The Italian Matchmaker(30)

‘Meditating.’

Romina laughed incredulously. ‘Is that what bankers do in their spare time?’

‘I’m not a banker any more.’

She shook her head and went to retrieve her yoga mat. ‘You can take a man out of the bank, but not a banker out of the man!’

There was a snuffling noise as Porci trotted out on to the terrace. Romina was distracted and Luca slipped away, leaving her with her precious pig in her lap. He retreated to his bedroom and climbed into bed. No sooner had his head touched the pillow than he was asleep.

When he awoke it was midday. Ma’s strident voice rose from the terrace with Dizzy’s high-pitched giggling, punctuated by the professor’s wise interruptions. He lay a while enjoying the warm breeze that slipped through the gap in the shutters. It was good not to have to get up at dawn to go to work. He didn’t miss the carbon fumes, the rumbling engines and tooting horns, the frantic heartbeat of the City. He felt years younger. In the quiet of his new existence he was beginning to sense parts of himself he had forgotten existed.

He thought of Cosima, and pictured her storming into the trattoria, her face tear-stained and furious. He felt himself drawn into her drama by the compelling magnetism of her mourning and her obvious rage. She was too young to be wearing black all the time and much too attractive to ignore the men around her. Her rejection when he had tried to talk to her had left him with a strong feeling of desire. He wasn’t used to being rebuffed.

He got up and showered, then went to find his mother.

‘Can I borrow your car? I want to go into town for coffee.’

‘You don’t need to go into town, darling. I’ll make you coffee myself.’ Romina couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to leave the palazzo.

‘I like it there by the sea.’

She gave him a knowing look. ‘Pretty girls,’ she said, winking at Ventura. ‘Men are all the same! Go on then. You can fill the car up with petrol while you’re down there.’

She watched him go and her heart swelled with pride. He was so tall and handsome, with his wide shoulders and straight back. What he needed was a nice Italian girl to love and look after him. Claire had become an avaricious creature who expected everything to be done for her. She was selfish and ungrateful.

‘Now, Ventura,’ she said, brushing Claire out of her mind. ‘You have to get over your fear of going upstairs. Ghosts don’t exist. They are all in your imagination. Control it or find another job. I don’t want you frightening the maids and I cannot carry excess baggage around this place. Pull your weight or leave.’

Ventura looked at her in astonishment. ‘But I know there is someone up there.’

‘The house is full of guests. It is hardly a surprise that you hear footsteps.’

‘They say it is haunted.’

‘Who says?’

‘Everyone.’

‘Gossip. This place hasn’t been occupied for years. Really, Ventura, you can’t believe the idle chit-chat of peasants who have nothing more to do than spread rumours.’ Ventura made to speak, but Romina silenced her with the wave of her hand. ‘Enough. Now, you go and make up the rooms. I don’t want to hear another word about ghosts.’ It’s all I ever heard as a child, and I won’t listen to any more!

Luca parked the car in the piazza. The little square was busy. The caffè where he had met Maria was full of customers sitting at round tables beneath green parasols. Waiters in black and white took orders and poured wine into large glasses. A few elderly tourists emerged from the hotel, and children played on the grass while their mothers and grandmothers chatted on benches. The town had a festive air and Luca wondered what was going on.

The narrow street down to the quay was blocked by cars and scooters, tooting their horns in fury at the car in front that had stalled on the incline. On the sea front, children ran about looking at the boats and chatting to those tending them. The restaurants were filling up, especially on the terraces as everyone wanted to be outside. He saw a large boat arrive, laden with tourists, and decided to grab a table at the trattoria before they were all taken.

Rosa was taking an order when Luca appeared. She shouted to Toto, her voice quivering with excitement. ‘Show Luca to a nice table. He’s a very special customer.’ She winked at him flirtatiously. Luca smiled; Rosa’s ebullience was contagious. Toto showed him to a table on the edge of the terrace, beside a large stone container of red geraniums.

‘From here you can watch the world go by,’ said Toto.

‘What’s going on today?’ Luca asked. ‘Is there some sort of festival?’