Live to Tell (2 page)

We spent the next morning sunbathing on the beach. Since cramming for my school exams, I felt exhausted and it was wonderful to be able to relax here without having to watch the clock. Aunt Jess walked up the beach. She had been for a swim and had a button-through black linen shift waiting on the sand to cover her body. Draping the dress carefully around her, she rolled down the wet swimsuit from beneath it, and drew on a pair of dry, skinny white shorts in its place. Humming quietly to herself, she lay back for a minute, letting the warmth of the sun penetrate her skin.

Mine was beginning to itch from too much sun. I was intent on not turning into a lobster so I pulled my long-sleeved muslin blouse and pale green gypsy skirt over my bikini. Finally, determined not to let the heat spoil my fashion-ability, I covered the blouse with an embroidered waistcoat. Earlier I plaited a headband of coloured ribbons and I tied it round my forehead, pulling my hair down in front of my shoulders.

“That looks beautiful, dear,” Aunt Jess said, “very Pre-Raphaelite. Let’s go for a drink. I could murder a cup of coffee.”

From somewhere in the distance, I could hear music. A tinkling melody drifted over the beach. It’s
Maria,
I thought surprised. It was not the usual version of the song but was played on a piano, with a lazy Latin beat. The music was coming from a cafe on the other side of the road. Flower-filled urns stood on the pavement outside, and tables and chairs were set ready for lunch. Half of the building seemed to be open to the sky and a green and white awning rustled gently in the breeze. I rushed to it like a lemming, leaving Aunt Jess to gather up our belongings.

Breathlessly, she ran after me. “Stop, stop! You must be careful. You need to realise here they drive on their horns
and
on the opposite side of the road, and I wouldn’t like to have to send you home to Mum and Dad in pieces. There’s no rush. It isn’t going to go away.”

“Sorry,” I said, feeling a little ashamed of myself, as we reached the safety of the pavement and sat down at one of the tables. “It’s just all so lovely. Thank you so much for bringing me. I never imagined anywhere could be so wonderful. I feel so privileged.”

“I thought it was time your knowledge of the world expanded,” she said stroking my cheek. “Especially if you are going away to college soon, it’s important you grow more worldly wise. You’ll be better able to look after yourself and keep all those big bad wolves at bay. Talking of which, that delicious-looking boy over there—the one with the hair—is looking at you.”

A year ago, unknown to my mother, Aunt Jess had taken me to a private clinic for birth control advice. She said she didn’t trust my school to do it. Although she stayed out of the consultation, she was happy they would explain to me what I needed to know. They prescribed the contraceptive pill and as a result my mother, who was old fashioned with a big “O”, would never, Aunt Jess said, have the trauma of an unwanted pregnancy to deal with. I was grateful she took the responsibility upon herself. I was no longer a virgin but I didn’t consider myself to be promiscuous either. I found the whole subject really embarrassing and was glad we never discussed the trip again.

I glanced behind me at a young man who was seated alone. Another good looking local, I thought. “No, he isn’t looking at me. He’s looking at the menu.”

She smiled. “Anyway, after coffee I have to attend to some business for a few hours. You’ll be all right on your own. And you remember the way back to the hotel, don’t you?”

I nodded and she took a pile of lire out of her purse. “Get some lunch. This should more than cover the bill. Waiter?”

After we had coffee and she left, I nibbled on a toasted sandwich and gazed out at the sparkling sea, mentally drifting away in a world of my own. A voice from the next table broke into my dream. The “boy with the hair” had changed his seat and was addressing me.

“
Ciao,
bambina
,” he began.

“I’m sorry. I er I don’t speak Italian. I’m English.”

“That’s Okay. I speak English like a native. I thought you were but I wasn’t a hundred per cent sure, so I thought I’d better be polite.”

“Are you British, then?” I felt puzzled. He wasn’t wearing socks and looked more like a local than a tourist, but his English seemed totally accent free, to me.

“Well, my mum is, and we all live in Blighty, but my dad’s Italian. My name’s Olivier Scarlatti, known as Joe to my friends. I think my mum was a fan of the silver screen and as Olivio is an Italian name, as well… well, what can I say?” He shrugged his shoulders. “That’s what they called me. I’m on a gap year and I’m staying with relatives here for the summer.” His eyes sparkled and he brought his chair closer to mine. What fabulous eyelashes he’s got, I thought, gazing at him.

“Dad’s brothers and sisters live in the UK and in South Africa but I still have great aunts and uncles here and they like spoiling me. My family have homes in the hills around here,” he said, “smallholdings, that sort of thing. You know, olive trees and chickens. They want my father and mother to move back but I don’t think there’s much chance of that. They’re not what you’d call rustic and are quite happy in Edgware. That’s in London by the way. What do you do?”

He smiled a dazzling smile and moved his seat even closer.

“That’s funny,” I said. “I’m here with my aunt, too. She was here, in the cafe just a short time ago. And what do I do? Well, nothing, really. I’ve only just left school. I want to go to Art College. I’d really like to study fashion design, but it’s so competitive. It’s really difficult finding a place.”

“Not fine art?”

“That would be wonderful but a bit hopeless. In fashion you can at least get work. And I know where Edgware is. I live in Hertfordshire.”

“Well Miss Designer, here’s to you.” He raised his cup in salute. “Can I get you another cappuccino? I was going to get one for myself.”

We sat and talked and time slipped by as our knees touched and I found myself looking more and more deeply at those curling eyelashes and sparkling eyes.

Later, we walked slowly out of the town, south along the coast. Then we headed back to where I was staying. Joe was quite a bit taller than me and he walked with his arm casually around my shoulders. It all felt so natural and right, as if we’d known each other for ever. Suddenly without warning he leaned over and kissed me on the mouth.

