Summer in Sorrento (2 page)

Camilla, who had been standing at the kitchen counter arranging freshly-picked azaleas in a glass vase, turned in Mai
a’
s direction and approached the wooden table that her friend was sitting at.  Pulling a chair out and placing herself in it, Camilla leaned in close and examined what Maia offered on her screen.

“
I
t’
s um, how do you say it
?
Semplic
e
,”
she commented, looking unimpressed.

Maia smiled.
 “
Simple?  Yes, I would say it is.  But
I’
m not designing a website for the Ritz Hotel after all. W
e’
re a private guesthouse.  Or at least intending to be. Not exactly a multi-national conglomerate
,”
she remarked watching Camill
a’
s face fall.

“
You are thinking too small
,”
her friend scolded, standing up again and returning to her place at the counter.

“I’
m just thinking realistically.
I’
ve put up pictures that show the house honestly. They are beautiful pictures mind you, but I also have to express that the farmhouse is
n’
t finished yet.  That yes, there are civilised comfortable areas, but if I want to make a long-term go of actually establishing a busines
s—
and not just getting bad reviews on TripAdvisor, then I need to be upfront from the start.
 
L’
ones
t
à
è
la miglio politica
.
”

Camilla smiled and placed the bouquet of flowers in the middle of the kitchen table.
 “
Honesty is the best policy
?
”

Maia nodded
.“
Indeed it is.  Okay, the site is live. Villa Azalea is open for business. Le
t’
s see what i
f
anythin
g
, we get
.
”

If Maia was being honest with herself, she was
n’
t expecting to suddenly be an overnight success in the hospitality industr
y—
in fact, she was struggling with simply wrapping her head around the idea of hosting strangers in her home.

She had been watching the website nervously all week, so much so that she even worried that her website design skills were more than a little rusty.  First, she decided to Google herself in order to make sure the website did show u
p—
but then certain that the fates were working against her somehow, called Giorgio her neighbour and friend who lived just down the road, and asked him to do the same thing.

She felt relieved when Giorgio confirmed that yes, he had found her website.

Feeling that she had accomplished something, even though she was likely not to worry about bookings for some time, she opened a bottle of Chianti, poured herself a glass and headed to the back patio overlooking the Bay, with the intent to sit in the quiet and watch the sunset over the clear, crystal blue waters of the Mediterranean.

Settling back in a wooden deck chair that Jim had built when they first moved to Italy, Maia thought back over the journey that had brought her to where she was today. Jim had said that it was necessary to enjoy this view before all other things, including a finished or renovated house.

The breeze ruffled the branches of the lemon trees around her and she felt an instant wave of calm wash over her.  It was here, in this spot, drinking wine and simply relaxing, where she felt closest to Jim.  She had been truly devastated when he passe
d—
she had never expected to be a widow while only in her mid-forties, and the idea of being alone in a foreign country without the benefit of family or an extensive network of friends had almost set Maia running back to Ireland.

But then she realised something.

Italy and the experience that she and Jim had in this country together, had been uniquely theirs, albeit a short one.

Her life in Ireland had other dynamics at pla
y—
and she worried that if she went back that she may risk losing that part of Ji
m—
that essenc
e—
that had made him so happy in the days before his heart attack.

Her sister Joyce in Dublin had told her that by staying in Italy she was pursuing an impossible dream, and living in the past.  But Maia disagree
d—
and instead committed herself to living the reality that Jim had dreamed of, but had sadly missed out on.

She breathed in the scent of citrus that floated around her nose and looked out over the horizon.  She watched as an ocean liner made its way steadily out of the Bay, and toward the open sea.

“
Floating hotels Jim, tha
t’
s what you always called them was
n’
t it
?”
Maia smiled, talking to the air.  She laughed at the memory; Jim could never understand how tourists believed that this wa
s“
visitin
g”
another country, taking a boat from place to place, disembarking to hit up the souvenir stalls in order to buy a fridge magnet so that they could tell the people at home that they ha
d“
see
n”
Naples o
r“
been t
o”
Sorrento.

“
Do you think
I’
m likely to get visitors like that here
?”
she asked the sky, only to be greeted by silence.  She took a sip of her wine and paused for a moment to close her eyes and relish the fragrant bouquet that tickled her tongue.
 “
No
,”
she whispered.
 “
I
t’
s not likely I will get cruise-goers, not if they want to stay overnight.  But I wonder wh
o
wil
l
visit me
.
”

She opened her eyes and looked back over the Bay then stood up and wandered toward the hillside, feeling a sense of wonder and history all at once. 

“
It really is a magical place
,”
she sighed.
 “
Jim, you were right about that.  How many people through the ages have stood in this spot, and have seen this view
?
”
 
Maia had a tremendous sense of longing for her late husband and wished so desperately that she would feel him walk up behind her, right at that moment and wrap his arms around her.  She tilted her head up to feel the last rays of the sun on her face and focused on remembering what it felt like when Jim kissed her throat, making his way lazily up to find her lips.

