Marco

Coincidence is a marvellous thing. The odds of leaving Rome behind, reaching Courmayeur full of excitement, dropping by my favourite Gelateria before even getting to the hotel, only for the spumoni to be as thawed as a soda. Crikey! Three months of prolonged agony over whether or not the job would be safe, yet feeling, at last, the promise of eternal love in the form of Marco who firmly stood by my side throughout many a sleepless nights spent wondering about just that, led to this. In the left hand a light bag, over it my favourite beige jacket. The only consolation, a near perfect similarity in shade between the stain-phobic garment and fast melting caramel lolly. Why? Oh Why, solar Gods, would you think this to be proper punishment for my desperation to get as close as possible to the Alps? It was only my second time in the area, for pity's sake, and I promise, the only chunk of my infinitely tight budget that would have gone to the now defunct frozen little pleasure. After all, it had been Marco paying for the package, so who was I to complain? 

Away from my beloved for some strange reason, never had licking my wounds so acutely been experienced. Any quibble on my part had more chance of being met by the prospect of the wild delicacy coming undone twice in a short span than its replacement meeting this rather unforeseen, joy erasing stress test of sort. The once impeccable texture of Miss C, placid and pleasant only a year ago, now turned into something of an aesthetic-free liquid that would have been more at home in the nearby bin. I almost did not like ice cream any more. It felt like too much hassle, all things considered, for the briefest of instant gratifications. Too futile a self-imposed tradition, of sampling at least one new flavour when out of Rome, if trouble potentially came with the cone. Suddenly the phone rang. At the other end Marco, coming out of an ice cream parlour, in celebration of our anniversary. As happy as a sand boy having just completed his last run. Really? As if what just happened was not already hard enough to digest, Helios, Amun-Ra and Apollo, in the most random meeting, of no stakes whatsoever nor any value for addressing the more pressing issues of our time, had decided to up the ante on little old me, the ideal candidate with whom to have their field day...fury and amusement unleashed in equal measure. From his lively voice, Marco too seemed like he was having fun, a lot of it, unknowingly at my expense. Before I could ponder over whether it was, in fact, my absence making him this jovial, the ten minutes’ walk to my abode for the stay, a charming hotel nestled between the panetteria and souvenirs arcade, had been completed. Not much to unpack on this occasion, instead a quick shower and dinner in the downstairs restaurant awaited. At least that was the intention. 

Refreshing lavation? Ticked. Getting dressed in five minutes top before the closure of the eatery? Absolutely. I had done it countless times and that Tuesday evening brought with it the added motivation of an empty stomach to repeat the exploit. From across the lobby I spotted Alessia, the head waitress, with a certain look of anxiety. What could possibly be wrong? Fears over her pay check? The telepathic transposition of my job situation into hers? It was not like Courmayeur was in danger of losing visitors in their droves. Or was it? Before I could enquire, in her gentile, soft accent, she broke the news. Have you not heard, Ms Pendleton? Do you need any help? Her uplifted facial expression telling a whole different story from that of her somewhat trembling voice. The glacier might collapse, we are in the process of asking people to evacuate. Oh my! The trip, truly, had been a bit of a waste. Come the next morning, the travel bag would have to be repacked. Similar sounds from Antonio, the hotel manager, who was quick to relieve Alessia of the burden of informing unsuspecting guests, all forty of us he told me, left the accidental tourist I had become under no illusion that the brief escape had been both unnecessary and ill-timed. It was, as they say in journalistic jargon, a developing story. One of a big mountainous ice block about to give way and possibly leave local businesses and residents out in the cold for weeks on end.

The situation, we learned, was being monitored by the hour, individual TVs turned off on each floor to avoid us being cut off from the rest of the group, in a state of panic. Active thoughts resumed, I could see that the melting lolly was, beyond doubt, a subtle warning. With Courmayeur by then on high alert, it was really time for me to say goodbye. Fast. So I did, half disappointed, half grateful. Having thanked the hotel staff for their most incredible welcome and assured Antonio of another visit in the near future, I headed out. The last train departing for Turin was only a few minutes away, its front lights hitherto beaming across the most picturesque Aosta province landscape. As I made it safely inside the first carriage, an announcement was heard. Dear passengers, it is the hottest day of the year so far, so we are giving all of you free ice cream. Please wait by your seat for a service attendant. Coincidence is a marvellous thing when fortunes are so rapidly changed. There I was, on my way to the slow food movement capital of the world, and in many ways, the original home of gelato bliss, being fed gelato that had seldom tasted more exquisite. Not a Euro in sight, my hard earned cash safely stored away, alas, for a rainy day. Another call from Marco to check on our current position reminded me how lucky I was to have such a fine man as partner in crime, though lately not so much. At times he had all but appeared preoccupied.

I am coming to Turin, he said. What, today? How could that be? For all I knew, the Eternal City was some distance away to be travelled from, even at high speed. But Marco was himself a miracle. So anything could happen and in the length of time he had been in my life it often did. Sure enough, he was at the train station when I reached. Whisked away to our hotel by a taxi driver who spoke perfect English, we entered the ballroom to Nicola Piovani's Il Treno per Istanbul. Marco had just returned from the city when we first met and had promised to take me there one day. The beauty of our room, meanwhile, left me speechless, as had done the slow melody full of dreams and hopes that carried us through the corridor leading us there. It was not just a hotel room, it was a little piece of paradise, another one after the mouth-watering, quite unforgettable, and yes, non-sticky treat enjoyed en route. He had arranged it all, without uttering a word. This was him, the one who had captured my heart, at his best.

It took a knock on the door to reacquaint me with the reality of room service. As I opened it, a restaurant cloche of the finest marble stood there and smiling next to the most intricate piece of hardware I had ever seen was Marco. He lifted the cover, at that moment a tear fell from my eyes. They came in all colours, pink, brown, purple, yellow. Little scoops of ice cream elegantly displayed in a heart shape, adorned with a central piece, the black box. Soon on one knee, I could already taste the sweetness of our next twenty, thirty, forty years together unfold. Annie, will you do me the honour of being my wife? Will you marry me? How could I refuse? He had no substitute, was everything I could have wished for and so much more. As I got closer, the unique display revealed a note from Alessia and Antonio wishing us much happiness. No way did Marco have them in on the plan. How could this have been possible? And what about the place where it all began, the Gelateria? It turns out he had made them do a special tortoni, but the sun had proved too strong. Still, there was no issues with the state of the glacier in Courmayeur affecting the incredible warmth and kindness of the locals, no bad luck filled lollies, no conspiracy from Greek and Egyptian deities to separate me from sorbets and sundaes.

The only thing extraordinary happening that hot, long summer, and so like him, was Marco putting everything into place to make me see that what I loved he did too and above all, that never for a moment had he wanted to let me go.