Summer at the Lake (35 page)

‘
Buongiorno! Buongiorno!
’ her cheery voice rang out, while proffering a large plastic bowl of eggs and tomatoes. ‘
Sì, sì
,’ she urged when Floriana dithered over whether to take the bowl.

This had to be Renata, the neighbour who they’d been told would be on hand to help with any problems they might have. It soon became evident that Renata was a woman of many words and not shy to share them round. The trouble was, the profusion of words coming from her were all Italian with one or two English words sporadically thrown in. The addition of hand gestures helped though, and having given some time to swotting up with
Teach Yourself Italian in Thirty Days
, Floriana hazarded a guess that Renata’s brother – Domenico – would come tomorrow to check on the pool and water the garden. But Esme stunned them by smoothly replying in Italian and gaining for herself an extra wide beaming smile from Renata and the words, ‘
Piacere, signora. Piacere.
’

‘You’ve been holding out on us,’ Floriana said when Renata had left them. ‘You never said you could speak Italian so well.’

‘Oh, just a few words,’ Esme said airily. ‘Funny how it comes back to one.’

‘It sounded more than a few words to me,’ Adam said.

‘What else haven’t you told us?’ Floriana asked.

Esme’s answer was to suggest they fetch the luggage.

Esme woke early, but plainly not as early as Adam.

Looking out of her open bedroom window, she watched him pace barefoot up and down the length of the pool as he talked on his mobile phone. Wearing shorts and a T-shirt and a pair of sunglasses, he was dressed like a man on holiday, but the call said otherwise. Esme knew that his business concerns effectively meant he was never off duty, but she wished he would allow himself some time to relax. During dinner last night at a nearby restaurant, and under the intense spotlight of Floriana’s interrogation, he’d admitted that he had never taken a holiday when he hadn’t stayed in regular contact with his office. Esme wondered how he would cope without his mobile phone or laptop. Not that she would ever dream of saying anything to him. She was only too grateful that he was here, that along with Floriana he had made this trip possible for her.

In all the years since she and her father had stayed at Hotel Margherita, Esme had never wanted to return to the lake. Perhaps another person might have done so, if only to put the past to rest, but she had taken the stance that the past was the past and nothing would be gained from revisiting it in order to reopen old wounds that were better left untouched and healed.

Yet here she was. And at her own doing. Whatever the outcome, she had only herself to blame.

Despite sleeping with Marco’s portrait on the wall opposite her bed all her adult life, there were days when its abiding familiarity meant she hardly noticed it; it was just there, a part of her life. Casting aside the many emotions the picture had provoked over the years, it had never before compelled her to return to Italy. But then along had come Floriana with her Lake Como wedding invitation and little by little the past had been reawakened and nudged at her. Gently at first, then more forcibly, until there was no ignoring it.
Go back before it’s too late
, the softly spoken voice of her father murmured in her head.

Her father had lived and died with too many regrets, and in the last couple of days prior to their departure, when Esme had been assailed with eleventh-hour misgivings at the wisdom of making this trip, she had reminded herself that she didn’t want to die as her father had, with an apology of regret on her lips. She had to do this. It was now or never.

Floriana, the dear girl, was full of hopelessly giddy expectations for their visit, whereas Esme was content merely to retrace her steps and linger a while in a place that had given her such pleasure, as well as such heartache. The chances of meeting Marco again were highly unlikely, and even if by some remote chance he still had a connection with the lake and it was possible to track him down, would he want to meet Esme? Would he even remember her?

More likely he was dead. Everyone else was.

But he wasn’t dead, she was sure of it. She would have felt him parting from this world. Yet if he was alive, she couldn’t imagine him as an old man, his handsome face withered by age, his dazzling blue eyes faded, his skin loose and pouchy, his joints creaking and aching with rheumatism.

Turning away from the window where Adam was still by the pool talking into his mobile phone, she faced the bedroom Floriana had insisted should be hers when they had brought in their luggage from the car yesterday afternoon. It was the largest of the bedrooms with its own bathroom. Simply furnished, it contained a large double bed, a dressing table, a wardrobe and an armchair to one side of the window and balcony. She could picture herself being very happy to sit here letting the memories wash over her.

