The Italian Matchmaker(107)

After a guided tour around Palazzo Montelimone, Romina gathered up the house party and squeezed them into Nanni’s car and her little yellow Fiat. Freya stayed with Luca in the folly. She had no desire to watch Fitz and his old girlfriend humiliate her mother.

Alba had made an effort with her appearance. Not that she didn’t normally, but today she knew the chances of Fitz walking into the trattoria were very high and she wanted to look her best. She had washed her hair, leaving it to fall down her back in shiny waves, and chosen a black dress imprinted with red and green flowers that hugged her curvaceous body, emphasising the swell of her breasts and the rounded lines of her hips and bottom. She wasn’t as slim as she had been when Fitz had known her, but she knew she looked good for a grandmother. There came a time in a woman’s life when she had to choose between her face and her figure. Alba had reached that point and chosen her face. The extra pounds made her skin look plump and youthful but her waist was thicker than she would have liked. She painted her eyelashes and applied a little blusher, hoping no one would notice and draw attention to it. She hadn’t told Panfilo that Fitz was coming. The chances were they wouldn’t meet. Panfilo had gone to Milan for a few days and, even if he were to come home, a man as self-assured as Panfilo wouldn’t be concerned about the sudden arrival of an old flame of hers. She didn’t even think he’d be curious. As she left the house she hoped Fitz would pay her a visit after all the trouble she had gone to.

It seemed everyone was at the trattoria that day. Rosa and Cosima were serving tables while Toto was chatting to the regulars. Lunchtime was busy. A big boat brought tourists from Sorrento and there was barely a spare seat in the whole town. Alba was so distracted that she didn’t notice Rosa’s smug smile or the way she bounced off the balls of her feet when she walked. The two barely spoke to one other. Only Cosima commented on Alba’s appearance, telling her how good she looked. Alba grinned at her and replied ‘Vecchio pollo fa buon brodo – Old chicken makes good broth.’

By teatime, Alba’s excitement had waned. She had sat at the table in the corner going through the accounts for long enough, barely daring to go out in case Fitz turned up and caught her off guard. She wasn’t sure how to react. She didn’t usually spend all day in the trattoria. ‘I’m going home,’ she said to Cosima at last. Her good mood had deflated. She was like a girl who’d been stood up on her first date. ‘You can hold the fort with your father and Rosa. I’ll see you later.’ As Alba strode off across the terrace, something made her stop in her tracks.

There, walking up the quay, was Fitzroy Davenport. He hadn’t changed at all, perhaps a little grey around the temples and a little more weathered, but he had those boyish good looks that didn’t age very much. He saw her too and his face opened into a wide, infectious smile. He forgot about Rosemary, a few yards behind him. It was thirty years ago and he was striding towards the love of his life.

‘My God, I can’t believe it’s you,’ he said, kissing her cheek. ‘I can’t believe you’re still here. You haven’t changed a bit!’ She smiled up at him and Fitz saw beyond the fifty-six-year-old woman to the girl he had fallen in love with.

‘I said I’d wait for you,’ she whispered. His face clouded. ‘Well, I couldn’t wait for ever, could I?’ She was teasing, but beneath his laugh he was choked with regret.

‘I should have known better.’

‘So, how do you like your old friend?’ said Romina, as if she were the mastermind of their reunion  .

‘Very much,’ Fitz replied, reluctantly letting Alba go. He felt his wife at his side. She linked her arm through his possessively. ‘This is Rosemary,’ he said. ‘My wife.’

Alba took in the perky woman Fitz had married instead of her. ‘Welcome to Incantellaria.’

‘Very nice to meet you,’ replied Rosemary, who had already noted Alba’s dark beauty and astonishingly pale eyes. ‘I’ve heard so much about you.’

Fitz knew what Alba would think of Rosemary and the laughter in her eyes confirmed his suspicions. ‘Come, let’s find a table where we can all sit and catch up,’ she said, leading the way across the terrace.

‘I must sit in the shade,’ said Ma, helping Caradoc as he walked stiffly, leaning on his stick.

‘Where’s the lovely Rosa?’ he asked.

‘She’s gone home to her children.’

‘Words cannot express my disappointment!’

‘Well, isn’t that a relief!’ said Ma. ‘You can keep quiet then.’