The Italian Matchmaker(41)

‘Of course!’ agreed Romina. ‘You must go and see them, darling. They will want to thank you.’

‘They have already thanked me. But she’ll hate me for having ruined her plans. It’s only a matter of time before she does it again.’

‘Then you have to tell her about the little boy,’ said Ma. Everyone turned to Luca.

‘What little boy?’ Romina asked. ‘You haven’t told us about a little boy.’

‘There was no little boy.’ Luca drained his glass. ‘I was confused. I was wet and cold.’

The professor was wise enough not to pursue it. ‘Let them come to you if they want to thank you,’ he said instead. ‘I guarantee you, they will.’

When the others retired to bed, Luca went for a walk along the beach. On his return, as he approached the folly, he heard the sound of footsteps in the undergrowth. He knew it wasn’t his father and it certainly wasn’t Ma or Caradoc. He smiled at the thought of Maxwell and Dizzy making up after their quarrel, stealing into the folly for a bit of nuggy bunny in that large four-poster bed, surrounded by erotic pictures and literature. He dismissed the idea at once. They seemed as passionate as a couple of jellyfish.

Although the moon was high, the shadows were dark and impenetrable. There was a crackling noise, then silence. He stood still, his heart thumping in his chest. Perhaps it was an animal, maybe a deer. He strained his ears, but heard nothing except the breeze rustling the leaves and the chirping of crickets. He sensed he was being watched, that whoever it was was aware of him and waiting for him to make a move.

Eventually, he was left with no choice but to take a step. When no sound came, he realised he must have been imagining the whole thing, and walked the remainder of the path to the folly. After all, at six feet four with wide shoulders and a body that had been honed by daily work-outs, he needn’t be afraid of anything.

Just as he reached the little portico of the folly a startled rabbit leaped out of the bushes into his path, before disappearing into the undergrowth. Luca took a deep breath, relieved. He tried the door, but it was locked. He shook his head and smiled wryly at his own stupidity. His mother had the only key. The episode at the festa must have shaken him up if he was imagining spirits in the shadows. He thrust his hands into his pockets and walked back to the palazzo.

That night he slept deeply with no intrusions. When he awoke to the dawn flooding the corners of the room, he wondered whether the events of the previous day had really happened. He got up and stretched, casting his eyes over the benign sea. The sky was clear and bright, the air infused with the smell of honeysuckle and lavender, the merry twittering of birds resonating across the gardens. He could see his mother practising her yoga on the terrace while a gardener watered the terracotta pots and borders with a hosepipe. He dismissed thoughts of the little boy and Cosima as if they had been part of a nightmare from which he had now awoken.

He breakfasted with his mother and Dizzy while Porci lay on the stones, his fat belly rising and falling as he slept. Smidge trotted around on her dainty little toes, avoiding Porci, whom she considered inferior on every level. Ventura came out with hot bread, fresh coffee and brioches. In the centre of the table was a bowl of pomegranates and peaches, from which Dizzy helped herself, avoiding the tasty crescenti which were damaging to her figure. Luca was starving, and sent Ventura off to make scrambled eggs, which he’d eat on toast with prosciutto.

The professor emerged in a cream linen jacket, Panama hat on his head, with Ma one step behind him in a long purple kaftan. ‘Good morning, my friends,’ he said jovially. ‘Something smells good over here.’

‘Darling Professor, come and sit down.’ Romina patted the chair beside her. ‘Did you sleep well?’

‘Like the dead.’

‘The dead don’t sleep in this place,’ grumbled Ma. ‘I could have sworn I heard footsteps up and down the corridor all night. I haven’t slept a wink.’

Romina tutted. ‘That was probably Bill, he wanders about when he can’t sleep.’

‘Well, he has a very heavy tread,’ said Ma grumpily.

Luca remembered the footsteps at the folly and wondered whether there had, indeed, been an intruder in the night.

‘Strange things happen in Incantellaria,’ he said as Ventura put a plate of scrambled eggs in front of him.

‘Well, there was no sign of blood on Jesus’ marble face,’ said the professor.

‘But they had a good knees-up anyway,’ complained Ma. ‘The fireworks kept me awake too.’

When Bill appeared, having been into town to get the English newspapers, the whole table turned and looked at him expectantly.