerged on Luca’s father’s arm. ‘Ah, here’s my boy,’ said Bill, grinning at Luca. He was tall and lean with thinning grey hair partially hidden under a stiff panama hat, a good-looking man with a wide, infectious smile. He was even-tempered and consistently jovial, which was just as well, being married to the mercurial Romina.

‘Hi Dad,’ said Luca. They embraced, clearly pleased to see each other.

‘So, what do you think of our new home?’

‘It’s spectacular.’

‘Not bad for an architect and a painter, eh?’

‘Not bad at all.’

‘How long are you staying?’

‘I don’t know. I’ll take every day as it comes.’

‘Like us. That’s the joy of being retired,’ interjected the professor.

‘Or unemployed,’ Luca added wryly.

‘So I gather,’ said his father. ‘Time to try something different.’

‘What exactly, I don’t know.’

‘You’ll figure it out. Here, have a chair and a glass of wine, that’ll do you the power of good.’

Romina returned followed by Ventura, an attractive young girl with long brown hair and dark eyes, carrying the professor’s walking stick in one hand and a bottle of
rosé
in the other. ‘Don’t forget to put some food out for Porci,’ said Romina, pulling out a chair. ‘Porci was a house-warming present from your uncle Nanni, Luca.’ Luca raised an eyebrow. His mother didn’t usually like dogs, even little white fluffy ones like Smidge. ‘He’s a pig,’ added Romina, flapping her napkin and placing it on her lap. ‘A darling little pig!’

‘Who wears a nappy inside,’ said Ma. ‘A most uncommon sight. Though, I would say he has a certain hoggish charm.’

‘He’s a cutie,’ chirped in Dizzy. ‘But he’s naughty because he doesn’t like Smidge.’

‘Who’s to blame him?’ said Ma under her breath.

‘The only reason he’s not on the menu is because your mother wants the children to see him,’ said Bill to Luca.

‘They’ll adore him,’ Romina gushed.

‘And if they don’t, we’ll eat him,’ said Ma.

Two butlers in uniform appeared on the terrace with trays of food. The professor’s eyes brightened at the sight of the feast, but Ma gave a heavy sigh. ‘What are we to do with all of that? Am I not fat enough already? The little pig is going to be a
lucky
little pig, troughing on the remains of our banquet.’

‘Remember, I don’t eat carbohydrates,’ said Dizzy with an apologetic laugh. ‘They make me bloat.’

‘More for the pig,’ Ma said, obviously irritated by Dizzy. ‘Is there anything else you don’t eat?’

‘Oh yes . . .’ Dizzy began but Ma’s snort silenced her.

‘You must be fun to live with.’

‘Right, darlings, tuck in!’ Romina instructed excitedly.

‘Except for you, Dizzy. You can watch us eat,’ said Ma. Dizzy looked sternly at her husband, who chose to ignore her, helping himself to a healthy bowl of spaghetti.

They dined on tomato and garlic pasta, steak and vegetables followed by cheese and a raspberry soufflé. By the time coffee was served they were light-headed with wine and sleepy from so much food. Luca lit a cigarette and sat back in his chair. Romina smoked too, inhaling contentedly while her guests settled their stomachs with mint tea and black coffee.

‘I’m going into town after a little nap,’ said the professor. ‘Do you want to come with me, Luca? I could do with your help.’

‘I think I’ll hang around here this afternoon,’ he replied. He rather fancied lying in the sun by the pool.

‘There’s a lot of local talent,’ said Maxwell.

‘Italian girls are so pretty,’ gushed Dizzy.

‘But they all end up as fat as me,’ said Ma.

‘It’s those carbohydrates,’ said Dizzy with a smile.

‘I want to show you the folly,’ said Romina.

‘The one thing we kept exactly as it was,’ Bill added.

‘Oh, it’s a fabulous little Hansel and Gretel house,’ enthused Dizzy. ‘Though Smidge got a bit restless in there, didn’t you, darling?’ She kissed the dog on her mouth, provoking a grimace from Ma as the dog’s little pink tongue flitted across her mistress’s lips.

‘Consider your husband!’ said Ma. ‘Dogs lick their bottoms.’

‘Because they can,’ Max said with a smirk. Ma’s fleshy lips twitched in suppressed amusement.

Romina stood up. ‘Come, Luca,’ she said.

‘Who are all these people?’ he asked as they walked down a narrow path that wound its way through the garden to the cliffs.

Romina shrugged. ‘People we have picked up along the way.’

‘Do you always have the place full of . . . freaks?’

‘Darling!’ she chided. ‘We have all sorts, old friends and new friends alike. I love to fill the
palazzo
with interesting people from all over the world.’

‘When are they leaving?’

‘I don’t know. People come and go, but most of them want to stay. Incantellaria has a particular magic. Once you come here, you don’t want to leave.’

‘I think that has as much to do with your free and bountiful hospitality as it has to do with the magic of the place.’

‘Darling, that’s very unfair. My friends are not unwelcome parasites, but people I choose to entertain in my house. I have a gift for friendship.’

‘So I have to spend my holiday with a bunch of nutters?’

‘If you came more often I wouldn’t have to fill the house with other people. You know I would put you and the children above all my friends. Anyway, don’t write them off so quickly. Caradoc is fascinating. His knowledge of history is vast and wonderful. You should ask him about it. I think that is what keeps him young – history and poetry.’

‘What about Maxwell and Dizzy? They’re beyond dreadful!’

‘Yes, they are rather dull, aren’t they? Friends of your cousin Costanza. It is not often that I come across bad apples in the apple cart! They must leave. We might have to pretend the
palazzo
is haunted!’

 

They wandered down the hill, through a second avenue of cypress trees to the folly, a small grey stone building overlooking the sea. ‘This is it,’ said Romina. ‘Isn’t it enchanting?’ It was perfectly symmetrical with a tall window either side of a large double door.