The Italian Matchmaker Read Free Page B

you’ll uncover.’

2
     
    Fitz took the dogs out alone after lunch. Miles was required at the bridge table. This was a relief for Fitz who wanted time with his memories, as bright now as if they had just received an unexpected polishing. He strode up the track towards the woods. Digger and Bendico disappeared into the field in pursuit of hares. The dark clouds had moved on, taking the rain with them. Now, patches of blue were visible and occasionally the sun shone, catching the wet foliage and making it glitter.
    Incantellaria. The very word pulled at his heart, creating a mixture of regret and longing. He couldn’t help but think of what might have been. Now he was old he appreciated the miracle of love and the fact that, having let it go, he would never get it back.
    He remembered Alba as she had been when he had fallen in love with her, now thirty years ago: her expression defiant, her strange pale eyes at odds with her Mediterranean skin and dark hair, her laugh wild, her careless disregard for other people, her irrepressible charm. He remembered her vulnerability too, her need to be admired, her unexpected love for little Cosima, the niece she had found with her mother’s family when she had set out to Incantellaria in search of them. The joy with which she had accepted his proposal and returned with him to England. The day she had wrapped her arms around him and told him she wanted to go back to Italy. That she couldn’t live in England. She had implored him to go with her. She had insisted that she loved him – but not enough. Not enough. ‘ Don’t say it’s over. I couldn’t bear it. Let’s just see. If you change your mind, I’ll be waiting for you. I’ll be waiting and hoping and ready to welcome you with open arms. My love won’t go cold, not in Italy .’ He had let her go and he hadn’t followed her. Her love must have gone cold. Alba needed love like a butterfly needs the sun. He entered the woods and walked up the well trodden path. Ferns were beginning to unfurl with the first signs of bluebells, their shoots bright green and vibrant against the brown leaves and mud. The air was sweet and damp, the twittering of birds animated as they went about building their nests. He wondered where Alba was now. Had she stayed in Incantellaria or had she grown bored of that sleepy little town and moved to somewhere more exciting? Perhaps she had married, had children. At fifty-six she might even be a grandmother. Did she think of him as often as he thought of her? The twist of regret in his heart would never go away. Oh, he was happy enough with Rosemary. But, after Alba, there was no falling in love again. He had closed his heart and married with his head. However, he often wondered what his life might have been like had he followed her to Italy. Dreams that came and went like clouds across the sky, some dark, others light and fluffy, but always the sense of having missed a golden opportunity.
    ‘Is Fitz all right?’ Freya asked her mother as they sat on the sofa in the drawing-room, sipping coffee out of pretty pink cups. ‘He went very quiet over lunch.’
    ‘Things are a bit tense at work. One of his favourite authors is moving to A.P. Watt.’
    ‘Poor Fitz. He should retire.’
    ‘So I keep telling him. He works so hard. But he loves what he does. He won’t quit until he’s dead. But losing Ken Durden is a real blow.’
    ‘I should have gone out with him.’
    ‘Don’t be silly, darling. He likes going out on his own.’ She patted Freya’s knee. ‘What a lovely house party you’ve got this weekend. I’m pleased you’ve found your old friend Luca again. My goodness, isn’t he handsome?’
    ‘He’s been through a ghastly divorce.’
    ‘Well, he does look a little frayed around the edges. More rugged than he used to be. You did well marrying Miles. Men like Luca are good for fun, but not for ever.’
    ‘Oh, Mum!’ Freya protested. ‘That was a long time ago.’
    ‘I’ll never