The Italian Matchmaker(44)

‘You’re not wrong. You’re a sane, intelligent woman. Ventura is a superstitious peasant. As for your guests, they’re enjoying the idea of the ghost, but none of them really believes. There are no such things.’

Even, as the words came out, he knew he was lying. He thought of the little boy in the church and the people who used to appear to him in the night as a child. Buried deep in the hidden recesses of his heart was the knowledge that there was more than this three-dimensional world. ‘We’ll get to the bottom of this, Mother. Trust me, the person lurking around the folly is made of denser stuff than Ventura’s ghosts!’



That afternoon Caradoc invited him into town for a coffee. ‘I’d like another look at that delightful girl,’ he explained, meaning Rosa. ‘Girls like her keep old men’s dreams alive.’

‘You’re not going without me!’ said Ma, catching them in the hall. ‘Or have you forgotten our shared adventure?’

‘Certainly not, dear lady. We are now linked for ever. Luca is coming too.’

‘Dizzy is on the telephone to a long-suffering friend,’ she grumbled. ‘A good moment to escape. I can’t tolerate listening to her gushing.’ She looked at Luca. ‘Ah, yes, the translator. I’m getting a sense of déjà vu.’

‘I hope not,’ he replied. ‘I don’t fancy wading out into the sea again.’

Ma arranged her red hat in the mirror. It was made of straw and decorated with brightly painted wooden fruit. She liked to keep the sun off her pale skin.

‘I’d avoid the harbour then if I were you. If she’s intent on drowning, nothing will stop her.’ She grinned at him through the mirror, her face transformed by her elusive smile. ‘Well, maybe you can. Men don’t come more handsome. Italy is doing you good, Luca.’

‘Ah, Luca,’ said Caradoc. ‘I was handsome once but age is a great leveller. The flowers anew, returning seasons bring! But beauty faded has no second spring. Enjoy it while you have it, young man.’ They went out into the dazzling sunshine.

They borrowed Romina’s car again, but this time Ma squeezed into the back where she could spread herself across the entire seat. Inside, it smelled of hot leather. Caradoc wound down the window to let in the breeze, lifting his nose like a dog. As the car hummed down the hill Luca felt his spirits rise in the company of these two most unlikely friends. How different this life was, and how different he was beginning to feel.

They arrived at the trattoria and chose a table on the terrace overlooking the harbour. Boats came and went, children played on the quay, a bony dog trotted along the pavement until he spotted a black cat lurking in the shadows and made chase. A pair of old men in caps sat arguing about the game of scopa they had played the night before.

Ma took a while to choose a chair in the shade and Caradoc nearly tripped over his own feet when Rosa emerged in her scarlet dress. She greeted them warmly and waited for them all to sit down. Luca hoped she wouldn’t mention his ‘heroism’ again. It was an episode he would rather forget.

Rosa addressed the professor. ‘So, coffee for you, signore?’ Her voice was sweet as chocolate.

Caradoc beamed. ‘You remember?’

‘Of course. How could I forget?’

‘Black coffee,’ he said. ‘And something sweet. You choose, I’m sure you will find me something special.’

‘Shame on you, Professor,’ said Ma disapprovingly. ‘You’re a silly old man.’

‘The day I stop being a silly old man, I will simply be an old man, and a sad old man at that.’

Ma snorted. ‘I’ll have a nice cup of Earl Grey tea, with a little honey and milk on the side.’ She expected the girl to shrug in that infuriating Italian way and declare that they didn’t stock such a thing, but she nodded agreeably and turned to Luca.

‘Coffee with milk on the side, piping hot?’ she asked with a flirtatious smile.

‘Thank you.’

Rosa’s eyes lingered a little longer than was proper for a married woman. ‘Can I get you anything sweet?’

‘Yes,’ interjected Ma stridently. ‘We’ll have whatever the professor has.’ Rosa disappeared inside and Luca breathed a sigh of relief that she hadn’t mentioned her cousin.

‘Pretty girl!’ said Caradoc with a sigh. ‘If I were your age, Luca, I’d bed a succulent Italian girl like Rosa. They’re like ripe fruit, ready to be picked and tasted.’

‘Good God, Professor!’ snapped Ma. ‘What’s got into you?’

‘It must be the heat.’