The boat nosed its way into the quay. Passengers jostled one another in anticipation of getting off. I often thought that given half a chance they would jump the decreasing gap to get off first. The deckhand stepped ashore with long practised adroitness, trailing the light rope attached to the heavier hawser, which he then pulled and circled over the bollard. As always there was an older guy, dressed in the de’rigueur navy jumper, who helped to get the heavy rope in place.

 

The water on the other side of the boat erupted in a boiling froth and we were pushed up tight against the quay, and out went the gang plank with a clatter, and passengers streamed ashore. I noticed her at once, she seemed overdressed to be travelling on a boat, even though this was a relatively short journey across the lake. High heels and boats don’t go together, at least on decking, and so it proved; as she clattered down the gang plank her heel caught between the boards and she fell forward, headlong, towards the quay.

 

The passenger in front of her heard her call of alarm, and turning, found himself draped with a feminine form. His surprise was overcome by embarrassment. He was a small round man, and to suddenly have a young voluptuous maiden thrust into his arms was obviously something he was not used to. As she clung to him he half turned and glanced sheepishly at an even rounder woman who was obviously his wife and smiled that ‘It’s not my fault’ way that men on a tight leash do.

 

Before this could have turned into a contretemps, and I’m sure to the sorrow of the small man, the deck hand, in true gallant style, swept the girl up into his arms and deposited her at a table in front of the Bella Marina Café where she was fussed over by several waiters.

 

We were of course in Italy. The travel brochures eulogise Lake Garda; the mountains sweeping down to soft shores, the lakeside villages, the smell of lemon blossom, the boats, the many cafes’ and restaurants, and, romance! Indeed it has all these things, but there is a more sombre side. To the north are the Dolomites, a mountain range that can bring sudden changes to the weather over the lake as the winds sweep down to the south.

 

And so it was on that late September day, one minute basking in warm Italian sunshine, the next a squall bringing in a rain shower. Everybody ran for cover, except the damsel who was at this time without her shoes. She covered her head with her handbag, but it was going to be no use, and so with a despairing smile she opened her arms to the heavens as if to say do your worst.

 

It was at that moment that I fell in love with her! I had been standing on the fore deck waiting for others to disembark, but now I knew I must act before it was too late. I hitched my knapsack up on my shoulder and ran down the gang plank, picking up the shoes on my way and presented myself at her table. I kneeled down before her and laid her shoes at her feet. She looked down in surprise, laughed at my mock gallantry, gathered the shoes up, and stood up. Her dress was soaking wet and clung to her as a second skin, and where it touched showed through to her form.

 

The squall cleared away as quickly as it came, the warm sun shone again, and she seemed to revel in its revealing rays. Waiters coming out of the cafes’ to wipe down the wet tables stopped and stared at this apparition, whistling their approval in true Italian fashion.

 

There was a shout from along the quay, and looking up I saw a tall and debonair Italian dressed in classic style, blue blazer and white slacks, holding a large umbrella and beckoning to the girl. She turned and smiled at me, ‘Chou,’ and picking up her hand bag ran barefoot down the quay, ducking under the umbrella she disappeared from view. Deflated I sat down at her table, and looked round to signal a waiter, when I realised I still had one of her shoes in my hand. As I cradled my cappuccino I gazed at the shoe, I thought would she be my Cinderella; my Queen of the ball?

 

I passed the night in a dream, the picture of that smiling face held up to the rain, and the litheness of that body continually replaying in my head. I’d spent the evening at the little Bistro close by the Hotel I was staying in. The night was warm, the stars shone bright in the sky, and the lights across the lake twinkled and winked as if in some knowing way. I sat outside at one of the small tables trying to distract my thoughts by watching the world go by. I drank my wine slowly, I nibbled on pistachio, I felt a strong desire to have a cigarette, something I’d long since given up, I signalled for some coffee, Madam brought it over, who’s voluptuous figure would usually engage my senses, but it was no use, thoughts of the girl continued to invade my mind.

