Laura's Locket

LAURA’S LOCKET

I opened the train window and the cool air rushed in. Although it was January, I wanted to breathe in the wintery air. The wind bit my face and made my cheeks tingle. It was refreshing after sitting for an hour in an overheated train compartment. I’d already taken off my coat, scarf and woollen cap, and my angora jumper was scrunched up on the seat.

In the distance, the Mediterranean Sea sparkled in the late afternoon sunshine as our train snaked around the narrow precipice of the southern Italian coastline. Jagged cliffs dropped away inches from the iron tracks that barely clung to the rocky earth.

‘Sorrento, next stop!’ I said with a smile, then left the window and pulled my bag down from the overhead shelves.

My two best friends, Beth and Angie, also hopped up from their seats to lift their bags down. We’d known each other since seventh grade, and there was rarely a weekend the three of us didn’t have a sleepover at one of our homes. At school we’d been nicknamed “The Three Amigos.”

And this was our very first trip overseas. I couldn’t wait to start our Amalfi holiday.

We linked arms, jumped up and down on the spot and squealed. All through our senior year we’d planned this trip to celebrate the end of high school, worked at part time jobs and saved as much as we could. Our parents made up the shortfall, as did my aunt Judy, Dad’s sister. She chose our hotels and even paid for mine.

I glanced out the window just as we passed a secluded cove and the gentle undulations of an inflated palm tree close to the shoreline caught my eye.

‘Look at this. An artificial tropical island!’ I said and pointed. ‘Must be anchored to a rock below the waves or something.
’

Beth and Angie squeezed in next to me and stuck their heads out the window.

‘A fake palm tree. That’s classic!’ Beth said while clawing away tendrils of her long, black hair the wind had whipped around her face.

Beth’s family had migrated from Mumbai when she was three, and their house was only a street away from mine in Earlwood. Her dark exotic looks were in stark contrast to my coppery locks and lavender-coloured eyes. I envied her being able to stay out in the strong Australian sun
, whereas my pale skin turned pink within five minutes.

‘Does it belong to a resort or something?’ she added. ‘Wonder if there’re more?’ Her ebony eyes scanned the coastline ahead.

It seemed so out of place. The beach was empty: no deck chairs, umbrellas or the usual summer paraphernalia. But then, it was January, and all the resorts were closed. Perhaps this was one thing they’d forgotten to pack away for the winter.

‘You know, Laura, I’m still surprised your parents let you go. They’ve got to be the most over-protective people I’ve ever met,’ Angie said, a thick, faux fur hat tucked so low over her curly brown hair I could barely see her eyes.

Even before we had purchased our airline tickets, Angie had splashed out on the latest winter fashions. That the hat was too big for her didn’t matter—it was “in!” Masking her eyes as it did, I worried she could trip and hurt herself.

‘Well, it’s only-child syndrome, so I can kind of understand,’ I added quietly. It had taken a lot of persuading on my part. I’d asked my aunt Judy to talk to them too. She and Dad were close, although I knew she wasn’t keen on my trip either. ‘But Angie and Beth’ll be with me. I’m not going alone,’ I’d told her. ‘You know them. Pleeease?’ It worked.

‘That’s cos you look so young. No one’d guess you’re an adult. I reckon you’ll have to pull out your passport every time you order a drink,’ Angie said as she pushed the hat back off her brow for the umpteenth time.

I stuck my tongue out at her and she laughed. So did I.

‘They’re probably worried you’ll meet some foreign guy and won’t want to come home,’ Beth said.

I shook my head. ‘No way!’ I had no intention of doing anything of the sort, but the prospect of meeting a hot Italian guy was exciting. I was on holidays, so why not have a little romance? The problem is my handicap. It’s not a physical one, more like a weird genetic anomaly—I age slowly, very slowly. At eighteen, in the prime of life, I hadn’t got my period yet. And, I was still a virgin
. How embarrassing!

‘We’re here!’ Angie squealed. The train rounded another bend and began to slow. She leant her head further out, gripping her oversized, fur hat. ‘It’s so pretty.’

Clusters of red-roofed houses and three-to-four-storey buildings honeycombed the cliff side all the way to the sea. In the marina, only a few boats bobbed on the waves, large luxury yachts among them.

Beth and I tried to see past Angie, but the wind stung my eyes. I flopped back into my seat and threw on my jumper. ‘C’mon you guys, we’ll be there any minute. Better get your stuff together.’

‘Should we get a taxi or walk to the hotel?’ Angie’s voice sounded muffled as she struggled into her shocking-pink anorak.

‘No way we’re going to lose you in a crowd wearing that thing,’ I teased.

Angie laughed and dipped her knee in a mock curtsy. ‘No way, matey. Besides, it’s
so
this season.’

I rolled my eyes, but I admired Angie’s love of bright colours and her ability to wear them with such unabashed confidence.

‘Laura, you’ve got the map.’ Beth took charge. ‘How far’s the hotel from the station?’ She checked her reflection in the aisle window and adjusted her beret.

I retrieved the Lonely Planet Guidebook from my coat pocket. ‘Um… on here it looks really close; down the hill from the station. Fifteen to twenty minutes to the Piazza Tasso maybe?’

‘Okay, walk then?’ She turned to face us, eyebrows raised. We’d elected Beth as our unofficial leader, being the oldest. At nineteen she was already engaged to her long-time boyfriend, Ashley. She was even on the Pill.

