Postcards From Italy It is not necessarily the cold, but the relentless dreary greyness whichseeps nto our souls and turns us all into Chekhovian monstrosities. There is, however, a marvellous antidote to this seasonal malady, namely temporary emigration The Casa della Ponti is exactly as Anna remembers it, the same powder blue stuccoed walls, lingering scents of disinfectant, bread and furniture polish and innumerable wooden crucifixes lining the coving panels. She has been coming to this same hotel every winter for the past two decades and, reassuringly the years have not left their mark upon its facade in quite so devastating a manner as they have upon her own. She does not know what it is about the dank, confined little corner of Limone that she finds so attractive, after all, there must be a thousand more civilized, comfortable and luxurious boarding houses beside Lake Garda alone. Maybe the familiarity is enticing, knowing that as each year passes she will be greeted by the same winter guests, wake up to the same view each morning and be served dinner by Alessandro, who knows her favourite drink. The warm Italian breeze plays about Anna�s legs, gently teasing the muslin drapes leading to the balcony and allowing tiny shafts of sunlight to filter onto the carpet. Pulling on a linen robe the same shade of crimson as the glass of claret in her hand, she draws the curtain aside and steps out into the glare of the morning rays. Immediately, she is bathed in light, warm already, considering the early hour and shields her eyes from the sun. Leaning over the twisted iron balustrades, Anna looks over the troughs of geraniums and into the streets below. The narrow cobbled pathways are slick with the night�s rain and glisten temptingly in the new light. �Good morning.� Anna starts at hearing an English voice and turns to find herself facing the stranger across the space between their balconies. �Hello.� Anna finds herself gazing at the stranger�s closely shaven hair, cropped in a manner which makes his skull�s musculature prominent. Every three seconds or so, a blood vessel twitches and throbs, rather guiltily she finds herself counting the spasms, one, two, three, four....... �Ted Lawrence,� He extends his hand over the balustrade. �Anna Gilbert,� Her handshake is confident and firm, breaking off only when she feels Ted�s arm grow as heavy as a leadweight . Anna turns her attention back to the claret, draining the glass dry, her lips leaving glossy prints on the rim. � Is it not a little early to be......� Ted gestures the wine-glass. �Oh no, it�s my birthday, I�m celebrating.� She plucks a wilted geranium from its stem and smiles wryly, �I am thirty-five.� �Ah.� Ted does not know what to say, after all, a woman who tells you her age would tell you anything. �Don�t look so aghast, most of my friends have been thirty five for years!� He laughs, the timbre of his voice rich and textured, he pulls his own dressing gown more tightly around him ,shielding his eyes from the sun. �I�ll see you at breakfast then?� Anna moves slowly towards the balcony door, her robe flowing after her in a torrent of incarnadine. �Do you know what time....?� �Eight thirty I believe.� �Later then.� The dining room is decorated in the same pastel shades as Anna�s bedroom, paintings of the crucifixion stare down from the walls and she feels somewhat uncomfortable as Christ peers into her breakfast bowl. Already, although having barely lifted her spoon, tiny flecks of milk and musli form miniature polka dots upon her peach silk ensemble. She wipes at them distractedly, waving her linen napkin wildly as though swatting passing mosquitoes. Ted enters the room quietly, his footsteps disguised by the Bing Crosby record that has been playing constantly for the last half an hour. Neatly attired in the customary British beige and Panama, he slips into a seat beside Anna, resting his silver topped cane against a table leg. �Hello again.� Ted�s teeth gleam like moonlit tombstones, uniform except for a single eye tooth which protrudes from his parted lips. �I thought I knew everyone who came here,� Anna raises her hand in salutation to the Valenciennes clad lady at table six. �I have been convalescing, my doctor told me to come to the Mediterranean this winter, for the warmer weather and all.� Ted does not have the look of a convalescent and Anna is somewhat surprised, his lightly tanned skin positively glows in the bright morning glare, in all honesty, she has seen Englishmen supposedly in the peak of health who were twice as drawn and wan as he. Ted stares intently at the apple he is peeling, sliding an abalone knife beneath its skin, moving the blade in slow, sensuous circles around the fruit. �I am buying a house in Sienna,� Ted slips a slice of apple into his mouth, chewing loudly and deliberately enough to almost drown out the Crosby record, �Would you like to come and help me look? I�m going today anyway and I�d be glad of the company.