“
Oh I hope
I’
m doing the right thing honey. I really do. I know you loved this place, and I want to make it work, so I can stay here always
,”
Maia whispered to the Italian sunset.  Suddenly feeling desperate, and totally worried that she did
n’
t have the business ability to pull off an Italian villa-style guesthouse, nor the necessary skills needed to entertain groups of people and make them feel like they were in their home away from home, Maia said urgently
,“
Jim, give me a sign.  If
I’
m doing what I should be doin
g—
opening our place up to visitor
s—
let me know
.
”

She sucked in her breath, as if waiting for a bolt of lightning to crisscross the pale pink sky, but nothing came.  Maia bit her lip and shook her head, feeling chagrined at her own silliness when suddenly Camill
a’
s voice trilled from the house.

“
Maia! Maia!
P
rest
o
!”
Come quick!

A moment later, Camilla tore from the house, skirts fluttering behind her.  When she came into view, her face was flushed with excitement; her tanned cheeks were a burst of rosy color.

“
Camilla?  What is it?  Wha
t’
s happened
?”
Maia asked, her thoughts immediately turning to believing there was a disaster of some sor
t—
something was on fire, or a pipe had burst. 
 “
Wher
e’
s the emergency
?
”
 
Maia thought of her bank account and the reserves she had on hand to cope with whatever tragedy had befallen them.  Or rather, the lack thereof. Panic engulfed her.

But Camilla was shaking her head.
 “
Nessuna emergenza
!
”
 
No emergency
.“
I
t’
s the website. I was on your computer. And someone just contacted you via email! I
t’
s official! We have our first booking
!
”

A wave of relief flooded Mai
a’
s body. There was no emergenc
y
,
she thought.

But I did get my sign. My first booking.  Thank you my darling.             

However, if Maia thought she was going to have time to go to hospitality school ahead of seeing guests arrive at her door, she was sadly mistaken. A week later, working with Camilla to fluff pillows and make beds in the guest rooms, she brushed a lock of errant hair out of her face and wiped a bead of sweat as it formed on her brow.

“
I suppose this is what you might call a trial by fire
,”
she said as she turned to the window and threw it open to welcome in the Mediterranean breeze.
 “
When did Giorgio say he was going to come up and take a look at the air conditioning unit?  Of course i
t’
s our luck that it decides to banjax itself at just the right time
,”
Maia fretted, feeling a wave of panic grow in her stomach. 

But Camilla simply waved a hand.
 “
I
t’
s practically a new unit.  Besides the air conditionin
g—
i
t’
s no big thing.  Not with scenery around us like this
.
”
 
She motioned to the window, as if the view of Mt. Vesuvius would make up for the fact that the greater Naples area was suddenly having one of the hottest Junes on recor
d—
and that the house felt every bit the oven that it was.

Maia smiled knowingly, certain that most tourists valued air conditioning above all things.
 “
I suppose we will just have to deal with it.  But I feel i
t’
s rather a cruel joke
.
”

Camilla looked at her friend, puzzled.
 “
So the visitors will find it funny
?”
she asked.
 “
Well
,
tha
t’s
good
.
”
 
Clearly she did
n’
t hear Mai
a’
s implied sarcasm.

But before Maia could explain her intent, she heard a car pull up outside, its wheels grinding against the gravel of the drive before it came to a stop. 

“
Oh that must be Giorgi
o—
thank goodness
,”
said Maia, finalising laying out a set of bath towels in the room and smoothing back her hair.
 “
Hopefully he can make this place a few degrees coole
r—
this is what it must feel lik
e
insid
e
Mt. Vesuvius
.
”

She left the room as Camilla called out.
 “
How silly you ar
e—
the volcano, i
t’
s not active you know
.
”

Shaking her head, Maia stifled a laugh
.
No, her friend definitely did
n’
t get irony.

Going through the kitchen and to the exterior door with purpose, Maia readied herself to call a greeting to Giorgio when she was suddenly met with a car that she had never seen before and a person who she did
n’
t know, getting out of it.

Oh blast it, a gues
t—
and the
y’
re early
!

Since receiving her first booking last week, Maia had been shocked to find herself with subsequent reservations - enough for a soon-to-be full house.  Indeed it felt as if by the time one reservation had come in, she just as quickly had thre
e—
a booking for each guest roo
m—
and she made the quick decision to ensure that the website was updated with the announcement that they were fully booked for the time being.

Nothing like jumping in feet first, she had pondered.  What sh
e’
d first thought was a sign from Jim that she was doing the right thing had quickly morphed into her wondering if he was playing some sort of practical joke on her from the ether.

That would be just Ji
m’
s style.

Putting a smile on her face, she opened the door and stepped into the Italian sunshine just as the young man who was apparently her first guest closed the door of his Mercedes, an obvious rental by the sticker in its window, and opened the boot to extract his bag.

