An Italian Dream

FERN

The sunshine streamed into the room, casting a golden-green light through the translucent leaves that framed the window. Fern yawned and stretched, thinking back to the evening before and one of the best dinners she’d ever eaten. The company had matched it too. Matteo filled her thoughts, with his smooth deep voice and booming laughter. She mulled over the late-night conversation they’d had after everyone else had gone to bed.

The fluttering in Fern’s chest morphed into a tingling warmth that spread throughout her body. The more she thought about him, the more the feeling intensified, along with her guilt when her thoughts turned to Paul. She hurriedly flung the bedcover off, padded to the en suite and ran the bath. The tub was positioned so she could gaze across the bedroom to the leafy view through the balcony doors. She sank into the warm scented water and relished not just the peace but the relaxed nature of the place. There was no need to rush anything. Back home, she’d have a quick shower in the morning and plough straight into her day, whether that involved going to work or cleaning the house.

She submerged herself beneath the water, the rush of warmth enveloping her. She re-emerged, wiping water from her face and squeezing out the excess from her hair. If she believed her wayward thoughts about Matteo would be cleansed, she was sorely mistaken. The idea of seeing him today and spending more time with him filled her with joy, she just needed to remind herself she was a guest and nothing more.

Fern got dried and dressed in a white maxi skirt with a capped-sleeved saffron-yellow blouse which was comfortable and flattering. Matteo had mentioned a walking tour of Anacapri to find places to sketch, so she put on her comfy slip-on trainers.

Before heading downstairs, she checked her phone and found a lovely long message from Ruby, plus a short one from Stella sent at silly o’clock last night. She sent quick replies to them both, saying how much she was looking forward to seeing Ruby in a few days, and reassuring Stella that she’d had a super first evening.

Breakfast was on the terrace overlooking the pool. Matteo’s housekeeper, Ana, brought Fern fresh orange juice and a toasted sourdough bruschetta topped with buffalo mozzarella and tomatoes drizzled with basil pesto. She was one of the last to eat. The German couple finished their breakfast and wished her a good morning as they walked past. She spied Edith already in the garden with a paintbrush in her hand, making the most of the morning light.

Matteo was nowhere to be seen, but just as she popped the last bite of bruschetta into her mouth, she heard him. She wiped the crumbs away and downed the remainder of the orange juice. He was somewhere in the garden talking to Arthur and hidden by the lush foliage.

Fern glanced at her watch; it was nearly time to go. She headed back upstairs and tucked the sketchbook Matteo had given her in her bag.

* * *

The group split up, a few into the heart of Anacapri with Matteo, while Edith, Fern, Arthur and a couple of the others walked along the Via Migliera, a paved lane that meandered past farmhouses and vineyards. Part of her wished they’d all stayed together. She realised with dismay it was because she wanted to spend more time with Matteo, but having been invited by Edith, she felt it was right to stick with her. Perhaps that was a good thing; Matteo was a distraction. She gave herself a stern talking-to, deciding her confusing feelings were simply because she’d been swept up in the romance of the retreat and the glamour of Capri.

‘I adore the idea of being able to walk in the footsteps of the Romans,’ Edith said, as they walked from the sunshine into the shade of trees. ‘The sense of history this island has just takes my breath away. I think that’s why I love Italy and this island so much: its beauty combined with a colourful past and the most delicious food and drink. Heaven!’

Although it had been completely by chance that they’d come to Capri, Fern couldn’t think of anywhere that would have topped it. Even with the tension that bristled between her and Amber, the island itself had a calming effect. Perhaps she’d been naive to think that being somewhere different would help their relationship, but at least it had given her a chance to pause and re-evaluate.

The pace was set by the slowest of the group, but even at eighty, Arthur was still surprisingly sprightly. It felt good to slow down and allow time to soak up the surroundings. Fern caught snatches of blue sea between the trees, but it was only when they reached the end of the path and it opened out that she could see the expanse of the Tyrrhenian Sea shimmering in the morning sun.

They sat in the shade beneath trees and took out their sketchbooks. Fern was certain she wouldn’t be able to do the view justice, but as her pencil stokes began to fill the page, she stopped caring about the end result. It felt unbelievably good to reconnect with her creative side. She loved simply sitting and noticing things that perhaps she would have missed if she hadn’t taken the time to commit the surroundings to memory through her drawing: yachts crisscrossing the blue sea leaving trails of white in their wake and the Punta Carena lighthouse perched on a craggy, green-topped rock.

They sat in companionable silence. Edith smiled contentedly as she ran her pencil across the cream paper of her sketchbook. People came and went; it was a popular spot, the walk worth it for the view alone.

Fern lost track of time. She was so absorbed in her sketch, she barely noticed Arthur and the other two guests heading off. Fern was happy to remain with Edith and put the finishing touches to her sketch, but when Edith announced, ‘I don’t know about you, but I’ve worked up an appetite,’ she realised how hungry she was, despite such a good breakfast.

Edith tucked her sketchbook away and slung her bag across her shoulders. Her loose patterned trousers reminded Fern of the blue and white tiles in Villa Giardino. The thought of it being empty made Fern wonder where Stella and the girls were. Somewhere out there on the endless blue sea. No doubt they were gazing at a view to rival this one.

Fern packed her sketchbook away too and followed Edith back up the path into the sunshine, which was welcome after the shade of the trees. She’d been sitting still and concentrating for longer than she realised, so it felt good to work out the ache in her shoulders as they walked.

The restaurant wasn’t far away and, surrounded by vineyards and gardens, it had views to equal the one they’d just sketched. They were greeted and shown to a table beneath a pergola. The days here seemed to revolve around food – not that she minded when everything was so fresh and delicious. She would love to have the opportunity to travel and try different cuisines. Holidays over the years had revolved around the family and it had always fallen to her to look after and entertain the girls. She’d never been able to fully relax around the pool, her attention only half on her book as she’d kept an eye on Ruby and Amber. Even on the few holidays just she and Paul had had together abroad, he’d always insisted they went somewhere that served British food. It was nothing like what she was experiencing here.

Fern could have eaten everything on the menu, but knowing how well they got fed at Il Ritiro d’Arte, she opted for a seafood salad. She wasn’t disappointed when it arrived: a generous plateful of octopus, large juicy prawns and mussels on a bed of rocket drizzled with olive oil and lemon.

Edith’s smile widened as her plate of paccheri pasta with octopus and tomatoes was placed in front of her. ‘I have many favourite restaurants on the island, but this place is a gem.’ She swept her hand around at the pergola-covered terrace, where most of the tables were filled with people eating and drinking. It felt far removed from the bustle of the piazzetta and had the bonus of a sea view, a soothing palette of green and blue. Even with lots of tourists, it evoked a sense of peace.

Fern chewed a mussel and relished the salty zestiness. Italian food at home was usually a takeaway pizza or overcooked pasta. She sipped her crisp white wine and happily listened to Edith.

‘What I love most about being here – apart from the obvious things,’ Edith continued, ‘is how much I enjoy getting to know other people, people like you, who I probably wouldn’t have met otherwise.’

‘And that was only by chance.’

‘True. If Maya had come with me, it’s unlikely we’d have had that conversation on the boat over and you wouldn’t be here now.’

‘Perhaps fate intervened.’

‘Perhaps it did. I feel you were meant to be here.’

Fern knocked her glass of wine against Edith’s. ‘I do too. I was only thinking earlier how desperate I was for a holiday like this and to have time to myself. It’s taken me being here to realise it. Initially, I felt guilty, not wanting to go on the yacht with the others, but I made the right decision.’

‘It’s not what you’d choose to do?’