The Italian Matchmaker(8)

‘The south of Italy is full of such superstitions,’ Luca argued.

‘Incantellaria is special. You will see. As for Palazzo Montelimone, that is possessed by an altogether different kind of magic.’

‘I don’t believe in ghosts, if that’s what you’re referring to.’

‘It’s not the dead you need worry about, but the living!’ Fitz looked across at Rosemary. ‘Ready, darling?’

Luca watched, perplexed, as they drove away. He wasn’t sure whether Fitz had been joking.

That night the guests came down to the drawing-room in dinner jackets, the girls in pretty dresses and discreet jewellery. When Luca saw Freya, her beauty gave his gut a sudden wrench. She had pinned her hair up, displaying her fine bone structure and long neck. Her skin was smooth and pale, her grey eyes light against the dark mascara on her eyelashes, her figure slim and willowy in a floral wrap-around dress. She smelt of ginger lily, reminding him once again of his foolish youth.

‘You’re still beautiful,’ he said under his breath so that only she could hear him.

‘Thank you, Luca.’

‘You’re by far the most beautiful girl in the room.’

‘I thought you and Annabel were finally hitting it off.’

‘She’s a sexy girl,’ Luca conceded. ‘But she doesn’t have your beauty or your poise.’

‘But she’s available and willing. I can tell.’

He grinned mischievously. ‘So can I.’

‘Well then?’

He gazed into her silvery eyes, suddenly serious. ‘I’m through with soulless encounters that leave me empty, Freya.’

‘Maybe you’ll find a voluptuous signorina in Incantellaria. I’m sure your mother will fill the palazzo with smouldering Latin beauties.’

‘I don’t want a Latin beauty.’

‘You want what you can’t have.’

‘Yes.’ He pulled his cigarette packet out of his breast pocket and tapped it against his hand. ‘Do you mind if I smoke?’

‘Does it make a difference?’

‘Not really. I’m just being polite.’ He placed a cigarette in his mouth and flicked the lighter. He smiled at her with intense blue eyes, causing the crows’ feet to deepen into his skin, and she felt that familiar effervescence in the pit of her belly.

‘Whatever you think you feel, Luca, I just want to say how happy I am that we are friends again. I’m sorry we drifted. I should have made more of an effort. But I didn’t like Claire and I know how you feel about Miles . . .’

‘Miles is a good man,’ Luca interrupted. She raised an eyebrow. ‘Okay, so I’m jealous, but that’s not his fault. You came good when I needed you.’

‘You’ll be there when I need you too. That’s what friends are for.’

At supper, Freya had put Annabel next to Luca in an attempt to throw them together. It gave her a mean-spirited sense of victory to see him so tormented with regret. How she had loved him. How he had let her down. But now she felt vindicated by the naked longing in his eyes.

Peggy had changed into a simple black dress over which she had tied a crisp white apron. Freya felt sorry for her. Her face looked grim in the flickering candlelight, now that Fitz was no longer there to flatter her. They dined on cheese soufflé and fish pie and Heather’s famous treacle tart. The wine bottles were drained and replaced. Luca found he was constantly filling Annabel’s glass. The conversation turned once again to sex, which appeared to be her favourite subject.

Freya addressed her husband across the table. ‘Darling, did you know Hugo’s psychic?’

‘Really, Hugo?’

‘A little,’ Hugo replied bashfully.

‘He’s very psychic,’ interrupted Emily. ‘He sees spirits all the time and often knows what’s going to happen in the future. Just the other day he told me he sensed that an old friend from New York was going to come over and see us. Five minutes later the telephone rang and it was Bobby, calling from Manhattan asking whether he could come and stay. That sort of thing happens all the time.’

‘We’re all psychic to a degree,’ Hugo explained. ‘Most people dismiss intuition as coincidence. Once you start to tune in, you’ll find you’re really very psychic.’

‘Do you see dead people?’ Annabel asked, squirming excitedly.

‘I have done,’ said Hugo.

‘Do you ever mistake them for real people?’ asked Sarah.

‘I don’t see them all the time,’ said Hugo. ‘I have to link in. I have learned to shut it off. I used to mistake them for real people.’

‘Well, link in – go on!’ Miles encouraged.