Angie looked at me and shrugged. ‘Sure. We’ve been sitting for ages.’

She had a point. After the first twelve hours of the twenty-two hour flight from Sydney, the novelty had worn off and I couldn’t wait to land. At the Bangkok stopover, I practically ran from one end of the terminal to the other; not so much to catch our connecting flight, but for some exercise.

The train stopped, and we followed the other passengers along the platform. Heads down, faces concealed in scarves and bundled up against the cold, they dispersed leaving us staring at a sparsely populated square—the Piazza Angelina Lauro.

In less than fifteen minutes we stood before a set of tall, scrolled wrought-iron gates, behind which we glimpsed an imposing, terracotta-coloured building. The sign read: Grand Excelsior Vittoria Hotel.

It would be our home for the next three days.

* * *

Several hours later, we’d unpacked, napped and now sought food. It was dark, but the piazza teemed with people, their faces illuminated by the decorative street lanterns that swayed in the evening breeze. It was magical. The only drawback was the local boys who whistled and followed us down the street as if they had nothing better to do.

Angie and I giggled, but Beth shooed them away. I did my best to ignore them by looking in the shop windows, as we explored the old part of town, and putting my hands in my coat pockets when they tried to grab hold of them. My stomach grumbled in anticipation as the enticing aromas of cooked garlic and olive oil, interspersed with the sweet scent of lemoncello, wafted from each café and restaurant we passed.

One of the boys, with enticing brown eyes and his dark hair curling over his collar, approached me, whispered something in Italian, and kissed me full on the mouth. I pushed him back.

That’s when
he
appeared.

Tall, commanding and with his straight blonde hair flowing over his shoulders, he seemed to materialise from nowhere.

The boys backed off. The one who kissed me, turned and ran. The others followed.

‘They won’t bother you, now,’ said the man. His deep blue eyes transfixed me—I couldn’t look away. He gazed at me, as if waiting for a response, but I was speechless. It’s not everyday a girl comes face to face with such a beautiful man.

Angie nudged me with her elbow.

‘Ah, thank you,’ I finally managed.

‘My pleasure!’ He smiled and my insides turned to jelly. When he lifted my hand to his lips I resisted the urge to sigh. It was such an old-fashioned, yet romantic gesture.  No one had ever kissed my hand before. His gaze remained on my face, and even though people walked by, I barely noticed—there was only him.

Beth coughed. ‘Okay, let’s get going. Time for dinner.’

‘I’d recommend that place over there.’ The man pointed to his left—La Dolce Vita
.
‘I hear it’s good.’ His velvety voice had a slight accent, not Italian. French perhaps? ‘By the way, my name’s Philippe.’

He is French!

‘I’m Laura and this is Beth and Angie,’ I indicated my friends.

‘Charmed.’ He inclined his head.

‘Would you like to join us?’ Angie asked. She looked at him eagerly from beneath the brim of her hat, hazel eyes sparkling.

Please say, yes!

He seemed about to answer, when his gaze slanted past, to somewhere behind us, and his brow creased in a frown. He hesitated before saying, ‘Regrettably, no. I’m… expected elsewhere. Please excuse me.’ With a final glance at me, Philippe disappeared into the crowd.

The three of us stared after him. Angie let out a sigh. ‘First day in Europe and we meet the hottest of hotties!’ She then turned to me and slapped my arm. Her hat had slipped further down and now sat just above her nose, which was pink from the cold. ‘Why didn’t you ask him to stay? It was obvious he liked you!’

‘He was just being polite, and besides, I didn’t know what to say!’

‘Being polite? I don’t think so!’ She grinned. ‘He couldn’t get his eyes off you, Laura.’

She and Beth exchanged glances. ‘Ooooh!’ They sing-songed.

I rolled my eyes and started to walk in the direction of the restaurant Philippe suggested. But secretly, I was thrilled and hoped we’d bump into one another before the girls and I left Sorrento. Beth and Angie caught up with me and linked their arms through mine.

‘You know, that was a bit weird,’ Beth stated.

‘What was?’ I asked.

‘The way he shows up like some kind of white knight, rescues you from a bunch of silly boys, stares at you like he wants to eat you, and then disappears.’

I laughed. ‘Eat me?’

‘Yeah, like this!’ Angie leapt in front of me, pushed her hat back off her face and gave me the smouldering-eyes look. ‘I will eat you, my little chicken!’ she said in a mock French accent.

Beth burst out laughing. ‘Classic!’

I pulled Angie’s hat back down onto her nose and laughed, too.

‘Did you see those guys’ faces?’ Beth said. ‘The way they backed away from him.’ She was always the thinker. ‘What if he’s mafia or something?’

I hadn’t thought of that. Beth could be right. He had the air of authority, and his cashmere coat was well-cut; definitely designer wear. But then, many Italians were well dressed.

We stopped in front of the restaurant and looked through the windows. The place was full.

‘He doesn’t have to be M
afia. What if he’s a cop?’ I suggested.

Angie pushed open the glass doors. The delicious scent of garlic bread hit my nostrils and I forgot Philippe. This place was popular, and just as I thought we would have to go elsewhere, one table was vacated. We made a beeline for it. I chewed on a breadstick as we decided our order and absently glanced out the window—and almost choked.