Page 32 of The Dolce Vita Divas
‘Forget about him, I’m sure he will cope without you for a week,’ Susie said.
‘Probably, and I did tell him not to have any parties while I was away. Although he did have a friend from work staying last night.’
‘New girlfriend?’
I poured some coffee and took an appreciative sip.
‘He didn’t actually say. I’m sure it will be fine. And I can’t do anything about it after all.’
‘Of course it will. So what are we doing today?’ Susie asked.
‘Going to see the Contessa at eleven. And then I have no idea. Perhaps for once we don’t need to do anything? No one to worry about, no one to entertain. We could even sit in the garden and read. An actual book. I haven’t done that for ages.’
‘I read a lot these days,’ Susie said. ‘There’s nothing on television except reality shows and endless repeats and politicians shouting at each other.’
‘Perhaps we could just sit and think,’ I said. ‘I haven’t done much of that either. And sometimes I need to think more. About important things – what next, life and everything.’
‘No, nor have I,’ Susie said, looking pensive.
Yes, at the beginning I had entertained endless theoretical arguments I would have with Greg if our paths had ever crossed since he had left me. Which they hadn’t. I’d formed all sorts of withering put-downs and accusations ready for the eventuality. But that morning I realised it made things a lot more pleasant to just forget about him. Life was so much simpler without him, and quieter without his endless complaints about the council or the neighbours.
But in the past I had been lonely. There was no disputing that. And I had at least got into the habit of daily activity, but never really doing much different. Just doing what my mother would have called keeping body and soul together.
‘Are you really not going to tell me about Raimondo? I’m terribly curious.’
‘I can’t think why, nothing happened. He’s very charming and a good listener, which isn’t something one finds very often in a man these days. Raimondo and I had a brandy and a nice chat and then I went to bed. On my own, before you get any funny ideas.’
‘That’s disappointing,’ I said. ‘I thought you and he had a definite, you know, connection.’
Susie pushed her wayward hair out of her eyes.
‘Well, we did, but I’m not that sort of girl. I might see him later on today, and of course at the celebration lunch tomorrow. Or I might not.’
I made a childishooohnoise and Susie clicked her tongue.
‘I could just ask you the same question about Paulo,’ she said. ‘All those lingering glances and meaningful silences. What’s going on there, if we are talking about connections?’
‘You’re imagining it,’ I said. ‘Lots of water under lots of bridges. There’s nothing to tell. We are just old friends.’
Susie took a sip of coffee and put the cup down in the saucer, and then she leaned a little way towards me.
‘I remember the night of that party. I. Don’t. Believe. You.’
For a moment I wondered if she was right, and I couldn’t help myself; I was pleased. But also a bit rattled.
* * *
At ten to eleven we went to ask the receptionist where we might find the Contessa.
‘We have been invited to her rooms,’ I said proudly. ‘We’re just not sure where to go.’
‘Please, let me help you,’ said a voice behind us, and there was Paulo, looking ridiculously handsome in a white shirt and dark jeans. My heart gave a little unexpected flutter of excitement.
Had he looked that elegant when I knew him all those years ago? I didn’t think he owned a suit. Or a tie. And yet there had been something about him that was inherently stylish.
And then there it was, that moment, the one I had tried so hard to forget over the following months and perhaps even years. Maybe it was the white shirt; he had been wearing one that night. His tanned neck rising so perfectly out of the unbuttoned collar.
It was the second term after Paulo and Ellen had moved into our house. A bleak, cold Saturday in January when we had used Paulo’s birthday as an excuse for a fancy-dress party. I’d gone as Bo Peep in a blue linen dress and lace shirt. I’d had a toy lamb under one arm and a shepherd’s crook made out of a broom handle and a wire coat hanger. Paulo had dressed as a gangster in a pinstriped suit, his hair slicked back and a terrible fake moustache he’d bought from the joke shop. The memory of that evening was one that suddenly seared through me like a blade.
