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HAZEL WOKE TO THE WHISPERING sound of the sea quietly embracing the shore and church bells tolling softly somewhere in the distance. It was unmistakeably continental and so soothing. She rolled over self-indulgently in her exquisite Louis XVI bed and wondered how on earth she had stumbled into this world.
The bougainvillea on their private terrace nodded colourfully at her window, and she gazed at the antiqued woodwork framing that window with the pretty purple-red flowers bobbing in the light sea breeze.
Her appreciative glance ran around the room. The whitewashed walls made a fresh canvas for the marine blue accents in fabrics and accessories. A few cultured ornaments stood on tables and in niches like casual museum exhibits. From her art studies and gallery experience, she knew that those lamps were original Orsina Sforza; and the Syrian mother-of-pearl intarsia embellishing the headboard and furniture was exquisitely refined and absolutely beautiful.
She looked back at that inviting terrazza as she made her way to her private en suite bathroom. The generous space was utterly sumptuous with its cool expanse of Carrara marble, golden accents, and spectacular view from the shower out over the beguiling splendour of the bay.
She asked herself again, “Who is this man? And why me?”
She turned on the water to soothe her into the day with its powerfully reviving force and luxuriated in the pure, sensuous nature of her surroundings as she watched small boats going about their business of ferrying visitors, and serving the myriad needs of the hotels.
As she showered, the strains of Miles Davis’s unmistakable horn floated out of the Sonos sound system in the main living-room area of their suite, and she surmised that Jeffrey had picked something suitably cool for the occasion.
She contemplated as she dressed, for she knew that piece of music and its lyrics very well. She wondered if Jeffrey did too, or if it was merely a serendipitous random choice from the vast sound system library.
“Just human nature?” She breezed into the room, displaying her best breezing walk, and onto the terrace where a tempting breakfast had been laid out.
A vast indigo sea was before them, and the terracotta tile beneath her feet was reassuring that they were indeed very much in the south of Italy, and that the soft heat the Sicilian ceramic tiles exuded was not merely an invitation to the charming lizards but also a confirmation that fine weather was not in doubt for the day.
Hazel gazed at the enchanting view. The bay shone with that brilliant light that flickers as the sun kisses each cresting wave, only to relinquish its embrace and move on to the next.
“Ah, good morning, Hazel. Yes, I’m looking out across the morning.” Jeffrey was making sure he was not being too suggestive with his words as he studied her expression carefully. “And, I guess, to touch a stranger.”
Hazel smiled by way of inviting him to go on.
Jeffrey felt the pause and her silence leaving him his task. He watched her face as he continued, “Yes, I just love the sound of that man’s playing. I think someone once said that Mozart had a direct line of genius from above, but I believe Miles Davis had such a direct channel that he couldn’t play a bad note if he tried.”
She just listened, looking at him serenely without giving anything away. It was a little unnerving, but Jeffrey thought he could already detect some encouraging signs of relaxation in Hazel’s appearance. Despite the emotional roller-coaster of the previous day, she looked radiant.
“Quite the gift, wouldn’t you say?” He registered her amusement at his enthusiasm for the music and added, feeling slightly self-conscious, “Anyway I think it’s the best thing to wake up to, don’t you agree?”
Hazel acknowledged his point with a warm smile as she settled into her sunny wicker chair at their intimate breakfast table, out there on that lovely terrace.
“I think you know a lot more than you admit, Jeffrey ... I think you’re a little bit of a culture-vulture, and definitely a jazz fan.”
The heat of the day was gathering quickly, and everything they ate tasted all the better for it. The fruit salad was sweet and lusciously ripe, the cappuccinos were as perfect as only Italy can do, and the melon and prosciutto dish was really more a lunchtime concept, but after all it was nearly ten o’clock, and that was excuse enough for both of them as they revelled in the delight of those things that are always best when locally sourced.
The Murano glass vases adorning their terrace were the densest powder blue, their silky contours both elegant and sensual. The fragrant blooms spilling out of pots and planters spoke directly to the senses. Everything in this place was sensual. It was as if Positano had been specifically invented to compliment the Villa Marinella’s décor.
“Shall we swim in the sea today? Would you like that?” Jeffrey was flatteringly attentive to her and it was quite disarming, but Hazel pictured all the luscious twenty-year-old bikini-ed bodies no doubt vying for attention on the beach and thought perhaps for her, albeit that she was in wonderful condition, well, the extra years might place her at a disadvantage.
“Mm, I’m not sure,” she stalled.
Jeffrey caught the whiff of shyness in her reply.
