The Italian Matchmaker by Santa Montefiore Read Free Book Online Page A

scraped my foot over moss and grass to find them underneath. What a find!’ In the centre of the courtyard was a stone fountain where the trickling sound of water was gentle and constant. Against the walls between the windows, were lemon trees in large terracotta pots. The floor was a mosaic of smooth round pebbles and flat square stones. The effect was stunning. Luca wasn’t surprised. His mother might be eccentric but she had a sharp intelligence and enormous talent when it came to aesthetics.
    In the main body of the house, the rooms had tall ceilings, bold mouldings and walls painted in the original colours of pale blue, duck-egg grey and dusty pink. ‘I wanted to return it to its former glory,’ Romina explained, gesticulating at the antique tapestries and marble fireplaces. ‘We kept everything we could from the original building. It represents two years’ work. Your father and I have poured our souls into it, not to mention a great deal of money. Now, where is he?’
    Luca followed his mother into a drawing-room where French doors opened out onto a terrace overlooking the gardens. He was surprised to find an old man in a three-piece tweed suit reading The Times . He looked up over his spectacles and nodded formally. ‘This is my son, Caradoc,’ said Romina, her wide trousers billowing as she glided over to him. ‘And this, Luca, is our dear friend Professor Caradoc Macausland.’ The professor extended a bony hand, so twisted with arthritis that it resembled a claw.
    ‘Please don’t consider me rude for not getting up to greet you, young man,’ he explained in his clipped 1950s English accent. ‘I walk with a stick and it seems to have walked off without me! Must be that charming girl.’
    ‘Ventura,’ said Romina with a melodramatic sigh. ‘She thinks she’s being helpful leaning it against a wall way out of reach.’
    ‘So, you are the famous Luca,’ said the professor. ‘Your parents speak very highly of you.’
    ‘They are biased,’ Luca replied, wishing he didn’t have to bother with the old codger.
    ‘It would be unusual if they weren’t. Isn’t it splendid here?’
    ‘It certainly is.’ Luca noticed how at home the professor looked in that leather armchair. ‘How long have you been here?’ he asked.
    ‘Oh, a couple of weeks now. One loses track of time. Your mother is such a perfect hostess, I don’t see much point in going home.’
    ‘What are you a professor of?’
    ‘History,’ Caradoc replied. ‘I specialise in Ancient History. This palazzo must have a rich heritage and I have told Romina that once I have found an interpreter I will endeavour to uncover its past. You see, I don’t speak Italian, only Latin which is helpful up to a point. Beyond that point it is utterly useless. The locals here don’t seem to speak any English at all.’
    ‘Ah, an obstacle then,’ said Luca.
    ‘Obstacles can be surmounted, if one uses a little lateral thinking. You are in my lateral vision, young man. Surely you speak Italian?’
    ‘Of course.’
    ‘Good. I will enlist your help, Luca. The two of us will make a formidable team.’ He smacked his lips. ‘Holmes and Watson! What fun we shall have. I so enjoy unravelling mysteries.’ Luca was already planning to make himself scarce.
    ‘Darling, don’t dither. The professor likes his quiet time before lunch,’ she said now, waving at her son to join her on the terrace. Caradoc returned to his newspaper and Luca returned to his tour, following his mother out into the sunshine.
    There, at a long table nibbling on bruschette , sat a group of strangers. Luca’s heart sank. He had come away to avoid people. He had planned to spend time taking stock of his life, not sit around gassing with old people.
    He looked around. The view of the sea and town was spectacular, down into the heart of Incantellaria. Romina sailed up to her guests. ‘My friends, allow me to introduce my son, Luca.’ He wondered, looking at the group so comfortable