Emerging washed and refreshed from the bathroom, she looked out of bedroom window again and saw Floriana coming up the steep path towards the villa. She was weighed down with two large bulging carrier bags – she must have been to the small supermarket at the bottom of the hill.

‘Morning!’ Floriana greeted her cheerily when Esme entered the kitchen – she was busy chopping fruit and Adam was spooning coffee into one of those fiddly coffee pots that went on the hob. ‘Breakfast is on its way. We have croissants, bread, peaches, pears and apricots. How did you sleep?’

‘Exceptionally well, thank you. The two of you are very industrious for so early in the morning. What time did you get up? It must have been the crack of dawn.’

‘A little after six,’ Adam said. ‘What would you like to drink? Tea or coffee or mango juice?’

‘Mango, how very exotic!’

‘Sorry, I made a mistake,’ Floriana said, pulling a face. ‘I misread the label, thought it was orange.’

‘Well, for now, I’ll have some tea please. But I can make it.’

‘Absolutely not! Adam, take Esme outside and make her comfortable on the terrace.’

‘You heard the lady,’ Adam said, raising his eyebrows. ‘Best do as she says; she’s in a very assertive mood. More to the point, she’s holding a dangerously sharp knife.’

Esme happily allowed Adam to usher her outside where a table on the terrace in the shade of the vine-covered pergola had been set for breakfast. ‘I don’t wish to appear ungrateful but I do hope you’re not going to boss me around the whole time we’re here,’ she said when Adam and Floriana had finished bringing out breakfast and were seated. ‘I won’t have you waiting on me hand and foot.’

‘This is our way of thanking you for the opportunity to be here with you,’ Floriana said. ‘Oh, and by the way, I’ve had a text from Joe to say that you’re not to worry about Euridice; she’s fine. He went last night to check on her and will be going again this morning.’

‘I still feel badly about leaving her,’ Esme said with a frown. Leaving her beloved cat had been a terrible wrench, but there really had been no alternative. Forcing the anxiety from her mind, she helped herself to some slices of peach from the attractive fruit platter Floriana had prepared. ‘Now what are our plans for today?’ she asked, thinking more positively. ‘What have you decided?’

‘We thought we’d take it easy this morning,’ Adam said, ‘give us all a chance to catch our breath.’

‘And by
us
I presume you mean me?’ remarked Esme.

‘Not at all,’ Floriana said, ‘a relaxing morning by the pool would suit me perfectly. We thought we could then find somewhere for lunch and afterwards pitch up on the doorstep of Villa Margherita. What do you think, are you ready to give that a go?’

It seemed the longest of shots that they could appear out of nowhere and persuade the current owner to let them have a look around the house for old times’ sake, but as Adam and Floriana had both said when they’d discussed this before, what did they have to lose? Could they really come all this way and not try?

Later that morning, and lulled by the warmth of the day and the inexhaustible buzz of the cicadas in the nearby trees, Esme leant back in her chair in the shade of the pergola and with her eyes closed, listened to Adam and Floriana – Floriana’s voice light and gaily animated, Adam’s low and soothingly measured.

They were in the pool, floating on a pair of lilos Floriana had found in a large wooden chest at the far end of the terrace, along with a beach ball and an enormous inflatable hammer. She had also found some bats and a Swingball, which she’d immediately set up on the lawn and then challenged Adam to a game. Esme had watched him hesitate – he’d been reading something on his laptop. Don’t you dare refuse, Esme had thought, leave that wretched computer alone for two minutes and have some fun! To her relief, he’d pulled off his T-shirt and taken hold of one of the bats. ‘My game of choice as a child,’ he’d said. ‘I was county champion.’

‘Hah! I was national champion,’ Floriana had responded with a laugh.

They’d played with a raucous competitiveness that produced from each of them a great deal of noise, and with each claiming they were the victor at the end. It gladdened Esme’s heart to see them enjoying themselves.

