Beyond The Island Read online

  Joanne turned her attention to the Villa. It was spacious. Three ancient barns had been sympathetically restored and were linked by courtyards. She was delighted with everything; the exposed beams and stone walls; her charming guest bedroom with its canopied bed and marble fitments in the bathroom. In Angelina’s home the huge open kitchen formed the hub of family life.

  ‘I am so fortunate,’ Angelina said quietly. ‘I inherited this villa when our parents died. Cousin Renzo and my brother inherited our parent’s vineyard estate, although Fabio has an independent nature and leaves business matters to our cousin.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘I believe I have the bargain, even though the estate comprises several hamlets, vineyards and farms!’ She spread her arms and said, ‘If you’d care to ring anyone back home, you are welcome to use the house phone.’

  So much generosity; it seemed to run in the family. For a few moments Joanne remained silent, unsure how to begin. How could someone who’d enjoyed such a happy childhood relate to her own experience? ‘It’s not like that,’ she offered slowly. ‘There’s no one close now back home.’

  ‘My dear, please forgive my intrusion. I’m afraid I’m too inquisitive – you know when one has children of one’s own, it’s the kind of thing that springs to one’s lips.’

  She looked so discomfited that Joanne hastened to make amends. Whether it was the fact that Angelina was sympatica or because she was still a stranger, Joanne found herself able to spill a few details of her background, something she normally hesitated to do.

  So it became easy to speak. ‘You see,’ she said and turned to look out to sea, my mother was only a teenager when she had me – illegitimate, you see. She was living at home when her parents discovered she was pregnant and they threw her out. I really owe my mother everything – she worked at any old job to give me a good education and support us both.’ Once started, Joanne couldn’t stop words pouring out. ‘We lived on a rundown caravan site. I left school at sixteen wanting to work and give mother a rest. But it was too late. She succumbed to pleurisy during a harsh winter... not long afterwards...’

  Angelina quickly interjected,

  ‘Please! Joanne, I am so sad for you. Take strength from how you have survived. I feel privileged by what you have mentioned. Now,’ she announced brightly, ‘we talk of happier things, Okay? I’d like us to get to know one another. You will stay the night, but,’ she said, ‘you’ll enjoy the hotel Renzo booked for you – it’s a lovely place and convenient for the town and harbour.’

  Joanne didn’t enlighten her that she’d changed the booking to the cheapest single room in the hotel.

  Fabio’s smile lit up his face as he re-appeared. ‘I hope we meet again soon,’ He shook Joanne’s hand and excused himself, ‘I must go to deliver a painting to a client.’

  After he’d gone, Angelina explained how her brother lived in an ancient house higher up the hill which he’d restored and where he’d built himself a studio.

  ‘You’ve probably gathered Fabio’s an artist who likes his freedom,’ Angelina said, her eyes twinkling. She suddenly changed the topic. ‘I think you must stay here until Renzo arrives, I insist.’ She tutted, ‘Renzo should have known I’d like you here; you would have been most welcome to stay for your holiday,’ Angelina said firmly. ‘I was cross with Renzo about you staying in a hotel but he said it would be convenient for you to be near the harbour to make an early start sailing. You mustn’t let him monopolise you every day.’ Her mouth pouted prettily. ‘I warn you Joanne, I shall expect you to visit here frequently!’

  ‘Thank you. I’d really love that!’ Joanne was startled by the assumption that she’d come to the Island specifically to crew for Renzo and found it difficult to respond. ‘I gather that sailing is a big part of Renzo’s ‘off duty’ life. I booked this holiday ages ago before we met and accepted his surprising offer to crew sometimes while I’m here – I hope I won’t let him down.’

  She wished she could sound Angelina out about her uncertainty at Renzo’s invitation but it hardly seemed opportune when they’d only just met.

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t be concerned,’ Angelina laughed. ‘Renzo will absolutely love showing off his skill! Believe me; he’s smitten with that boat.’

  Sitting quietly beneath the vine covered pergola, a feeling of contentment wrapped around Joanne and her face brightened as she sipped her ice cold drink. She was shaken out of her reverie as Angelina gave her a steady look and spoke,

  ‘You have known Renzo for long?’ Angelina asked suddenly, swinging her mane of jet black hair off her forehead so her silver earrings chinked. It was a rhetorical question, but one that needed a response.

