An Italian Dream

FERN

Fern didn’t have a clue where she was going, she just needed to get away. The sense of peace and happiness she’d discovered during her time at the retreat in Anacapri and then in Tuscany had dispersed like smoke on the wind with Stella’s words. She stormed away from the villa, her feet pounding the narrow twisting road. Tears streaked her face and blurred her vision, making the green trees merge with the grey stone of the walls.

How had everything come crashing down so suddenly? At least it felt like that, even if she knew it had been building to this. But Stella’s confession… A sob caught in her throat. She’d left the villa without anything: no phone, no money or any idea of where she was headed. To hell with it, she thought. She wasn’t going to go back. She couldn’t face Amber and she certainly didn’t want to see Stella.

She reached Capri town and people flooded the streets, hemming her in. She wanted to escape somewhere peaceful, away from everyone. She forced herself forward. The glamour around her in the shop windows, the flowers spilling from balconies and the good-looking couples sitting outside cafes sipping espressos jarred with the anger churning inside. She was glad her sunglasses hid her puffy eyes.

She had no money to get the funicular or one of the brightly coloured open-top taxis, so she took the path Matteo had told her about, known only to the locals, that led between beautiful gardens and villas all the way down to Marina Grande before she found her way to the steep path that led back up to Anacapri. There was only one place she wanted to go. She had a vague idea of how to get there on foot, even if it was a trek.

The start of the Scala Fenicia was unassuming, just narrow steps next to a stone wall right on the edge of the road. Fern started up them but immediately had to squeeze past a couple coming the other way. She pushed onwards past villas and olive trees, her pace fast considering the climb. She was relieved when the path led beneath the leafy canopy of the wooded hillside. The shade was welcome, although in the humidity, it didn’t help to cool her down. Only snatches of blue sky could be seen through the branches and the sea was hidden by the screen of trees. She didn’t want to stop. She knew if she did, her energy would desert her and she was finding it a hard enough struggle as it was to put one foot in front of the other, her thighs protesting with the effort. Her mouth was dry and she envied the people she passed heading down the hill to the fresher air of the marina, but there was no way she was turning back.

By the time she emerged from the trees back into the sunshine, sweat trickled down the sides of her face, her calves ached and her sandals were rubbing her toes. She’d power-walked up hundreds of steps, anger and frustration surging with the effort. She paused to catch her breath, barely taking in the sweeping view down to the marina. The day was becoming increasingly muggy, with iron-grey clouds beginning to cluster over the hillside opposite.

Fern continued her climb. The narrow walkway beyond the ancient doorway that had once separated the two parts of the island was rammed with people taking selfies, soaking up the view and standing chatting together. She brushed past them, not caring if she was asking politely or not. She was hot, flustered and desperate to be somewhere cool and calm, away from the bustle of so many people. Mostly, she wanted to get away from her thoughts. Walking had helped to work off some of her anger, yet it had given her a huge amount of time to think and relive not just her conversation with Stella, but conversations with Paul over the past few years. And Amber. It broke her heart that she’d been a part of his lies. Fern wiped away fresh tears with the back of her hand.

The last bit of the walk was a slog, along an incredibly steep and winding path before she crossed the cliffside road and puffed her way past Villa San Michele – the place she never got to explore with Edith.

More tears welled when she reached the gates of Il Ritiro d’Arte. She pushed them open and was enveloped into the soothing calm of the garden. The sun was extinguished by a cloud, the sudden dullness matching her mood. Even now, with her mind in turmoil as she walked the path between lemon trees and glossy green bushes, it still felt like somewhere she could block out real life. A place to escape to. Wasn’t that exactly what she’d done?

Hushed voices travelled across the garden, whoever was talking obscured by the undergrowth. She caught a few words in German. She wondered if Edith was here or out somewhere in Anacapri with her sketchbook.

Fern headed towards the villa and up the wide steps to the grand entrance. She faltered outside the doors. She couldn’t just wander in; she wasn’t a guest any longer. She thumped the large knocker and waited.

She was expecting the housekeeper, Ana, but as the door swung open, her heart skipped at the shadowy form of Matteo.

‘Fern?’

Yet more tears welled at the sight of him and the comforting familiarity of his voice.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t know where else to go.’

He moved closer and wrapped her in his arms. She sobbed against him, dampening his linen shirt. How many times had she longed for him to hold her over the past few days? And the one time he had, the one time she’d allowed herself to give in to her feelings and they’d kissed for the briefest of moments, she’d stopped him. But she hadn’t wanted it to be like this – hurt and upset by an awful truth that had finally come out.

‘Hey,’ he said, gently wiping away her tears with his thumbs. ‘What’s the matter?’

She sighed and thought, How to even begin.

Matteo took her hand and led her through the villa. It was the middle of the afternoon and quiet. Fern imagined the guests were still out exploring or tucked away somewhere painting. They reached the empty orangery and he closed the door behind them.

Despite being surrounded by glass on three sides with the view into the garden, the usually bright and sunny room was as dull and grey as outside. The storm clouds that had been clustering as Fern had walked across the island now covered the sky.

Matteo switched on the lamps on the tables at either end of the sofa, sat down and patted the space next to him.

‘Talk to me, Fern. What’s happened?’

‘I told you I had suspicions that my husband had been unfaithful…’ She sat down, took a deep breath and looked him in the eye. ‘Well, Stella just confirmed it.’

Matteo’s eyes narrowed. ‘How does she know?’

‘Because she’s just one of the people he’s been unfaithful with.’

Saying it out loud to Matteo made it all the more real. More so than even Stella, just a couple of hours earlier, standing on the villa terrace admitting something that had shocked Fern to her core. How had she not known? How had she been so blind to the feelings that Stella had carried for Paul all these years. The feelings her best friend had for her husband. Life was beyond cruel. The one person she had always turned to had betrayed her.

‘I’ve slept with Paul.’ Stella’s words had wrapped around her heart, twisting and squeezing until she felt barely able to breathe. It was as if time had slowed and she’d noticed every detail: the tears glistening in Stella’s fearful eyes; the beads of sweat on her top lip; and the way she clasped the stone wall, knuckles tensed white. Once she’d started talking, it was as though a floodgate had opened, the whole sordid tale tumbling out, from Stella and Paul’s drunken antics at a party before Fern and Paul had even got together to another drunken decision almost two decades later when loneliness had driven Stella into Paul’s arms.

Matteo was watching her, waiting for her to continue speaking. She realised she’d been lost in her thoughts, playing over the conversation with Stella. She steeled herself; she’d come here for a reason. Matteo was sitting with her, ready to listen, his face full of concern.