“We have a private beach with the villa if you wish. It’s just a short elevator ride down through the rock face, and voilà we’re there. Just us and maybe another couple but, from my experience, it will probably be just us. With the loungers right there and the sea at our feet, if we want.”
Hazel took a sip of the lusciously sweet fresh orange juice and changed the subject. “Wow!” She was genuinely taken aback by the intensity of the ripe fruit flavour. “This is a long way from what we get in those cartons from Tesco, or even Harrods.”
She looked out again longingly at the shimmering bay and told herself that probably the marvel of it all would quieten in the next few days, with the familiarity, but she knew it just wouldn’t. It was magical.
“You like the bay, yes?” Jeffrey was enjoying watching Hazel’s delight in his choice of destination, and he could see she was very taken with the bay itself, and then he remembered something.
“How about we go for an afternoon jaunt to a little restaurant I know of?” He smiled thinking about the very enjoyable boat trip to get there, and all the colour and sparkle of the view crossing that beautiful bay.
Hazel smiled her anticipation. This was fun and exciting, and she could easily get very used to fun and excitement, given the chance. And then she had another private little smile to herself thinking of what Margaret would say if she could see this place. She would just die from delight and romance overload. Arabella too. Hazel giggled.
“What is it?” Jeffrey wondered if he had said or done something funny.
“Oh, nothing ... I was just thinking about what a friend had told me back home, and how yesterday I was deep in the gloom of what we optimistically call springtime London, and now it’s like someone has switched on all the lights.”
“Then let’s try and give you something to tell them about when we get back home. I’ll organize a boat. It’s just a seven-minute cruise but a cruise nonetheless, I promise.” Jeffrey smiled his confidence in his anticipation of Hazel’s appraisal.
The small private motor launch arrived to pick them up from the rocky beach promontory, and the kaleidoscope of sights and scents swirled around Hazel like something from a movie.
There had been the short, unique elevator ride down through the living rock to emerge waterside at the little apron of secluded beach, the glorious indulgence of sunbathing in complete privacy in this celebrated location, and then this luxuriously appointed, highly polished speedboat with its burnished, and no doubt exorbitantly expensive, precious woods bobbing there on the light swell of the bay, waiting to take them “wherever they chose”. It was all very heady stuff and quite intoxicating in its appeal.
“Da Rodolfo,” Jeffrey said decisively, and the smiling local man lifted his white captain’s cap in acknowledgement of his destination.
Jeffrey noticed the young man’s eyes caress Hazel’s every contour as she stepped carefully aboard and recognized the unquenchable Italian male need to appreciate female beauty regardless of where or when or who was present.
Jeffrey repeated his instructions by way of refocusing the sailor’s attention on the task at hand and found himself somewhat defensive of the other man’s admiring eyes on his companion. Was he really becoming jealous or possessive? Strange, very strange.
Turning back, the young captain sensed the rebuke in Jeffrey’s demeanour and straightened himself with a certain self-conscious discipline to concentrate on his navigating their course gingerly away from the rocky outcrop and out into the open waters of the shining bay.
Hazel relaxed on the deep cushions covering the bench seating, and Jeffrey sat close beside her and settled back to enjoy the effect the scenery, the trip, and the bracing sea spray was having on her. It was great to see her obvious enjoyment, and he was having more fun watching her face register the novelty of this trip than he could even remember.
“You like?” he leaned into her slightly by way of encouragement.
“Oh wow, yes.” Her eyes were just gleaming with wonder and simple, uncomplicated joy.
“Not bad, is it? I like the way the sunlight bounces off the water,” he offered, letting his gaze sweep around them before returning his attention to her face. He was relishing her pleasure.
She looked at him with a serious expression to be sure he understood her sincerity. “Do you know, Jeffrey, it may be the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen.” Her eyes were soft with appreciation, and she appeared almost moved by the sheer power of emotion the scenery and the setting evoked.
The boat bounced a little with the thrust of the engine cresting the small waves, and their bodies were being thrown together by the movement to the point that they almost seemed engaged in a seductive dance of discovery.
In the sleeveless cotton sundress, her skin was silky as it kissed his bare arms, and just the touch of skin on skin was powerfully affecting, although they both pretended to be reacting to just the movement of the boat, while all the time both knew they were very much not.
The compact and rather plain building housing the restaurant sat almost touching the water on a tiny stretch of stony beach that allowed for just the width of this rustic establishment. It looked very nautical in its fresh white and blue paintwork, and one could easily imagine the water lapping at the narrow wooden walkway leading to the main building, when the tide was high.
