The Italian Matchmaker (42 page)

‘I never knew I had a farm.’

‘I’ve just bought you the most beautiful farm overlooking the sea. We’re going to cultivate lemons and grow old together.’

She picked up a lemon and put it to her nose. For a moment she looked bewildered. ‘But I swear these are from La Marmella.’

‘They are.’

She dropped the lemon back into the basket and made to speak but nothing came out. Her eyes widened and welled with happiness. ‘You’ve bought La Marmella for me?’

‘I’ve bought La Marmella for
us
. You’re going to be my wife and the future will be what we make of it.’

‘I don’t believe it! What about Manfreda?’

‘Of course Manfreda knew all along. She was just waiting for me to make her an offer so she could go and live with her son in Venice. She’s been longing to sell the place. You said I should plant a seed and watch it grow. Well, so I shall.’

‘I’m overwhelmed!’

‘The professor told me to look deep inside myself and work out what is important. Well, I have. You’re important, Cosima. You and my children and any future children we might have together. Nothing is more important than love. Francesco has taught me that. I can’t take my worldly goods with me when I die, but I will take my love.’

When Cosima stepped into the aisle of the little church of San Pasquale, Luca noticed that besides Toto, on whose arm she walked, and Coco, Juno, Olivia and Domenica who were bridesmaids, and Alessandro who was her only page, another little boy walked with her that only he could see. It was right that Francesco should give her away, for he had brought them together; the little Italian matchmaker.

Cosima knew that her son was with her for he had told her himself in her dream. Now she believed, in spite of not being able to see him herself. She knew that if she sat quietly, closed her eyes and asked him, he would come close.

Now she walked on her father’s arm and felt a wave of relief. She could begin a new chapter knowing that she had her son’s blessing. Knowing that loving Luca did not detract from loving Francesco, that there was no limit to her heart’s capacity. Her long ivory dress rustled as she stepped over the stone floor, her new shoes peeping out from beneath to remind her of her shopping day in Naples with Alba and Rosa, when the three of them had laughed with the simple joy of being together. The veil that covered her face was the one that Alba had worn on her wedding day.

Romina had organized the make-up artist from the
Sunday Times
magazine shoot to put Cosima’s hair up and decorate it with the small yellow flowers she had insisted upon dominating all the displays. Her smooth skin shone and her deep brown eyes glittered at the good fortune that now smiled upon her. Luca stood handsome and tall, ready to take her from her father and lead her into the future. She knew he would never leave her, because Francesco had chosen him and he would never let her down. They held hands before Father Filippo to make their wedding vows. The altar candles flickered, the incense filled the air with its woody perfume, and Francesco watched his Brazilian Blue Morpho fly off his hand and flutter into the air. Father Filippo noticed the rare creature and commented that the butterfly was surely a good omen. The congregation gasped at the miracle of it. Never had they seen such a beautiful butterfly in Incantellaria. Luca and Cosima smiled at each other knowingly.

Romina dabbed her eyes with a silk handkerchief and Bill put his arm around her. She didn’t like to admit when she was wrong, but she conceded quietly to herself that perhaps her son knew what he wanted after all. The professor grinned as Luca knelt before the altar on the cushions Beata had embroidered especially for them. He knew that the boy had finally worked out what he wanted from his life, what was important. It was very simple, but it eluded most people. He silently took credit for showing him the way. He couldn’t take credit for love: Luca had found that all on his own. Ma was astonished to discover a tear trembling on the top of her lip. She brushed it off, appalled at the emotions that bubbled to the surface of her armour, breaking through to expose her soft heart. Nanni witnessed it and raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. Ma wasn’t too moved to scowl back at him.

Rosa squeezed Eugenio’s hand. ‘Do you remember when it was us?’ she whispered.

‘Of course.’

‘I was more beautiful.’

‘Without doubt, my love. No bride has ever been, nor ever will be, more dazzling than you.’

Rosa nudged him playfully then turned her eyes back to the bride and groom who were about to make their way back up the aisle. She saw the anxious faces of her children as they were shuffled into position by Coco. The congregation stood. The music rang out as Cosima and Luca set off towards their future.

