“Please sit down. Over here, shall we?” He indicated a wicker arrangement overlooking the pool. We settled onto bright yellow flowered cushions. Maybe his decorator was someone out of Architectural Digest.
Rodolfo arrived with our drinks and placed them on a glass top wicker table along with a small tray of meze, a mixture of dishes, a favorite way of eating on Cyprus. I anticipated one of those meals that would go on forever. I loved the round flat Cypriot bread that was great for dipping hummus and eating talatoura, a light cucumber and yogurt concoction. I sighed happily when I saw the variety and started out with fried calamari.
It didn’t seem to bother Salvatore that I was there, that I had found my aunt. I didn’t know if she had mentioned I came in through the balcony. He didn’t bring up Zach in the conversation which seemed odd since we had come together. I had heard somewhere that Mafia types never discussed business around their women. They were family men. They discussed family things, as did we.
He directed his questions to me about my life in Boston and demonstrated a keen interest in the mutual fund. This was the man who had gotten my aunt out of jail, held her hostage in his house, and was reputed to be in the smuggling business. Here we sat discussing family and fine art. But I needed some answers, and I was American and straight forward, so I launched my barrage.
My first question was “Mr. Bellomo, how did you get my aunt released from jail?”
He set down his glass of wine, dabbed at his lips with a white linen napkin and helped himself to a stuffed grape leaf. He munched a bite and seemed to savor the taste.
“I know you must have been surprised that I secured her release, but I have done business and lived on this island for many years. I know many people. I have done favors for some, they do favors for me. I called in one of those favors, I believe you say. That is how I got her out.” He stopped, only answering the question asked, not volunteering any more information.
That was that. Very simple. The favor system.
“Then why did you bring her here?”
He smiled and looked at my aunt. “Because I care for your aunt very deeply, and I wanted her to be safe. I did not trust what was going on. You can see this is an ideal place for her to be.” He waved his hand in a circle to encompass the house and our surroundings.
“I have to admit this house is lovely and more than adequate, but I was worried about her and was trying to find her.”
“Yes, I tried to get word to you, but it seems you disappeared.” He smiled that warm, friendly smile, without accusation or judgment and took another sip of wine.
He sat forward in his chair. “Marie-Claude, if I may call you by your formal name. It is so lovely this name. I can transport both you and your aunt from the island. It is not a problem to get you out of Cyprus. But,” and he paused to emphasize the word, “but that will not clear up the accusations against you. This is what we must do. This is what I would discuss with you, you see, because your aunt and I wish to marry.”
So it was true. This was right from the source. I sat back to think that one over.
My aunt sipped her brandy sour, a particular weakness of hers, and sampled mezes while she listened to our conversation. She had an uncanny sense of when to speak and when not to. She had never been a confrontative type which made her easy to get along with and a pleasant companion. I realized that this quality was probably one that Salvatore found attractive, as well as her ability to laugh at life and its absurdities and enjoy a good joke.
What I wanted to say to Salvatore was — sir, are your intentions honorable and. is that huge diamond on my aunt’s finger real? But I didn’t. How gauche would that be?
He continued on when I wasn’t forthcoming with more questions. “Maybe you think it odd this match between us, your aunt and me.” He picked up her hand and gave it a squeeze and looked at her with a little smile. My heart began to melt. It was obvious that he indeed did care about her. I felt like the father of the bride.
“After all,” he went on, “we are not young, and we are from different cultures. But we spent much time together while she was here, and I found myself enchanted. Myself, I lost my wife to cancer several years ago. I did not think ever to re-marry. My wife was a good Sicilian woman and gave me four beautiful children. But they have their own lives now. They have all married and have children. I still have some life left in me. I feel the need for companionship, and Elizabeth is a wonderful companion. I feel like I am a young man again with her. It is good for me.”
I glanced at my aunt while he said this and noticed her eyes glistened. I almost choked up myself. I knew how she felt about him. Why not? What a life of comfort she would have with a man that adored her. She deserved it.
“I understand,” I said. “When do you think to set a date for the wedding?” I thought I should press him for a date to see if he was going to carry through on his proposal.
“First,” Salvatore said, “we will clear up this unfortunate matter of the antiquities, and then we will decide.”
Then, I thought, you will break my aunt’s heart by dumping her after you get the jewels. Over my dead body.
“What do you say, my precious Elizabeth?” Salvatore was again gazing upon his intended.
“Whatever you say, Sal.” She blushed. “I would like a little time to plan, don’t you think, darling? I mean, we talked about a little family wedding. We’d want you there, Claudie, of course.”
I smiled. It was wonderful for her. I prayed she wouldn’t be disappointed. ”I’d like to be there. I’d be thrilled, and I wish you both no end of happiness.”
This was bowling me over. My aunt was getting married. She looked so happy. I decided then and there that I would cut this guy off at the knees, if he didn’t carry through.
“Mr. Bellomo, how are we going to get this little matter of antiquities theft cleared up?”
“Let us talk about that later. Now we will have a nice meal, some wine, and good conversation. Do you like opera by any chance, Marie-Claude?”
I sighed. My aunt adored opera, and Verdi was her favorite. I rather liked it myself. We’d gone to hear James Levine conduct Rigoletto at the Met in New York as a special treat one Christmas.
He led us to the beautifully set table. I saw that besides being an easy man to be around, he was excellent at evasion. He pushed in both our chairs, and Rodolfo began serving. The soft strains of Verdi’s La Traviata floated out over the garden. A little wine, fine food, a little candlelight, and Verdi. What a seduction. The guy was smooth.
I wished Zach could be there with us. Mr. Bellomo didn’t seem in the least phased that Zach was not there. He had the ability to create an atmosphere that said only you, only me and tonight.
I enjoyed the evening, ate well, swooned over the seafood paella, had one too many glasses of wine, and found Mr. Bellomo and my aunt could talk endlessly of their travels, of the art world, of Cyprus and how much they loved the island. I excused myself after chocolate baklava and coffee to allow the lovebirds time to themselves and walked back to my room alone.
Zach was sitting up on the couch with the icepack on his head.
“How do you feel?” I asked.
He looked like hell. His face was puffy and swollen on one side. He was unshaved and his shirt disheveled but he was alive, and I was glad for that.
He patted the seat beside him. “I’m recovering. Come sit by me.”
“I found my aunt. She’s in the room down the hall. I had dinner with her and Mr. Bellomo. They’re going to get married.”
“He’s quite a catch.”
The way he said it gave me pause.
“You don’t approve? What do you know about him?”