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THE FORMALITIES WERE minimal as they walked out through the arrivals area, and Jeffrey searched for the discreet telltale sign, held by a smartly uniformed young man. He sported the ubiquitous designer stubble on that dashingly olive skin – although olive wasn’t really the correct shade even if it was the way everyone described the Italian complexion. No, he was more accurately lightly tanned, and his eyes were most certainly, without any doubt, warm chestnut brown.
The young man smiled at Hazel, and she felt the frank appreciation in his eyes.
“Mr Moncrieff? Villa Marinella?” the man asked Jeffrey by way of confirming his guess.
“Yes, I am Mr Moncrieff, and I suppose we are your cargo.”
Jeffrey was hoping that his light-hearted tone would erase those terrible in-flight memories, and he turned to Hazel, smiling suggestively as he raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement of the impact she had obviously made.
The Mercedes was luxurious, warm with the smell of the finest leather, and its excellent suspension system made the road feel quiet and smooth as they swept down the autostrada.
The scenery was typical of a highway and fairly unremarkable, and again it seemed a little too built-up for all of Hazel’s imaginings of the Amalfi coastline, although the brooding bulk of Mount Vesuvius on their left held a certain menacing fascination.
Of course, they were somewhat inland from the coast, and very occasionally one could still catch the odd glimpse of the Tyrrhenian Sea (or was it the Gulf of Naples?), but the ocean seemed so far from the motorway that, forty minutes into the drive, Hazel thought perhaps it would have been better to take a coastal road, for all its twists and turns.
Jeffrey could see that Hazel was not overly-impressed by the efficiency of the autostrada outweighing a more romantic approach to their destination, but it was evening, and with the daylight fading fast, he wanted to take advantage of the three lanes to get them where he wanted them to be. He had confidence in his destination.
By the time signposts for Pompeii made Hazel sit up and take notice, the autostrada had devolved into a fast provincial road and fairly soon it was hugging the high bluffs of the Sorrento peninsula, threading its meandering way between a towering wall of rock on their left and a vertiginous drop to the shore on the right. In the gathering darkness, the sea was a vast breathing presence, felt more than seen.
The Mercedes slowed its progress to negotiate a series of sweeping turns, and it was clear that they had begun their descent towards the coast.
And all of a sudden, there it was: Positano, the brightest jewel of Italy’s Amalfi Coast, twinkling like a handful of fairy dust sprinkled all along the steep slope that ended right down in the inky sea. The spectacular sight disappeared as the Mercedes veered off the main road and plunged into a series of tight turns until, at last, it came to a stop in a small clearing, and they had arrived.
Hazel looked out through the windscreen, almost in disbelief, to see what would be their home for the next six days.
The Villa Marinella was like a creation from a fantasy, or some opulent opera set. It shone its charm from inside peach stucco walls with the rich hues of its decor making it glitter like some gigantic Fabergé egg of a building: faceted, tiered, sectioned, but indubitably one glorious piece of inspired architecture.
It sat commandingly above the bay, nestled into the rocky outcropping and appeared, for all the world, to be the dominant property on the rock face, exquisitely closing the bay’s curve and guarding its heralded exclusivity.
Positano boasted many establishments of great luxury, refinement, and wealth, but this property immediately exuded a uniqueness that, even in the dark, was unmistakably precious.
“Shall we go in?” Jeffrey’s warm baritone broke in on Hazel’s trance-like absorption.
“Oh yes ... yes, wow! This looks such a fabulous place. I’ve never seen any hotel, anywhere, look like this.” She knew her face must betray her wonder, but it really was so beguilingly beautiful and, with that lofty location and those soft Mediterranean scents floating on the caressingly mellow breeze, she could feel herself already succumbing to its enchantment.
They got out of the Mercedes with the warm night wrapping itself around them and enveloping them in a subtle bath of hauntingly atmospheric aromas.
The ambience was distinctively Mediterranean, a bewitching mixture of pines and lush flowers from a relaxed and luxuriant southern climate. There were hints of wisteria, nicotiana and moonflower, and other intoxicatingly rich, highly perfumed blooms that only reveal their splendour in the darkness of night and early morning, and Hazel felt delightfully seduced by the charm of the place. The reality of her daily life already seemed light years away.
The whisper of the sea and those elusive hints of fragrant herbs and flowers ... they seemed to linger tantalizingly in the air as an accompaniment to the seductively romantic apricot light that flickered from ornate lanterns illuminating the wide terraces all around the main house. Yes, she was awestruck.
“It’s almost like a private home, I mean like some prince’s own seafront fantasy ... it’s just so gorgeous!” Hazel was simply shocked by the beauty of it.
“Actually you’re right. It used to be someone’s private retreat ... but anyway, perhaps you’d better take a look inside before you make your final judgement.” Jeffrey smiled a little smugly. He had been here before.
He reached out a hand to escort Hazel towards their destination.
They approached what looked like a cluster of adjoining villas clinging to the hillside, with the sweep of the bay twinkling its sparkling magic to their left and below them the shimmering waters.
Hazel turned, unable to complete the short walk to the villa. She looked down at the lights of Positano, laid out before her, and wondered if there was anywhere else in the whole world that could look so dramatically alluring. A tear wet her cheek as she was overwhelmed by the beauty of the view.
“Welcome again to the Villa Marinella, Signor Moncrieff. Your suite, sir. I hope you and madam will be very comfortable.”
The chauffeur had led them through a small iron gate and along a paved walkway, crowded on all sides by flowering bushes, which ended in a small terrace. He was now opening a set of French doors leading into what looked for all the world like a private living room, and Hazel wondered about her past experience with hotels.
“Don’t we need to check in at reception or something?” she asked Jeffrey, who was casually striding towards the proffered door with the confidence of familiarity.
“No,” he smiled at her reassuringly, “there is no reception. This is it.”
They entered their suite, and suddenly Hazel felt the full impact of her highly emotional day. So many feelings and sensations, all packed into those few hours; she was really quite tired, in the best possible way, and she was ready for bed.
After shaking hands with the chauffeur, Jeffrey closed the French doors, and the quiet of their rooms seemed to make an intimate connection between them.
“Your bedroom is down here.”
He led Hazel along a short, beautifully tiled corridor to a large room with gloriously ornate furniture arranged around a richly appointed king-sized bed.
On a small writing table sat a tray with a glass of milk and a platter covered by a silver dome. Jeffrey lifted the cover to reveal a pretty selection of cheeses, a crusty roll, small bunches of grapes, a peach, and a pear.
“Since it’s so late, I’ve asked for a simple plate of fruit and cheese in case you’re peckish. Let me know if you want anything else,” he explained.
“Jeffrey, I am simply awed ... this is probably the most beautiful and truly glorious place I have ever seen, anywhere!”
She turned to him and couldn’t help stepping forward to kiss his cheek.
“And romantic?” He lifted one eyebrow in humorous teasing. “Don’t you think?”
She could feel the tenderness of the moment and conceded, “Yes, very romantic.”
Suddenly it was clear where this was going. She was at the edge of the precipice and about to fall into that delicious whirlwind, the beginning of a new romance.
She looked up to see Jeffrey’s blue eyes smiling down at her. He kissed her, softly at first and then, encouraged by her response, with an intensity that made her head spin.
As they slowly broke from their embrace, he whispered, “Sleep well, see you tomorrow ... and by the way, your en suite is through that painted Venetian-looking door.”
He closed the door quietly behind him, and she was alone with her thoughts and her feelings, reeling from his charm.
