The Italian Matchmaker(71)

At the mention of Cosima’s name the old lady’s face softened. ‘Cosima is a dear friend of mine, too,’ she said. ‘Come in.’

‘I’m looking for a lady called Manfreda.’

‘That is me. I’m not too old to answer my own front door.’

She led him into a colonnaded courtyard of cobbled stones. In the centre was an old well, now used as a flowerpot, overflowing with orange bougainvillea. The place was in dire need of repair and repainting but its shabbiness had charm. The sun tumbled in through the open roof and a couple of doves flew out into the bright blue sky, their coos echoing against the ancient walls of the palazzo.

‘You have a beautiful home,’ said Luca.

‘It’s very old, like me. We could both do with a face-lift.’ She held the door-frame for support. ‘Let’s go outside, it’s a lovely day.’

They sat out on the terrace, overlooking the sea below. The garden was wild with voracious weeds and overgrown shrubs. Inky-green cypress trees swayed in the breeze and roses grew in abundance up a crumbling wall.

‘I’m too old for a house of this size,’ she explained dismissively. ‘My sons live in Venice and Milan, my daughter in Geneva, and I’m rattling around here like a dice. Gelasio and Vicenzo run the lemon grove. It doesn’t bring in much, but it gives me such pleasure and those young men have worked here for thirty years. Do you like lemons, Luca?’

‘I adore lemons, signora.’

‘Like Cosima,’ she nodded knowingly. ‘You’re in love with her, aren’t you?’ Her question disarmed him. ‘You’re wondering how I know.’

‘How do you know?’

‘You have love written all over your face. There was a time when young men spoke about me with the same look of devotion. I haven’t forgotten!’ She turned serious. ‘She’s a very special woman.’

‘That’s why I wanted to come and meet you. I want to buy her lemons as a present. She says yours are the best in Italy.’

‘How very sweet. I don’t have much to do with them these days. I’m nearly a hundred!’

‘You can’t be!’ he said gallantly.

‘That’s because I have the eyes of a young girl looking out of a decrepit old casing.’

‘Cosima claims she can recognise your lemons from any others in the world!’ Manfreda pulled a face at the absurdity of this idea. Luca shrugged. ‘I believe her.’

‘Then I’m flattered. It would be rude not to be! You can have as many lemons as you like. But first, tell me a little about you. I haven’t seen anyone all day and I’m bored. I can still appreciate the company of a handsome young man. Give an old lady a treat. You’re from London, aren’t you?’

‘Yes. Is my Italian so bad?’

‘Not at all. In fact, it’s very good for someone whose father is English.’ Luca began to feel uneasy. ‘I’m not a witch,’ she reassured him. ‘I don’t have a broomstick and I’m afraid of heights. Cosima has told me about you.’

‘I should have known,’ he said. ‘She’s enormously fond of you. I’m sure she tells you everything.’

‘I like to consider myself a grandmother to her. She lost her mother as a little girl and, although Alba has been as good as a mother can be, she will always carry the burden of rejection.’ Her face crumpled. ‘Then to lose her son as well. Cosima has suffered more than most. She’s a bird with a broken wing. I’d do anything for her. Anything at all.’

At that moment a young girl appeared in the doorway. ‘Ah, Violetta, you’re back. Would you please bring us some lemonade? That’s my maid, Violetta. She’s Gelasio’s daughter. A delight and very helpful.’

‘You must have known Cosima all her life,’ said Luca.

‘Of course. She was an enchanting child, as she is an enchanting adult. You can imagine how I felt when she gave her heart to a married man. Such a precious human being throwing her life away for a man who would never treasure her as she deserved to be. She made a bad choice. But nothing in life is wasted. I know that through experience. Even the bad times are laden with important lessons to be learned. I’m ninety-six and I’m still learning, every day.’ She leaned forward, her eyes as sharp as an eagle’s. ‘If she hadn’t lost her heart to Riccardo she wouldn’t have conceived Francesco. If she hadn’t had Francesco she wouldn’t have known unconditional love. Fate delivers with one hand and takes with the other. Now she has lost Francesco, who knows what Fate will deliver?’ She smiled at him. ‘You are going to be good for her, I can tell.’