‘How about you?’
‘I came here on my honeymoon,’ Holly said, another
effortless lie escaping her lips, to keep her cover story consistent.
‘Your husband is not with you this time?’ queried Mathilda.
‘No,’ Holly said. ‘He died.’
The Italian woman looked shocked and saddened.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to pry.’
‘You weren’t to know,’ Holly reassured her, noticing as she
spoke that Mathilda was glancing almost protectively in the direction of her
own husband.
The two women continued to chat amicably while Giulietta
paddled in the warm sea. Holly had been wondering about Mathilda’s command of
the English language and it turned out that she was bi-lingual due to an
English mother and an Italian father. Apparently they had met when her mother
had visited Rimini on holiday with a group of friends. Her father had been a
waiter in a restaurant and it was love at first sight. They were still together
thirty years and five children later.
A holiday romance with a happy ending, Holly thought, a
small smile playing at the corners of her mouth and a million butterflies
fluttering in her stomach.
Mathilda was asking her something but she had no idea what
it was because she had been daydreaming about Philippe.
‘I’m sorry Mathilda I didn’t quite catch that,’ admitted
Holly.
‘It must be my accent,’ said Mathilda apologetically. ‘I was
just asking if you would like to join us for lunch?’
‘I’d love to,’ replied Holly, putting her working hat back
on. It would give her a perfect opportunity to see how helpful the staff were
at catering for families with small children.
In the end it was just Holly, Mathilda and Giulietta who had
lunch in Waves restaurant. Whatever work problem the phone call had brought up,
Umberto was clearly finding it difficult to solve. He had gone to their room
which, it turned out, was in the same block as Holly’s but on the ground floor,
and he was sitting on their terrace frantically bashing the keys of his laptop
with an exasperated expression on his face. When Mathilda went across to tell him
that she was going to lunch he raised his eyes from the computer screen
momentarily and waved to his daughter. With her free hand Giulietta waved back,
her other hand was holding on to Holly’s very tightly just as she had been told
to do by her mother.
It’s a good job the Internet is working today, Holly
thought, or that would be one very unhappy hotel guest.
Holly spent most of the afternoon with Mathilda and
Giulietta. After lunch they went to the children’s play area together. It was
nothing like any of the council playgrounds Holly had taken Harry to when he
was little. It was themed around children’s fairytales, with a life-sized
gingerbread house complete with toadstool tables and log stools for the
children to sit and draw. In one corner there was a low tower which was a
helter skelter. There was a painting of Rapunzel’s face next to a window near
the top and the slide was painted yellow as though it was her hair wrapping
around the tower. Giulietta loved climbing to the top with her mummy and sliding
down on a mat to be caught by Holly at the bottom.
They walked back to the beach each holding one of
Giulietta’s hands and occasionally swinging her high in the air. Holly couldn’t
help thinking how sad it was that she had never been able to do that with her
own child as there had only ever been her to look after him. At one point
Giulietta stopped walking, let go of their hands and picked something up off
the floor and carefully put it in the pocket of her yellow cotton dungarees.
‘She loves to collect things,’ Mathilda said, ‘like the
coral on the beach. I must remember to check her pocket later and remove
whatever it was otherwise it will end up going through the washing machine.’
Holly smiled knowingly, remembering the time a two-year-old
Harry had put a biscuit in the pocket of his shorts to