‘It’s dangerous,’ interjected Ma. ‘Pickpockets.’
‘Here?’ said Dizzy.
‘They look out for people like you. People who don’t blend in. You’re too blonde.’
Dizzy looked at her husband. ‘I’m sure Maxwell will protect me,’ she said with a little-girl smile. Maxwell took her hand.
‘But why risk it?’ said Ma darkly.
‘Indeed,’ added the professor.
‘We’ll think about it,’ said Maxwell. ‘Perhaps if we all go together?’
Ma scowled into her wine glass.
That night Luca slept fitfully, disturbed by conflicting thoughts of Cosima. On one hand she had bruised his ego. He found her attractive but she had rebuffed him. On the other hand, she was rude and he didn’t care for women like that. He wished he could just forget about her, but somehow she had got beneath his skin.
He awoke with the residue of ill-feeling. At first he couldn’t remember what caused it then, little by little, the memories of the day before came flooding back. He was contemplating what he was going to do with his day, when a butterfly fluttered in through the open window, the same species as the one from the day before: uncommonly large and vibrant blue. It fluttered about the room, then alighted on his hand. It was as if the butterfly knew him. He raised his hand to get a better look. The butterfly had closed its wings and was tasting his skin with its proboscis. Luca went to the window and threw open the shutters. He half expected to see the little boy on the terrace below, or in the garden, watching him with his big brown eyes. But it was empty except for the odd bird hopping about in search of worms.
Luca held out his hand, willing the butterfly to fly off, but the creature remained in the room while he brushed his teeth and turned on the shower. Finally, he copied the little boy and blew at it. The butterfly saw sense and fluttered into the air, disappearing into the garden.
After breakfast he lay by the pool reading his book. This time he was able to concentrate and was grateful for the distraction. He had promised Caradoc he’d accompany him to the trattoria for lunch the following day. After having written off the professor and Ma as two old eccentrics, not worth his time and effort, he was growing fond of them; they were life-enhancers. He resolved that if Cosima were there tomorrow he would not acknowledge her. He had twice made an effort. He wouldn’t make another.
Caradoc sat in the shade reading poetry while Dizzy sunbathed, her walkman plugged into her ears, her right foot tapping to the beat, while Smidge lay sleeping in her Birkin handbag. Ma detested swimming pools. She was too fat to swim herself and resented those like Dizzy with beautiful bodies. She remained on the terrace with Porci, embroidering a pair of slippers for her nephew, trying to work out how to get to the festa without Dizzy and Maxwell muscling in to ruin their party.
After lunch, the professor retired for his siesta and Ma challenged Luca to a game of Racing Demon. Dizzy and Maxwell returned to the pool to lie in the sun and ‘fry like a pair of slugs’, as Ma put it meanly.
‘I don’t see the point of Dizzy,’ she added, shuffling the pack.
‘Does there have to be a point?’ Luca asked, lighting a cigarette.
‘A person without a point is like a pencil without a point. Useless. She’s pretty enough, at least that’s something.’
‘She’s not so bad.’
‘I haven’t heard her say a single interesting thing.’
‘Some men like women like that.’
‘What do you like, Luca?’
Luca took a long drag. ‘I like a pretty girl, too.’ Ma rolled her eyes disdainfully. ‘Okay, I like intelligence, wit, I want to be amused and challenged. I like a woman to be independent and confident.’
Ma snorted. ‘That’s all very dull, Luca. What you need is a woman who fascinates you and who goes on fascinating you until the day she dies. As soon as you feel you know her, she shows you something you haven’t seen before. That’s what you need. Otherwise you’ll get bored with her.’ She dealt the cards. ‘Yes, find someone fascinating and she’ll always be a challenge.’ They played Racing Demon all afternoon. Ma was a shrewd opponent who seemed to go at a slow, thoughtful place, but somehow finished first.
‘You’re a dark horse, Ma! What’s your secret?’
She tapped her temple with a finger. ‘It’s all in here and I’m not sharing it. If we were playing for money, I’d be a very rich woman by now!’
‘If we were playing for money, I’d have quit long ago,’ Luca retorted. ‘I’m not one to toss away my fortune.’
‘No, you had a wife who did that for you. What on earth inspired you to marry Claire?’