The Italian Matchmaker(67)

These arguments jostled about in her head. If Francesco was dead, wasting her life in mourning wasn’t going to bring him back. If he was in spirit, as Luca maintained, surely he would want her to be happy. He clearly didn’t want her to die or he wouldn’t have sought out Luca and begged him to rescue her. Then the voice of guilt argued that she should dress herself in black and return to her state of mourning, where she felt comfortable. Where she belonged.

When she opened her eyes it took a moment for them to adjust. She put her hand on the floor to push herself up and saw a feather on the floor by the cushion. Like the one she had found on the candle table, it was long and white. Surely, this was not a coincidence.

She looked around. There were no birds in the church and if someone had put it there while she prayed she would have noticed. It certainly hadn’t been there when she sat down.

She walked unsteadily out of the church, the feather between her finger and thumb. She felt light-headed with joy. If this was a message from Francesco, then he must mean it was okay to see Luca. The feather was a blessing.

She sat on one of the benches in the square and watched the children playing. How she yearned to hold her son and feel his body against hers. How she longed to kiss his soft face and smell the familiar scent of his skin. She felt her eyes well with tears, then remembered Luca reassuring her that she was never alone. She stopped crying and twirled the feather around and around. If Luca was right, Francesco was beside her now, maybe sitting on this very bench. If you’re here, my love, show yourself to me so that I can know for sure.

When Rosa and Alessandro returned home, Eugenio was waiting for them on the terrace.

‘You’re home early,’ said Rosa, as Alessandro ran off to join his siblings in the garden.

‘I had a very interesting visit today from the woman who owns the palazzo.’

‘What did she want?’

‘She says someone’s been sleeping in the folly.’

‘For goodness sake, she’s mad.’

‘She wants me to go and check it out.’

‘What does she expect you to find?’

‘A woman.’

‘Why a woman?’

‘Because they found a woman’s scarf in there.’

‘Why would anyone want to go and sleep in there? It’s spooky.’

‘I think she just wants reassurance.’

‘Well, she’s found the right man, then,’ she said proudly.

‘There’s not a great deal I can do. She says her son wants to catch whoever it is, so she’s not going to change the lock.’

‘That’s the first thing I’d do.’

Eugenio shot her a look. ‘That place is a mystery if you ask me.’

‘Mamma thinks it’s haunted by the Marchese.’

‘Perhaps,’ Eugenio conceded. ‘I’m going to go and take a look. Do you want to come?’

‘No. I’m racked with curiosity, but I don’t think it looks very professional to be accompanied by your wife. Just come back and tell me exactly what you find.’





19



Luca picked up Cosima at the trattoria as arranged. She had changed into a black dress embroidered with small red flowers, and her hair was tied with a red ribbon. As he came closer he could smell the scent of lemons and felt the familiar ache of desire. He put his hand around her waist and pressed his lips to her neck.

She pulled away, looking around furtively. ‘Not here,’ she hissed. ‘Someone might see.’

‘Why should we hide? I want to shout my love from the rooftops!’

‘Please don’t.’ She gave an embarrassed laugh. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here.’

They drove down the coast, along the winding road that hugged the hills. The sun began to slip down the sky, sprinkling the sea with glitter. With the windows open, the warm wind on their faces, they both felt exhilarated, as if they were young lovers stealing forbidden time alone together.

Cosima directed him up a narrow road to a little restaurant she knew hidden among the trees. They sat on the balcony, under a trellis of honeysuckle and lemons. Large urns were placed around the edge of the balcony full of pink bougainvillea and white geraniums, and the smell of rosemary and olive oil wafted through the kitchen window. A couple of black dogs slept on the red tiles in the fading sunlight and birds came to peck at breadcrumbs on the ground. A group of young children with grubby faces and bare feet played on the hillside with a can of Fanta and some sticks.

Luca took Cosima’s hand across the table and stroked her skin with his thumb. She turned and looked out over the sea. ‘It’s beautiful here,’ she said softly, trying not to fuel her doubts with thoughts of her son.