Quickly thinking back through the reservations she had received, Maia realised that this must be Jacob Bellafonte.  The New Yorker.  He had been due to arrive today, but not until the evening.

“
Buongiorn
o
!”
she called out.
 “
Benvenut
o
!
”
 
Good day!  Welcome
!
”

The man looked quickly at the house and at Maia and gave a quick nod.

“
Hi there
,”
he said quickly.
 “I’
m Jacob Bellafonte. You must be Maia
.
”
 
He crossed the distance between them in five long strides and extended his hand.
 “
Sorry that
I’
m early.  My flight got in ahead of schedule.  We must have had a good tailwind from Manhattan.  I hope tha
t’
s not a problem
.
”

Maia shook his hand as she noticed his strong New York accent and she wondered what brought him to Italy.

Looking to be in his mid-thirties, he was handsome and dressed in a dark suit, which she immediately recognised as a custom Armani.  He had a watch with a large face on his wris
t—
the diamond inlay showed it was a Movad
o—
and Maia was full sure that the shoes were also Italia
n—
Gucci perhaps?  All in all, Jacob looked successful and moneye
d—
and she immediately wondered why he had opted to stay at her place.

Not that her place was
n’
t lovely of course, but she had priced it rather cheaply because it was unfinished, and the man in front of her looked better suited for one of Naples five-star luxury hotels.

“
I am. Maia, that is
,”
she replied with what she hoped was an inviting smile.
 “
And no, i
t’
s not a problem. So lovely to have you with us, Jacob.  Is that your only bag? Here let me get that for you
.
”
 
She briefly remembered the episode o
f
Downton Abbe
y
she had been watching the night before and wondered if Carson, the fictional head butler would approve of her behavior.

But Jacob shook his head.
 “
I can manage.  I
t’
s no problem. Yo
u’
re English then
?
”

“
No but close, Irish.  And i
t’
s easy to tell that yo
u’
re American. I mean that in a good way, of course
,”
she grinned.
 “
Please come inside
.
”

Maia graciously led the way into the kitchen, where they found Camilla, who immediately straightened at the sight of the attractive young man with dark good looks.  It was clear that Jacob was definitely Camill
a’
s type, as much by the woma
n’
s hungry facial expression as the way she immediately stuck out her chest, making sure her impressive assets were introduced first.

Oh good Lord, Maia thought, sh
e’
s like a strutting peacock.
 “
Camilla, meet Jacob Bellafonte, our first guest.  Jacob this is Camilla di Mariano Filipep
i—
my er, helper
.
”
 
Maia could hazard a guess as to exactly what Camilla wanted to help this particular guest with.

“
Ciao, siete I benvenut
i
,”
her friend purred batting her eyelashes seductively.  Hello, you ar
e
mos
t
welcome. Maia heard the inflection of her words.

Jacob turned and looked at Maia.
 “
Is it okay if we speak English?  I mean, I hate to be that guy bu
t
…”

She nodded.
 “
Of course
.
”

“
Yes tha
t’
s fine, my English is wonderful too
,”
smiled Camilla.

Jacob gave a weak grimace and shifted from one foot to the other
,“
I mean i
t’
s not like I do
n’
t speak Italian, I was born here
,”
he added quickly.
 “
But I just prefer not to
.
”

Maia furrowed her brow. Seemed like a strange thing to visit Italy if you did
n’
t like to speak Italia
n–
and could
.“I’
m assuming you are here on business then
?”
She again looked him up and dow
n—
the suit screamed business traveller, but again his choice of lodging contradicted that assumption.

“
Not quite
,”
Jacob shrugged.
 “
I
t’
s family. My father lives her
e—
in Naples.  And well, to be frank, h
e’
s dying.  So tha
t’
s why I am here
.
”
 
Maia realised at once that his voice lacked both sympathy and empathy.

But Camilla did
n’
t catch this, as she practically lunged forwar
d—
her actions were so dramatic, Maia believed she belonged in a Fellini flick.
 “
Oh no how tragic,
I’
m so sorry.  This must be so difficult for you. Are you close to him, your father
?
”

A cloud passed over Jaco
b’
s face and he answered simply
,“
No.  Which is why
I’
m staying here
.
”
 
He turned to look at Maia
.“
If you do
n’
t mind, could I be shown to my room?  I
t’
s been a long night, getting here, and I would like to get cleaned up
.
”

Maia rushed forward immediately, mortified that she had
n’
t thought to bring him to the room first thing. Clearly she had a lot to learn
!“
Of course, if you would just follow me this wa
y—
w
e’
ll get you all set up.  Please forgive the heat our AC unit is on the blink, but it will get taken of shortly
.
”

Her curiosity piqued by Jaco
b’
s ready dismissal of his family situation, Maia gave Camilla a glare that conveyed caution and quickly changed the topic.

Still she (and indeed Camilla) needed to remember that Villa Azalea was a guesthouse, not a therapy clinic and that her guest
s’
reasons for being here would likely be varied, but more to the point, absolutely none of her business.