One person was missing in the procession that filed out into the sunshine. One person who had now been released with joy to step into a light of his own. The little Italian matchmaker felt his spirit grow bigger and brighter, filled with the infinite light of unconditional love. There, ahead of him, stood Immacolata, Falco and Valentina, together with others who had gone before whom he had never known, but now recognised from the eternal current of life. At last he was home.

 

Father Filippo returned to the church after the wedding party had gone on to Alba and Panfilo’s house for the party. He had chuckled at the sight of Luca and Cosima departing in a horse-drawn cart full of lemons. She had been so anxious to remain in Incantellaria, among all her memories of her son, that she had contemplated a life alone. He had advised her that if Luca loved her enough he would stay. He congratulated himself that he had been right.

He was going up the aisle towards the altar to blow out the candles when something caught his attention at the back. He looked at the marble statue of Christ. There, against the shiny white stone, was a thin ribbon of red blood trickling from his right eye. Father Filippo gasped, his whole body trembling with awe. Hastily, he crossed himself, then dropped to his knees, humbled that it should be he and he alone who witnessed the miracle.

A few minutes later he checked that the blood was still there, then ran down the aisle as fast as he could, shouting ‘
Miracolo, miracolo, miracolo!
’ at the top of his voice. Soon, the entire town was crowding into the small building. Old women wailed and old men wept while the young gazed in wonder that a miracle should happen in the modern world. The church bells continued to ring out and everyone anticipated a tremendous party, except Alba, her family and guests, who were enjoying a party of their own.

‘The day Christ weeps tears of blood, all the ghosts shall be at peace,’ said the priest, remembering the strange feathers and the butterfly. ‘And so they are.’

 

For years I have wanted to write this book. Having seen spirits on and off all my life, I am certain our lives do not end in death, but that we all eventually return home from where we came. The people we love and lose are always around us, watching us and loving us. Life does not end in death; it just takes us to another shore.

I couldn’t have written it without the help of a very special and dear friend, Susan Dabbs. She is an extraordinary woman with an astonishing gift who has opened my eyes to the fascinating world of Spirit. It is a lifelong adventure and I am enjoying every new discovery.

Since childhood my father and I have enjoyed long discussions about life and death. Over the years he has fanned my interest and answered my questions with wisdom and open-mindedness. We have exchanged books and ideas and our shared fascination has brought us closer together. Without his encouragement I wouldn’t have begun to write this book.

I want to thank my mother, too, for reading my manuscripts with a keen eye for detail. She’s a loyal supporter and her applause means a great deal to me. She has taught me many things in my life, but most importantly she has taught me about love.

I’d like to thank my editor, Susan Fletcher, for once again going through the manuscript with a fine-tooth comb and her sharp pruning tools. Her editorial suggestions are always wise and improved the book enormously. I don’t know what I’d do without her! I have a dedicated, hard-working team at Hodder, and I’d like to thank them all for their drive and enthusiasm: Eleni Fostiropoulos, Swati Gamble, Auriol Bishop and Lucy Hale.

I’m very grateful to my agent, Sheila Crowley. I feel she belongs exclusively to me as she has the amazing gift of making all her authors feel they are uniquely important. She’s a dear friend and wise counsel who works tirelessly on my behalf and is never too busy to listen. Thank you.

I wouldn’t be published in so many foreign territories if it weren’t for my foreign rights department at A. P. Watt; therefore a big thank you to Linda Shaughnessy, Homa Rastegar and Teresa Nicholls, and my film and TV agent, Robert Kraitt.

Our children, Lily and Sasha, are my greatest inspiration and joy. All my books are dedicated to them.

And my darling husband, Sebag, my most faithful supporter, and devoted
consigliere
, thank you.

 

Santa Montefiore was born in England in 1970. She read Spanish and Italian at Exeter University. She has written eight novels which have been translated into over twenty-five languages and sell all over the world. She lives in London with her husband, the historian Simon Sebag-Montefiore, and their two children. To find out more about her novels, visit Santa’s website at
www.santamontefiore.co.uk