“Italy is the place for lovers,” he said. “It’s very romantic. That’s where the word comes from,
Roma.
” He kissed me again, more passionately and I wished I didn’t have to go back to Aunt Jess. His skin smelt gorgeous and my body warmed uncontrollably. I guess he felt it as well but what could I do?

“Can I take you out tomorrow,” he whispered. “I would really like that.”

The next day was beautiful and cloudless. After lunch, Jess sat with me, on the green, striped armchairs outside our hotel entrance, sipping
Coca-Cola
, while I waited for Joe to arrive.

“Here he is,” I said excitedly, as a small white
Vespa
scooter wove a path along the road.

“I want you to have a good time dear, but just remember that if you hadn’t been born in Luton, you’d be a Yorkshire lass. So think on your sensible roots. And don’t do anything rash! Good afternoon young man.”

Joe flashed us both what Jess described as a Casanova smile and stopped the machine while I climbed on behind him.

“Back by ten, okay? And best behaviour young man, remember, or you’ll answer to me.”

He smiled back and waved at her as we sped off. I clutched his waist and as we gathered speed his curly black hair, smelling of almond oil shampoo, streamed behind him, brushing my face.

Soon, we were climbing out of the town up into the hills and a vista of purple and green, dotted with strange, cigar shaped trees, spread for miles below us. We reached a place near the peak; Joe stopped the scooter and killed the engine. Suddenly, all was silent and it felt like we were totally alone, removed from all other human souls.

“Wow, that’s amazing,” I whispered.

“I wanted to show you this view. It’s magnificent, isn’t it? See there; that’s the way we’ve come.”

I looked down and a thin sliver of road stretched away below. He held out his hand to me and I climbed off and followed him away from the track. It was incredibly still; the only sound in the world the call of soaring birds. Further around the hillside, away from the road, we paused and sat down on some dry tufty grass, and kicked off our shoes, as the scent of wild thyme and lavender infused the air. A few feet away, across a dusty rock, a small lizard scuttled into a crevice, and looking down I could just see the seashore and the surf way below, the coast a silent panorama.

“This is perfect heaven,” I said. “It’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen.”

“England is beautiful too. Have you never been to the Lake District?”

“Yes, I know, and my family comes from the Yorkshire Dales, which are lovely as well in their own way, but this is different.”

“I had a girl friend in Devon once. Gosh I shouldn’t have told you that. Anyway, I went there and Devon is very pretty. But enough of all that Wish-You-Were-Here stuff. Aunt Jess said I should be on my best behaviour. Do you think she meant like this?”

Brushing back my hair, he leaned carefully across me, looked into my eyes and began to kiss me slowly and passionately, and again I felt irresistible desire. Clinging together, we lay back against the grass, still locked in our embrace. I was aware of his fingers tugging my blouse away from my shoulder and his tongue traced patterns across my mouth and throat. He pulled up my skirt and started to undo the buckle on his belt and as I gazed into the vast azure sky, I heard the zip go down on his jeans and felt his hand stroking the inside of my thigh.

“No, no, no,” I said gently. “Now you are being a naughty boy.”

“Yes.”

An orange butterfly fluttered past my face and I closed my eyes.

“
E
allora.
Che
cosa
fate?”
a loud male voice shouted angrily in the distance.

I shot up, pushing Joe roughly away.

“Good God,” he said, quickly turning round and doing up his zip. “What the hell was that? This could be trouble. I think we’d better get out of here.”

He grabbed my hand and pulled me to my feet. Slipping and sliding, we scrambled back to the scooter, relieved to see it was exactly as we had left it. It roared into life. As we took off, the owner of the voice appeared over the hillside above us, brandishing a heavy stick. He shouted more unintelligible Italian words waving his stick in the air.

At the first village we came to, Joe stopped the vehicle and got off.

“Are you all right? Have you got your shoes,” he asked. “I should have thought of them sooner.”

I nodded, kicking out my feet in demonstration. “What did he say? He looked pretty angry.”

“You don’t want to know, but it wasn’t very polite.”

“Who was he?”

“Probably the local landowner. Either that or the local nutter.”

I started to giggle and couldn’t stop, and Joe joined in. “That could have turned really nasty,” he said. “Do you think he was in the pay of Aunt Jess, come to protect your honour?” He kissed me and we leaned against the old stone fountain in the village square.

“You know,” he said, hugging me to him, “we’re soul-mates you and I. God, I’ve only known you two days and already I’ve risked life and limb trying to get into your drawers, and all you can do is laugh.”

“I don’t wear drawers,” I replied indignantly. “I wear a thong. Look.”

“Stop it, we’ll be arrested. This isn’t London, you know.” He looked around anxiously, but no-one stirred. It was as if the whole place was asleep.

“C’mon,” he said, placing his arm around my neck. “Let’s get out of here, before we encounter any more disgruntled residents.”

We spent the rest of the afternoon exploring the countryside and at dusk turned into an old country road. Joe stopped the scooter and turned back towards me.

“My family has a bar up here,” he said. “Would you like to sample a more traditional Italian supper, with some of the locals?”

“That would be lovely. Are you sure they won’t mind having a stranger’s mouth to feed?”

“Nah, they’ll love you. Probably have us married off before the evening’s over. My great aunt Julia is always prattling on about
when
are
you
going
to
bring
a
nice
young
lady
home,
Olivio?
If she starts just ignore her. Let’s go.”

Up the hill we drove through tall iron gates that appeared to be permanently propped open by heavy rocks and I noticed a family crest with intertwined letters in a laurel wreath worked into their design. Ahead of us, stood an old rustic building with an open veranda, illuminated by burning braziers and oil lamps. From inside a man bounded forward to greet us.