The Italian Matchmaker(105)

As for Freya, Ma watched her with Luca. Romina had told her they were very old friends and that Freya suspected her husband of having an affair. Ma couldn’t understand why people got married in the first place; it wasn’t in a man’s nature to remain faithful. That Freya was enamoured of Luca was plain to see. Luca was clearly fond of her. But love? If Romina were a dog, she’d be barking up the wrong tree. The object of Luca’s desire was in an entirely different forest. Ma sat back to watch events unfold. Love was the best spectator sport.

During lunch Romina enlightened her new guests with the bloody history of the palazzo. Fitz’s face was a mask, giving nothing away. Rosemary and Freya were gripped, hanging on her every word. ‘And guess what, Valentina’s family still live here in Incantellaria,’ she said when she had finished the story. Fitz’s mask slipped a moment and he went pink. ‘Valentina’s daughter owns the trattoria. It’s still the family business.’

Rosemary gritted her teeth and retained her composure. She had hoped Fitz’s great love would have moved away, or died. ‘Alba’s married, presumably,’ she said.

‘Yes, to Panfilo!’ Romina reminded them.

‘The photographer,’ Rosemary recalled. Freya remembered her stepfather going very quiet when they had mentioned Incantellaria.

‘You’ve been here before, haven’t you, Fitz?’ said Romina.

‘A long time ago.’

‘Did you come here, to the palazzo?’

‘It was a ruin.’

Romina rubbed her hands together gleefully. ‘What was it like?’

Rosemary sat up straight as Fitz told the table of the eerie cold, the rotten smell, the overgrown garden and the crumbling palace. ‘We were exploring,’ he explained.

‘We?’ said Ma.

‘An old friend.’

His evasiveness aroused Ma’s interest. ‘An old friend. How very mysterious.’

‘Not at all,’ said Fitz, coolly. ‘It was Alba. I haven’t seen her in thirty years.’

The table fell silent. Rosemary was appalled that he had mentioned Alba by name; he had somehow insulted her by bringing up his old love. Freya was astonished that the woman Fitz had nearly married was so closely tied to the story Romina had told them of the murder in the palazzo. The men looked at Fitz with admiration – Alba was a beauty.

‘Well, aren’t you a dark horse!’ said Bill, passing around the wine. ‘What will Alba think when you turn up at the trattoria?’

‘I shouldn’t think she will even remember me. It was thirty years ago.’

‘You don’t have to go to the trattoria,’ said Rosemary with a strained smile. ‘We can stay here. I can’t think of anywhere nicer.’

‘Of course you should go.’ Ma saw through Rosemary’s silly ploy. ‘You can’t come all the way out here and not see her.’

‘I’d be very curious to see an old flame!’ agreed Romina.

‘Don’t get too excited.’ Fitz tried to make light of it. He could sense Rosemary’s discomfort as if she had suddenly grown a skin of prickles.

‘I won’t miss this,’ said Ma. ‘It reminds me of a Shakespeare play.’

‘Which one?’ asked Caradoc.

‘Ah, that depends how things pan out!’

Rosemary felt as though she were drowning. ‘It’ll be fun,’ she said, wanting to add ‘at my expense’. She checked herself. She was being unreasonable. After all, it was thirty years ago.

While the oldies slept off their lunch, Luca gave Freya a guided tour of the property. He knew he should tell her about Cosima, but he didn’t want to put her in an awkward position. She had come to seek refuge from her troubled marriage. The last thing she needed to hear was that he was on the point of asking Cosima to marry him. It wasn’t fair that his joy should detract from the purpose of her visit.

He felt bad at having flirted with her, and wanted to take back everything he had said that had been inappropriate. She had been right; while he had felt insecure, she had been a calm, familiar harbour. But he was a man for the high seas and, now he had regained his strength, he no longer wanted that safety. He hoped she wasn’t thinking of leaving Miles.

He took her around the gardens and down to the folly, which she found as enchanting as he knew she would. They sat on the bed where he had made love to Cosima and finally, after discussing the beauty of the little building and the tragedy of its history, they talked about Miles.

‘I never thought Miles would be the type to stray,’ she said, curling a lock of hair behind her ear. ‘He’s not exactly a ladies’ man.’