Capri in the City at The Berkeley Brings the Italian Summer London’s Been Waiting For

'Hey Hun, what's up?'

I say into my phone to Ana while slotting it snug between my shoulder and right ear. My laptop finally slipping into its tote.

'Jess, guess what's back?' She shoots down the phone to me.

'I have no idea. You guess?'

She shorts herself on a chuckle before telling me off. Before telling me that if someone says to guess. You guess. Before reminding me, that me and her husband are the worst at this game.

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I tease and remind her that us Caribbean people stand united for better or worse in her guessing games. Point out her flaw. In that simply telling someone to guess without any pointers or clues is wild. When she refrains from garnishing any hints I shoot guesses at her.

'The aliens are back.' Chuckling.

'No.'

'You've won the lottery.' Excited.

'No.'

'LL Cool J called. Personally.'

She hesitates. 'Not yet.'

I stop with my packing, the guessing and the absurd so she'd tell me. Put us both out of our misery. Instead she offers a pool and The Berkeley, Knightsbridge.

'Capri in the City?'

'Yesss. Capri in the city is back.'

The cosmetic purse, I'd been closing, fell.

'Jess?'

'Ooh Ana, I don't think we're allowed back there. Do you? Not after we all ended up in a pool that was strictly off limits.'

'Maybe not. But that was your fault. I only shifted a little for us to get in the photo and you fell back.'

‘You 'shifted a little? What? I was launched, Ana.’

'And when you got out, pushed me in.'

'Well that I did. If I fell in, we were all going in. Only felt sorry for the poor staff whose night we impacted. Quietly scrambling behind the scenes to stop us looking like a bunch of drowned kittens.'

Courtesy of the Berkeley

We laughed and I relaxed.

'Ana, Ana, Ana. Unfortunately for us, I don't think The Berkeley or Capri in the City are gonna have us back after that level of shenanigan.'

'Hmm. Shame. Just remembered that wood fired pizza we had. And the prosciutto di Parma so creamy.'

She sinks into an Italian accent I never knew she had. I mirror her 'hmm.' Concur it was indeed good. So good, we ordered two, to take away.

'And their tiramisu and limoncello they serve the right way.'

She says 'the right way', as someone who's personally vetted all of Italy. And as this is Anastasia, who knows. But I swear she's the one now teasing me. Agree the limoncellos and the way they presented them in their hollowed fruit skins were different. Here now my memory orchestrates me down a lane. Reminds me it was James who jumped in to save my absolute embarrassment, when I catch myself. And when I do, swiftly collect my make up purse from the floor.

'Jess.'

(The shorter version of my name is one syllable yet Ana manages to stretch it out.) 'Don't tell me you're still at work. 'Even Jonno is home.'

'I'm packing up. I said swiftly.'

'Hun you work too hard.'

I go quiet.

Because she wouldn't know the version of me refreshing my emails at 2am. Hoping someone—anyone—would trust me with more than a feature wall.

The version of me undercutting myself, my worth just to win a contract and yet lose it.

The version of me worrying if...

She didn't need to. Though Anastasia and I have been friends since university where James introduced us.

'Jess,' she calls back to me when she's done with Jonno. Are you sure we can't go to The Berkeley tonight?' I decline and we instead talk handbags and heels. We don't ever mention Charlotte.

Before hanging up sometime later, Jonno joins Ana again. No one mentions James either. And that hurts most.

Desk cleared, I sat with my thoughts.

Is James' truth the truth?

Was I at fault for not making clear my intentions? How did James invite me to a wedding only for him to get back with his ex?

I ask it as if somehow I'll now get an answer. Like if I think hard enough, I'll now make sense of it. But I'm just left all the more annoyed and irritated.

Nothing but a security guard doing his rounds outside my office moves. He's new but we acknowledge each other, though not like I do with John.

I look to my bags stacked next to each other on the desk. This should feel like winning. The staying late. Having something worth staying late for. Instead, I am trying to put distance between that situation with James and Charlotte. And ever so often my mind does its own thing. Misses a step. Slips and falls on him.

Still, it wasn't all bad. I look to the space I now occupy as my office. I may not have walked away with him but my interior design business has taken flight. When I say it like that, it sounds a fair trade, even if it doesn't always feel like one.

