THE MAGIC OF ITALY

“Did you remember my wash bag?” said Robert, without taking his eyes off his novel.  “And my sunglasses?”

            “Yes,” Polly replied, her stomach lurching a moment as she considered the possibility that she might have left them on the chest of drawers in the hotel room. 

            “Good,” he said, satisfied.  “I’d hate to have to buy another pair.  They don’t make them like that any more.  I hope the hotel in Incantellaria is a damn sight better than the one in Naples.” 

            “I’m sure it will be,” she said reassuringly, her gut twisting again at the thought of his sunglasses now on the face of one of the Italian chamber maids.  She bit the skin around her thumb nail.  When Robert was in a mood he pulled her down with him like a helpless crustacean stuck to an anchor.  Something small would undoubtedly lift him up again, like the flirtatious glances of a pretty girl or a funny text from a friend back home, but she would remain for the best part of the day grounded on rock. 

            “It’s very warm for November, isn’t it?! she said, changing the subject.  He didn’t reply.

She looked out of the train to the misty Italian countryside whizzing past her window.  The air vibrated in the sunshine, the cypress trees grew dark and heavy and the odd cluster of pretty houses released brown faced children running to wave at the passing strangers on their way to the glamorous Amalfi coast like swarming bees from a hive.  A couple on a moped buzzed up a dusty track, the girl’s brown legs slim and toned as her white skirt billowed out behind her and Polly felt a sharp stab of envy.  The south of Italy was carefree and warm and succulent, like a glowing peach in sunshine, yet the knot in her stomach denied her even the smallest pleasure from its taste.  This was meant to be a holiday, yet, so far, she had done little but rise and fall to the undulating landscape of Robert’s moods.

She watched him read.  Slouched in his seat, his blue shirt tucked into jeans, one leg carelessly tossed over the other, revealing old school socks in pink and blue and the silver glint of the buckle on the belt she had bought him last Christmas.  He was handsome, with shiny dark hair and indigo eyes framed by indecently long eye lashes, and intrinsically arrogant, as if he took it for granted that he was better than everyone else.  When they had first met, five years before, his insouciance had excited her.  She had been flattered that a man well known for finding most people intolerable, had desired her.  She had dressed for him, grown her hair for him, organised his life for him like a good assistant without realising that the mould she was shaping would set like clay.  Her world revolved around him and from the outside they appeared the perfect couple, but she only shone with his reflected light.  She wasn’t sure who she was anymore and worse, what she would be without him.

Polly didn’t want to dwell on the times she had considered leaving Robert.  They were too many and too painful to contemplate.  After all, they were in the most romantic country in the world and if it wasn’t for his foul mood, she would be certain that after so many years together he would surely propose.  He was forty-one, she was thirty-six; he was her last chance, the final stop, the end of the line.  She had put all her eggs into his basket.  If he didn’t propose she feared time would run out and she’d never have children.

At last the train stopped in Sorrento and they disembarked.  The travel agent had arranged for someone to pick them up at the station and take them to Incantellaria by boat, explaining that the best way to see the town was from the sea.  “It is the most enchanting place.  Incanto means charm in Italian.  You will see that it is no coincidence that it carries that name.”  Robert had cared only that the hotel was comfortable.  “Well, it’s not the Pelicano, but it is cosy,” she had said.  “Let’s just say it has a certain rustic charm.”

            “I don’t want rustic charm,” Robert had complained, contemplating the lack of digital television and room service.

            “I insist you try it, if only for a couple of days.  Then you can travel further down the coast to Portofino and spend the last leg of your trip in unabashed luxury.”  Robert had agreed.  Polly had had no opinion.  Whatever made Robert happy would make her happy too.

To Polly’s relief there was a man with ‘Mr Judd’ written on card waiting for them in the sunshine.  He nodded in recognition and Robert shook his hand, impressed that everything was going according to plan in a country where nothing usually did.  Neither of them spoke Italian so the man gesticulated that they follow, his grey hair catching the breeze and floating up like goose down.  “Io mi chiamo Lorenzo,” he said.  “Lo-ren-zo.”

