Free Shadows of the Past by Margaret Blake

draped over his shoulders, the sleeves fastened across his chest. He wore aviator sunglasses on top of his head. Almost she thought him a caricature for a holiday brochure or a coffee advertisement.
    ‘ Grazie , Antonio,’ she murmured as she boarded, going to sit on the seat closest to the wheel.
    ‘I hope you are feeling better, Contessa?’ he asked politely. He did have an easy-on-the ear voice, musical and rich.
    ‘Yes, I’m fine now,’ she murmured.
    He turned, his complexion paled somewhat, there was a question in his eye. He is wondering if I have remembered things, she thought, and decided not to enlighten him.
    ‘You are completely well?’ he asked smoothly, turning the boat in a wide arc.
    ‘Almost there — in fact, being here has made me recall all kinds of things.’
    He gave her a studied look. ‘But the conte said you could not remember anything.’
    Had Luca really discussed her with this man? The haughty conte telling his woes to one of his employees? It seemed highly unlikely. Alva guessed that Antonio was speculating and that he really knew nothing at all.
    ‘It’s a daily thing,’ she murmured, ‘it is rather as though I am reading a long novel, each day a page is opened in mind. I can’t read very fast but there is always a paragraph or two that I can manage.’ Stupid metaphor she thought to herself, but it was enough to cause Antonio’s body to tense and for his hand to tighten on the wheel.
    Eventually he said sternly. ‘The conte said I should stay with you in town, Contessa. He was not sure that you would cope well on your own.’
    ‘Antonio, you know how the conte worries. I am perfectly all right, I do assure you. And I intend to do a lot of shopping. That would surely bore you.’
    ‘Not at all, I like shopping.’
    ‘Really, how unusual for a man.’
    ‘Not for an Italian, Contessa!’
    ‘Yes, I forgot. But really I shall be perfectly all right. I shall be happier on my own. I am only going to Primo and maybe a couple of designer shops.’
    ‘Still … ’ He was going to insist.
    ‘If you are doubtful I will telephone my husband. I have my mobile.’ She slid a hand into her commodious tan leather handbag.
    ‘Oh, that is not necessary, Contessa, I do take your word for it.’
    So, perhaps Luca had not said any such thing and that intrigued her. Why should he not wish her to be alone? However, she said no more, and stared out at the far shore as the town grew closer. It troubled her that Luca had implied that she spent a lot of time with this man. Alva felt it hardly credible — there was nothing about him that attracted her. Even had she been lonely he was hardly a wonderful conversationalist. Since their last words he had not spoken to her at all, and had they been friends at one time, there would have had to have been things that he knew she liked to talk about. Something was not right and it was so frustrating to know that the truth of the matter was locked behind the high walls of memory loss.
    The town, she found, was a delight. When she left the launch she turned, thinking she would have to concentrate to convince Antonio that she knew where she was going, yet incredibly her feet did seem to remember the way to go.
    Turning right, she crossed the cobbled road, took the first street, which was narrow and cobbled, climbed three wide steps and took an immediate left, passing between two tall yellow-painted buildings, and there was the main square open before her. Right across the square was a large sign denoting ‘Primo’. Around the square were other fashionable shops, selling leather goods and luxury foods as well as two which displayed very upmarket clothing. It was Claudia who had told her the name of the department store. ‘You like it there, Contessa, and will go for coffee and lovely little cakes.’ So it had been easy to remember the name of her favourite store when she had been talking to Antonio.
    The square was pedestrianized; the sun was out and