 

Madam sat down at my table, her figure somehow overflowing and filling the space at the table. She knew how to move, how to gesture, how to swing her head to reveal flashing dark eyes as she swept her hair back, to reveal and impart that unique Italian sensuality, in other word she was a temptress. She laid her hand on mine and asked me what was preoccupying me.

 

On other nights we had enjoyed a teasing flirtatious conversation, and I had nearly succumbed. Her aroma, her soft brown skin, the outline of her breasts against the soft silk blouse, and their mysterious movement as if self motivated, and those lips, dark red and full as if ready to divulge hidden secrets were something to die for, but not tonight!

 

She saw my hang dog expression, and drew back, first with a roaring laughter, and , then, seeing I was in a soulful mood, she smiled broadly, planted a kiss on my brow as if I was a distressed child, and called over to her husband for a brandy for this lovelorn fool! Eventually I dragged myself off to bed to await the dawn in fitful sleep.

 

The morning broke with a storm. I seem to have been awake forever, and getting up for a reviving tea was surprised to see the lake ripped by choppy waves, the sort that jump which way ever. I foolishly stepped out onto the balcony and the tea was nearly whipped out of my cup. I retreated to the bedroom and drank my tea in a melancholy reverie, warming my toes by a minute electric fire. I had not many days left for my sojourn by the lakes, and a day like today meant that I would not be able to get out and begin my search, not that she would be likely to be out and about either.

 

You see I had a plan, well an intention if you like, concocted in the dark reaches of the night. My starting point would be to retrace the boat journey to the other side of the lake. In the cold light of day that seemed a bit futile, despair settled over me like the clouds shrouding the mountain tops around the lake, just a minute you’re acting like a lovesick teenager, I thought, what you need is advice, and where better than Madam! And so I quickly showered and dressed and went down to the Bistro coffee bar.

 

A different Madam from the night before was in full flight. A stream of Italian was directed at her husband who was morosely wiping the top of the counter, most of it sounding colourful invective, what had the poor man done, or not done? The cold morning light was not kind to Madam, the seductive mouth was now harridan in nature, the upholstered figure from the night before was now sagging beneath a stained overall. I sadly turned away, another dream shattered.

 

Not knowing what to do next I braved the elements and made my way to the Café by the docking bay, and pushing through the steam covered doors, looked round the dim interior and got the shock of my life; there she sat! As if deemed by nature the wind dropped, and the sun crept diffidently from behind the clouds, and the day took on a sunnier aspect, at least for me. I hesitated, what should I do? This called for boldness that I didn’t have. Oh, if only I had been Italian, they are macho, they believe they are God’s gift, this would have presented no problem to them whatsoever; oh how I curse the English reserve! I made a hesitant step towards her when she looked up and saw me and beckoned me over.

 

She was dressed more appropriately for the weather today; a linen suite and sensible shoes.

‘You’re the man with my shoe.’

She smiled in an impish way, I felt the colour starting to rise in my cheeks.

‘Ere, yes, I…...’ I stumbled on the words. 

I’d practised this meeting in my reverie last night, but now I was lost for words!

‘I haven’t got it here.’

Well of course you haven’t, you fool, I thought to myself, you’ve got to do better than this!

‘Well sit down, are you having coffee?’

 

Without waiting for an answer she called over to the waiter in what sounded perfect Italian and in seconds a steaming cappuccino was put down in front of me and the table was wiped with a flourish. I’d never had this kind of service before in any Italian Café! She was younger than I expected, there was the touch of the young colt about her, I know that’s a male horse but you know what I mean, her movements had not quite got the grace of the older woman she aspired to. 

‘I hoped I would see you here.’

 

Before she could say any more the suave Italian from the day before came out from what must have been the toilets, and came over to the table. He eyed me with disdain, and in perfect English asked,

‘Have we been introduced?’

Before I could answer he turned to the girl,

‘We must go, the boat approaches.’ 

