Across the Pool

Anna had booked the villa because the photographs made it look isolated.

Technically, they had not lied.

There were only four villas around the pool.

Two were empty.

The third contained a family who left each morning before breakfast and returned after sunset.

The fourth contained a man named Luca, although Anna would not learn that for three days.

At first he was simply the man across the pool.

She was forty-four and travelling alone for the first time in nearly twenty years.

Not travelling for work.

Not accompanying children.

Not attending a wedding.

Just travelling.

The idea had seemed liberating when she booked it.

It felt less liberating at nine o’clock on the first night when she realised she had nobody to ask whether the restaurant down the hill looked decent.

She went anyway.

The next morning she carried coffee onto the terrace.

A man sat across the pool reading.

Mid-forties perhaps.

Dark hair going grey at the temples.

Bare feet.

He looked up.

Anna nodded.

He nodded back.

That was all.

Over the next two days they developed the sort of familiarity travellers sometimes acquire without introduction.

He swam early.

Anna swam late.

He ate breakfast outside.

She read outside.

He went somewhere every afternoon on a battered rented scooter.

Anna walked into town.

Sometimes they passed at the gate.

“Morning.”

“Morning.”

His accent was difficult to place.

On the third evening Anna opened a bottle of wine.

She couldn’t find the corkscrew.

The villa had six knives, three frying pans, a lemon juicer and no visible method of opening wine.

She searched drawers. Cupboards. Nothing.

Across the pool, the man was sitting outside.

Anna looked at the bottle.

Then at him.

This was absurd.

She carried the bottle across.

He looked up as she approached.

“Sorry.”

He smiled.

“That sounds serious.”

“Do you have a corkscrew?”

He looked at the bottle.

“Emergency.”

“Exactly.”

“One moment.”

He returned with one.

“Luca.”

“Anna.”

“Australian?”

“Obvious?”

“Only slightly.”

He opened the bottle.

“You?”

“Italian.”

She laughed.

“I should have done better.”

“I live in London.”

“That explains nothing.”

“Exactly.”

Anna returned to her terrace.

Ten minutes later Luca lifted his glass towards her.

She lifted hers.

After that they spoke occasionally.

Small conversations.

Weather. Restaurants. The supermarket. The aggressive cat that wandered between villas as though it owned the property.

They never arranged to spend time together.

Somehow they did.

On Thursday Anna came home late and found Luca reading beside the pool.

“You’ve been drinking,” he said.

“One glass.”

“Three.”

“Two.”

“Your walking suggests three.”

She laughed.

“Rude.”

“Accurate.”

She sat on the edge of the pool with her feet in the water.

Luca closed the book.

“What are you reading?”

He showed her.

She didn’t recognise it.

“Good?”

“No.”

“Why continue?”

“I’ve already invested two hundred pages.”

“That’s sunk-cost thinking.”

“I know.”

“Very unhealthy.”

He smiled.

“What are you reading?”

Anna held up her book.

Luca frowned.

“I’ve read that.”

“Good?”

“No.”

She stared.

He laughed.

“Sorry.”

“What is wrong with you?”

“Many things.”

The following afternoon rain arrived without warning.

Anna had walked into town.

By the time she returned she was soaked.

Luca was standing beneath the covered communal terrace.

He watched her approach.

“Three kilometres,” Anna said.

“In that?”

“It wasn’t raining when I left.”

“Weather often changes.”

“Thank you.”

“I try to help.”

She stood beneath the roof dripping onto the tiles.

Luca handed her a towel.

“You carry towels?”

“I saw you coming.”

“Oh.”

Something about that sentence stayed with her.

Not dramatic.

Not flirtatious.

He had seen her.

Prepared for her.

It was surprisingly intimate.

The rain intensified.

Anna sat at the table.

“So we’re trapped.”

“For perhaps twenty minutes.”

“That’s not trapped.”

“I was trying to make it exciting.”

“Needs work.”

Luca made coffee in his villa and brought two cups out.

They talked properly for the first time.

He was forty-seven.

Separated.

No children.

Worked in logistics.

The holiday was meant to have been with a friend who cancelled.

Anna told him she had two adult daughters.

One had told her to “do something weird” while she was away.

“Have you?”

“Apparently talking to a strange Italian in the rain.”

“Very dangerous.”

“Terrifying.”

The rain lasted two hours.

Neither seemed bothered.

That evening they cooked separately.

Ate outside separately.

But the pool no longer felt like a dividing line.

Anna became conscious of Luca in a different way.

The sound of his gate. His footsteps. The moment his terrace light came on.

She suspected he noticed the same things.

On Saturday morning he swam while Anna drank coffee.

When he climbed from the pool, he caught her looking.

Anna did not look away.

Neither did he.

That was new.

Luca smiled.

Anna raised her cup.

He bowed theatrically.

She laughed.

Later that afternoon Anna lay reading in the shade.

Across the pool, Luca appeared carrying a chair.

He placed it somewhere unusual.

Facing her.

Not directly.

Close enough.

Anna looked over her book.

“What are you doing?”

“Reading.”

“Your view was better before.”

“Subjective.”

She looked back at the page.

Didn’t read a word.

For the next hour they existed in a strange, comfortable awareness.

Nothing happened.

That was what made it work.

Anna had spent years in relationships where everything required explanation.

This needed none.

The following evening Luca asked if she wanted dinner in town.

“Is this a date?”

Anna asked.

He thought.

“Would you like it to be?”

She appreciated that answer.

