Hast thou heard the butterflies
What they say betwixt their wings?
Or in stillest evenings
With what voice the violet woos
To his heart the silver dews?

– Tennyson, Adeline.


Claudia awoke and saw that the sun was already well above the horizon. The view from her bedroom window was of a cloudless azure sky and a sea more tranquil than any she had yet seen. It was a calm day and the cool of the night still lingered in the airy room. Her Sicilian summer wore on and with each passing day she fell more and more in love with the beauty of her new home. Indeed, Tintamare was more than a mere house; more than a valuable piece of real estate. It was an object dear to her heart, a precious legacy and a place of mystery like none she had ever encountered.

She felt a slight movement on her tee-shirt and looked down. There, between two folds of white cotton was a large, iridescent green scarab beetle. She smiled as it paused to regard her coolly through glistening black eyes. Deciding that she posed no immediate threat, it continued climbing towards her with delicate antennae waving. She caught it easily and felt it tickle her palm as it struggled feebly against her. She strode out onto the balcony and tossed the little insect high into the air. The beetle tumbled a few times; its beautiful metallic tints catching the morning sun, then it unfolded its wings and flew off on the breeze. Claudia watched it as it wheeled against the sky then turned and flew towards the garden.

“Claudia the Merciful,” whispered a voice deep in her mind; a voice so subtle that she could scarcely distinguish it from her own thoughts.

“Indeed I am,” she answered almost unconsciously.

She looked down and saw Carlo walking towards the stone stair dressed only in a towel. As this was his last day with her, she guessed that he wanted to go for an early swim then prepare for his flight to Palermo. Then she noticed that he carried a small basket and a long pair of tongs. Intrigued, she waited until he had begun his descent to the beach before slipping on a skirt and following him. She glanced at the harpsichord on the way out and made a mental note to dust it today as she had not done so in weeks. She ran down the stairs to the back door and out into the garden. Almost immediately, the fresh aroma of pine greeted her. There was a grove of very old pines to the west of the house in a part of the garden that she was yet to investigate. Again she made a mental note to do so once Carlo had gone and she was alone.

She walked along the path passing a profusion of wild flowers; blooms of every form, aroma and hue. Furry black and yellow bumble bees were busily at work upon the flowers; making the flower heads bow to her as they landed upon them. She paused and imagined herself an elf-queen with the forest creatures paying her homage and seeking her protection.

She reached the stone wall at the cliff’s edge and peered down. There, for an instant, she saw Carlo’s tanned legs and pale buttocks framed by the turquoise water before he disappeared under the surface. She noticed that he had left the basket next to his towel on the beach and she now waited for him to surface. After several seconds he did so with something brown and bristly on the end of the tongs. He swam strongly to shore; muscles working in perfect rhythm; propelling his body smoothly through the water. Watching from high above, she found this a beautiful picture and a good way to remember him once he had gone. He repeated his task several times; often returning with two of the brown bristly things. Soon the little basket was full. He dried himself, wound the towel around his loins then picked up the basket and proceeded up the stairs. At the top she greeted him with a quizzical look. He smiled broadly and presented the basket to her as though she were an empress and he – one of her lowliest vassals.

“See – oorchins!”

She took the basket from him and stared at the hapless sea creatures. The urchins’ spines; moved slowly and with perplexity as they found themselves unaccountably out of water. They had seemed brown from a distance but were in fact a variety of colours; ranging from purple to a muted green. Instinctively Carlo took the basket back and said reassuringly,

“Many, many out there. For you, I cook beautiful dish for lunch, buonissimo, called the fettuccini con ricci di mare. My mamma teach me this – huh.”

She smiled, “Grazi mio bello.”

They had a long breakfast at which little was said. Claudia looked into Carlo’s eyes as though she were about to lose a friend that she had known for years and, as he looked up at her, it was plain to see that he was doing his best to hide his own regret behind his easy smile. They swapped phone numbers and e-mail addresses and he told her that he needed to spend the evening in Agrigento with his mother. Claudia understood of course, she nodded and glanced at the wall clock. Lunch was still a good four hours away.

She waited until he had taken the last sip of his espresso then took the cup from his hand. She sat on his lap facing him and took hold of his head with both hands. One look from her bewitching eyes was all it took and he was her slave once more. With a deep sigh she kissed him as Carlo grasped her firmly by the hips. Claudia wasted no time in dipping her tongue into his mouth and sucking upon his lips; lips made doubly delicious by the aftertaste of the strong, bitter coffee they had just shared. She immediately noticed the aroma of the sea clinging to Carlo’s skin. Its effect on her was magical and brought to mind all the things in which she delighted and all the things that aroused her. Now she gripped the back of his head and moaned as she drank in all his manliness. He still only wore his beach towel so Claudia struggled to rid herself of her tee and of her skirt. Once the former lay discarded, Carlo swiftly unzipped the skirt and Claudia wriggled out of it.