The Italian Matchmaker(18)

She leaned forward and puffed on the flame. ‘You’re not from here.’

‘No, just visiting.’

‘You’re a tourist?’

‘Yes.’

‘You sound Italian, but with a hint of something else. Where are you from?’

‘London.’

‘An Italian living in London. Why ever would you want to do that when you could remain here in God’s own country?’

He laughed. ‘I’m beginning to wonder myself.’

She let the smoke float out between her lips. ‘May I join you?’

‘Sure,’ he replied, finding it hard to resist when she was offering herself on a plate.

‘I’ll have an espresso. My name is Maria Fiscobaldi.’

‘Luca,’ he said.

‘The coffee here is good. But if you want a tip, the best coffee is at Fiorelli’s. Down on the quay. You should give it a try.’

‘I will.’

‘How long are you staying?’

‘I have no idea.’

She grinned. ‘Long enough to see the best view in Incantellaria?’

‘Sure. Where’s that?’

‘I’ll show you after coffee. I assure you, you won’t see better.’ She had mischief in her eyes.

Luca summoned the waiter and ordered two coffees. He was going to be buzzing on so much caffeine. Maria sat back on her chair and appraised him. He knew that look well: the sleepy eyes, the knowing expression, the flush of admiration on her cheeks, the naked lust vibrating in the invisible space between them. He knew sex could follow, but he wasn’t in the mood. He hadn’t come for that, even though she was beautiful. Their coffees arrived and they chatted. She told him about her life and he was content to listen, weary of talking about himself. After an hour, he paid the bill and got up to leave.

‘You’re not coming to see the view?’ she asked, disappointed.

‘Another time, perhaps.’

‘You don’t know what you’re missing.’

‘Then it’s my loss.’

‘Thank you for the coffee.’

‘It’s a pleasure.’

She smiled suggestively. ‘On the contrary, the pleasure is all mine.’

Luca returned to the palazzo. His mother was talking to Ventura and another maid in the hall. ‘My darling, where have you been?’

‘Into town,’ he replied.

‘Isn’t it pretty?’

‘Prettier than I expected,’ he said with a grin.

‘Come out and have a drink. Dinner is at nine.’

‘I think I’ll go and take a shower.’

‘Don’t be long. The professor was asking after you.’

Luca rolled his eyes. ‘I don’t want to have to talk to that old codger. I’m here on holiday.’

‘Well, you’re going to have to and that’s that.’

Luca retreated upstairs. When he finally stepped on to the terrace, Dizzy was sitting talking to his mother. Bristling with irritation, he joined them. ‘So, how was your afternoon?’ he asked Dizzy.

She smiled sweetly, tossing her blonde hair. ‘I had a very relaxing time lying in the sun and reading my book. Then Max and I slunk off for a little nuggy bunny.’

‘Nuggy bunny?’ Luca repeated.

‘Yes, when you cuddle up in bed together like two little bunnies.’ She pulled a face of mock guilt. ‘So indulgent, but the bed is so comfortable one doesn’t want to get out.’

‘I’m so pleased. I bought the very best Frette sheets,’ said Romina.

‘We’re going to Capri tomorrow. Why don’t you come with us?’ Dizzy asked Luca.

‘Thanks, but I think I’ll hang around here and play nuggy bunny all by myself.’

His mother shot him a look. ‘Luca’s very tired. He needs to rest.’

Luca conversed in monosyllables during dinner and didn’t stick around for coffee. Romina made excuses for him. ‘He’s going through a very difficult time. He’s quit the City, divorced his wife and doesn’t know what he wants to do. I need to find him a nice girl.’

‘There are plenty of girls in town,’ Caradoc suggested. ‘Italian girls are very easy on the eye.’

‘Not a local girl,’ Romina scoffed. ‘Gracious no! I’d hope for a girl with a bit more class.’

‘I don’t think marriage is high on Luca’s agenda,’ cautioned his father.

‘It’s very high on mine. Men are better when they’re married. Look at Nanni,’ she said, referring to her brother. ‘He’s a disaster!’

‘I wouldn’t wish Nanni on anyone,’ said Bill.

‘On second thoughts, neither would I!’ Romina agreed.

For the next few days, Luca managed to make himself scarce. He was polite but aloof. He spent most of his time reading by the pool or walking along the stony beach, lost in thought. In spite of the beauty of Incantellaria he was unable to lift the heaviness in his soul. He considered Maria and felt his heart sink. Maria, like so many other women he had encountered, was like a delicious honey pot. After eating all the honey there was nothing left but the empty pot. His spirit yearned for something more. A pot that remained always full. A honey that lasted. Maybe he wasn’t cut out for long relationships, but destined to flit like a bee from flower to flower, never settling for long.