‘I want to protect her too. But she has to let me.’
‘Give her time. She hasn’t let another man into her heart since Riccardo.’ Violetta emerged with a tray of glasses and a jug of lemonade. ‘But lemons? That’s a good start. I don’t believe anyone has ever had the idea to give her lemons.’
Luca drove back to Incantellaria with a boot full of lemons to find Caradoc on the terrace reading Pushkin. ‘Where have you been, young man? I haven’t seen much of you in the last few days. It’s a girl, isn’t it? Not my girl?’
‘Not your girl,’ Luca reassured him. ‘Yours is married.’
‘Why haven’t you told me? Aren’t we partners in crime?’ He stood up stiffly and shook out his legs.
‘We are. I just wanted to see how it went before I told anyone.’
‘Is she as juicy as a ripe fruit?’
‘She puts all the fruit to shame.’
Caradoc nodded his approval and gave him a firm pat on the back. ‘Not a word, I promise,’ he said, limping over ot the card table. ‘Anyone fancy a rubber of bridge before dinner?’
There was no time for bridge because Coco and Juno were putting on a show. They performed a ballet on the terrace in the new tutus Ventura had made for them. Everyone was charged one euro to watch, and found a beautifully illustrated programme on their seat, made by the girls under the supervision of their grandmother. To great applause and a wolf-whistle from Caradoc, they pirouetted and twirled to the music of Peter and the Wolf.
As soon as he could get away after dinner, Luca met Cosima at the trattoria. ‘Are you free to come with me?’
‘It’s not busy tonight. I’ll tell my father I’m going out.’ She disappeared into the restaurant, emerging a few minutes later with a cardigan over her shoulders.
‘I have something for you,’ he said. ‘A little present. It’s in the car boot.’ He led her up the street to where he had parked the car in the square.
‘What is it, a dog?’
‘Better.’ The boot swung open to reveal a basket full of lemons.
‘Oh, Luca! They’re beautiful!’ She picked one up and pressed it to her nose. ‘They’re from La Marmella!’
‘So you really can tell?’
‘They’re the best in the world. Thank you!’ She flung her arms around his neck.
‘If that’s the reaction I get, I’ll buy you lemons every day.’
‘Then I will kiss you like this every day.’ She pressed her lips to his. ‘That’s the best present you could ever give me.’
He closed the boot. ‘Where do you want to go?’
‘You choose.’
‘Okay, let’s go to the folly at the palazzo. I want to show it to you.’
She blushed. ‘The Marchese’s love-nest.’
‘The very same.’
‘I went up there once with Eugenio when the palazzo was still a ruin. The folly was perfectly preserved.’
‘My mother hasn’t changed anything.’
‘Do take me. I’d love to see it again.’ He went to open the passenger door but she took his hand. ‘No. I know a better way, a secret walk up the cliffs. I don’t want to spend such a beautiful night in the car.’
She led him along the sea front to a secluded pebble beach. At the far end was a little grassy path that snaked its way up the hill. It was already dark, but the moon was sufficiently bright to illuminate their way. Crickets rattled in the bushes and the odd salamander scurried across the path before freezing in the grass until they had passed. They walked slowly, talking about nothing, enjoying the romance of the night and their secret excursion up the cliffs.
Finally they came to the folly. Luca was amazed how easy it was to get into the grounds of the palazzo, and wondered whether this was the way the mystery intruder entered.
Luca turned the key in the lock and slowly opened the door, half expecting to find someone inside. But, to his relief, the room was empty. He delved into his pocket for his lighter and lit the lamp on the dressing-table. The little room was warm and smelled pleasantly woody. He locked the door and watched Cosima wander around the room, taking in every detail, her excitement mounting. ‘It’s an erotic paradise,’ she murmured. ‘The books, the paintings, this statue here of Donatello’s David.’ She traced her fingers over the marble, lingering a moment on the wanton curve of his hip. ‘The Marchese might have been a murderer but he was a great sensualist.’
‘With exceedingly good taste.’
She pulled a book from the shelf. ‘Casanova,’ she read the spine with a grin. She opened it at random and read out loud: ‘“With that, she pulled off her cap, let her hair fall, took off her corset, and, drawing her arms out of her shift, displayed herself to my amorous eyes even as we see the sirens in Correggio’s most beautiful canvas. But when I saw her move over to make room for me, I understood that it was time to reason no more and that love demanded I should seize the moment.”’