Marjorie Thelen - The Forty Column Castle

“Oh me, now we are going to be late for dinner. Hurry and get some shoes on, dear. I’ve got to change. Sal and I have been having lovely dinners in the garden, and I like to fancy up a bit. Hurry now. He wants you to dine with us this evening.”

“He does?”

“Yes, now hurry. Where are your shoes?” She trotted over to the closet which contained minimum two dozen dresses.

“Where did you get all of those?” I asked.

“Salvatore bought them for me and had them delivered. He buys me the nicest things and has excellent taste in clothes.”

She held up one in the mirror. It was a deep blue sundress that would bring out her cornflower blue eyes, had plenty of room for her ample bosoms, and sported a slightly flared skirt.

“This will be perfect. I wear a different one every evening. I’m going to freshen up in the bath and slip this on. Hurry now, Claudie, we don’t want to be late.”

She bustled into the bathroom and left me sitting on the edge of the bed wondering what to do. Get my shoes, obviously. If I dined with the lovebirds, I might be able to find out why Mr. Bellomo chose to harbor criminals, and if his intentions were honorable. Maybe he would have the chief of police to dinner or whoever the guy was that helped him spring my aunt from jail.

I hurried back to my room via the empty hallway to find Zach stretched out on the couch in the same position I had left him. I freshened his ice pack and tried shaking him awake.

“What?” he said, eyes fluttering open.

“Zach, are you okay?” I wasn’t hoping for much of an answer to that question.

“Claudie? I’m okay,” he said, “just a little sleepy. Ouch, my jaw is killing me.”

His eyes were drifting shut again. “I had this dream about fists raining down on my face.” His speech was halting, and I couldn’t make sense of it. A dream? The way he looked was not a dream.

“Okay, rest. I’m going to dine with my aunt and Mr. Bellomo. I don’t think you’ll be going anywhere soon. I’ll be back, and then we’re leaving.”

“Right.” He conked out again.

I sat, hunched on the floor beside the couch looking at him and brushed his hair back in place. He looked so vulnerable and beat up. He was in no shape for anything. His face felt hot to the touch. I worried he might have a fever.

Lord, what a mess this all was. How was I going to uproot my lovesick aunt and drag her from the dragon’s lair? How was I going to help Zach? He was a felon and a wanted man. Didn’t we make a pair? I wished it were on the right instead of wrong side of the law. I wondered how much a good lawyer cost in Cyprus, as I trudged to the bathroom to pull myself together.

I fixed my hair into a top knot, fussed with my makeup, sprayed on more Ancient Breezes, its crisp fragrance growing on me, found my cute sandals and slid them on. I had no jewelry except the gold hoops I wore, but I liked the little black dress which hugged my curves. Since I didn’t have rubies and sapphires this evening, the gold St. Christopher medal would have to do.

I tucked the silky soft blanket over Zach and kissed his forehead. One side of his mouth tried to twitch into a smile. The evening breeze off the water was cool, so I closed the French doors to the balcony. I dimmed the overhead and left the table lamp burning at the end of the couch. I looked back one last time as I left the room. Zach looked so peaceful stretched out on that humungous couch. A scene of domestic felicity. One could wish.

Aunt Elizabeth was ready when I arrived in her room.

“Does a limo come for us or do we walk to dinner?”

She laughed. “Oh, Claudie, dear heart, don’t be silly, of course we’ll walk.”

She sprayed a few squirts of expensive perfume behind her ears. “There, all ready. How do I look?”

“Great.” I had to admit she had always been an attractive woman in a matronly sort of way, always had a neatness about her. She wore a gold chain with a blue pendant that looked like a sapphire with drop earrings to match. Salvatore sure was into gifts.

Her hair was soft white, easy to coif, and pulled back in her signature French twist. The blue dress showed off her hour glass figure. With strappy gold heels and painted red toenails, she looked like an AARP fashion model. I was proud of her. If only she weren’t in love with a Mafia don.

She led the way at a brisk anticipatory trot to our garden setting for dinner. Salvatore was waiting, glass of wine in hand, which he set on the table to greet my aunt with a generous smile and a kiss on the cheek. He wore a white, open neck shirt and dark blue European cut pants with tan Italian loafers.

The outdoor dining area featured an oval white wrought iron table with matching chairs and glass top. The table sat twelve. I wondered where the rest of the party was. A silver candelabrum with electric white candles glowed at the end of the table set with three places. The army of glasses, plates, silverware and napkins was daunting to someone who never had more than one course for dinner. I decided I would follow my host’s lead to navigate my way through the courses.

My aunt blushed prettily when her betrothed whispered in her ear, and she giggled in return.

They turned to me.

“I am so very happy you could join us for dinner,” Salvatore Bellomo said, extending his hand to me. “I trust you are feeling better.” His handshake was firm but tolerant of a woman’s hand.

On studying him closer, I could understand my aunt’s attraction to him. He was elegant like an Italian aristocrat of the Renaissance, a self-contained man with an easy smile that made one comfortable. I could see why he had become a successful businessman, if his easy manner with people were any indication.

“Can I offer you something to drink? A glass of wine perhaps? We have some excellent Cypriot wines this evening.”

I accepted the offer of wine. My aunt requested a Cyprus brandy sour. She was fairly tittering, and I had to admit they looked cute together. He was only an inch or two taller than she was, and I could imagine them on the dance floor whirling around the room to a rumba or chachacha.

“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.