Jacopo led her inside a place called Delfino and introduced her to whom Colette guessed must be the proprietor, a stout woman with black hair interspersed with streaks of grey, who spoke a mile a minute.
One moment she was behind the counter listening attentively to Jacopo, and the next she had Colette swept up into a warm bear hug.
‘Any friend of Jacopo is a friend of mine,’ she proclaimed in Italian. Colette realised he must have conveyed that she spoke a bit of the language. ‘I am Mama Elene. I fix a wonderful meal for you. You sit over here,’ she instructed, leading her to a small table outside on a rear terrace that opened up to breathtaking waterfront views framed by a brightly tiled church dome.
It was … heaven. Everything she’d dreamed about and more.
Colette curled her red hair around her finger as she looked out across the quintessentially Mediterranean landscape, while the warm Italian afternoon sun beat down on the parasol above.
Mama Elene was making her a shot of espresso while she mulled over the menu. Everything looked so delicious she didn’t know what to try. She wanted to sample it all.
Thankfully the effusive Italian woman was more than helpful in that department. She set the espresso before her and promptly made her suggestions.
Having settled on her order, Colette sipped her drink and watched people on the myriad streets and laneways below.
Were all Italians so effortlessly stylish? The women who passed by were so impeccable turned out that it made her regard her own attire with a frown. Tousled Italian locks blowing seductively in the breeze also didn’t compare to her hair in its neat but rather severe bun.
She tended to keep things casual with her jeans, floral blouse and ballet flats.Noelle was always telling her she had to try and make more of herself, but Colette was never sure what exactly was expected. She wasn’t the type to wear short-shorts or revealing clothing in summer like her sister. She just liked things simple.
Simple was safe and with all the turmoil in her life over the past few years, safe was exactly what she needed.
It wasn’t long before Mama Elene was bringing out herprimichoice: arancini. The fried cheese and rice balls were crunchy on the outside and gooey rich on the inside.
On the first bite, a string of cheese stretched from Colette’s mouth to the remnants on the fork. She chuckled as she caught the runaway strand, looking up just in time to find a pair of dark eyes boring into her gaze.
A handsome Italian man of about her age was standing at the espresso counter nearby, his face propped on an elbow as he leaned against the dark wood.
His pristinely ironed shirt clung to his muscles, the pale blue colour accentuating his olive skin. With his jet-black hair and nonchalant hooded gaze, he looked like a character on the cover of one of those classic romance novels – dark and smouldering personified.
Colette couldn’t help but stare.
‘Luca!’ Mama Elene sang out as she emerged from the kitchen, another plate of food in hand. She smacked a kiss on his cheek as she rushed past him on her way to Colette’s table. ‘Where have you been?’ she heard the older woman ask in rapid Italian. ‘And how’s your mama?’
This time a portion of steaming bruschetta appeared on the table as Colette sat silently listening to the exchange between the two.
‘I’ve been busy,’ Luca answered distractedly, still staring in Colette’s direction. Or maybe it was just out at the view, she couldn’t tell. Still, she could feel a flush rise automatically up her neck and looked down at her food, doing her best to avoid making eye contact for fear of being drawn even more into the conversation.
But she couldn’t help it.
‘So busy you can’t come to visit your other mama Elene? Shame on you,’ she said as she smacked his arm playfully. ‘And look at you. So skinny. Because you don’t have me to cook for you, or a wife,’ she chided. ‘When are you going to get married, eh?’
Colette couldn’t help it, her curiosity got the best of her and her eyes immediately strayed in Luca’s direction. Yep, he was looking right at her.
‘I can feed myself, so there is no rush to find a wife.’ He smirked. ‘Or are you trying to get rid of me?’
‘Never!’ Mama Elene squeezed his chin and affectionately turned his handsome face towards hers. ‘You are my boy and always will be. I just want to see you happy.’
‘Somebody talking about me?’
It was like watching an Italian soap opera. As if on cue, a stunning woman wearing impossibly high heels teetered into the restaurant with a smile on her face and a shock of lustrous blonde hair that reached to her behind. She was wearing a stylish but skimpy outfit that showed off her every attribute – and there was plenty to be admired.
Again comparing herself to yet another paragon of Italian style, and finding herself sorely lacking in that department, Colette promptly stuffed a slice of bruschetta into her mouth.
The flavour of the tomato was rich but not overpowering,the basil was fresh, and the hint of garlic was just the right mix. Heavenly …
‘Lidia,’ Mama Elene greeted as Colette continued to listen. As ever, she was a silent observer of the lives of others. It seemed that even in Italy she couldn’t escape it. Though she noticed this time that the older woman’s greeting was not quite so effusive to the latest arrival.
Or was she imagining it?
