took my other hand and pulled. I stood opposite her. My face was drenched. The worn soles of my shoes blotted with rainwater seeping in at the edges.
‘Isn’t it glorious, Santina?!’ she yelled over the din.
I had no answer.
‘Do you remember when you came swimming with me?’
I nodded.
‘You’re so very good to me, Santina. You come from these mountains. It’s a blessing. Such power, don’t you think? Listen to the mountains roar!’
I was cold. I cared little to listen to silent mountains. The lightning and thunder were loud enough.
‘That rage! Pure energy. That’s all it is. That’s what we all are. I love you, Santina!’
Now her blue eyes deepened. For a moment I caught a flash of that woman jumping into the pond water in London. For a second she was there, in all her fiery glory. It made my heart hope and ache.
‘Signora Adeline – please let me wrap this around you now.’
‘I don’t need looking after, Santina. I need the water. I always have to be in water. Henry knew that. That’s why he brought me here.’
I tried to smile whilst easing a towel around her.
‘That’s how you tell if someone really loves you, Santina. If they give you what they know you need, whether or not they need it too. Do you understand that, Santina?’
I wanted to. I also wanted to be inside.
‘Stop pulling me, Santina!’ She flung off the towel and held my face with both her hands. ‘Look up! I mean really look!’
She lifted my face toward the sky. I half expected a shot of lightning to strike through me. Perhaps I would crisp in her arms.
‘How many colors?’ she asked.
‘Sorry?’
‘How many colors?’
Perhaps the Major would hear this outburst and rescue the both of us.
‘Grey?’
‘No – look closer. See the tinge of yellow? Can you see the hint of light green around the edge of that cloud just about the house? See how many greys there are, Santina – so many. Grey isn’t in between, it’s not simply neither white nor black. It’s not indecision, Santina. It’s full of blues and greens and browns and purples. So full. We only see the surface.’
And then she laughed. She wrapped her arms around me and squeezed me into her wet dress.
‘There’s no storm, Santina! We are it.’
Her laughter peeled into soft tears, ebbing and flowing between the two. She softened, so much so that I could actually lead her inside. I peeled her wet clothes off and wrapped another towel around her. She had grown thinner these past few months. I noticed the protrusion of her bones, the way the skin around it hung, a mournful ivory.
As I turned for another dry towel she walked away from me. I wasn’t quick enough to stop her. She stepped back out onto the wet terracotta tiles of the terrace, raised her arms up to the heavens, naked, stretching out her body, uncovered breasts for anyone to see. I was thankful that most Positanese would be shut away inside. I ran downstairs for the Major. No sooner had we returned than he stepped out into the storm to Adeline without a moment’s hesitation. I collected the wet towels.
As I turned to close the door behind me, my eyes were drawn back to the terrace. I’d expected him to lose his temper somehow, interrupted as he was from his meditative tea. Instead, he placed both his hands around Adeline’s face. He pulled her in close and placed his lips upon hers. She leaned back. Rain cascaded down her cheeks like tears. His mouth moved down her neck. I caught the tip of his tongue trace its brittle line. I closed the door, pretending I hadn’t seen his hands ease down her naked back. I pressed the door closed, wishing the feeling pulsing in my chest was closer to embarrassment.
Like a Neapolitan temper, the storm was swallowed out to sea as swift as it had erupted. Thankful that the rumbles of thunder had been nothing but that, and not prescient to an earthquake, the town resurrected to business with renewed gratitude. We had survived, once again. I pretended not to have noticed how long the Major stayed with Adeline before he returned to his abandoned tea and ordered a second pot. As I laid it down he looked up and caught my gaze.
‘I expect you are wondering when will be the appropriate time to discuss my letter?’
I straightened, trying my best to not allow his unexpected question leaving me hanging for a studied answer. I decided not to give in to mute embarrassment.
‘When would you like to discuss it, sir?’
‘This moment. I’m sure you’ve arrived at a decision. We always arrive at these sorts of decisions far quicker than we’d like to admit. It takes our stubborn brains longer to articulate it. Indecision is only the marker of resistance to our first impulse.’ He cleared his throat. If I didn’t know better, I would have sensed a sting of nerves. ‘No time like the present.’
I noticed he hadn’t done up the top two buttons of his shirt. Usually he only kept the top one undone.
‘I think,’ I began, trying with every fiber to not allow the quiver in my voice to take over, ‘I think that I am happy to stay in my hometown a little longer.’ This wasn’t the answer that had pounded my brain all night. I chose to ignore the other versions of my reply fighting to get out. The ones where I spoke of the family, of feeling flattered that they had thought my work good, of how much of a bond I felt with someone else’s daughter. I chose to make him think that it was Positano only that kept me here. I don’t think I’d realized it was far more than that. Or maybe I did, and that’s why I said nothing to that effect. I couldn’t articulate the way his lessons had changed me in this short time. I loved the way they worked a tangible magic upon my mind and way of seeing – the idea of stopping now was not an option.
‘Then it is settled?’
‘Yes, sir. I will remain until Elizabeth leaves for England.’
I didn’t think it appropriate to gush, or thank him. This was a business conversation. He creased his paper back up to cover his eyes.
‘This afternoon we must plant some of the newer tomato plants, Santina.’
I stood still.
‘It’s high time you and I instil some order to this garden. We are somewhat askew this year, but you can rest assured it will not happen again. Next growing season we must work quickly, we will avoid a dreadful glut of zucchini. Even with your culinary prowess I’m sure you’ll struggle to handle an endless supply of the blasted things. One can’t ever have enough tomatoes, though. I shall be glad of some jarred sunshine come November.’
He closed the conversation. There was nothing left for me to do but unpack the clothes I’d already packed in my mind, and be sure to reach Marco before he closed the gates for the evening.
*
I
