LITMIR.BIZ

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little mummy’s boy!’ She scooped Matteo out of the water and gave him a big hug and then threw him back into the pool. Matteo bobbed up again and splashed his way back to Serena.

      ‘Encora, more – throw me in again! Mamma, Mamma!’ Serena did as he asked and then said to Zoe, ‘Mamma mia! It seems there is no way to get rid of my little mammino mummy’s boy!’ The two women laughed again and the two men remained puzzled.

      ‘I think is a girl joke thing, Massimo. Or some crazy English idiom?’ Paolo looked at Zoe in amusement and then bombed into the water just beside her, causing the water in the pool to lap over the sides.

      Serena threw in a beach ball and then jumped in to join the fun. They began a crazy game of water polo based on no rules at all. Massimo threw the ball to Paolo and Zoe jumped high in the air and intercepted it. She held the ball a moment, looking around her at the happy faces of the children and the handsome, strong Italian faces of the adults. She punched the ball high into the air between them all and laughed as they all lunged and splashed to try to catch it. She felt a surge of grateful happiness – thankful for her good friends and their good intentions and not lonely at all.

      At 7.30pm, Zoe was standing in her bedroom hurriedly drying her long hair. She looked into the mirror as she flicked the hair dryer around her head. Her silky hair flew madly into the air and Zoe tried unsuccessfully to tame it with a brush. Her skin had a new layer of tan from the afternoon in the pool and Zoe switched off the dryer and began to liberally apply after-sun cream. The house seemed strangely empty without Fidele padding around. The dog had jumped into the jeep when Zoe started up the engine to leave the Santinis’ home. When Serena had called him back, he had looked at Zoe reproachfully. Zoe sighed – she missed him too. Paolo would take him to the office tomorrow so it wouldn’t be for long. She frowned at herself in the mirror. There it was again, that sad, silly face and here she was getting ready to go out for the evening. Not only that, she only had ten minutes left to get ready. She threw open her wardrobe doors and flipped through the hangers of clothes. Most of her outfits were for work. And what does that tell me, Zoe thought to herself. She knew she really had only one choice. Her silk Versace had to be it.

      She had bought the dress for a friend’s wedding a few months ago, and had never worn it since. Now was definitely the time to give it a second airing. She took it carefully from the wardrobe where it hung in a dry cleaner’s plastic cover. Well, that was one useful habit she had learnt from her distant, elegant mother, she thought to herself, as she remembered her mother’s impeccable wardrobe of clothes and immaculately packed suitcases of holiday outfits. She slipped on the ice blue shift and fastened the halter neck with the distinctive diamante and blue crystal Versace Medusa head clasp. She carefully pulled up the long back zip which had a miniature Medusa head at the top and a small crystal bauble. Now for her shoes…there they were, wrapped in the original tissue, nestling side by side in the Miu Miu box. Perhaps I am a mummy’s girl too, she thought as she unwrapped the shoes. She held them in her hand a moment, so light she could hardly feel them. The high heels, widening at the end, and the delicate ankle straps were of the softest silver kid. The simple bar across the front of the foot was lightly embossed with silver snakeskin markings. She slipped them on with pleasure and looked down. No time for nail varnish and anyway she decided that her feet were so tanned that she rather approved of her pale, pearly toenails. Zoe went over to the mirror and critically examined the final effect. She wasn’t a vain girl but when the doorbell rang at precisely 8pm she turned from the mirror with an air of confident self-satisfaction.

      The hour’s drive to Florence passed in an easy exchange of conversation. Zoe enjoyed the luxury of the fast car and Massimo drove well. As they approached the outskirts of the city Massimo asked her if she would mind if he just made a phone call. He pressed the number one on his pre-set car phone and Zoe had to look out the side window to hide her amusement as he began to speak.

      ‘Ciao, Mamma! Come stai? Sono in Firenze…si, si, va bene!’

      The conversation continued for several minutes, though it was obvious that Massimo’s mother did most of the talking. Finally he pressed the ‘off’ button and the only sound was the smooth throb of the engine as they drove downhill towards the outskirts of Florence.

      ‘That was my mother!’ Massimo broke the silence, stating the obvious.

      ‘Oh, right!’ Zoe replied, unable to think of a better reply.

      ‘She worries if I don’t call her every evening now that I have moved away from Rome.’

      ‘Oh, right!’ Zoe heard herself repeat ridiculously.

      ‘And she told me she has sent my shirts.’

      ‘Your shirts?’ Zoe repeated, unable to hide her puzzlement.

      ‘Yes, Saturday she sends my shirts, washed and ironed.’

      ‘You mean she washes your shirts and irons them for you and posts them?’ Zoe began to feel she had lost the art of conversation.

      ‘Well, we use a courier service.’

      ‘Oh, of course – a courier service,’ Zoe repeated, as if that made complete sense.

      ‘She loves to do it! Sometimes she sends a lasagne she has made or…porchetta alla Romana. There is nothing like her cooking. Next time she sends food you must taste it!’

      ‘I’d love that,’ Zoe replied politely, trying not to laugh aloud at the mental picture of parcels of the mummy’s boy’s shirts and joints of pork and lasagne buzzing up and down Italy by special courier.

      ‘I only wear Valentino shirts and I buy them a dozen at a time.’

      ‘Oh, right!’ Zoe’s language skills had zeroed but fortunately, at that moment, Massimo drew into the courtyard of an elegant floodlit Florentine villa. Definitely not a rave in a barn then.

      A uniformed doorman came hastily to meet them and opened Zoe’s door. Massimo tossed the car keys to the man who gave a little bow and went round to the driving seat. Zoe noticed Massimo slip a banknote neatly into the doorman’s top pocket, then he turned to Zoe and took her arm.

      ‘Have I already told you that you are beautiful, Zoe?’

      ‘Only four or five times, I think!’ Zoe rested lightly on his arm as they walked up the steps to the large doorway. Another liveried servant held the door open and said, ‘Benvenuti da Villa di Travino!’

      ‘Signorita Bennett e Signor Mendozzi,’ Massimo answered formally, and the man immediately ushered them through the spectacular marble hall and out onto a terrace. Zoe drew in her breath in amazement at the scene that greeted them. Lanterns twinkled against the dusky twilight sky and hundreds of guests, dazzling in glamour and sophistication, were spread out across the wide terrace and formal gardens Most amazing of all was the panorama of the city roofs of Florence, still golden from the last rays of the setting sun and outlined against the faraway blue-grey hills. Before she could say a word, a voice called out from amongst the guests.

      ‘Massimo…ciao, Massimo!’ A young Italian, almost a double of Massimo, came running to them and threw his arms around Massimo in a bear hug. They laughed and exchanged kisses before Massimo turned to Zoe.

      ‘Flavio, this is Zoe Bennett. May I introduce you to the most beautiful girl in the world…and the one I want to marry!’

      Flavio turned to her in surprise and when she offered her hand he dropped his head low and kissed it.

      ‘Congratulations!’

      ‘Oh no, please, Massimo is just joking…really, we only met today! Pleased to meet you.’ Zoe tried to recover her equilibrium but Massimo was still talking.

      ‘It’s true – we only met today but my mind is made up! Marry me she must!’

      ‘Massimo, stop this nonsense!’ Zoe turned to Flavio for help. ‘Does he always introduce his new girlfriends like this?’ She laughed, anxious to make light of the whole thing.

      Flavio shook his dark head.

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