“So how did you get here without any money?”
“It’s a long story.”
“We’ve got all afternoon.”
“Well, if you pour me another glass of wine, stop telling me I’m beautiful, and promise not to make a pass at me, rob me, or murder me on the way to Incantellaria, I’ll tell you.”
He rubbed his chin playfully, considering her conditions. “I can’t deny your beauty, but you are very rude. You swear too much for a lady as well. I won’t rob you because you have nothing left worth robbing. I’m not a murderer. However, I can’t promise never to make a pass at you. I’m Italian!”
“Oh God!” she sighed melodramatically. “Just allow me to get my strength back so I can decline with force.” Alba would have normally noticed the attractive lines around his mouth when he laughed and his pale green eyes that sparkled with mischief and a warm affability, but she was numb.
They shared a simple meal in the sunshine and the wine softened her anger and gave her a false sense of optimism. She recounted her adventure, omitting Fatman and his lewd suggestion as well as her night of passion with the stranger she had met at the airport, of which she was now deeply ashamed. Gabriele’s obvious enjoyment encouraged her to elaborate even further until her story grew into a work of fiction of which Vivien Armitage would have been proud.
Finally, as they sipped glasses of limoncello, he asked her again why she was going to Incantellaria. “Because my mother lived and died there,” she replied. “I never met her, for she died just after I was born. I want to find her family.”
“I shouldn’t think you’ll have much trouble, if they’re still there. It’s a tiny place. Only a couple of thousand people, I suspect.”
“Why doesn’t anyone go there?”
“Because there’s nothing to do. It’s sleepy. A forgotten little corner of Italy. It’s very beautiful, though. Quite unlike the rest of the coast. It’s meant to be enchanted.”
“Carnations,” she said with a smile. “I’ve been told.”
“And weeping statues. I’ve been there many times. If I want to be alone, I go there. It soothes the soul. If I wanted to disappear, I’d go there too,” he added with a wry smile. “I hope you don’t disappear.”
“Remember your promise,” she said, her voice cold.
“Look, if once you get there you find you need money to tide you over, I’ll lend you whatever you need. I’d give it to you, but I know you won’t accept. Consider me a friend in a strange place. I promise you can trust me.” He touched her naked arm. His hand was warm and unexpectedly reassuring.
“Just take me to Incantellaria,” she said, getting up. His hand fell onto the table. Then she turned to him and her face softened. “Friend.”
20
I t felt good to be at the helm of a fast speedboat. The wind raked through her hair with cool, brisk fingers, taking her hopelessness with it. The boat jumped as it cut through the waves and Alba had to hold on to prevent herself from toppling over. There, with the sun on her face and an irrepressible sense of optimism burning through her chest, she had no cares in the world.
Gabriele grinned at her, taking pleasure from this lovely stranger who had lost everything on his shore. He pointed out the sheer rocks that rose from the sea like the walls of an impenetrable fortress and explained that Incantellaria was a place entirely on its own, as if God had taken a small slice of paradise and placed it in the midst of this unforgiving terrain. “Its loveliness is quite unexpected,” he said as the boat passed cove after cove of hard gray rock.
It was farther than Alba had imagined. She had thought it was literally around the corner from Sorrento.
“If it doesn’t work out,” Gabriele shouted against the roar of the wind, as if reading her thoughts, “I’ll come and get you. You only have to telephone.”
“Thank you,” she replied gratefully.
Her unease was returning. Incantellaria was obviously cut off not only from Italy but from the rest of the world. The sun was obscured behind a solitary cloud and the sea darkened ominously, mirroring her own inner fears. What if her family had all died or moved away? She couldn’t bear to go home with nothing resolved.
As Gabriele placed a reassuring hand on hers, the cloud moved on and the sun shone brilliantly again. The boat sped around a vast and solid wall of black rock behind which the coast opened up unexpectedly like the lid of a crude treasure chest, to reveal a glittering, verdant bay.
For Alba it was love at first sight. It sucked her in and filled her spirit. The very shape of the shoreline was as harmonious as the gentle curve of a cello. The white houses glimmered in the dazzling light, their wrought-iron balconies dripping with red and pink geraniums. The dome of the chapel rose above the gray-tiled roofs where doves settled to watch the coming and going of fishermen. Alba’s body quivered with excitement. Surely there, in that little chapel, her parents had married. Without even setting foot on the shore she felt that their love affair was at last becoming tangible.