The secrets of the lake

The house by the lake

The document, left at the reception by the charming traveler and waiting to be duly registered, had revealed some important information: the grizzled man, sitting in front of her, came from Rome, he was a doctor and his name was Alessandro Alessandrini. 

Doctor Alessandrini was the only client present in the structure; in fact, during the winter season, the B&B was closed.

In the months of January and February, Marina did not take reservations. In this way she had the opportunity to grant Luisa, the girl who gave her a hand in the summer, a period of well-deserved rest. The two women would meet again at the reopening of the structure, usually scheduled for the Easter holidays. She, Marina, did not feel the need to move anywhere, she preferred to stay calm and enjoy the peace of the season she loved most. For her, the austere winter meant inner tranquility and serenity. 

Long walks on the shore of the lake, admiring the spectacle of the landscape that surrounded her, was such a pleasant sensation that she felt like a balloon. Light. A harmonious union with itself. She was also able to forget the past and all that the whirlwind of events had brought her. He loved going home with his face red from the cold, taking off his heavy shoes and placing them near the wood stove, placed in the kitchen, to dry and heat them.He spent his days lazily, in the morning walking, in the afternoon delighting in front of the fireplace with the body heat of Iris on his knees. 

That is why she did not allow anyone to disturb her in those two months which she considered sacredly intimate and uncontaminable.Since Iris had assumed the absolute and exclusive dominion of cushions, chairs and comfortable velvet armchairs, those sensations had been amplified, with consequent satisfaction of both. That state of affairs, summarized in her emotional perceptions, had not prevented her from replying to the e-mail received a few days earlier, in the e-mail box of the site dedicated to her Bed & Breakfast.

 In the short letter, Dr. Alessandrini requested, with grace and kindness, to be able to stay at the pretty tourist resort for health reasons.In Marina, in many years of activity, it had never happened to have given up that period of well-deserved rest. Not even when passing customers showed up at the door, cold and hungry, had he granted a stop, albeit brief,. Hers was not rudeness or inhospitality, she simply wanted to be alone and in peace. But, reading the perfectly aligned and composed words of the letter, she instinctively felt sympathy for the stranger who wrote her from Rome. He loved the capital. 

She confirmed, without delay, driven by pleasant perceptions, the reservation for January 21, 2018. One Sunday.That man intrigued her, his being alone, his elegant posture, the way of changing expression, that magnetic and intelligent gaze. That harmonious whole, visible to her eyes, had given her an unexpected, yet pleasant, mood. She was drawn to it. She hadn't felt so frivolous for a long time.The woman, after a long and tormented love affair, had sworn to herself that she didn't want to have anything to do with men anymore.

 She finally found herself alone but, until that moment, she hadn't felt the desire for a new passion, a new relationship. She had got used to silence and solitude: all in all she was fine. She was no longer a little girl, she had found herself sharing her days with a maturity that came almost suddenly, an old age that had reached her early when her parents had flown to the sky leaving her that rustic house on the shores of the lake. A lovely location. Since then she had completely dived into work. With soul and body he had renovated the stone farmhouse, obtaining two spacious double bedrooms in the attic. 

He thus discovered entrepreneurial attitudes in her that he combined with a passion for the preparation of sweets and jams: focaccia, cakes and other delicacies to offer to his guests.Enough men, she told herself one day, while observing the calm waters of "her" lake. It is enough to suffer for love. But she had to admit that Alexander had managed to shake her out of that kind of sentimental lethargy.They were sitting facing each other on that afternoon of a cold January day. The glow of the lit fireplace merged with the reddish brushstrokes of a sunset to be admired beyond the window.

- Doctor Alessandrini, would you like some tea with a slice of apple pie?

The man lowered the newspaper, giving Marina a knowing smile.

- If it's your doing I can't refuse and please call me Alessandro.

Suddenly the evening had come down to obscure everything, outside, in the still chill of a colder winter than usual. Marina, after adding some logs to rekindle the fire, left Alessandro heading into the cozy kitchen to prepare the drink, the water was already ready in the kettle placed on the stove since the morning. As he picked up the sugar bowl, he stared at the jar of pills. Small pills that had the task of keeping her quiet. One a day was enough. The whole bottle would have been lethal. She returned shortly after with the tray, the vanilla-scented tea, and two slices of the cake that she was best at: apples and pine nuts! Iris, meanwhile, had curled up at the man's feet, generously expanding her purr. 

The atmosphere, made particularly welcoming and evocative by the warmth of the fire, was suitable for interrupting all formalities. Marina wanted to know what drove Alessandro to travel more than six hundred kilometers to reach the Dolomites and Lake Santa Croce. In the middle of winter. With several degrees below freezing, many shops closed and not a single soul around.

- I'm celebrating my birthday tomorrow. Did she make this delicious cake for me?

Marina laughed so hard that Iris woke up looking at her with disapproval.

- I confess, I knew about the birthday, checking his document I could not fail to notice it. 

I apologize for my silly curiosity.Marina smiled mischievously as she sipped her tea.

 He looked down, perhaps he blushed.

A muffled silence fell between them again, full of expectations.