            “Jolly good, Lorenzo,” said Robert, putting his arm around Polly’s waist and tossing her a smile.  “Let’s hope he can navigate his way to Incantellaria.”

            “Incantellaria,” Lorenzo repeated, the only word he had understood, and grinned, revealing a broken front tooth. 

            “All right, darling?” Robert asked her, as if checking she wasn’t still smarting from his bad temper.  “Not long now.”  She ignored his comment, after all she wasn’t the one who complained of delays and lost luggage but hurried dutifully after him, smoothing his train like an anxious bridesmaid.

They climbed into Lorenzo’s dusty car.  A Madonna statue suspended from the mirror swung violently as Lorenzo set off down the narrow streets to the quay.  Polly gazed out of the window where a couple of old widows dressed in black sat chatting in a shady doorway and a group of small children in grubby shorts kicked a pile of orange leaves.  A pretty waitress flirted with a group of old men in caps and waistcoats playing cards at a table beneath a tree.  Something stirred inside Polly -  a longing to be part of this languid life where people had time for each other and for themselves.  “Isn’t it charmingly quaint?” she said to Robert. 

            He chewed his cheek. “You sound like the travel agent.  Perhaps you should write the brochure.”  She should have known better than to share the moment with him when he hadn’t eaten.  Robert was never his best on an empty stomach.

Down at the quay Lorenzo took them to a small motor boat where a handsome young Italian sat waiting for them.  His skin was tanned the colour of toffee and his eyes were a sparkling green.  When he saw them he smiled, the lines around his mouth and eyes growing long and deep.  “Ciao, Lorenzo,” he greeted his friend, slapping him on the back affectionately.  They shared a joke, then the young man, whose name was Fabio, settled his eyes onto Polly.  “Is this your first time in Incantellaria?”  His accent was attractive, but it was his gaze, the shameless way he looked at her in front of her boyfriend, that caused her stomach to flip over.

            “Yes,” she replied, turning to Robert.

            “I’d like to get there before sunset,” said Robert, an edge of sarcasm to his voice.     Fabio shrugged laconically.  “I’ll get you there in time for lunch,” he said, taking their bag and hauling it into the boat. 

            “Is this thing safe?” said Robert, stepping in behind Fabio.

            “You can swim, can’t you?” said Fabio, turning to help Polly.  She took his hand and they caught eyes.  She felt the colour rise to her cheeks and looked away.

            “Jack ass,” muttered Robert under his breath as Polly sat beside him.  “Don’t think I didn’t notice the way he looked at you.”

            “You should be flattered,” she replied, hiding a smile.

            “Maybe, but you shouldn’t. They flirt like that with everyone.”

            “Thank you, darling. How sweet.”  She folded her arms and decided to ignore him.  He’d be better once he’d had something to eat.

Fabio motored the boat out of the peaceful cove and into the open sea.  Steep cliffs rose up black and sheer, the rocks sharp and unforgiving.  Polly felt a wave of apprehension.  Where in the world was Incantellaria? What if Robert didn’t like it? What if the hotel wasn’t to his taste? She began to bite the skin around her thumbnail again.  Fabio watched her, intrigued.  He ran his eyes up her long legs, admired her smooth pale skin and the slimness of her ankles.  She had a small waist, and the low décolletage of her dress hinted full, plump breasts.  Her wavy blonde hair was blown off her face as the wind tossed it about playfully.  He couldn’t see her eyes, hidden behind large sunglasses, but he imagined they were blue.  She didn’t look happy.  He glanced at the man he assumed to be her husband, sitting silently by her side, his mouth turned down in an angry pout, and decided he was wholly undeserving of such a sweet looking woman.  Sensing him watching her, Polly pulled her cardigan tightly around her.  The wind had an icy edge to it.

Suddenly the rock fell away, and the boat rattled around the corner where Incantellaria was revealed to them like glittering jewels in a secret chest.  Polly caught her breath.  The bay was lined with white houses whose grey-tiled rooves caught the sun and sparkled.  Pale blue shutters framed wide open windows where black iron balconies were decorated with pots of bright red geraniums.  The tower of a church rose up behind them and beyond, green hills were thick with pine trees.  The air was at once infused with rosemary and thyme and up on the crest of the hill she could see an old look-out tower, like a blind old man relieved of responsibility, mulling over old memories.  “It’s beautiful,” she sighed, her spirits rising independently of Robert’s.