Now as they cooled off in the pool and their voices gradually receded into the background noise of the cicadas, and drowsy with rose scent, thick and seductive, Esme’s thoughts began drifting away from her like balloons sailing off into the sky. Then she too was sailing away. But she wasn’t floating off into the sky; she was on a boat, a small dinghy with a sail flapping in the soft breeze. And there was Marco. He was standing on the shore of the lake; he was waving to her. She tried to sail towards him but the breeze strengthened and whipped at the sail and steered the boat away from the shore. Marco was calling to her, but try as she might, she couldn’t steer the boat towards him, the wind was taking her further and further away until she was in the middle of the lake and he was out of sight. Frightened, she stood up and at once the boat wobbled and rocked beneath her, then tipped over and she felt herself falling, down and down into the cold, dark water. And then she saw it, at the bottom of the lake, tangled in a mass of slippery pondweed, a small milky-white baby, its pale arms reaching out to her.

She woke with a violent start, her heart pounding painfully in her chest. Blinking in the sunlight, she turned to see the outline of a man looming over her. To her horror, he held what looked like a swaddled baby in his hands. Alarmed, she let out an involuntary cry, her heart beating even faster.

‘
Mi perdoni
,’ the man said, ‘I am Domenico. I here to check on pool and water flowers.’

Her heart still thumping, her mouth dry, Esme rose awkwardly from her chair, realising now that this was Renata’s brother and what he was carrying was, in fact, some sort of newspaper-wrapped bundle. ‘Oh, please, do forgive me,’ she said, her brain too fuggy to speak in Italian, ‘I was fast asleep.’

Over by the pool, Adam was launching himself out of the water. ‘It’s Domenico,’ she said, ‘he’s come to check on the pool.’

‘Ah yes,’ Adam said, grabbing a towel and coming over. Floriana was also now climbing out of the pool.

‘If no good now, I come back later,’ the man said with a congenial smile. He looked about seventy years old, was nut-brown and wiry with a head of thick grey hair; his Roman nose was prominent and his eyes as black as coal.

‘No, no, stay and do whatever you need to do,’ Esme said, still shaken from her dream but her composure beginning to return.

‘Would you like a drink?’ she asked, remembering her manners.

He shook his head. ‘No thank you,
signora
. But I bring you this. From my garden. I grow all myself.’ He handed her the bundle.

Surprised by the weight of it, Esme set it down on the table and opened it up. ‘
Che bello!
’ she exclaimed. ‘And how very kind of you.’

‘What is it?’ asked Floriana coming over.

‘All sorts of delicious goodies,’ Esme said. ‘Courgettes, radishes, beetroot, lettuce and more tomatoes.’ She turned to Domenico. ‘
Grazie mille
,’ she said. ‘
Lei è molto gentile
.’

The man beamed back at her, revealing a row of surprisingly white and even teeth. ‘
Fa niente, signora
,’ he replied, ‘
è un piacere
.’

‘Well, I’d say you’ve just acquired yourself an admirer,’ Floriana whispered when Domenico had disappeared round the side of the house to where the hose and outside tap was. ‘A toy boy at that.’

Esme tutted. ‘Behave yourself, young lady, or I shall be forced to take you in hand.’

Laughing, Floriana went and flopped down on a sun lounger next to Adam, who was once again doing something on his laptop.

‘And put some sun cream on your back and shoulders,’ Esme called after her, ‘you’re turning pink.’ And if Adam doesn’t offer to do it, I shall be very cross with him, she thought, taking Domenico’s generous delivery of vegetables inside the villa.

Out of the corner of his eye as he answered an email from Denise in the office, Adam watched Floriana struggling to apply sun cream to her back. Go on, he told himself, offer to help, it’s the most natural thing in the world to do. What’s the problem? Touching her is suddenly a big deal?

Stupidly, everything about his feelings for Floriana were fast becoming a farcically big deal. Swimming with her just now, watching her dive into the water and then surfacing at the other end of the pool, her hair streaming down her back as shiny as an otter, had been as enjoyable to watch as it was torturous. How easy it would be to forget himself and do something regrettable!

More and more he was having to warn himself not to make the comparison, but it was impossible not to. Not only did Floriana look just as good in a bikini as Jesse always had – actually, she looked better because she had more curves – she was a lot more fun. Jesse had loved a beach holiday, but really it was the sun lounger she loved; swimming had held no attraction for her; she hated to get her face and hair wet. In contrast, Floriana was as natural in the water as she was at thrashing him at Swingball.