‘Poor old Fitz. He always had the potential to marry a strong woman.’
‘Well, he didn’t want me enough to follow me out here. It’s his fault. No one asked him to marry Rosemary.’
‘But you have Panfilo. You got what you deserved, Alba: the best.’
Alba went upstairs and took a shower. Memories rained down with the water and she began humming, taking pleasure from mental pictures she hadn’t looked at in so many years. She remembered her houseboat on Cheyne Walk and her favourite pair of blue suede clog boots she had bought from Biba. She remembered the goat she had tethered to the roof of Viv’s boat, to eat the grass and flowers she had planted there, and imagined her old friend’s horrified face when she discovered it. She wondered where Viv was now and whether anyone bothered reading her books any more. She had been a very different person then.
She finished showering and rubbed rose oil into her skin before dressing. It was hot in her bedroom. The window was wide open, the sounds of crickets floating in on the breeze. As she buttoned her dress she went over to look out across the garden and down to the sea beyond. It was then that she heard a low masculine voice. It was unmistakeable. He was speaking shockingly bad Italian to Beata, who was listening to him patiently. It belonged to Fitz.
She ran downstairs, then composed herself a moment in the kitchen before going out on to the terrace. ‘Oh, it’s you, Fitz!’ she exclaimed, feigning surprise.
‘I was just . . .’ He was about to make up a story about passing by coincidence. But Alba would see through that. ‘I wanted to see you,’ he said simply.
‘Where’s your wife?’
‘Shopping.’
‘Do you fancy a walk? We could go down to the old lookout point.’
‘I’d love that.’
‘Will you stay until Rosa comes home, Beata?’
‘I’ll stay as long as you need me, my dear. You go off and have a nice time.’ Beata smiled, she wasn’t so old that she couldn’t remember what it was like to be in the company of an attractive man.
Fitz put his hands in his pockets, bid goodnight to Beata, then followed Alba down the olive grove towards the cliffs. The sun was setting, turning the sky to crimson and gold just above the horizon.
‘This place is just the same, isn’t it?’ he said, glancing at her. ‘You haven’t changed either, Alba.’
‘We only really change on the outside. When I’m with you, I’m twenty-five again.’
‘I should have come after you.’
‘No, you did what you felt was right.’
‘It wasn’t right. You were right for me. It’s like the last thirty years haven’t happened. I don’t know why I lacked courage.’
‘How soon after I left did you meet Rosemary?’
‘Weeks.’
‘That soon? Weren’t you a little sad?’
‘I was devastated. I missed you terribly. At one point I nearly came back, but by then Rosemary was on the scene. She managed to convince me that I wouldn’t be happy in Italy. She told me that if you’d really loved me you would have put me above Italy.’
‘It wasn’t just Italy, Fitz. It was Cosima too. She’s like a daughter to me, you know. I have never once regretted coming back.’
‘I’ve regretted not following you a million times.’
‘But you’re happy with Rosemary?’
‘I was happy with you. I’m content with Rosemary. She’s a good woman. She looks after me. It’s not passionate like it was with you and we certainly don’t laugh as much.’ He gazed at her tenderly. ‘You were the great love of my life, Alba. There’ll never be another you.’
‘I’m flattered. We did have fun, didn’t we?’ She began to walk with a bounce in her step. With Fitz she felt headstrong and mischievous, as if she were young and playful again and not a grandmother who had to conform to stereotype.
‘I’ve thought about you often over the years. It’s crazy to think of you being a grandmother. You’re frozen in my mind as you were when you left.’
‘I’m afraid I’m a lot older and fatter than I was.’
‘No, you’re more beautiful now because your face shows your wisdom. You’ve calmed down, too, I can tell.’
‘How do you know?’
‘You were incredibly selfish when I met you.’
‘I was not!’
‘You were promiscuous, wilful, obstinate and wild. You had everyone running around after you. That’s why I fell in love with you because you were like a wild animal. So, Alba, who tamed you?’
‘A photographer called Panfilo.’