  ‘No, not long at all; just a few weeks so I hardly know him. Joanne hesitated. ‘We were introduced at a business function in Rome.’ Angelina was easy to talk with, but on first acquaintance it seemed too soon to ask personal questions about Renzo. As Joanne fell silent, Angelina revealed,

  ‘Renzo was always different, always driven to make a fortune, keen to prove himself...’

  Joanne saw her mouth purse, as if she hadn’t meant to say anything, then Angelina threw back her head and with a girlish laugh exclaimed, ‘But charming all the same just like my brother Fabio!’

  Joanne had no time to ponder her new friend’s remark as a large cat brushed her legs. Startled she looked down, ‘Who is this?’ She asked with a smile.

  ‘Oh Tosca, naughty Tosca he’s quite a flirt! Here puss!’ Angelina bent down and scooped up the bundle of luxurious pale grey fur while its two china blue eyes observed Joanne.

  Joanne smiled broadly. ‘He’s gorgeous. She saw what a delightful picture her new friend made as the cat arched its neck and waited for Angelina to tickle it. She took in the slim, youthful woman opposite, her pale linen trousers complimented by a silk shirt in a riot of jewel colours – so chic and typically Italian. She felt reassured and relaxed in her company. What was she worried about? After all, with charming cousins like these, Renzo must be O.K. She leaned forward, hoping to encourage more revelations about their family.

  Angelina lowered Tosca to the ground and shooed him away before refilling their glasses with ice cold Pimms, so when they were not forthcoming Joanne decided to voice a few of her uncertainties, thinking there might not be another chance to be alone with her host. ‘I know so little of Renzo’s background,’ she began... and then emboldened by her second glass, not caring if she sounded naïve went on, ‘he’s never mentioned any relatives at all so I was surprised when his cousin Fabio met me off the boat and found you were also his cousin. I do hope I didn’t seem discourteous.’

  As Angelina shook her head her long silver earrings flashed in the sun and seemed to add sparkle to her words. ‘Why ever could he think that? You are a charming person.’ Her mouth twitched. ‘And please feel free to voice those questions I feel hovering between us.’

  ‘Thank you. First, how is it that you all speak perfect English, your children also? I teach at the School of English in Rome and would give a term’s salary for a student with fluency like yours.’

  ‘Ah, then Renzo has been particularly contrary I see. Let me enlighten you Joanne. I can’t see there’s harm. Renzo’s father and ours were brothers – but they caused quite a scandal – Catholics marrying English ladies - who happened also to be cousins! Shall I explain how it happened that way?

  Joanne nodded eager to understand. ‘Please do.’

  ‘Our mothers were English cousins, both artists who’d travelled to Ischia in the 1960’s for a painting holiday with no idea they’d meet their future husbands here! It was a great surprise to everyone when they became engaged to Italian brothers - my father and Renzo’s father. That is why our family remains so close. I believe,’ she said firmly, ‘that fate has a hand in such things - or how could this happen? Now Joanne, I hope that answers your question about our fluency with your English language?’

  Joanne took a sip of wine, still puzzling, ‘Yes, it’s a lovely romantic tale but I’m tryi
ng to see your family tree and it is complicated.’ Her forehead creased. ‘In that case I can’t understand why Fabio’s surname is Rosso and not Balzarin like Renzo? It doesn’t make sense if their fathers were brothers.’

  ‘Well you see Fabio, as you’ve yet to find out, is a bit of a Bohemian; a free spirit – in the nicest way, you understand.’ She pursed her lips. ‘Here in Ischia, the Balzarin’s have in the past been notorious as harsh feudal landlords. This was before our two fathers inherited and took over,’ she added quickly. ‘Both our fathers were caring, respected employers.’ She sighed. ‘However, I regret some of the old folk still bear the scars from past generations when their parents worked almost like slaves for our forebears. The name Balzarin is still used in isolated hamlets as a threat to naughty children! I’ll explain a little of the history if you won’t find it tedious.’