The girl laughed at this, then she turned to me and winked, and putting her finger on her lips she transferred it to mine. ‘Chou,’ she followed the man to the door, and then, turning, she said,

‘I left it on purpose.’

 

And with that she was gone! Left it on purpose! I pondered those words until my coffee was stone cold. And so our tryst began . At first I waited around the quay side café hoping to see her depart, and then more boldly waiting at the café table for her return. In that foolish way that English men have I pretended not to notice her until she was off the boat and by the table, and then act surprised as she sat down, as if I had just noticed her. This soon passed.

 

She ran ashore, I waited at the table and we drank coffee, I kind of felt my age and felt I should act with some decorum, but I was soon won over by her girlish charms. Her laughter tinkled, her nose twitched as her pert mouth broke out into wide smiles, her white teeth sparkled in the sunlight, she was a dream come true! I sat entranced.

‘Have you got my shoe ?’

What ?’ I asked.

‘My shoe?’ she queried again, ‘You know, shoe,’ she said waving her foot in the air.

 

My hesitation was due to my own embarrassment, I’d slept with that shoe on my pillow breathing in its fragrance, how could I admit to that, she’d think I was kinky.

‘I have it home.’

‘Home?’ she queried, with a wry smile on here face.

‘Where might that be ?’

‘Well, its just there.’ I pointed to the other side of the small harbour. ‘Above the cafe’.’

‘Come on then, let’s go and get it.’ 

She jumped up and grabbed my hand.

 

'Oh, how sweet.’

She swept through my little apartment, touching things, and looking at this and that as if she were in grand apartment rather than a cramped, and somewhat dowdy, two rooms.

‘Oh, and the view, how lucky you are.’ She stepped out on to the balcony, a capricious wind caught her skirt and whisked it up, revealing tanned legs and tantalising underwear.

 

She turned, smoothing the skirt down between her legs, and seeing my look, ran her hand down her leg in a sensuous manner, and with a coquettish look on her face, she asked,

‘And where is my shoe ?’

She swept inside and looked past me.

‘Ah there, on your little bed.’

She flounced down on the bed, ‘Help me off with these.’ 

Before I could do anything she swung her legs up on to the bed, and laying down, she raised one foot into the air.

‘Come along then.’

 

I was transfixed, and yet this was the time to act, overcoming my fear of making a fool of myself I knelt on the bed and removed her shoes, feeling hot with embarrassment as brown thighs and white underwear were revealed to me. She took my hand and with a great sigh ran up the inside of her leg to the v of her body, and with her other arm she pulled me down beside her. And so began a morning of bliss.

 

Romantic love inflamed by sexual desire and fulfilled by the enrapture of two bodies is one of the most fantastic delights that can be experienced by two lovers, and so it was with me. Her beauty and form overwhelmed my senses, the touch of her skin and the sight of her sexuality drove me to heights of desire that I did not think possible, and she responded, or so it seemed; we were as one, would it that this idyll would never end !

 

She draped herself around me, we lay together in a somnolent caress. It was enough, I would have given my soul for this girl. A girl ! She had become a woman, at times loving and caressing me to the heights of desire, and sometimes wanton in the extreme, drawing me to sexual acts I would have not thought possible with one so seemingly sweet. Could this, was this, the same girl who so innocently lost her shoe ?

 

I arose from the bed satiated with an excess of love and sex. A strange mixture of humility and power filled my being. I was blessed; she had given herself to me, but I was the man who had ruled over her body, I was the clever dick, or was I, had I been seduced ? Whatever, did it matter, I enjoyed the infatuation, and I was on a roll. I did a little skip, metaphorically rubbing my hands together, I strolled over to the window, in my mind acting out a role in a film where the star, having had his way, languidly lights a cigarette, and staring out across the seascape hardly suppresses a wry smile at his performance.

