with age and passage. At the top loomed the cathedral doors of the Crabtrees’ new home. The Major wrapped an arm around Adeline as her eyes widened to the sea view spreading out beneath us, blotting into the hazy horizon beyond Capri. Even Elizabeth quietened her hungry wails for a brief moment. We stood still, we four weary travellers, the sounds of the donkeys carrying our loads approaching with steady clops along the stony incline behind us.
The Major rang the bell. We waited. One of the two enormous doors opened.
‘Buon giorno, signore,’ said a woman, stepping back to welcome us.
‘Grazie,’ he replied, hooking his arm into Adeline’s and ushering her inside without hurry. A long terrace stretched out before us. At the far end there was a stone well, by the looks of it an original feature of the house. At no stage of the preparations had the Major described the majesty of the home he had chosen, and I certainly had no intention of prying. Now I found myself within the walls of the baroque merchant villa that I had admired from the shore as I daydreamed my life beyond Positano. When I had escaped the beady eyes of Signora Cavaldi, just long enough to take a moment along the screaming shore of fishermen, hard at work sorting their catch, dyeing their nets, the air heavy with pine bark as they dipped their loads into the vats to color them, this was the pink house I had looked up at. I’d filled in the gaps of its fairytale history, played out unlikely endings of its inhabitants now lost to our shipwrecked history as a kingdom when Amalfi was bright with mercantile riches.
I felt my leg shake a little. I walked toward the well, noticing the huge terracotta urns in each corner of the terrace. I pointed up to the heavy wooden-beamed ceiling above, but Elizabeth was intent on being fed. I think we all were.
‘Santina, please take Elizabeth into one of the rooms. I will deal with the porters.’
I nodded as I did so, catching sight of Adeline resting in one of the lounge chairs facing the sea. The columns on either side of the lookout framed the deepening blue of the sea like a painting. The water was serene and from that view it felt as if you could trace your fingers along it just beyond the stone balustrade.
The cool dark of the rooms inside silenced Elizabeth for a moment. I looked around and saw a divan in one corner where I could lay her down whilst I prepared a bottle. She stretched her small body, creased with travel. I wondered if she could see the magnificent Rococo painted decoration above her, great swirls of red, yellow and blue upon the wooden beams. Bottle in hand I raised her onto my lap and she suckled with eagerness. It was stony quiet but for the soft swallows of the child.
A large wooden dining table was at one end of the room, surrounded by six high-backed green velvet upholstered chairs. A heavy mahogany dresser was beside it. The wooden shutters were closed against the heat and we sat in the wide shaft of light from the terrace. It felt like the home had been empty for some time. It smelled like a forgotten place, a locked-up palace whose tiles had not been stepped across for some time. I imagined the woman who had let us in must have been paid to prepare it for our arrival, yet the sensation of a place awakening without hurry was palpable. No sooner had I thought about her than her face appeared around the doorway.
‘Salve, I’m Rosalia,’ she said, offering a hand, which I struggled to shake.
‘Piacere – Santina,’ I replied.
‘Yes! I thought I recognized you – aren’t you the Cavaldi girl?’
Her question made me bristle. I was no more the Cavaldi girl than she was my mother.
‘I worked there for a while, yes,’ I replied.
‘You work with the English now?’
‘Yes.’
‘What’s wrong with the lady?’
‘She’s just had a baby.’
The young woman waited for me to elaborate, her little black eyes twinkling with anticipation. We both realized I wouldn’t.
‘Well, Santina,’ she began, breaking my silence, ‘if you need anything please just ask – I live just down the way, Via Stefano Andres, number eight.’
‘Thank you, Rosalia.’
She flashed me a wide grin. I mirrored her, intrigued by her clumsy curiosity in spite of myself.
*
Elizabeth had drifted into a brief afternoon nap, which afforded me time to unpack the little we had brought with us. The Major led me up the wide stone steps that wove through the core of the house to the two upper floors. When we reached the top he showed me to Adeline’s room.
‘I will take care of the initial arrangements over the next week or so. There will be daily deliveries which I’ve coordinated in such a manner as I deem most beneficial to all of us.’
He read my furrowed brow.
‘And I assure you that your education, besides the matters at hand, is high on my list of priorities. I have little care to look at your creased confusion any more than you must do feeling it.’
I creased a little more.
‘You will learn English. Properly. Starting tomorrow. I want you to understand everything I have to say. You understand?’
That I did. I would have sighed out loud with relief but I was too proud.
‘Today you will get basic provisions. Cook a light dinner and organize your room on the floor below, and Elizabeth’s beside you, as you see fit. I will sleep in this room here,’ he pointed across the hallway to a darkened room on the other side of the stairwell, ‘so I can be sure to be near Adeline. That is all for now.’
I left without asking any more questions, though I could have sat upon that bed and gazed up at the deep red squares painted on the wood above, palatial trompe-l’oeil within each panel, a fanfare of bold golds, maroons and deep blues. Adeline would be sleeping in a cathedral.
When Elizabeth awoke I changed her, fed her a little before we left the house, stuffed the huge key in the pocket of my skirt, and pretended I wasn’t nervous at the prospect of my first excursion with a baby in tow. It was five o’clock now, the shops beginning to open their doors to customers after siesta. Each tap of my shoe percussed the jagged memories fighting for attention. It wasn’t nostalgia; the town that opened up underfoot as I wound down the steps toward the center felt like one I had known in the final fitful moments of a bad dream.
The streets appeared the same but there had been a subtle shift. The colors were different. A little more care was taken over the window boxes. Some homes had been painted pastel shades. The town was rousing from a slumber. Of course it was still the fishing village I had always known, but there seemed to be more people now, a more resolute swagger to the Positanese.
A voice drew me round. ‘Well, well – if it isn’t the mountain girl! I see you didn’t waste any time over in the city by the looks of things.’ Signora Cavaldi raised an eyebrow at the strawberry blonde bundle in my arms and traced me with a glare I hadn’t missed.
‘Buon giorno, signora. This is the little girl I look after.’
‘Yes, I can see that. You’ve come back after all. Dreams a little too big for a mountain kid?’
I smiled
