The beach at Rosa Marina had always been a good spot for Daniel. Cabin cruisers and yachts of the new euro millionaires would come and weigh anchor in the bay. All of society seemed to gather here along the shore in the afternoon sun: the good-looking teenagers of the alta borghese, the Russians, Germans and Swedes on vacation, the dedicated followers of beach fashion and the bottomless sun-worshippers, hidden, along with the rest of the hoi polloi, among the narrow rocky places between the long stretches of golden sand.
Daniel was resting up with Ali about half way down the beach between the Grand Hotel and the end of the bay where he could see the pine trees of the camping site at Pineta. He had his clothes rail against the rocks. The rocks rose above his head forming a shadow along a narrow stretch of sand. Sometimes bathers would stop to admire his wares: the colourful beach dresses from India and African bubas and skirts, kaftans and khanga wraps. Daniel tried to hook them with a smile or a gestured greeting. Most would pass by without even looking his way. But Daniel was not offended. He behaved as if he was biding his time, watching them all with equanimity.
After a while, he picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder. Dragging the clothes rail across the drying sand down by the shore, he turned and nodded to his friend, “A dopo, bello.”
There it was that he found her, a little way further down the beach from his resting place with Ali where the villas of the resort were a long way back from the dunes, and the sand itself was yellow and hot under foot.
A big, red parasol with Luna Rossa emblazoned over its red canopy had been hooked up for the benefit of a large man who was sitting in an upright navy deckchair, talking into his phone. There was a hamper and ice box with beers at his feet.
As Daniel approached, he became aware of the man’s bulk, the folds of fat hanging impressively over his bathing shorts. For all that, he could see that the man had once been powerful and strong; his calves were still thick and muscular; all of which seemed to lend weight to the grave communion with the piece at his ear.
Sitting next to him, on an identical upright navy deck chair, was a middle-aged woman in a gold and black bikini, complemented by two large and clunky gold ear-rings. Her skin was a seasoned brown, but Daniel could see that she strove to look after herself with exercise and those occasional interventions that ladies of a certain age and class indulge in.
“Buona sera,” he said, “can I interest you in my dresses? It is all roba genuina from Africa, Tibet, India. Roba buona. Good stuff.”
“Giulia, are you coming to look?”
The Signora called over to a woman who was lying on the sand apart from her companions.
The woman looked up, squinting into the sun.
“Daniel,” she said. “Da quanto tempo!”
“Julia,” he said slowly as she got up and came towards him.
She smiled at him; Daniel smiled back.
“Ti vedo bene,” he said. “You look well.”
“And you,” she said. “How long has it been?”
“A long time…”
“Yes,” she said, “it’s been a long, long time.”
“Cosa sta succendo?” he said. “What’s happening here?”
“What does it look like?”
As she spoke, there was a familiar glint in her eye. Daniel laughed.
“Quant’è?” the Signora called over to him. “How much is this?”
She was holding up one of his dresses, the one that was the colour of watermelon.
“Fifteen Euros.”
“Fifteen,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “It’s too much. I’ll give you ten.”
Daniel turned back to Julia and smiled.
“The Signora is after a bargain.”
“Patti, what have you got there?” said the man from the deckchair.
The Signora held up the watermelon dress.
“Molto bello! Giulia,” he said, covering his phone with his hand, “you must buy something, too. This gentleman needs to make some money.”
The man returned to his conversation.
“My husband has spoken,” she said.
Daniel laughed.
“What about a khanga wrap?”
“You always did well with those.”
He turned to the older woman.
“I give you special price, Signora. Ten Euros.”
She went back to her chair and came back holding the note from her purse.
Daniel put it in the pouch around his middle.
“Fa caldo,” she said. “It’s hot.”
“Molto caldo,” said Daniel. “Very hot.”
“È molto carino il vestito.”
“Thank you,” he said in English.
The Signora smiled, returning to her chair under the parasol.
“What do you think?” said Julia, holding up a dress.
“Let me guess. She’s your suocera[1]?”
Julia laughed.
“As a matter of fact, she is an old flame.”
“In that case, you better watch out,” he said. “These old flames don’t settle for anything.”
“You think she’s still after him?”
Daniel smiled.
“Cofi ever tell you that story,” he said, “the one about the djinn who bewitched a woman? The djinn turned her into a bird. When the husband returned to her, he found his wife old and ugly.”
Julia laughed.
“How does it end?”
“They go on a journey. The bird follows. The djinn tells the husband to kill the bird so that she can have one of its feathers. The husband plucks the bird out of the sky. As he grasps the bird, the bird turns back into the man’s wife.”
“What happens to the djinn?”
“She disappears in a puff of smoke.”
“Is that what is going to happen to her?”
“To be honest,” said Daniel. “I have not yet worked out which one of you is the djinn.”
Julia looked at him with smiling eyes.
“Qu’est-ce que tu fais?” she said. “What do you plan to do?”
Daniel shrugged.
“Head north.”
“Perugia?”
He nodded and looked down the beach where the crowds were waiting for him. “Bella,” he said eventually, “I better go now.”
“Of course,” she said. “How much do I owe you?”
“Bella, you don’t owe me anything.”
“Don’t be silly. Achille,” she said, turning and calling to the man on the deck chair, “have you got your wallet?”
She walked over and took the wallet from his hand and went back with it to Daniel.
The wallet was stuffed with notes.
“I’ll take two of your khanga wraps,” she said in a louder voice so the djinn and her husband might hear, “the yellow one and the red one.”
She handed over the money. Daniel took it without looking at it and put it in his pouch.
He rummaged in his bag for the yellow and red khanga wraps.
“Ci vediamo, bella.”
“Ci vediamo, bello.”
She watched him go off, dragging the rail. Like some latter-day rag and bone man, Daniel disappeared into the crowds down the beach.
Julia turned and walked towards the shore when she heard a voice calling to her from the deckchair:
“Giulia, your back’s going red. Don’t you think you should come and sit under the parasol?”
“No, I don’t think so,” she said, smiling inwardly. “I’m going for a swim.” And she stepped out across the hot sand and walked down towards the water’s edge.
[1]Mother-in-law.