As they alighted, Jeffrey again noticed the boatman’s eye run the length of Hazel’s slim legs as her dress blew up in the light breeze, revealing shapely, toned thighs. The momentary glimpse of underwear did nothing for the man’s reserve, and he smiled an appreciation more by way of a compliment than any mischievous thought.
As they walked in to find a seat at the roughly hewn tables Jeffrey, fondly remembering a previous visit, suggested, “Mussels Marinara, Octopus Salad ... and you’ve got to try the Peaches in Wine as well.”
“So you’ve been here before?” Hazel was wondering again at the lifestyle of her companion. Where had he not been?
“Yes, just once, but I do remember that I wasn’t desperate about the mozzarella on lemon leaves. I prefer my bufala milky fresh.”
Jeffrey was checking the chalkboard listing the specials of the day in colourful disarray, and had to put on a pair of glasses to see across the stark chiaroscuro of the dining area.
But then he took them off quickly, feeling them betray his passing years, to look out over the optimistic deep blue of the bay and its colourful sprinkling of small boats.
It seemed that, unless you were a goat, the only way to reach this little cove was by sea, and the colourful motorboat bearing the establishment’s insignia was never idle, ferrying people back and forth from neighbouring coastal areas, keeping the restaurant full at all times.
Jeffrey was glad he had booked ahead and congratulated himself on correctly assuming it might be somewhere Hazel would like to visit.
As they ate their delicious, freshly fished lunch, his mind was busy planning the next surprise. It was fun coming up with things that would please Hazel, and looking around he was reminded of another speciality of Positano. “Do you like bright fabrics for beachwear, sundresses and such?”
The sun was dancing highlights onto her hair, and she looked so carefree and already at home in these surroundings. She made a serious, pensive face, giving his question her full consideration. “Well ... to be honest I don’t get many chances to wear sundresses in London, but in principle, yes, I like colourful summer things ... they’re fun.”
She was relishing her plate of mussels and clams and wondering why things never tasted like this when they’re made somewhere else.
Thinking about it, certainly it had to do with freshness and seasonal availability. Living in a major city, one had access to a vast selection of food choices year-round, none of them truly fresh or fully ripe.
By contrast here the local cuisine revolved around what was freshest, most plentiful, and in season. The fish tasted of the sea, tomatoes and basil were fragrant sporting their most vivid hues, peaches burst with flavour, still hot from the sun. It was an easygoing lifestyle that worked in harmony with nature, adapting itself to the seasons instead of trying to bend them to its will. Hazel thought she was starting to understand the essence of the place and found it relaxing.
Jeffrey’s musings brought her back to the present moment and his current train of thought. “We should go shopping tomorrow and get you a sundress souvenir ... so you’ll remember me ... sometimes.” Jeffrey knew he was ladling on the pathos, and he made suitably sad eyes to accompany his feigned resignation.
“Why? Are you going somewhere?” Hazel was becoming sufficiently familiar with him now to call out his bluff and enjoy some gentle teasing.
Jeffrey shook his head, smiling an acknowledgement of the woefulness of his attempt, and he noticed too that they were becoming very comfortable in each other’s company.
After eating they mellowed out on the loungers, ranged just feet from the sea, and let the lunch digest as they almost drifted off into snoozing under the big, white sun umbrellas. The lapping sounds of the water and the heat of the day were soporific, irresistibly lulling them into quiet contemplation, and Hazel’s particular contemplation was that everything seemed just about right, whilst Jeffrey concluded that everything was definitely right.
The boat ride back was just as glorious in the late afternoon heat, and the sea-fragrant spray was cooling and life-affirming as it freshened them with its sparkle.
But, above all, it was the supercharged light that was so engaging. Here, it seemed difficult to remember the worries of the world that pervade life in colder climes, and everyone seemed to have given in to being happy, or in love, or about to be at any minute.
“I know we’ve just finished eating, but shall we go out for dinner tonight, or just ask the chef to whip up something for us and eat out on that glorious terrazza we have? I mean, it’s hard to beat our view and maybe we’ll try somewhere else another night, but tonight ...” and then Jeffrey used a phrase that struck Hazel by its intimation of the future “... shall we just eat at home?”
The words had come out without his thinking, and Jeffrey also noticed how they sounded, and what they subconsciously implied, and it seemed to him that they fit; they fit perfectly.
Hazel smiled and leant into him as they crested the full, fat swell of backwash to come alongside the weathered planks of the dock that jutted out into the bay. The captain tied up, and the boat settled into a gentle rocking motion, allowing them to step off.
“Yes,” she agreed as Jeffrey took her hand to help her out of the boat, “let’s just eat at home.” The sound of it pleased her.
