She gave up trying to understand what was being said and lost herself in the exultingly beautiful choral music, the heady, sweet smell of incense mixed with lilies, the flickering, spiritual light from the candles, and the heavenly vision at the pulpit. She felt so alive, so mellowed-out, like nothing mattered but this moment in time. Who needed hallucinogenic drugs, she wondered, when you could get high at Sunday Mass without breaking the law?
As they emerged from the church into the dazzling sunshine, Lucy fumbled in her bag for her sunglasses, missed the step and stumbled to her knees.
‘Attenzione!’ PadrePaolo crouched down beside her and helped her to her feet.‘Stai bene?Are you okay?’
‘Yes, I’m fine. Thank you. I mean…grazie,’ she mumbled, knees stinging, face resembling an overcooked beef tomato.
Elena broke away from a trio of nuns and hurried to Lucy’s side. ‘Did you hurt yourself?’
‘Apart from my bruised pride, I’m fine. Truly.’ Lucy wished Santa Maria would perform another of her miracles and make her disappear.
A small frown creased Elena’s forehead as she examined Lucy’s grazed palms.
‘Come,’ she said, gently placing her arm around her shoulder and leading her to a fountain in the piazza.
Lucy dipped her hands in the cool, sparkling water and tiltedher face up to the sun, focusing on her breath, in an attempt to erase the last couple of toe-curlingly embarrassing minutes.
Meanwhile, Elena perched on the lip of the fountain. She closed her eyes and listened to the soothing hiss of the spray. She was transported back to that hot, magical night, almost twenty years ago, when Giancarlo had got down on bended knee and asked her to be his wife. As if on cue, the strains of ‘Come Prima’had floated down onto the deserted square from an open window. They had swayed barefoot to the song that was to become their wedding dance.
Elena splashed her stinging eyes with the soothing water. As she did so, she caught a glimpse of Giancarlo’s shimmering reflection. She gasped. A whiff of Azzarro, his signature scent, triggered a montage of happy memories, like a movie in her mind.
‘Elena?’ Lucy touched her arm gently. ‘Elena? Your phone’s ringing.’
Elena’s head bobbed up. ‘Che cosa?Oh,scusa,’ she said, blinking, as if waking from a dream.
Lucy shook the last of the water from her hands as Elena pulled out the phone and listened for a moment.
‘Pronto.Papà!Sì. Alle cinque in punto. Ciao, ciao.’
Slipping her mobile back into her shoulder bag, she turned to Lucy with dewy eyes. ‘This was my father. He has reserved a table for us at his pizzeria at five o’clock. We will meet Dario and Stefano there.’
‘Perfetto.’ Lucy’s taste buds were already anticipating the most renowned pizza in the whole of Naples.
Arm in arm they walked in silence towards the cemetery gates, the sweet and gentle chorus of birdsong welcoming them in.
The natural stone path was dappled in sunlight, the trees were still in full leaf, the warm air laced with the fragrance of lilies and newly mowed grass.
Their footsteps echoed as they followed the curve of theopen-air colonnade, past rows of achingly beautiful, delicate, creamy-white statues of praying angels, fallen soldiers, grieving spouses and children.
But Lucy wasn’t prepared for the overwhelming emotion she felt on reaching the spot where Giancarlo had been laid to rest. No lifelike statue, just a plaque in the wall, bearing his name and a framed photograph. He had been forty-two; too young to die. He had so much to live for. Elena leaned forward, closed her eyes and placed a tender kiss on his image. Tears crept down her cheeks as she gently traced her fingers along the cold marble plaque.
Turning to Elena, Lucy instinctively wrapped her in a warm hug. Nothing was said. She couldn’t imagine the gnawing pain she must carry with her every day. Elena wiped away Lucy’s own tears with her thumb and smiled. Blowing her a kiss, Lucy about-turned and left Elena to her private reflection.
Leaving the formal gardens behind, she took a left along an almost hidden path and through an overgrown tunnel of ivy. It was deserted and silent, except for the soft, sweet trill of a distant sparrow and the gentle rustle of leaves. A dainty butterfly, the colour of sulphur, danced alongside her as she made her way deeper into the wilderness.
She stumbled across several moss-covered, weather-worn sculptured figures hidden in the undergrowth. She couldn’t explain it, but there was a spiritual presence in this place. Though long-forgotten and neglected, it was alive with beauty, art, romance and nature, and seemed to shine a more positive light on death.
The arm of a graceful, goddess-like creature reached out from the tangle of weeds, her Rapunzel-esque locks tumbling sensually around her shoulders, her eyes raised heavenwards.
Lucy instinctively reached for her iPhone, then paused. It felt wrong, disrespectful.
Modern technology didn’t belong here. She stood very still, and with a shutter-snap of her eyes, saved the image in her head, an image that she would never lose. No likes, comments or shares required.
It then struck her that she had hardly looked at her phone since her arrival in Naples, and she hadn’t missed it at all.
She also realised that Stewart had rarely entered her thoughts during these last few days. Before this, hardly five minutes would have gone by without her being reminded of the loss of the life she should have had. Meeting Elena had put her own situation into glaring perspective.
Lucy lay down in the tall grass and looked up at the cloudless, azure sky, savouring the serenity, the warm sun on her face. Her eyes felt heavy. Her vision swam in and out of focus. The image of Giancarlo flickered across her brain. Though he was a stranger to her, she felt an otherworldly connection. Maybe Elena was right; maybe he had sent her to them.
