‘I’m in my forties,’ Toni went on. ‘Women in their forties do not go out with young men.’
Matteo’s eyes, almost black, glittered. His gaze was steady.
‘Why not?’ he demanded. ‘Is there a rule for this?’
Slightly high on both his admiration and on the many messages she’d been getting from her businesswomen friends on the behaviour of Gerry Lanigan, Toni grinned. She was getting enough information on Mr Lanigan to bury him. There were many strong women in her life: not just her business colleagues but her sister, Gloria, Renata, lovely Trinity.
‘There is a rule,’ she deadpanned.
‘Ha! You are funny,’ Matteo said. ‘We do not count years in Italy the way they do in other places. What is wrong with Irish women that they do not like younger men? I am not so much younger. I am thirty-one. What difference does it make? Men see women younger than them in other countries. In Italy, we see no problem with a difference in age for men or women.’
‘You’re right,’ said Toni, ‘but I still have to keep my hands off you. I can’t explain. Well, I could, but it would take all night. Custom, social mores and the way older women are viewed when they have younger dates – as a talking point and as a way of looking at differing standards between men and women, it’s a hot topic. ’
She looked thoughtfully at Matteo.
‘I sometimes do this thing where I sum up people in three words,’ she added.
Matteo’s eyes glittered.
He was lethally gorgeous, she thought.
‘I haven’t been doing it much because my judgement appears to have been so wrong lately that I no longer trust myself or my own three-word descriptions but for you ...’
Matteo leaned closer. He’d be on her lap soon.
‘I can think of three for you,’ he murmured. ‘Sexy, sensual and beautiful.’
Toni started laughing, then fanned herself with the cocktail menu. Was it hot or was it just her?
‘It’s generally more broad than that. But,’ she grinned. ‘That all suits you too. Sexy, sensual and very handsome.’
Matteo beamed. ‘I know,’ he said happily.
Somehow, when the party broke up, Toni found herself handing over the keys of the car to the restaurant owner, who said he would park it behind the restaurant.
‘Taxis back to the villa,’ said Angelo, who did not appear to have drunk anything and yet was not driving home. The entire party went en masse back to the Villa Iascaigh.
‘Isn’t this lovely?’ sighed Lou, sitting in the people-carrier taxi beside Toni. ‘Today has been so strange. I don’t understand how it is that I feel a part of this. Angelo is going to do up a family tree for me to show me who everyone is because I’ve been introduced to so many people and I haven’t a clue.’
Toni searched her sister’s face and smiled. She felt as though Lou was being genuine, not just being nice.
‘I will do it for you,’ said Renata, who was sitting on the other side of Toni. ‘Angelo promise to do these things but he is no good. He only does painting. Everything else he does not do.’
Everyone laughed.
‘You’re OK?’ Toni asked Lou as they walked back into the house.
‘Wonderful,’ said Lou, leaning into her sister. ‘He told me the most amazing story about how he was in love with this other woman and then he met Lillian at a solstice party and it just happened.’
‘Go Lillian,’ said Toni drily. ‘I bet Angelo was gorgeous in his day. Was this in Whitehaven? And what about Dad?’
‘It was in Whitehaven. Angelo was there painting and the other woman wasn’t around and well, he didn’t spill the beans but it sounds as if I was conceived at a party on Etain beach. Lillian told Angelo when she was pregnant and then she said Dad was going to marry her and that he was to go away and never come back.’
‘Dad was amazing,’ reflected Toni. ‘He did adore Mum.’
‘He was a saint,’ said Lou and then giggled with the effect of the wine.
‘Total saint,’ said Toni, joining in.