  As she leaned back sunlight rippled over her silk shirt. ‘Early in the 19th century our father’s ancestors inherited land here on Ischia. Some was sold off when grandfather Balzarin died. But my brother Fabio was always determined to break away from any lingering shadow and be his own man. Part of his philosophy was to take our own mother’s maiden name, Ross, and to add the letter ‘o’ to make it Italian. It was his way of casting off the slur.’ She paused. ‘Am I boring you with family matters, Joanne?’

  ‘No, it’s so refreshing to have you speak openly. In England, people tend to clam up about private family matters.’ Joanne was aware she’d acted the same way until now. And then unwilling to break the closeness she found with her new friend, she asked on a sudden whim, ‘Does Renzo feel some kind of ... regret that Fabio has dropped the family name?’ As a shadow slid over Angelina’s face she realized that sounded too inquisitive and warmed by Angelina’s generosity, quickly changed the subject. ‘I’ve been travelling a lot myself and lost track of close friends in England.’

  At that very moment she was saved from further explanation as a frightening scream came from below the garden and they both shot to their feet.

  ‘Cecilia!’ Angelina shouted, already on her feet and running down the garden.

  Little Cecilia, three years old! Joanne raced after Angelina and down the steep steps onto their small private cove.

  ‘We were looking after her, Mama.’ Eleven year old Nico’s face screwed up, tears not far from spilling. He held his little sister in his arms. Cecilia’s face was pale, her foot red and swollen. Seven year old Francesca clutched her mother’s skirt.

  ‘I’m sure you were. It would have happened even if I’d been with you.’ Angelina planted a swift kiss on the top of his head as she eased Cecilia into her own arms. ‘What happened then?’ She was leading them all back up the path as fast as she could.

  ‘She was digging a sand pit.’ The other two children ran beside her and spoke together. ‘She went to fetch water in her bucket... oh, it was awful!’ Francesca broke down in tears and Angelina reassured, ‘Cecilia’s going to be just fine.’ She whispered to Joanne, ‘A jelly fish sting, I think.’

  Joanne took Francesca’s hand and gave her a reassuring smile. ‘She’ll be better soon, I’m sure,’ although unaware of how serious a jelly sting could be.

  Nico picked up the story. ‘Cecilia was in the shallows, but I saw a swarm of jelly fish.’

  ‘Nico, I’d like you to do something for me.’ Angelina spoke calmly. ‘Go ahead and ring Uncle Fabio’s mobile, will you? Ask him to meet us at the Pronto Soccorsa – just say Cecilia’s a little unwell, all right? I don’t want him racing and having an accident in that little car.’ With a light hearted expression for her children’s sake, she added. ‘The hospital will have just the right thing to make her better.’

  ‘Yes, Mama.’ Nico said, and raced ahead.

  ‘I’m coming too!’ Francesca chased after him.

  That’s clever of her, thought Joanne, giving Nico an errand to keep him busy. ‘Joanne, do you think you could drive my car?’ A catch in Angelina’s voice belied her calm. ‘We’ll take Cecilia to the emergency section at the hospital; I’ll sit and hold her in the car - it’ll be quicker than waiting for an ambulance.’

  ‘Will you let me bathe her foot in vinegar? I’ve done first aid,’ Joanne volunteered as Angelina carried the child into the house.

  ‘Oh, please do!’

  Joanne drove the large car carefully around steep bends in the winding road. She told herself that this was easy compared to battling the mad drivers in Rome in her tiny cinque cento. The children were subdued. Cecilia flopped in her mother’s arms.

  ‘Thank you, Joanne. I really couldn’t have managed without you.’

  ‘You would have coped, I’m sure but I’m glad I was here.’ A wave of affection swept over Joanne. Never before had she felt a part of family like this. Such feelings were buried deep lest disappointment follow. A niggle of caution at the back of her head queried the overwhelming hospitality but she forced it away and focussed on driving.

  Fabio was waiting at the hospital as Joanne brought the car to a stop and they went inside. Joanne saw how he soothed the small child who was examined by a doctor and given an injection. Fortunately, all was well and Cecilia was allowed to go home to rest. They all returned in convoy with Fabio to Villa Serena. Fabio said he would go home but return later to make sure Cecilia was well.

  It was clear to Joanne that Angelina was exhausted. The strain of anxiety had taken its toll. ‘You are to take things easy,’ she instructed firmly. ‘I’ll cook the evening meal.’