            “There better be something good to eat,” said Robert.  “I’m starving.”

            “I am very proud of Incantellaria,” Fabio shouted over the wind.  “It is the jewel of the Amalfi coast.”

            “Have you lived here long?” Polly asked.

            He smiled and Polly’s stomach flipped over again.  “All my life,” he said, and Polly was sure there was magic in that smile.  Robert bristled, for him that smile meant nothing but trouble.

They disembarked.  Robert first, leaving Polly to follow.  Fabio once again took her hand and helped her step onto the quay.  “Your husband is not a gentleman,” he said under his breath.  Polly looked into his eyes and saw his concern beneath the twinkle of humour.

            “He’s not my husband,” she replied, then caught her breath, appalled that she had felt it necessary to correct him. 

            Fabio raised his eyebrows.  “You must be staying at Il Luce,” he said.

            “How do you know?” she asked.

            “Because that is the only hotel.  You will like it.  Your boyfriend?” he shrugged.  “I’m not so sure.”  Polly smiled, turning her attention to Robert who was striding up the quay towards the houses, having left the bag for Fabio.  He bent down and picked it up.

            “I’m sorry,” she said.  “It’s very heavy.”

            “For you I’d carry double.”

            “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

            “Then you would lose your bet.”  He grinned at her and began to walk slowly up the quay.

“Now, where is this place?” said Robert.  “What’s it called, darling?”

            “Il Luce,” she said.

            “Come, I’ll show you,” said Fabio, walking on past Robert.  “It’s not far.”

They followed him up a narrow paved street and into a square, dominated by the pretty white church.  Robert saw the sign above the door and screwed up his nose. 

            “Is this it?” he asked.  “It’s not at all what I expected.”

            “It’s adorable,” said Polly, clapping her hands together with glee.  “I bet we’ll have a room with a sea view.” 

            Robert looked at his watch.  “I hope there’s something to eat.”  Fabio caught Polly’s eye and shrugged again.  Robert’s ill humour seemed to amuse him.  Polly was embarrassed, somehow in London Robert didn’t seem so bad. There, in the quiet, quaint Italian town he seemed uncomfortably out of place.

Polly was right, they had a pretty white room with wide doors leading out onto a small, wrought iron balcony with a view over the roof tops to the sparkling sea beyond.  She leant on the balcony and gazed down into the square below.  Her mind drifted to Fabio.  She wondered where he had gone and whether she would see him again.  Suddenly, she felt infected by the carefree air of Incantellaria. The breeze picked up the skirt of her dress and it rustled about her legs.  She swept her hand through her hair and closed her eyes to the sun on her face.  She imagined she lived there, in the tranquillity of this enchanting little place, so far from all that was familiar to her.  She could live another life, start again, be someone totally different.  Her dream was swiftly cut short by Robert complaining that he couldn’t find his sunglasses.  Once again her stomach plummeted with anxiety.  She obviously had left them behind.

            “How could you?” Robert snapped.  “I can’t trust you to do a bloody thing!  All I asked was that you packed my bag.  Well, I can see I’m going to have to relieve you of that responsibility.”

            “Let’s get something to eat,” she suggested.  “We can buy another pair.”

            “They don’t make them like that anymore!” 

            “They’re only glasses,” she said bravely.

            “Wrong.  They’re my only glasses!”

They sat outside on the terrace, choosing a table in the shade so that Robert didn’t have to squint without his sunglasses. Polly enjoyed the serenity of the place, for once able to detach herself from Robert’s bad mood.  They barely spoke.  Robert drank a glass of wine and ate a vast plate of spaghetti after which he sat back sleepily.  He took her hand.  “Let’s go upstairs and sleep a siesta.”  He grinned at her, but his grin held little charm.

            “I’m going to explore,” she replied, getting up.  “I’ll see you later.”  Robert watched her leave in amazement.  She had never refused him.