 

As I looked out across the small harbour, I caught site of the suave elderly man, who seemed to be my Cinderella’s guardian, sitting at the café in that relaxed upright manner of his, as if he was in control, simply waiting for someone. He seemed to look in my direction, and gestured with his hand as if he was wafting a fly away from his head. I stepped back from the window and as I did so I felt slim hands entwining my waist, and a naked body pressing up against my back.

 

I turned to embrace her, but over my shoulder she saw the man sitting at the table and pulled away with what sounded like a muttered curse, but in a moment she was her old sunny self again.

‘I must go, or I will miss the boat to the other side.’

With that she turned away, and in that simple way of young girls, was dressed in a minute, and the next moment there she was running along the quayside.

 

The man rose as he saw her and walked over to meet him. As they met they embraced, and she smiled and held his hand as the made their way to the boat that was just docking. I sat down on the bed distraught and wracked with jealousy – at that moment I wished I really did smoke ! An empty evening stretched before me. I lay on the bed lacking the will to get up and go out when I heard a loud knocking at my door. My heart jumped, she had returned. I swung the door open and there to my surprise was Madam from the restaurant.

 

Disregarding my state of undress she hustled into the room, obviously in a sate of some agitation.

‘Veloce, lei dive partire, pronto, pronto.’

Leave, what did she mean ? I suddenly had a pang …………. I would be leaving on Saturday, how could I leave the object of my desire, it was to much to bear. Madame clutched my arm,

‘Pronto, pronto, quick !’

She was already rushing about clutching my clothes, she pulled my case from under the bed, and pushed the clothes in. I was now in a state of confusion, and some embarrassment as I was stark naked.

 

This did not seem to concern Madam, she wrenched my ruck sack from behind the door, and bundled me into my old coat, and then pulled me through the door , down the stairs and out onto the street. Without further ado she ran me along the quayside and through the door of her restaurant. She fell back gasping against the counter clutching her hand to her amble bosom and let out a stream of Italian, and ended with, ‘Vengono per la scarpa ‘.

 

Looking for the shoe, what was so special about the shoe? She pushed me back into the dark recesses of the restaurant, not before I saw two heavily built men ascending the stairs to my apartment. She caught my stare, and with finger held to her lips whispered the ’Mafioso.’

 

Ridiculous, I thought, but I’d seen enough films to have a suspicion about two men entering my apartment without it seemed knocking, and it seemed sensible to avoid a confrontation - Madam obviously thought so, and she was more familiar with Italian ways and what might be going on locally. She pushed a cup of coffee towards me and looked at me with some suspicion.

‘Che lei ha fatto, il mio piccolo pollo?’ she said pensively, as if to herself.

 

Indeed what had I done , but I wasn’t too sure about being her little chicken. I thought to myself, indeed, what had I done? Well, it occurred to me, apart from some super sex with a young and seemingly free and impetuos girl, nothing. Well, that might not be nothing if she was the daughter of the suave Italian, or even worse his girl friend, in which case he was a lucky sugar daddy, or perhaps his moll - hold on, I thought, here we are back to Hollywood gangsters !

 

The two men came out of my door and stood on the top of the steps, shrugging, and holding their hands out, palms upwards, signalling emptiness to the figure on the departing boat. I stared out across the lake in time to see the Italian deliver a swift smack across the girls face, all pretence of careless bonhomie gone. I stood up so quick in what might be called lovers anger and caught the edge of the table sending the coffee flying, other diners looked round in surprise, remarking in loud Italian on the accident.

 

The two, men coming down the stairs noticed this, and looking at one another meaningfully hurried down the stairs towards the restaurant. Madam, now, it seemed, taking the role of my guardian angel, righted the table, and in one move pushed me to the floor, and sat over me enveloped in her copious skirts.

 

And so ended my stay in Italy between the thighs of two Bella donne, one who seduced me, and one who saved me from who knows what? Belladonna is a drug from the ’Deadly Nightshade’, and as I look at that shoe, which I still have, I reflect that I was drugged in a way, by seductive love. What part did I play in their little game, I shall never know, maybe it was drugs, but do you know what I often reflect on - some fat Italian thighs!