  ‘Thank you, Joanne – I’m not hungry, but the children... it’s Constanza’s day off.

  ‘No problem; pasta, pesto sauce and grated parmesan, will that be Okay?’

  ‘Just perfect; Nico will help – he knows where everything is.’

  As Joanne prepared the meal she felt happiness spread through her. This was a new experience. Dare she hope to be accepted as part of this family?

  Chapter 3

  Joanne woke to a gentle breeze fluttering over her face. She lay still for a moment as her mind briefly failed to register where she was. Muted sunlight danced through the muslin curtains swathed around her bed and muddled thoughts whirled about inside her head. The warm hospitality she was receiving far outweighed any she’d been offered in Rome, even by close colleagues.

  Alarmed, she sat up and stared at her watch and then with a feeling of relief, sank back against the pillows. The time was 6.20 am. - Plenty of time to take a leisurely shower before making her appearance downstairs.

  So many incidents had happened in a short time that it was hard to believe it was just two days since she’d been in Rome. For a few moments, the events of the previous day ran through her mind. Loathe to wasting another minute, and keen to discover if Cecilia had recovered, she decided to get up, take a quick shower and go down to offer help in the kitchen and perhaps find a cool glass of juice.

  She stepped to the bedroom window and looked out at the view. A pale sun shone through early morning sea mist, and peering further out, she caught a momentary glimpse of the blue sea beyond the tiny private beach where the children had played. She frowned as a question edged in; this welcome she’d received was so at odds with her experience in Britain, but dismissed the thought as churlish. This was just the charming way Italians were to guests.

  Quickly showering, she threw on a flimsy cotton robe, shook her short damp hair as she slipped into a pair of flip flops and stepped lightly down the wide flight of stairs to the kitchen. The aroma of coffee rose to greet her as she entered and she spotted the maid though the open door, busily arranging a breakfast table out on the terrace. This sudden change of lifestyle from her normal one seemed unreal.

  ‘Ah! Welcome to the morning, Joanne. Early bird too, eh?’

  Joanne gave a start and felt her pulse quicken, perturbed to find Fabio in the kitchen and the sudden magnetic attraction which played with her emotions. She averted her gaze from the sight of his broad shoulders in a black T shirt and the cotton shorts he wore.

&n
bsp; ‘Good morning. I came down to see if I could help,’ she explained with a smile, thankful her voice remained calm.

  Fabio turned from the fridge and raised his eyebrows. He held a large pitcher. ‘Sit yourself down, Joanne.’ He pulled out a kitchen chair. ‘There’s orange or grapefruit juice,’ he said, reaching into a cupboard for some glasses. ‘I trust you are rested after yesterday?

  ‘Yes, I’m good thanks - grapefruit would be lovely.’

  ‘I was concerned for my sister and little Cecilia, so I returned and stayed here last night,’ he said by way of explanation.

  ‘Do you know how Cecilia is today?’ Joanne sat down, pulling her cotton robe around her knees. ‘I hope she’s all right, that swelling was nasty. Did she sleep well, d’you know?’ She accepted the glass of juice from him.

  ‘Yes, I saw her a few minutes ago. Thankfully she’s absolutely fine. Angelina said the child had a good night. You know, that’s just kids isn’t it? Cecilia was bouncing on her mother’s bed to make her get up!’ He bent to lower the heat under a coffee pot, then turned and his eyes crinkled as he smiled. ‘My sister says you were marvellous with the children.’

  Joanne looked away. ‘I’m so relieved she’s better, but I did nothing.’ Then she added, ‘It’s just lovely being here with your family.’ She meant it, but was finding it quite disturbing being alone with Fabio in this domestic situation.

  ‘I assure you Joanne. We are really happy to have you here. Oh! I’ve got news. Renzo telephoned and spoke to my sister. He’s arriving today; he’ll be here in time for dinner. Now, how’s that?’

  Joanne’s mouth dropped but she rallied quickly, ‘Wonderful news,’ she nodded. But was she really pleased?

  Fabio gave her a searching look. ‘Will you excuse me if I leave you here? Better go and get myself ready for breakfast.’

  ‘Yes, of course. Thanks for the juice.’ She put down her empty glass and pushed back her chair, ‘I must get ready as well,’ she responded before slipping away.