Wife And Mother Forever

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IT WAS four o’clock and almost time for Signora Rinucci’s birthday celebration to begin. Gleaming black limousines were gliding up the hill to the Villa Rinucci in its place of eminence, overlooking the Bay of Naples.

The food and wine were laid out on the great terrace of the villa, best Neapolitan spaghetti and clams, fruit grown in the rich volcanic soil of Vesuvius, wine from the same place. A feast for the gods.

High above, the sky was the deepest blue. Far below, the blue was reflected in the bay, sparkling in the afternoon sun.

‘A perfect day.’ Toni Rinucci joined his wife on the terrace where she was looking down the hill, and laid his arm gently around her shoulder. ‘Everything as it should be.’

He was a stocky man of sixty with grey hair and a heavy face that broke easily into a grin. As always, his eyes were tender as he gazed at his wife.

She was fifty-four but could have passed for her late forties. Her figure was still as slim as a girl’s. Everything about her spoke of grace and elegance, not to mention marriage to a rich man who delighted in spending money on her.

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