Polly skipped down the street among fallen leaves that swirled in the wind, feeling a new sense of freedom.  She wandered up the sea front, taking pleasure from the children playing there.  A couple of old men in caps stood chatting, moving their hands vigorously as Italians do.  A restaurant spilled out onto the pavement, full of people relaxing and smoking over glasses of wine.  An old woman in black presided over the clients, moving slowly from table to table like a grand vessel.  A pretty, dark-haired waitress flirted with a table of handsome young men.  Her laughter rose above the chatter and Polly was envious of her place there.

Polly began to walk down the beach.  The sea surged up the sand that was littered with white shells.  “May I?” She turned to see Fabio walking behind her.

            “Hello,” she said, surprised. 

            “You are alone?”

            “Of course.”  She thought of Robert sleeping a siesta and felt a sense of relief.

            “This is the most romantic place in the world.  You should be sharing it with the man you love.”  It was a simple thing to say, but that phrase ‘with the man you love,’ would change everything.  She looked at Fabio with mounting excitement.  So far from home and surrounded by such natural beauty she realised then that she no longer loved Robert.  He had become a habit she had believed to be love.  Never had she imagined she could walk away.  Tough times had just made her struggle harder to make their relationship work as if unconsciously she had believed there to be no alternative. Fabio was handsome and charming.  He clearly desired her, which made her feel good.  She felt the luxurious stirring of independence long forgotten and continued to walk with a spring in her step.  They sat on the rocks, watching the setting sun turn the water to copper and talked about their lives until Robert receded into the back of her mind, almost gone entirely.

When she returned to the hotel, the sensation of Fabio taking her hand as they walked back up the beach still fresh upon her skin, she felt light-headed, as if a door had opened wide where there hadn’t been one before.  Robert had slept.  He was in a good mood.  He was affectionate and funny, but Polly was now detached like a little boat floating away on the sea.  As if sensing the shift, Robert proposed over dinner.  He took her hand, looked deep into her eyes, apologised for his ill humour, promised to behave better in the future.  Polly hesitated before she replied, wasn’t this what she had always wanted?  “Yes,” she said, and her voice sounded very far away.  He reached across the table and kissed her, but he no longer felt familiar.  Her thoughts turned to the beach and Fabio and the now dissolving sense of freedom she had so enjoyed.  That night they made love, but Polly was just going through the motions and felt little pleasure.  It was then that she realised how little Robert knew her, how little she had allowed him to know.  While he slept she stood on the balcony, gazing out to sea, imagining what her life might be like if she stayed in Incantellaria. 

Robert decided he didn’t like the hotel or the town.  “I want to take you to the most expensive hotel in Portofino,” he told her.  “My future wife deserves only the best.”  But as they climbed back into Fabio’s boat, Polly had made up her mind.  She didn’t expect to ride off into the sunset or to live happily ever after, but she knew that if she didn’t take this chance the door might close on her forever.  She glanced at Robert, who now took her hand, and felt little for him but compassion.  There is nothing deader than dead love. Fabio’s face was solemn.  He barely looked at her.  A door had opened in his future too, but he could sense it slowly closing, shutting out the light of opportunity.

At Sorrento Robert disembarked.  Fabio lifted the suitcase out of the boat, it felt lighter than before.  Polly remained seated.  Robert turned.  “Come on, darling,” he said.

            “I’m not coming,” Polly replied steadily.  Robert frowned.  Fabio stared at her in disbelief.  “I’m staying in Incatellaria.”

            “You’re what….?” Robert’s face flushed with fury.  How dare she humiliate him in public!

            “I cannot marry you.  I’m sorry.  Take me back,” she said to Fabio.  The Italian’s smile was wide and infectious.  Polly felt the fizz of bubbles in her stomach and the exhilarating feeling of finding herself at last.  As the boat motored away Robert was reduced to an angry little figure on the shore, diminished in power and importance.

            “To Incantellaria,” said Fabio.  Polly stood beside him and let him put his hand around her waist and draw her close.

            “To my future,” she replied.  “Whatever that may be.”