The Italian Matchmaker(91)

But more than any of that they helped her deal with the loss of Francesco. If it hadn’t been for Rosa and her family, Alba would have been dragged into the abyss with her niece. As it was, she couldn’t speak of her own heartbreak; if she went down that road she might never return.

Cosima was at the sink washing up, her mind still in a dream, when Luca’s face appeared at the window. He came in, embraced her and kissed her cheek. Alba turned away, finding their intimacy overwhelming. ‘I want to take you away for the day, if your family can spare you.’

‘Of course, go.’ Alba’s spirits lifted as Cosima’s face flushed with pleasure. ‘You deserve some fun.’

Luca released her and leaned against the sideboard. ‘My mother’s unbearable this morning. I had to get out.’

‘What’s the matter with her?’

‘The prospect of Panfilo coming to photograph the palazzo is more than her nerves can take. She’s sitting in the lotus position on the terace, trying to calm down. Not easy with my father and the professor enjoying a heated political debate at the table next door!’ He sighed. ‘A whole troop of florists, stylists, make-up artists and assistants will descend on the place tomorrow so I’ll need to escape then too.’

‘You can help us at the trattoria,’ Cosima suggested with a smile. ‘Rosa’s volunteered to help Panfilo.’

‘I bet she has.’

Alba recalled her daughter’s midnight escapade and wondered whether they knew something she didn’t. ‘I can’t imagine he needs her,’ she said, fishing for information.

‘She has a fascination with that place,’ said Cosima. ‘I think she’s sneaking up to the folly in the middle of the night.’

‘What on earth for?’

‘A little adventure?’

‘In that dead old place?’

‘It lives for her.’

Alba shook her head. ‘I’m sure you’re mistaken.’

‘Well,’ Luca said. ‘Someone’s been in there and my mother’s given me the job of finding out who it is.’

‘Rosa knows how I feel about the palazzo.’ Alba was pale. She didn’t want to talk about the palazzo, let alone imagine her daughter luxuriating in the tragedy of the past. Rosa knew how sacred it was to her.

‘Mother’s invited another couple to stay,’ said Luca, changing the subject.

‘It’s like a hotel up there,’ said Alba. Her voice sounded sharper than she intended.

‘Getting more like a hotel by the minute,’ Luca agreed. ‘The professor and Ma Hemple are permanent fixtures I think; they’ll be staying all summer for sure. I don’t know how my parents put up with people hanging around all the time.’

‘So, who have they invited now?’ Cosima asked, putting away the plates she had dried.

‘A charming old boy called Fitzroy Davenport.’ Luca spoke slowly and deliberately, suddenly guilty about pretending not to know Alba’s history. He watched her mouth fall open in surprise.

‘Fitzroy Davenport?’

‘The very same,’ Luca replied. ‘Do you know him?’

‘Yes, we were lovers.’

Cosima stared at her aunt. Her candour was disarming. ‘Lovers? When?’

Alba laughed. ‘Long before I met Panfilo. When you were a little girl. I made a very wise choice back then, and I have never regretted it for a moment. It was either you, Cosima, or Fitz – I couldn’t have both.’

‘Poor Fitz,’ said Luca.

‘Well, he eventually married someone else. Who is she?’

‘Rosemary,’ Luca replied. ‘Very . . . efficient.’

‘You mean pushy. Oh really, Fitz, of all the women to choose. He was always going to be vulnerable to a woman like that! When are they coming?’

‘Next weekend.’

‘I can hardly wait. After all these years. Won’t he be surprised?’

Luca recalled the wistful look on his face and the tender way he had spoken of her. ‘Pleasantly surprised,’ he added with emphasis. For a moment he felt sorry for Rosemary, Alba being so much more beautiful, but he didn’t mention that. Instead, he led Cosima out into the sunshine. He’d warned Alba that Fitzroy was coming. He’d meddled enough.

They lay together on the grass beneath the old lookout point. Cosima had an air of distraction, as if her mind were elsewhere. He ran his hand through her hair, scrunching it between his fingers, and swept his lips across her skin. ‘What are you thinking about?’

‘I had a dream last night,’ she replied, smiling tentatively. ‘I don’t know what to make of it.’