by two buxom young girls, came out to watch the cars arriving, all waving eagerly.
‘That’s Elena, my housekeeper,’ Hope told Ferne. ‘The two girls are her nieces who are working here for a couple of weeks, because there will be so many of us-and plenty of children, I’m glad to say. I called Elena while we were still on the train, to tell her you were coming and would need a room.’
The next moment they stopped, the door was pulled open and Ferne was being shown up the steps onto the wide terrace that surrounded the house, and then inside.
‘Why don’t you go up to your room at once?’ Hope asked. ‘Come down when you’re ready and meet these villains I call my sons.’
‘These villains’ were smiling with pleasure at seeing their parents again and Ferne slipped away, understanding that they would want to be free of her for a while.
Her room was luxurious, with its own bathroom and a wide, comfortable-looking bed. Going to the window, she found she was at the front of the house, with a stunning view over the Bay of Naples. It was at its best just now, the water glittering in the morning sun, stretching away to the horizon, seeming to offer an infinity of pleasure and unknown delight.
Quickly she showered and changed into a dress of pale blue, cut on simple lines but fashionable. At least she would be able to hold her head up in elegant Italy.
She heard laughter from below, and looked out of the window to where the Rinucci family were seated around a rustic wooden table under the trees, talking and laughing in a gentle manner that made a sudden warmth come over her heart.
Her own family life had been happy but sparse. She was an only child, born to parents who were themselves only-children. One set of grandparents had died early, the other had emigrated to Australia.
Now her father was dead and her mother had gone to live with her own parents in Australia. Ferne could have gone too, but had chosen to stay in London to pursue a promising career. So there was only herself to blame that she was lonely, that there had been nobody to lend a sympathetic ear when the crash had come with Sandor Jayley.
There had been friends, of course, nights out with the girls that she’d genuinely enjoyed. But they were career women like herself, less inclined to sympathise than congratulate her on the coup she’d pulled off. She’d always returned to an empty flat, the silence and the memories.
But something told her that the Villa Rinucci was never truly empty, and she was assailed by delight as she gazed down at the little gathering.
Hope looked up and waved, signalling for her to join them, and Ferne hurried eagerly down the stairs and out onto the terrace. As she approached the table the young men stood up with an old-fashioned courtesy that she found charming, and Dante stepped forward to take her hand and lead her forward. Hope rose and kissed her.
‘This is the lady who joined us on the train and who will be staying with us for a while,’ she said.
She began to introduce the young men-first Primo, stepson from her first marriage, then Ruggiero, one of her sons by Toni. Both men were tall and dark. Primo’s face was slightly heavier, while Ruggiero’s features had a mobility that reminded her slightly of his cousin, Dante.
Francesco had a brooding quality, as though his mind carried some burden. Like the other two, he greeted her warmly, but then said, ‘I’d better go now, Mamma. I want to get home before Celia.’
‘Doesn’t she ever get suspicious about how often that happens?’ Hope asked.
‘Always, and she tells me to stop, but-’ He gave a resigned shrug. ‘I do it anyway.’ To Ferne he added, ‘My wife is blind, and she gets very cross if she thinks I’m fussing over her, but I can’t help it.’
‘Go on home,’ Hope told him. ‘Just be sure you’re at the party tomorrow.’
He embraced her fondly and departed. Almost at once another car appeared and disgorged two young women. One was dark, and so gracefully beautiful that even her pregnancy-bump couldn’t detract from her elegance. The other was fair, pretty in a way that was sensible rather than exotic, and was accompanied by an eager toddler.
‘This is my wife, Olympia,’ Primo said, drawing the pregnant woman forward to meet Ferne.
‘And this is my wife, Polly,’ Ruggiero said, indicating the fair young woman.
At this distance she could see that Polly too was pregnant, possibly about five months. Her husband’s attitude to her seemed protective, and again Ferne was pervaded by the feeling of contentment that she’d had earlier. Just being here, among people so happy to be together, was enough to create it.
It was soon time for lunch. Hope led the way indoors to inspect the meal Elena was preparing, taste things and give her opinion. In this she was joined not only by her daughters-in-law but her sons, who savoured the dishes and offered advice freely-sometimes too freely, as their mother informed them.
‘So it’s true what they say about Italian men,’ Ferne observed, amused.
‘What do they say about us?’ Dante murmured in her ear. ‘I’m longing to know.’
‘Why, that you’re all fantastic cooks, of course. What did you think I meant?’
He gave a disillusioned sigh. ‘Nothing, nothing. Yes, we’re all interested in cooking. Not like Englishmen, who eat sausage and mash on every occasion.’ Suddenly he looked closely at her face. ‘What is it?’ he asked. ‘Why are you looking troubled?’
‘I just suddenly thought-perhaps I should telephone the consulate. They might have some news by now.’
‘This afternoon I’ll drive you into Naples and we’ll visit the consulate here. They can get onto the Milan consulate. Now, let’s forget boring reality and concentrate on the important things-enjoying ourselves.’
‘Yes, let’s,’ she said happily.
Dante was as good as his word, borrowing Toni’s car after lunch and driving her down the hill through the streets of the old town until they reached their destination near the coast.
There the news was bleak. Neither her passport nor her credit cards had been recovered.
‘Considering how quickly they were reported, it looks as though someone made off with them,’ Dante observed. ‘But hopefully they won’t be any use to them.’
‘We can arrange a temporary passport,’ the young woman at the desk said. ‘But it will take a few days. There’s a kiosk over there for the photograph.’
‘No need, I’ll take it,’ Dante said. Eyeing Ferne’s bag, he added, ‘If you’ll lend me your camera.’
She handed it to him. ‘What made you so sure I had it?’
‘You told me you always had it. And the woman who was smart enough to record her lover’s infidelity wouldn’t miss a trick like this.’
She showed him how to work it, and they spent a few minutes out in the sun while she turned this way and that at his command.
‘Pull your blouse down this side,’ he said. ‘You’ve got pretty shoulders; let’s see them. Good. Now, shake your head so that your hair fluffs up.’
‘This is no good for passport pictures,’ she objected.
He grinned. ‘Who said anything about passport pictures? Maybe I have a wicked purpose of my own.’
Back inside, they switched the camera to ‘view’ and showed the results to the woman at the desk, who regarded them with saintly patience.
‘None of these are suitable. I think you should use the kiosk,’ she suggested.
‘We could have done that to start with,’ Ferne pointed out.
‘But then my wicked purpose wouldn’t have been fulfilled,’ Dante said unanswerably. ‘Come on; go into that kiosk and take some shots that make you look dreary and virtuous.’
‘Are you suggesting that I’m
‘Which part of that question do you want me to answer?’
‘Let’s just get on with it,’ she said hastily.
When the formalities were complete, Dante took her to a cafe by the beach and they relaxed over coffee.
‘If you think the villa’s a madhouse now,’ he said, ‘wait until tomorrow when the rest of the family get here.’
‘There’s quite a lot of them, isn’t there? Six, I think Hope said.’
‘That’s right, although they don’t all live around here. Luke and Minnie will be coming from Rome. Justin and Evie from England, with Mark, Justin’s son, and their baby twins.’
A terrible thought struck Ferne. ‘Where will they be staying?’
‘At the villa, of course.’