Because I now have an office. And two clients with Coutts & Co bank accounts. And since the other is a recommendation from the first, there's pressure to deliver. Not only for myself but to Mr Feversham who made the recommendation. But it was James that made the introduction. And for that I am grateful. I'll let his name live in the foundations of what I'm building.

I look to my office windows and out. Spring has got the sun hanging around London's sky longer in the day. And except for those big birds climbing out of Heathrow there isn't a single thing marring a big blue London sky. And we know that's a rarity.

Laptop fished back out it's leather tote, I typed four words. Deleted two. Retyped another two before I scrolled down, up and down again. Typed and clicked and closed the laptop before returning it to it's tote. Because when was the last time I had such a good night out?

'Ana?'

I try sounding casual when she picks up my call. 'Are you still up for Capri in the City?

'Yaa,' she says hesitant, before I have to shift the phone away from my ear when it sinks in.

I confirm our 21:30 seating and she declares it a reason to get dolled-up.

***

On my return home, I got dolled into blue, white, gold and arrived at the doors of The Berkeley Knightsbridge, to learn that I have somehow, unbelievably managed to have gotten there before Anastasia. She'd better have a good excuse, I say to myself after reading her text.

Lifts ride to the ninth floor like a magic carpet where doors part to the Berkeley's Rooftop Bar and pool and an attendant greets me.

A faint citrus note catches the nose. The expensive Capri kind and for a little, I make believe I'm on the sun-soaked Italian Riviera. Not London.

But for excited chatter, cutlery on crockery, laughter peeling in a corner, London is quiet up here. Outside, the last of the evening sun is lingering across the terrace. It comes off a setting sun hued of honey and blues.

But for London's skyscraper line and a cooler 18 degrees Celsius you'd be forgiven for thinking your overlooking a cliff-top in Ana Capri. The terrace's take on a Capri summer. Induced of colours and prints. Lemon trees lining the terrace while vibrant yellow terracotta potted olive plants liven corner spaces. Delights the eye. Transforms this piazzetta.

When the option of a lounger is presented, I decline the table reserved for us.

Capri in The City - Courtesy The Berkeley

Heels click below my ruched strappy-mini-flippy-linen dress as we leave the dedicated dining area to the pool. We pass the aperitivo bar, where yellow-white seats for two, sit under a bountiful arch of cascading pink bougainvillea, to the very end of the pool where navy blue-white striped loungers form an orderly row.

My thoughts don’t slip to him. And if they did, they didn’t stay. I sit back relax. Watch London's skyscrapers' lights draft the skyline, when I hear Anastasia call, 'there she is.'

I look up to see her approaching. Her pair of fancy shorts, a popping print where her solid white crisp ruffle neck blouse tucks into it. Legs strutting out before her, I watch those heels step ever nearer me and too guests, watch her pass by. She steps over to me with much sass and I get up out of my just made comfortable perch to tell her so. She however, is quick to tell me she's imitating me and we hug-squeeze and laugh.

She apologises for being late. Jonathan. But she whispers his name and tips her head towards me. A subtle glance ensues and I mirror it before settling into our lounging positions. at the empty pool. Next to us, the other loungers become occupied of pairs, groups of friends.

Nibbles and drinks arrive. My first sip citrussy sharp and something a little dangerous, we cheers Jonno and to a good night out.

‘Hear, hear,’ I say. ‘And no one pushing anyone.’

‘I don’t push.’ She delights in telling me.

‘No. You shift and launch, I know.’

And somewhere between the limoncellos, laughter and the last of the evening light, Capri in the City delivers exactly what it promises. A little pocket of Italian Riviera summer and truly relaxing vibes.

So whose in need of a night at Capri in the City

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Love Jessica and Anastasia's relationship? Read more of them here.

Want something more British and just as casual in the area. See here

Looking to stay in London.

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Capri In The City at The Berkeley Knightsbridge

Cuisine: See Capri in the City Menu

Good for: Sun soaked summer evenings / Relaxed evenings / Girlie evenings out / Fun dates

Worth knowing: Reservations are a minimum of 2 persons. Loungers available for walk-ins. The pool is strictly off limits. The loungers are best suited for drinks and snacking.

Served by Clare & co on the night with very warm hospitality.

Open: Wednesday to Sunday at 19;30 and 21:30 / Closed Mondays and Tuesdays

📍Wilton Place, London SW1X 7RL