The Italian Matchmaker(36)

‘She was a challenge,’ Luca replied.

‘Was she fascinating?’

‘Not fascinating enough.’

‘What happened?’

‘I spoiled her.’

‘They change once they get the ring on the finger. If I were a man, I’d never marry.’

‘You’re a woman and you’ve never married!’

‘Marriage is like a pencil without a point, Luca.’ She leaned over and hissed the word with relish. ‘Pointless!’

When the professor reappeared at four he recruited Bill for a rubber of bridge with Ma and Luca. They played until dinner. Romina and Dizzy returned from a brief visit to town. Later, Dizzy could be heard through the upstairs window arguing with Maxwell. They came down to dinner, only to sit at opposite ends of the table, ignoring each other. Ma found this rather compelling and itched to know what the argument was about.

The following day the sky was grey and overcast. As promised, Luca accompanied the professor into town. The streets were quiet, the air cooler, a storm brewing on the horizon where purple clouds gathered like a congregating army. The professor’s enthusiasm was in no way dampened by the inclement weather. ‘We’ll eat inside,’ Luca suggested as he parked the car as near to the quay as possible. As soon as he spotted the little boy again, playing among the boats, he knew Cosima must be at the trattoria.

‘That poor child is always on his own,’ said Luca disapprovingly.

‘What child?’

‘Cosima’s son. He follows her around and she barely acknowledges him. It’s all very well mourning her husband but she mustn’t forget the living!’

‘I wouldn’t mention it, if I were you,’ said Caradoc, making his way slowly across the terrace to the restaurant.

‘Don’t worry. I’m through and out the other side. Where’s the lovely Rosa?’

Inside, the trattoria was old-fashioned with small tables and simple chairs. The floor was tiled, the air sweet with the smell of dried lavender and herbs hanging from the walls above rows of framed photographs. There were bowls of lemons on the sideboard and bottles of wine in tall racks. A few tables were taken but the weather seemed to have kept people away. Rosa appeared in a green dress that clung to her body like seaweed. Her hair was up, exposing her long neck, and her lips were scarlet to match her nails. Luca noticed her toenails, painted like her fingers, peeping out of a pair of very high heels. He wondered how she managed to walk on them all day.

‘We’ve come back for the red mullet,’ said Luca with a smile.

Rosa smiled back. ‘I thought you’d come for me,’ she replied.

‘I have come for you, pretty Rosa,’ interjected the professor.

‘Well, one out of two isn’t bad. Would you like some wine?’

‘Greco di Tufo, chilled,’ said Luca. ‘It looks like there’s going to be a storm.’

‘And a very dramatic one, too,’ said Rosa. ‘You might be trapped in here all afternoon.’

‘I can’t think of a nicer place to be trapped,’ said the professor.

‘Who are all those photographs of?’ Luca asked.

‘My family.’ Then she pointed to a sketch of a reclining nude, placed high up on the wall. ‘That is a portrait of my grandmother, Valentina, painted by my grandfather. Wasn’t she beautiful?’ Rosa’s eyes glittered. ‘I’m told I’m very like her. Sadly, my life is rather uneventful by comparison.’

‘I hope you live longer, my dear,’ said Caradoc. ‘And come to a better end.’

In the middle of lunch the skies opened, thunder shook the hills and rain pounded the quay. Cosima, if she was in the kitchen, didn’t appear. Luca resented her all the more for not giving him the opportunity of ignoring her. He looked out at the storm, at the dark, tempestuous sea, and hoped the little boy was safe at home.





10



Luca didn’t go down to the trattoria again. He took to visiting a caffè in the square instead, where they made a good, strong coffee and served brioches, and tried not to dwell on Cosima. The professor and Ma plotted against Dizzy and Maxwell and managed to convince Romina to encourage them to stay at the palazzo and avoid the famous Festa di Santa Benedetta altogether.

‘I’ll give them a nice dinner,’ she said. ‘I’m rather bored of Max and Dizzy myself. They contribute nothing. Surely, they have something they have to get back to. Can he really do all his business over the internet and on the telephone?’

As fortune would have it, the day of the festa Maxwell suffered a migraine and spent all afternoon in bed while Dizzy, bored and bad tempered on her own, lay in the shade reading a novel. Ma crowed with glee, while Luca anticipated the festa with some foreboding. Surely Cosima would be there?