The Italian Matchmaker(31)

Toto shrugged. ‘Nothing unusual for a Saturday.’

‘Of course, it’s the weekend. I’m on another planet!’ He sat down, amused that he had lost track of time. While he had nothing to do, all the days were the same.

‘You’re not from here?’ Toto asked. The younger man’s Italian accent was not familiar.

‘From London,’ Luca replied.

‘But you speak Italian so well.’

‘My mother’s Italian. She lives up at the palazzo.’

‘Palazzo Montelimone.’ Toto gave a slow whistle. ‘That’s quite a place.’ Toto was caught off guard. He rummaged around for something else to say but only managed, ‘What will you have?’

Rosa appeared in a flash of crimson. ‘I’ll take the order,’ she said, dismissing him with a gentle nudge of her hips. Toto withdrew to seat a group who had just disembarked from Sorrento. ‘So, what will you have? I can recommend the red mullet, it’s fresh today.’

‘I wasn’t planning on having lunch, just coffee,’ he replied.

‘You can’t come here and not eat! A growing man like you. Besides, Fiorelli’s is famous for its cooking. My great-grandmother passed her recipes to my mother and she has passed them to me. We guard them possessively. Why don’t you let me choose something for you? Go on! Live a little.’

Luca was won over. Besides, he had nothing else to do. ‘All right,’ he said, handing back the menu. ‘You choose. I’ll have some wine, too. A glass of Greco di Tufo, chilled.’

‘Right away,’ she replied with a long, lingering look.

Luca sat back in his chair. He enjoyed people watching. It was something he had never had time to do. Now he noticed everyone around him, from what they were wearing to the small gestures that passed between them. He tried to work out relationships, dynamics and moods. Rosa brought him wine. He took a sip.

‘You like it?’ she asked.

‘Perfect,’ he said, taking off his sunglasses. His blue eyes were the colour of the little fishing boats on the beach. ‘Are you still in trouble?’ he asked, angling for news of her mysterious cousin.

‘I’m always in trouble with Cosima.’

‘How long has she been in mourning?’

‘Too long. Three years. It’s time she put on a pretty dress and found a husband.’ She gave a little sniff. ‘You know, she can be quite pretty when she makes the effort.’

Luca was amused by her unguarded malice. ‘What does she do?’

‘Very little, because my mother feels sorry for her. She’s meant to keep the books. Of course, she used to work here full-time, but she became a drag. This is a pretty place – we don’t need a black widow spinning misery.’

‘She didn’t eat her husband, did she?’

Rosa laughed. ‘Sometimes, I’d like to eat mine,’ she murmured and Luca wondered how many times she had been unfaithful. This flirtatious dance seemed very well practised.

Rosa went away to serve other customers. She walked about the restaurant with her bottom out, her stomach in, her gait slow and sexy, conscious that Luca might be watching. In fact, Luca had turned his attention to the quay where Cosima’s little boy was jumping off a bollard. He sat up: if the child was there, his mother would surely follow.

Sure enough, Cosima appeared on the terrace, carrying a bunch of pretty white and yellow flowers. She walked past him without a glance, the scent of lemons in her wake. He watched her weave deftly through the tables and felt his desire mount. She wasn’t overtly sexy like Rosa, or as dramatically beautiful, but there was something about her that aroused him. He wasn’t used to women being aloof. He knew there was fire beneath the ice because he had seen it here on this very terrace. He took a swig of wine and watched her disappear inside. She posed a tremendous challenge.

Rosa brought him a plate of red mullet with roasted vegetables and potatoes. She insisted on waiting while he took a bite. ‘Very good,’ he said truthfully.

‘It’s all in the oil, infused with herbs and spices.’

‘Well, it reaches the spot!’

‘I’m so pleased. Can I get you anything else?’

‘Your cousin seems in a better mood today.’

‘She has her ups and downs. At least she has come in to help. She can do some washing up!’

‘Doesn’t she serve? You’re very busy.’

‘No, she’ll frighten the customers away. It’s important to smile and Cosima doesn’t smile very much.’

‘Doesn’t anyone make her smile?’

‘I smile enough for the two of us,’ said Rosa, bringing the conversation around to herself again. He noticed that she had reapplied her lipstick. It was as red as her dress.