an odyssey navigating the mediterranean
Born in the Scottish Highlands, Robertson Tait writes romantic comedy and suspenseful contemporary stories featuring gorgeous, confident heroines, imperfect but sensitive heroes, and intriguing locations described with a strong sense of place, all served up with a generous helping of dry Scottish humour. His books could be described as intelligent escapism, aiming to be relaxing and uplifting.
From Forty-Love in Positano
And all of a sudden, there it was: Positano, the brightest jewel of Italy’s Amalfi Coast, twinkling like a handful of fairy dust sprinkled all along the steep slope that ended right down in the inky sea. The spectacular sight disappeared as the Mercedes veered off the main road and plunged into a series of tight turns until, at last, it came to a stop in a small clearing, and they had arrived.
Hazel looked out through the windscreen, almost in disbelief, to see what would be their home for the next six days. The Villa Marinella was like a creation from a fantasy, or some opulent opera set. It shone its charm from inside peach stucco walls with the rich hues of its decor making it glitter like some gigantic Fabergé egg of a building: faceted, tiered, sectioned, but indubitably one glorious piece of inspired architecture.
It sat commandingly above the bay, nestled into the rocky outcropping and appeared, for all the world, to be the dominant property on the rock face, exquisitely closing the bay’s curve and guarding its heralded exclusivity.
Positano boasted many establishments of great luxury, refinement, and wealth, but this property immediately exuded a uniqueness that, even in the dark, was unmistakably precious.
“Shall we go in?” Jeffrey’s warm baritone broke in on Hazel’s trance-like absorption.
“Oh yes … yes, wow! This looks such a fabulous place. I’ve never seen any hotel, anywhere, look like this.”
She knew her face must betray her wonder, but it really was so beguilingly beautiful and, with that lofty location and those soft Mediterranean scents floating on the caressingly mellow breeze, she could feel herself already succumbing to its enchantment.
They got out of the Mercedes with the warm night wrapping itself around them and enveloping them in a subtle bath of hauntingly atmospheric aromas.
The ambience was distinctively Mediterranean, a bewitching mixture of pines and lush flowers from a relaxed and luxuriant southern climate. There were hints of wisteria, nicotiana and moonflower, and other intoxicatingly rich, highly perfumed blooms that only reveal their splendour in the darkness of night and early morning, and Hazel felt delightfully seduced by the charm of the place. The reality of her daily life already seemed light years away.
The whisper of the sea and those elusive hints of fragrant herbs and flowers … they seemed to linger tantalizingly in the air as an accompaniment to the seductively romantic apricot light that flickered from ornate lanterns illuminating the wide terraces all around the main house. Yes, she was awestruck.
“It’s almost like a private home, I mean like some prince’s own seafront fantasy … it’s just so gorgeous!” Hazel was simply shocked by the beauty of it.
“Actually you’re right. It used to be someone’s private retreat … but anyway, perhaps you’d better take a look inside before you make your final judgement.” Jeffrey smiled a little smugly. He had been here before.
He reached out a hand to escort Hazel towards their destination.
They approached what looked like a cluster of adjoining villas clinging to the hillside, with the sweep of the bay twinkling its sparkling magic to their left and below them the shimmering waters.
Hazel turned, unable to complete the short walk to the villa. She looked down at the lights of Positano, laid out before her, and wondered if there was anywhere else in the whole world that could look so dramatically alluring. A tear wet her cheek as she was overwhelmed by the beauty of the view.
Prose in this post: © Robertson Tait
Published with the permission of Robertson Tait
