Page 12 of My Lemon Grove Summer
‘Buonasera,’ Luca says, dipping his head, his voice as soft and gentle as the breeze running through the lemon grove below. He looks around the group and his eyes come to rest on me, and I feel myself blushing. I pick up the white napkin and make a point of placing it on my lap, focusing on the stitching at the edges and hoping my red cheeks won’t show.
‘Are you okay, Zeld? You look really out of sorts. We can skip this if you like, just go back and get a good night’s sleep?’ Lennie says. I love that he’s concerned and I focus very hard on his familiar face.
‘I’m fine. Really fine. Happy to be here,’ I tell him. And I am. It’s a long way from warm rosé in a tiny function room. I want to make this work, here, with Lennie. I keep my eyes on the menu and breathe slowly.
‘So, maybe we should take some time to get to know each other.’ Giuseppe smiles, seemingly determined for us to all get along.
‘We’ll be getting to know each other pretty well if we’re going to be living together in that house. It wasn’t what you promised, you know,’ says Barry. ‘You said we’d have places of our own,’ he adds, and although he’s moaning, he does have a point. But how can I complain when I am here, in the setting sun, looking at this view? I gaze out once again at the fruit trees, the wisteria growing over them and the poppies at their feet, the brilliant blue sea beyond. But I can feel Luca’s presence as he moves slowly around the table taking drinks orders, getting closer to me. Everything else seems to recede, my whole being focused on him, his low, soft voice, his smell. I’m feeling as nervous as on my first day in school.
It’s ridiculous. My body seems to have sprung into life like the wild flowers in the overgrown, neglected orchards all around us. A bit of sunshine and floral scent in the air and suddenly I’m buzzing. Or maybe it’s because I’m here as a couple, with Lennie, and my body is suddenly responding to its newly off-the-market state. I smile. I’m not available. I study the menu, hard. That’s what it is. I’m just happy to be here, and it shows. Nothing is going to stop us living this dream.
Suddenly I realise that Lennie is saying my name and gently shaking my arm.
‘Zeld, we have to move.’
‘Move? But I thought the houses weren’t ready,’ I say, thinking about my big case back at the house. ‘Still, the sooner the better.’
‘Move tables,’ Lennie is saying in a strange whisper. People have stopped talking, I suddenly notice. The contented hum has evaporated and everyone appears slightly bemused. I glance up at Luca, who is looking apologetic and awkward. A far cry from the smiling, confident, happy man we met coming in. It’s like a black cloud has descended, blotting out the blue skies and draining all the good vibes.
That black cloud seems to have arrived in the form of a party standing in the entrance to the restaurant. A group of four men and, behind them, two women. The man at the front is wearing smart dark trousers – a suit, in fact – a tailored coat and a wide-brimmed felt hat, with reflective aviator sunglasses even indoors. I look at Luca again and take a deep breath.
Chapter Seven
‘What do you mean, we’re going to have to move?’ The early start and the long day of travelling are obviously taking their toll. We’ve already been told our accommodation isn’t ready. Now we have to move tables. This is ridiculous, I think scratchily. Maybe getting an early night might have been a good idea.
‘I’m sorry, this table is booked.’ Luca looks very apologetic as he sweeps round the table, scooping our glasses up onto a tray.
I’m feeling almost pleased that this man has annoyed me, and that the silly butterflies in my tummy have buzzed off. He isn’t some god, come to taunt me with what I can’t have, to remind me that there might be something else out there. There isn’t. Lennie and I are about as good as it gets, and I’m going to cling on to that. This man might have charms, good looks and a lazy smile that could light up a shopping centre at Christmas, but that’s all. And he’s clearly not very good at his job if he’s having to move us.
‘I’m sorry, it’s my mistake,’ he adds.
I wish I could stay cross at him. But he seems genuinely apologetic. I get another waft of citrus aftershave as he reaches for the bread basket, and my treacherous nerve endings ripple like a bunch of gossiping, giggling schoolgirls.
‘This table is booked. I’m afraid I’m going to have to move you to the one over there.’ He points to where he’s pushed two tables together.
‘But you can see everything from here, the whole terrace,’ I say.
‘Yes,’ he confirms. ‘It is the best table in the house, which is why it is reserved. I’m sorry, I didn’t realise my diners were coming this evening.’ He looks at the group by the door, who are standing watching from behind their sunglasses. None of them is smiling.
Giuseppe looks furious, like a bottle of shaken cola, about to bubble up and over. He stands, slowly.
‘My apologies,’ he says to us all. ‘Luca will arrange to move your glasses and will no doubt bring us wine to make up for the inconvenience.’ He looks pointedly to Luca. ‘This was not the welcome I wanted for you. But please, come and seat yourselves. The food will be coming.’ He holds out a hand towards the table at the back of the terrace. There is a slight shake in it, like he’s furious but not letting it out.
‘I still don’t understand why the other party can’t sit at the table back there,’ I say to Lennie.
‘Let’s just move, Zeld. We’re new. We want to fit in,’ he says, guiding me by the elbow, clearly wanting to keep me from starting an argument. He knows me of old. I’ve never been very good at biting my tongue. That’s the great thing about Lennie and me: we know everything about each other. We’ve had fun playing the field – well, we’ve served our time, let’s say – and now we’re ready to settle down. It’s like life had a natural path for us.
He steers me towards the table. As he does, I glare at the party taking our place. The man in the suit shrugs a coat from his shoulders and hands it to Luca, who takes it and hangs it up. I catch the man’s eye and glare at him. He slowly pulls his sunglasses down his nose and glares right back at me, making my hackles rise further. Then he moves deliberately round the table and sits in my seat, giving me a single nod as if to thank me for doing as I was told. My head feels hot, I’m so outraged. How rude! He doesn’t even take his hat off; just removes his jacket to reveal a waistcoat straining over his pot belly.
Luca moves effortlessly around the table, kissing each of the men and women on both cheeks, handing out menus, collecting more coats. The women are wearing red lipstick, tight-fitting dresses and big sunglasses, and have bags of sass. The younger one looks very pleased to see Luca and grabs his face and plants a lascivious kiss on his lips.
As we settle into our seats, he comes over to take our orders. Giuseppe chooses antipasti for us all, then pasta with lemon and garlic for himself, followed by porchetta. Luca nods and tells him it’s a good choice. At least I think that’s what he says; my Italian is pretty basic. He makes his way round the table. Most people order pizza, though Lennie follows Giuseppe’s lead and Luca smiles approvingly.
Then, taking the menu from Lennie, he comes to stand by me. Right by me! I can smell him again, that aftershave making my nerve endings stand to attention.
‘I’ll have a pizza margarita,’ I go to say, but once again my tongue ties itself in knots, so I point at the menu. He leans over me to confirm my choice, and I get a glimpse of a tiny tuft of chest hair at the top of his shirt. I feel like I’ve touched burning hot coals. I’m light-headed all over again and reach for my water, nearly head-butting his white-sleeved arm.
He moves off and I sip my water, several quick sips.
