She absorbed herself in the fashion pages of her favorite magazine, forgetting about Fitz and Italy for a while, focusing instead on the pictures of girls in hotpants and boots. She lit a cigarette regardless that Fatman began to wheeze beside her like an old steam engine. When the trays of food were handed out she was appalled that he took one and tucked into the bread roll without so much as a thought for the pounds he was piling on.
“You know you shouldn’t eat so much,” she said, tapping him on the hand. “You’ll just get bigger and then seats on airplanes will be the least of your worries.”
Fatman suddenly looked crestfallen and stared miserably down at the white roll and butter in his fingers, while Alba returned to her own food and Vogue. He put down the roll and swallowed the ball of anguish that had lodged itself in his throat.
Finally they touched down in Naples. It seemed a small airport, though it was too dark to see much of it. Alba’s travel agent had booked her into a hotel in the city. The following morning she would take a train to Sorrento and then a boat to Incantellaria. She was relieved to stand up and stretch her legs. Fatman made way for her but she was too busy searching for the handsome Italian to thank him.
She saw him inside the airport while they both waited for their luggage. After catching his eye a couple of times she decided to be a little more encouraging. She smiled before lowering her gaze coyly. It didn’t take long for him to get the message and stride up to talk to her. As he approached, she appraised him appreciatively. He was tall with broad shoulders and light brown hair that fell over a wide, angular face. His eyes were pale green and deep set. As he grinned, the crow’s feet darkened into his temples giving him a humorous, insouciant air.
“I see that you are alone,” he said in English. She liked his accent; it sounded wonderfully exotic after a lifetime of English ones.
“Yes, I am,” she replied, grinning at him. “I’ve never been to Italy before.”
“Then welcome to my country.”
“Thank you.” She tilted her head to one side. “Do you live in Naples?”
“No, I’m here on business. I live in Milan.” He looked her up and down without trying to hide his admiration. “You’re staying in a hotel?”
“Yes, the Miramare.”
“What a coincidence. So am I.”
“Are you?”
“I always stay there. It’s one of the nicest hotels in the city. We can share a taxi. As it’s your first time in Italy you will allow me to be your host and take you out for dinner.”
Alba was scarcely able to believe her luck. “I would love that. After all, what is a girl to do in Naples all on her own?”
“My name is Alessandro Favioli.” He extended his hand.
“Alba Arbuckle,” she replied. “It doesn’t have the same ring to it as yours. My parents obviously didn’t think very hard about how the words would sound together. My mother was Italian.”
“She must have been very beautiful.”
Alba smiled, recalling the portrait. “She was.”
“What are you here for? You don’t look like a tourist.”
“Certainly not! I’m going to Incantellaria.”
“Oh?”
“Don’t tell me. You’re going there too!”
He laughed. “No. But I know of it. A magical place, so I’m told. Full of ridiculous miracles and strange supernatural phenomena.”
“Really? Like what?”
“Well, apparently, one day just after the war, the townspeople awoke to find the beach covered in pink carnations. Then the tide came in and washed them away.”
“Do you believe it?”
“Oh, I believe it happened. But I don’t believe the sea brought them all in. Some sly joker was probably having a laugh. The funny thing is the local priest declared it a miracle. That is Italy for you. Especially Naples. It is full of saints who bleed. We are rather top-heavy with regards to religion.”
“Well, I’m not at all religious so they’ll probably cast me into the sea.”
Once again he looked her up and down with his lazy gaze. “I don’t think so, Alba. They’ll probably sanctify you and fashion you in marble.”
They shared a taxi to the hotel. Alba liked his good manners in opening the door for her and helping her in and out. She showered in her room and changed into a simple black dress, before meeting him downstairs in the lobby. She laughed as he kissed her hand. He smelled strongly of lemon cologne and his hair was still wet.
“You look beautiful,” he said.
“Thank you,” she replied graciously, suddenly realizing that she hadn’t thought of Fitz since leaving England. I think I’m going to like Italy, she mused. “Are all Italians as charming as you?” she said out loud.