would only be away for one night in Amalfi.
‘ Wie gehts ,’ called a very jolly Konrad. ‘Have you seen the car yet?’
Biff shook his head and went with him to the door, leaving the girls to embrace.
‘No, I haven’t seen it. What is it?’
As soon as he stepped out into the open he could see what it was: a very large, drophead, six-seater Mercedes Benz.
‘Good God,’ exclaimed Biff. ‘I thought we’d hired a car, not a tank.’
Konrad slapped his hand on the wing and bellowed: ‘Good German engineering – the best.’
He looked around to see that the driver was nowhere near as he added softly: ‘Not a bloody Italian car that will break down.’
The driver and porter came out with a trolley of luggage and began fitting their cases on the drop-down boot lid, using strong leather straps to secure the load in place.
They took leave of the hotel with the smiling manager and a couple of his staff waving them off. The car weaved its way outthrough the streets of Sorrento, past the shops and little restaurants, gay with bunting.
There were already many carabinieri, troops, sailors and blackshirts out on the streets and in the squares.
They began to climb up the narrow road that hugged the coast. In the distance they could see Mount Vesuvius dominating Naples and its bay, before, with yet another tight bend of the road back on itself, it went out of sight.
Before them were the white limestone mountains, falling precipitously into the blue sea, the steep valleys clothed in pines and chestnut trees.
Little white houses perched on the cliff sides, smothered with red bougainvillea flowing over their balconies.
In the far distance, where the blue of the sea blurred into a haze where it met the sky, they could see the grey-white hulls of three more Italian warships.
They roared around a blind bend, the driver operating the two-tone horn several times as a warning. A man on a donkey with a cart was coming down the other side. The beast flicked an ear but didn’t alter its rhythm. They climbed and descended, always zigzagging as the narrow road skated the steep valley sides, going from the sea into the green folds of the hills, then out again, sometimes passing through short dark tunnels. The driver said something to Konrad who was sitting beside him. He turned and shouted above the roar of the wind.
‘He says it’s an old Roman road. Brilliant engineering, yes?’
In the back the two girls were sitting together, with Biff next to them on the sea side. Sometimes he was looking down some 800 feet to the sea breaking on the rocks far below. Only a few feet of road and a low wooden fence stopped them from going over. He preferred flying. When there was no direct linkage to the ground, something to judge the height, he felt fine. With this sort of thing, in the hands of a man he had never met before, he was, to say the least, tense. Konrad didn’t seem to notice.
After what seemed ages, but in reality must have been half anhour or so, they slowed and the driver pulled into an observation area. Konrad was immediately out, opening the door and helping the girls.
They all stood looking down on the little town of Positano, with the green, blue and yellow majolica dome of the cathedral of St Maria Assunta.
The driver said something in Italian which Konrad translated for them.
‘He says this is known in Italy as the Vertical Town – you can see why, can’t you? The town’s piazza is the beach apparently; there is nowhere else that’s flat enough.’
‘Look at all those steps.’ Rosemary pointed at a path where they must have numbered a hundred or more.
Anna put her arm through Rosemary’s.
‘How would you like to live there, Rosemary? Everything up and down, up and down, getting the groceries, taking the children to school?’
Rosemary shook her head. ‘It’s so beautiful, but for a woman a nightmare to live in.’
They got back in the car and continued the journey to Amalfi, the little town that
‘ Wie gehts ,’ called a very jolly Konrad. ‘Have you seen the car yet?’
Biff shook his head and went with him to the door, leaving the girls to embrace.
‘No, I haven’t seen it. What is it?’
As soon as he stepped out into the open he could see what it was: a very large, drophead, six-seater Mercedes Benz.
‘Good God,’ exclaimed Biff. ‘I thought we’d hired a car, not a tank.’
Konrad slapped his hand on the wing and bellowed: ‘Good German engineering – the best.’
He looked around to see that the driver was nowhere near as he added softly: ‘Not a bloody Italian car that will break down.’
The driver and porter came out with a trolley of luggage and began fitting their cases on the drop-down boot lid, using strong leather straps to secure the load in place.
They took leave of the hotel with the smiling manager and a couple of his staff waving them off. The car weaved its way outthrough the streets of Sorrento, past the shops and little restaurants, gay with bunting.
There were already many carabinieri, troops, sailors and blackshirts out on the streets and in the squares.
They began to climb up the narrow road that hugged the coast. In the distance they could see Mount Vesuvius dominating Naples and its bay, before, with yet another tight bend of the road back on itself, it went out of sight.
Before them were the white limestone mountains, falling precipitously into the blue sea, the steep valleys clothed in pines and chestnut trees.
Little white houses perched on the cliff sides, smothered with red bougainvillea flowing over their balconies.
In the far distance, where the blue of the sea blurred into a haze where it met the sky, they could see the grey-white hulls of three more Italian warships.
They roared around a blind bend, the driver operating the two-tone horn several times as a warning. A man on a donkey with a cart was coming down the other side. The beast flicked an ear but didn’t alter its rhythm. They climbed and descended, always zigzagging as the narrow road skated the steep valley sides, going from the sea into the green folds of the hills, then out again, sometimes passing through short dark tunnels. The driver said something to Konrad who was sitting beside him. He turned and shouted above the roar of the wind.
‘He says it’s an old Roman road. Brilliant engineering, yes?’
In the back the two girls were sitting together, with Biff next to them on the sea side. Sometimes he was looking down some 800 feet to the sea breaking on the rocks far below. Only a few feet of road and a low wooden fence stopped them from going over. He preferred flying. When there was no direct linkage to the ground, something to judge the height, he felt fine. With this sort of thing, in the hands of a man he had never met before, he was, to say the least, tense. Konrad didn’t seem to notice.
After what seemed ages, but in reality must have been half anhour or so, they slowed and the driver pulled into an observation area. Konrad was immediately out, opening the door and helping the girls.
They all stood looking down on the little town of Positano, with the green, blue and yellow majolica dome of the cathedral of St Maria Assunta.
The driver said something in Italian which Konrad translated for them.
‘He says this is known in Italy as the Vertical Town – you can see why, can’t you? The town’s piazza is the beach apparently; there is nowhere else that’s flat enough.’
‘Look at all those steps.’ Rosemary pointed at a path where they must have numbered a hundred or more.
Anna put her arm through Rosemary’s.
‘How would you like to live there, Rosemary? Everything up and down, up and down, getting the groceries, taking the children to school?’
Rosemary shook her head. ‘It’s so beautiful, but for a woman a nightmare to live in.’
They got back in the car and continued the journey to Amalfi, the little town that
Similar Books
