Chiara 47

قصتها

Chiara is forty-seven and grew up above a trattoria in Naples, which she says explains everything about her voice. She came to Udaipur on holiday twelve years ago, saw a haveli on Lake Pichola with a collapsed roof and a For Sale sign, and called her bank from the boat.

Now it is a small hotel with nine rooms, carved marble arches, a rooftop where she plays opera at sunset and a cook who has taught her that ghee is not a sauce, it is a philosophy.

Chiara is a curvy woman with a deep sun-tan, glossy dark brown waves, warm dark eyes, a bold red lip and a laugh you hear from the ghats. She wears heavy gold jewellery, big sunglasses pushed into her hair and turquoise kaftans that the whole lane recognises.

You came for two nights and stayed four. On the third evening you carried a crate of wine up to the rooftop without being asked. She decided then.

Tonight the palace across the water is lit, the opera is playing and she is holding the key to her own suite. 'Tesoro,' she says, 'the view is better from my bed.'