Free Shadows of the Past by Margaret Blake Page A

already people were sitting at the pavement cafés. She did not linger here but went across to Primo and swung through the swing doors with a confidence she did not really feel. Just inside the door was a display of chocolate and a very attractive girl was giving out samples. Alva took one, popping it into her mouth and marvelling at the exquisite taste.
    *
    Her browsing done, she knew she had just over two hours to kill before she was to meet Antonio and go back. She chose one of the pavement cafés for lunch and at once a table was found for her. The sun was wonderfully warm but not intense, and although the brightly patterned umbrella shaded her head, she could feel the heat on her bare legs. The mobile phone in her bag rang out its gay little tune just as she ordered a slice of pizza and a salad.
    It was Luca. His voice caused her heart to leap, melting warmth invaded her. There was something so wonderful about the way he used words. He had a caressing tone, which was even more devastating over the telephone. That was the thing she remembered about him, his voice. He had said the same thing about her. Their very first communication had been over the telephone and it was over the telephone that the spark had first ignited.
    In the moments that she spoke to him it did not occur to her that she had remembered something important. She was too intent on what he was saying.
    ‘Buy something stunning,’ he murmured. ‘To wear at the dinner party. You like Paola’s. Where are you?’
    ‘The café Rosa,’ she murmured.
    ‘Then it is across the square and to the right. I will call her and tell her to expect you, what time would you like to go?’
    ‘Well I don’t know, Luca, surely I have dresses.’
    ‘They might not fit. It is very important that you dress well, Alva. Let me call Paola, what time?’
    ‘Well, if you insist.’ She checked the slim gold watch at her wrist. ‘Will she be there at two?’
    ‘If you are going to be there, she will be.’
    ‘OK, that will give her time to have lunch.’
    ‘She is a wraith. I think she never eats. I will see you later.’
    ‘Yes, and thank you, Luca.’
    ‘ Prego .’ And then he was gone.
    After she had eaten she crossed the square leisurely. She took the right as instructed and sure enough there was a shop. There was one dress in the window. The whole shop front screamed ‘expensive’. The gold lettering on the window announcing the name Paola was beautifully done. She stood for a moment or two seeking the confidence to go inside and then it came to her. What she had remembered. Turning from the shop she went back into the square, there was a bench and she went to sit on it, oblivious to the passers-by.
    Go back, she counselled herself, to the first time that you heard Luca speak. On the telephone, she remembered that. He was calling to speak to her boss but he was not there. Luca asked to leave a message — he did not call himself Count Mazareeze, he just called himself Luca Mazareeze. He said in a warm and friendly way, ‘Do you wish me to spell it for you?’ And she had laughed and spelt it out for him. ‘ Parla ltaliano, signorina ?’
    ‘A little,’ she murmured. She spoke more than a little but felt shy about using the language to this man with the intriguing voice.
    Alva sat for some time on the bench, just staring at the square without seeing anything. She remembered everything that they had said and how she had felt, that lovely gushing feeling that was overwhelming, the flutter of her heart, the breathlessness. But that was all; she could remember nothing on either side of that conversation. Yet it was something, it was momentous to her!
    The clock struck the half hour, Paola was waiting for her, she could not spare any more time to sit and dream. Standing, she made her way back to the shop, and when she arrived she went straight in, pushing open the door with more confidence than she actually felt.
    Paola was thin — she saw that Luca had not