� Anna considers carefully, although househunting in Sienna is not the most thrilling of prospects, the alternatives, sitting alone in a lakeside taverna or collecting pebbles and sea-glass, are even less so. She nods, her attempt to feign feminine reluctance failing miserably, �Why not?� III. The journey is far from comfortable, the Italian roads scale such heights that the precipitous drops cause Anna�s stomach to pitch and roll with dangerous regularity. Gradually, as they approach the city, with its crumbling stone walls and sun drenched piazzas, she and Ted fall silent, each of them scanning the landscape, Anna for prospective lunch stops and coffee houses and her companion for vacant cottages or apartments. As they trawl Sienna�s shaded lanes, the balconies of upper floor tenements a hair�s width apart above their heads, Ted stops outside every second doorway, eyeing the ruddy brick and barred windows critically. Stopping for her fifth cappuccino of the morning, Anna glances across the street, watching a young, dark-eyed woman pegging a pair of Mary-blue stockings onto her washing line. �I�ve found it!� Ted darts into focus, waving his arms wildly, �come on!� Sighing, Anna rises from the comfort of her seat, at first, she steps slowly into the sun, but Ted�s excitement is infectious and soon she finds herself trotting alongside him, her hand clamped down upon her head in an attempt to retain her cloche. �Well?� Ted stops outside a large stuccoed villa with a flush of wisteria arched above the doorway. He lifts a terracotta flower pot and pulls out the small, rust encrusted key. � It�s lovely, but are you allowed to use that key?� Anna�s voice is drowned out by the creaking of the unoiled lock and although he has heard, Ted does not take the trouble to reply. Anna opens her mouth to speak but falls silent as she steps into the hallway. It is not, as one might expect, breathtakingly impressive, merely a comfortable reminder of the last century, but there is an unmistakable sense of warmth and domesticity throughout each corridor and cupboard, bathroom and bedroom, so much so in fact that when Ted leads her onto the shaded terrace, Anna is lost for words. �You like it?� Ted smiles and places his hand on here�s. �If you do not buy it, I certainly shall. Besides, there will be plenty of space for your wife, I am sure she will make some effective alterations.� �My wife?� For the first time since they met, Ted cannot look her in the eye. � Come on,� Anna brings Ted�s left hand towards her face and points to an insipid band of skin encircling his ring finger, it glows conspicuously against his summer tan. �So where is she, in England?� �Yes, she......,that is to say we are no longer together.� Ted feigns a great amount of interest in the mosaic tiling and stares blankly at it as he speaks, �Lavinia and the children are in Gloucester with my mother, I have no intention of sending for them.� �Oh,� Anna does not know what to say, she must suppose some indiscretion on Ted�s part, his secretary maybe, or a friend of his wife�s. Anxious to change the subject, Ted turns towards the tiny courtyard with its poppies, orchids and minute patch of vegetables, �I can just imagine sitting out here in the summer with a glass of wine.� �Alone?� Anna curses herself for thinking aloud. �That is up to you.� � Ted, you know nothing about me, let alone whether I would give up everything in order to stay here with you.� Anna is genuinely surprised by his response, he is not the first man to have propositioned her, nor the tenth if she is truthful, yet she is shocked nevertheless.The offer is not an unattractive one though, after all she is thirty- five... � I know your age.� Ted laughs into his handkerchief, stalling to consider his options. � Tell me yours.� Anna watches Ted�s face crumple with confusion, �Your age.� � Forty-four.� �There, we�re quits, I know as much about you as you do about me.� IV. Later, as they share the coveted glass of wine on the terrace Ted and Anna sit side by side, leaning against two upturned packing crates. �This is absurd , you only met me this morning and now you are offering me a room in your house. Why?� �Because you told me something within the first five minutes of our meeting that I did not learn from my wife in twenty years of marriage.� Anna giggles at the ridiculousness of his reason. The thought of staying in a house that she adores, in better company than that of her father, is tempting and when, as she knows he will, Ted asks her whether or not she intends to stay, she will be torn, after all, she knows nothing about him, what he likes, dislikes or even the names of his children. �So,� Ted drains his glass dry, leaving tiny white marks around the rim, �Will you stay?� Flicking breadcrumbs from her skirt and bathing in the twilight warmth, Anna nods silently,�Why not?� She had always known that she would say yes, it was merely a matter of being asked the right question.
Copyright © 2002 Aurelia Bauer |