‘No,’ said Alba. ‘Leave them to it. It’s good for Cosima to have someone to talk to who isn’t family.’
Cosima hadn’t intended to open up to a stranger. She had been aware of Luca from the first moment he had talked to her in the piazza and had dismissed him as an attractive foreigner not to be trusted. Despite that, she found herself telling him all about Francesco and Riccardo, Francesco’s father.
Luca listened, intrigued, as she grew animated, telling stories against herself, laughing at her own foolishness in falling for a man who was clearly never going to leave his wife. She was transformed. The colour returned to her face and, although she was wearing black, it no longer sapped the life out of her. ‘You see, Francesco was the part of Riccardo that was totally mine. He filled the hole in my heart Riccardo left when he declared that he wouldn’t recognise my child and wanted nothing more to do with me. I was hurt but I had this baby growing inside that would belong to me exclusively. Francesco loved me. He would never leave me.’
‘He hasn’t left, Cosima. You just can’t see that he’s here.’
She slid her eyes around the room. ‘Is he here now?’
‘No.’
‘Have you spoken to him?’
‘Yes, but he didn’t reply.’
She smiled tentatively. ‘Next time he appears, will you please try again?’
‘I’ll do what I can.’
‘Thank you.’ They sat in silence for a moment. It didn’t feel awkward. They were bound together by something beyond their control. ‘Tell me something,’ she said finally. ‘When you said that butterfly was Francesco’s, what did you mean?’
‘Francesco was there at the trattoria. He was playing with a feather, jumping off a bollard. Then he had this beautiful blue butterfly. He came up to me and it flew from his hand to mine, where it remained until you came out and it settled on your dress.’
Cosima got up and walked over to her dresser. ‘The Brazilian Blue Morpho,’ she said, showing him a butterfly in an oval glass case. ‘It was his favourite insect. The Brazilian Blue Morpho is native to Brazil,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t exist in Italy.’
Luca returned to the palazzo with a spring in his step. His head buzzed with images of Francesco; he realised now he had never actually seen other people reacting to the child. He had always been isolated, as if separated by glass from his mother or the children he played amongst. No one else could see the boy but him. It was clear that Francesco wanted his mother to know that he was around her. Now she did, would he appear again?
Caradoc and Ma were on the terrace with his parents, drinking wine in the fading evening light. Small moths and flies hovered around the hurricane lights, flapping their dusty wings against the glass. Ventura had placed tea lights around the edge of the terrace and they twinkled through the twilight like fireflies.
‘So,’ said Ma expectantly. ‘How did it go?’
Luca took a seat in one of the comfy armchairs and lit a cigarette. ‘Well. Much to my surprise.’ He was unable to restrain the smile that spread across his face.
‘Have you saved the damsel?’
‘Maybe,’ said Luca cagily. His father handed him a glass of wine.
‘Well, darling, don’t keep us in suspense,’ exclaimed Romina.
‘What’s the house like?’ asked Bill.
Romina rolled her eyes. ‘Like any other Italian farmhouse, darling. Don’t interrupt Luca’s story! I’m so proud of him!’
‘The house is simple but pretty, with a view of the sea,’ said Luca, humouring his father. He looked at his mother. ‘And I met your fabulous Panfilo Pallavicini.’
‘You didn’t!’
‘I did. He’s Cosima’s uncle, married to the famous Alba.’
‘Ah,’ breathed the professor. ‘Valentina’s English daughter. Well, you certainly fell into the right nest.’
‘What is he like?’ Romina was curious.
‘Panfilo?’ Luca shrugged. ‘Handsome, I suppose. Longish grey hair, rugged – as you would expect.’
‘When’s he coming?’
‘He didn’t say.’
‘But he is coming?’
‘Yes, Mother, he is coming.’
‘But what about Cosima, Luca?’ said Ma. ‘How did you fare with her?’
‘Let’s just say, she’s talking to me now.’
‘That’s my boy. Persistence and diplomacy,’ said the professor.
Ma’s mouth twitched. ‘So, she won’t be rushing off into the water again?’
‘I think not,’ said Luca.
‘Careful,’ warned Caradoc. ‘Her family has a violent history.’