“Maybe.”

“Then maybe.”

Dinner lasted until midnight.

Walking back, their shoulders touched occasionally.

At the villa gate Luca stopped.

Anna waited.

He kissed her.

Briefly.

No performance.

No urgency.

When they separated, Anna smiled.

“That took you long enough.”

“I was being respectful.”

“You were being terrified.”

“Also true.”

She kissed him again.

Longer.

Luca's hand settled at her waist.

Anna felt the heat of his palm through the thin fabric of her dress.

When the kiss ended, neither stepped back.

“My villa?” she asked.

Luca looked at her.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

That answer changed his face.

He followed her inside.

The room felt smaller with two people in it.

Anna put her bag down.

Luca stood near the door as if still giving her the chance to reconsider.

She appreciated it.

Then got tired of appreciating it.

“Come here.”

He did.

Anna kissed him and pulled his shirt out of his trousers.

Luca laughed against her mouth.

“Not terrified now?”

“Moderately.”

“Good.”

She undid his buttons.

He slid the straps of her dress from her shoulders.

The fabric fell to the floor.

Anna stood in her underwear and watched him look at her.

At forty-four, after years of marriage and years of becoming invisible in tiny domestic increments, she had expected to feel self-conscious.

She didn't.

Luca's attention felt direct rather than evaluative.

Hungry rather than critical.

“Beautiful,” he said.

Anna shook her head.

“No speeches.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Better.”

He kissed her neck.

His hands moved down her back.

Anna reached between them and felt him hard through his trousers.

That pleased her more than she wanted to admit.

She unfastened them.

Luca pushed them down.

Anna wrapped her fingers around his cock.

He closed his eyes.

“Still moderate terror?”

“Less.”

She stroked him.

“Good.”

Luca kissed her again, then dropped to his knees.

He pulled her underwear down and looked up.

Anna nodded.

His mouth went between her thighs.

Anna gripped the edge of the kitchen bench.

The first touch of his tongue made her gasp.

The second made her stop thinking about the fact they had met across a swimming pool.

Luca held her hips and licked her slowly, then harder when he found what made her legs tense.

“Fuck.”

He looked up.

Anna almost laughed.

“Don't you dare stop.”

He didn't.

She came standing against the counter with one hand tangled in his hair.

Afterwards she pulled him upright and kissed him.

“Bedroom.”

Luca followed.

Anna pushed him back onto the bed.

For a moment she simply looked at him.

He smiled.

“What?”

“I've been watching you swim for a week.”

“Ah.”

“I had theories.”

“Were they accurate?”

Anna climbed onto the bed.

“Some.”

She took his cock into her mouth.

Luca's answer became a broken sound.

That was better than words.

Anna took her time.

Not because she wanted to tease.

Because she liked seeing the calm, observant man from the opposite villa lose composure.

His hand settled lightly on her shoulder.

When he was close, Anna stopped.

Luca groaned.

“Cruel.”

“Respectful.”

He laughed.

“Your definition has changed.”

Anna reached for her bag.

“Condom?”

Luca pointed towards his discarded trousers.

“Wallet.”

“Prepared.”

“Optimistic.”

“Terrified but optimistic.”

“Exactly.”

She found it.

Luca rolled it on.

Anna straddled him and lowered herself onto his cock.

Both exhaled at once.

She stayed still for a moment, feeling the stretch.

Luca's hands rested on her hips.

“You okay?”

“Yes.”

Then she moved.

Slowly at first.

The same rhythm as their week across the pool.

Recognition.

Pause.

Another step.

Then Anna stopped caring about metaphor.

She rode him harder.

Luca sat up and kissed her.

His arms wrapped around her back.

Anna pressed against him and moved until both were breathing too hard to speak.

Luca rolled her beneath him.

She spread her legs wider.

He pushed deep.

“Harder.”

He did.

The headboard struck the wall.

Anna laughed once.

Then stopped laughing when he changed angle and hit exactly where she needed him.

Her nails dug into his back.

Luca fucked her with a steadiness that made her orgasm build slowly, then all at once.

She came around him, legs locked around his waist.

He kept moving until his own body tightened and he buried his face against her neck.

Afterwards they lay tangled in damp sheets with the balcony doors open.

The pool lights shimmered outside.

Luca looked across towards his empty villa.

“Strange.”

“What?”

“My chair.”

Anna followed his gaze.

“It looks lonely.”

“He has had a difficult evening.”

She laughed.

The following morning, Luca was back on his terrace.

Anna carried coffee onto hers.

He raised his cup.

She raised hers.

Then he held up a piece of paper.

ROUND TWO?

Anna laughed.

She found a pen.

AFTER BREAKFAST.

Luca wrote:

CRUEL.

Anna replied:

RESPECTFUL.

He nearly fell out of the chair laughing.

The holiday ended three days later.

At the airport they exchanged numbers.

For months they spoke.

Sometimes daily.

Sometimes not for a week.

Neither forced the connection into anything bigger than it was ready to become.

The following February Anna received a message.

A photograph.

The pool.

Empty.

Beneath it:

Same week?

Her daughter, sitting opposite at breakfast, noticed Anna smiling.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“That is absolutely not your nothing face.”

Anna turned the phone over.

“Remember when you told me to do something weird?”

Her daughter narrowed her eyes.

“Oh God.”

Anna laughed and picked the phone back up.

She typed:

Book the villa across from mine.

A reply arrived almost immediately.

Already did.

Anna smiled.

Some routines were definitely worth repeating.