Page 63 of The Dolce Vita Divas
Really, I thought, I couldn’t remember ever seeing anywhere so beautiful.
It was like a film set from some impossibly glamorous movie, where a troubled but attractive woman in chic clothes was whisked around in an Aston Martin by a handsome but slightly dangerous man in an Armani suit who might have been but possibly wasn’t a secret agent.
The craggy cliffs and rocks provided an astounding contrast to the softness of the clear sapphire skies and the bright blue sea beneath it. There were other vehicles on the road, of course: buses negotiating the hairpin corners, delivery vans chugging up the hill with sacks of vegetables in the back, a builder’s van with stepladders strapped to the roof.
It made me realise that although this was a holiday destination, it was also home to a lot of people. Thirteen thousand, Ceci had told me, and about half a million visitors every year. I tried to imagine the road in front of us filled with people, grabbing their children out of the way of the traffic. They would have to move round by numbers if those figures were correct.
We pulled into a parking space and Paulo stilled the engine. We walked through a few narrow streets until he stopped.
‘Over there is the Piazza Umberto, better known as the Piazzetta. Shops restaurants and cafés. Now then, I will see you for lunch later, about one o’clock? But now as I said, I have to go to see someone’ – he looked at his watch and frowned – ‘and I am late.’
‘Sorry, that was probably my fault.’
‘If it is anyone’s fault it is mine. You always did try and blame yourself for everything. There’s no need to do it now,’ he said, exasperated. ‘I must hurry, she doesn’t like to be kept waiting. And she’s not usually there today; she’s made an exception for me.’
Ah yes, there was asheinvolved in all this. Of course there was. Why had I not thought of that?
A single man as good looking as Paulo, I expect the word had gone out all over southern Italy.
He pointed to a delightful-looking café with a blue awning and tables set out underneath it in the shade.
‘I would recommend that place.’
‘Please don’t feel you need to organise me, I’ll just wander around for a bit first,’ I said, ‘and then I might have coffee.’
‘Later on you will find everywhere busy, but the owner is a friend of mine, and Genero will look after you.’
‘I don’t need looking after,’ I said with a short laugh.
‘Don’t be so defensive; I know you don’t. I mean he will find you a decent table,’ Paulo said.
Suddenly he put an arm around me and kissed my cheek. I could feel the warmth, the strength of his body against mine, and it was intoxicating.
‘Try thecrema al caffee.TheZeppole di San Giuseppeis the best anywhere. Genero is pretending to be wiping down the tables, but he is watching, and now he has seen you are a friend of mine, you will be fine.’
I turned and a large man with an elaborate waxed moustache gave a wide grin and waved his cleaning cloth at Paulo.
‘Genero!Come stai?Now I really must go,’ Paulo said. ‘I will see you later.’
I jolly well hoped so, or I would have to catch a bus. And how would I know which one or where it went from? And how much would it be? Did they need the right amount? I had some euro notes, but no coins.
Perhaps I would worry about that later. After all, this was a sort of adventure. I had to remember my new determination to do things differently.
As I walked towards the café, Genero came forward and ushered me towards a lovely table in the shade, set with a white cloth.
‘Café crema and—’ What was the word? ‘A zeppelin.’
‘Ah sì, certo, signora,’he said, and moments later a large cup of coffee topped with what looked like whipped cream appeared in front of me, swiftly followed by what possibly was a zeppelin, filled with cream patisserie and cherries.
Both were utterly delicious, and I quelled my first instinct which was to hoover it up as fast as possible and instead made a point of savouring every sip and every bite. That way from my shady corner, I could prolong my visit and people watch and wonder about them.
There were couples hand in hand, a few older people with backpacks and walking poles, families with pushchairs, young girls in giggling groups. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. And actually, so was I. Apart from the niggling thought at the back of my mind which refused to be silenced. Who was ‘she’?
Perhaps Paulo had a lady friend in the town. Someone sophisticated and supportive. A woman who provided a shoulder for him to cry on, and who knew what other body parts?
No, I wouldn’t allow myself to think like that; it was none of my business.
Genero returned with his trusty cloth and pretended to clear up the table next to mine.
