They reached an old lookout tower, crumbling and redundant. ‘This is where I feel most at peace. Where I come to remember Francesco. When I look out over such a vast horizon, to the mists that blur the line of the sea, it’s hard not to believe in Heaven.’
Luca pulled her into his arms, longing to erase her frown with his lips. ‘Don’t be sad, Cosima,’ he said. ‘Francesco found me so that I could pass on a message to you. That he’s in spirit. That he’s always with you.’ Luca curled stray wisps of hair behind her ear.
‘I hope you’re right.’
‘I’m either right, or I’m mad.’
‘You’re not mad, are you?’
‘Mad for you,’ he replied softly, then kissed her lips that parted for him.
Luca had kissed many women, most of whom he couldn’t recall. But he had never had such a deep feeling of tenderness. She pulled on his heart so hard that it almost hurt. He wanted to wrap her up and protect her from her fears, to kiss away her pain and watch her cry with joy instead of sorrow. Most of all he wanted her to love him back.
17
When Rosa came home she found Cosima in the kitchen humming cheerfully as she bustled about washing up a bowl and two wooden spatulas. The room smelt of baking. A few sweets were scattered on the floor.
‘Hi.’ She opened the fridge. ‘The children sure made a mess of that!’ she laughed, on seeing the cake. Cosima didn’t comment. ‘So, how are they?’
‘Very excited about Panfilo’s party.’
‘Excited about staying up, too,’ said Rosa, sitting down with a glass of juice. ‘It was quiet today. Very dull. Where’s Mamma?’
‘She hasn’t come back yet. Beata’s gone home and left the children with me. She’s coming back for the party.’
‘What have you got?’
‘Balloons, of course.’
‘He hates birthdays.’
‘But the children love them.’
‘He’s very indulgent.’ There was a buoyancy to Cosima’s movements that made Rosa suspicious. She was far too happy for a woman who, only a week ago, had tried to drown herself. ‘Why are you in such a good mood?’
‘It’s such a beautiful day.’
‘It’s beautiful every day.’
‘But today is more beautiful than all the others.’
‘Well, if you say so. It’s the same as all the others if you ask me.’ Rosa glanced down at her chipped nail polish. ‘I’m going outside to find the children.’
Luca returned to the palazzo for a swim. It was hot and he needed to cool his ardour. As he propelled himself up and down the pool he recalled that kiss by the fort; sweet, tender, passionate, but much too short. He would have stayed there all the night had she been willing. It was all he could do not to unfasten the buttons on her dress and slip it off her shoulders. Instead, he had forced himself to take things slowly: this was Italy, not England where the girls were only too eager to jump into bed. As he came up for air he heard his daughters with Sammy.
‘Daddy!’ cried Juno, running over and crouching by the side of the water. ‘Where have you been?’
‘In town,’ he lifted himself up to kiss her cheek.
‘You’re all wet.’ She wiped her face with her caterpillar.
‘Are you going to get in?’
‘Can we play Naughty Crocodile?’
Luca pushed himself away into the middle of the pool. ‘The Naughty Crocodile is feeling very hungry today,’ he growled. Juno wriggled out of her dress and scrambled into her bathing suit, Coco watching warily from the side. ‘Come on Coco,’ cajoled her father. ‘You’re not going to ruin your manicure in the water. If you don’t get in, the Naughty Crocodile will have to climb out and catch you.’
‘You’re not allowed out of the pool,’ protested Coco. ‘That’s the rule.’
‘Who makes up the rules?’
‘I do,’ said Coco, as Sammy unzipped the back of her dress. ‘Granny is making me a tutu,’ she added breezily. ‘She’s going to cover it in sequins.’ Luca looked quizzically at Sammy.
‘She’s promised, hasn’t she, Coco?’ said Sammy.
‘More work for poor Ventura!’
That night Luca lay with his hands behind his head, gazing up at the shadows cast by the silver light of the moon across the plaster, and indulged himself with thoughts of Cosima. He had left the shutters open so that the gentle sounds of the night could enter the room: the ringing of crickets, the scuffling of small animals, the breeze rustling through the trees. He longed to tell Caradoc, but he wasn’t a teenager bragging about his latest conquest. He was a man in his forties, falling in love for the first time. Previous relationships he had enjoyed, from Freya to Claire, had only scratched at the surface of his heart. Cosima had entered the very core, like an arrow, where she remained, digging a little deeper with each uncertain smile. Everything about her fascinated him. He touched her but she still felt out of reach; he kissed her, yet she held herself back. And each time she smiled, he felt she gave him something special which she gave to no one else.