He got up to pace the room, reading her coded questions and appreciating her discretion. ‘I can’t tell her. There’s just too much to lose if she reacts as she did when she first found out. At least this way I’ve still got a link with her, which I feel I owe Freya too.’
‘I’ve never been called a link before.’ If anything, Sofia’s voice was flatter. ‘Well, if I don’t get the chance to talk to you before you go, have a good journey.’
That sounded so much like a sign-off that he tried swiftly to get the call heading where he’d meant it to. ‘Hang on! I’m hoping we’ll get time to talk. In fact—’ he took a breath ‘—when I was out on the bike I happened upon a little guest house about five miles away and I’ve booked a room for Tuesday night.’
‘Why’s that?’
Troubled by her lack of emotion he stopped pacing and sat on the corner of the bed, dropping his voice to an intimate murmur. ‘I was hoping you’d like to … be there with me.’ When she didn’t immediately answer he added, ‘To say goodbye properly.’ More silence. ‘Just overnight, Tuesday/Wednesday. You’d be back ready for whatever shift you’re working on Thursday.’ When you stay and I go.
She was silent for so long that he wondered if she’d fallen asleep with the phone in her hand. Then she sighed. ‘I got another bollocking from Benedetta this afternoon. She saw us kissing. To distract her I told her I’d been to Hotel Alba and let her think I was going to spy for her. I met my aunt today and spying for the opposition is so exactly what she suspects I’m going to do so I feel a scumbag, even though I was only trying to keep my job until I can talk to Amy about moving on, because it might take a while to organise. I’ve been thinking of heading to the coast.’
It was as if chilly hands had stroked up his arms. He found himself strangely reluctant to address the idea of her moving out of Montelibertà, existing in a space he’d never seen. Beach and sea instead of mountains. ‘Hell. I shouldn’t have surprised you with that kiss but you looked so amazing that I couldn’t resist. I’m sorry it dropped you in it and I understand that must have been uncomfortable. But Tuesday and Wednesday are your days off this week, right? We’d be right away from here so I don’t think Benedetta could have her spies out.’
The silence was even longer this time. ‘Levi—’ She paused. ‘I’m going to say no.’ Another pause while she seemed to struggle to speak, and the word ‘no’ reverberated in his head like a death knell. At length she went on. ‘I keep thinking of the title one of Dad’s favourite Leonard Cohen songs, “Hey, That’s no Way to Say Goodbye”. What you’re suggesting sounds no way to say goodbye – getting closer just to get farther apart. It’s brutal. I think I’d rather leave things as they are.’
‘Oh.’ He rolled back on the bed and gazed sightlessly at the ceiling, his stomach plummeting as if he’d lurched into the depths of his own disappointment. He hadn’t realised how much he’d been relying on her saying yes, looking forward to arranging a taxi to the little guest house tucked away up a winding road beside an olive grove. Spending the evening and night with her.
He tried to think. She sounded as if she was saying she was protecting herself, which was positive in a distorted sort of way because it meant she had feelings for him. But positive wasn’t much comfort if it meant he’d never be with Sofia again. Suddenly he was exhausted and empty and as if, in ‘returning to real life’ as Sofia put it, he was ripping off bits of his heart to leave in Montelibertà.
‘You’ve presented a confusing perspective on things,’ he said eventually, his voice now as flat as hers. ‘But—’ He ran out of argument before he could finish the sentence. ‘OK.’
A sniff reached him down the phone line. ‘Sorry. I just think it best.’
‘OK. You sound shattered. I’ll let you go.’
He ended the call and practised ceiling staring for a few minutes, then found the Leonard Cohen song on YouTube and listened to the words. They were about distances, love going and love staying, and not wanting to create ties that couldn’t be untied. It spoke to him of goodbye being the best option.
He hadn’t anticipated Sofia thinking that way.
In the hot midnight garden Sofia pulled herself up wearily from the bench and went into her room, which was stuffy from being shut up. Hanging up her jacket and skirt ready for her shift on Thursday, she fought off the urge to ring Levi and reverse her decision. Her head told her she was right but the rest of her thought she was as mad as a box of frogs. She could have spent another night with Levi.
She opened the shutters on the inside of the window to let air circulate. There was no point wearing anything to bed. She cleaned her teeth and switched off the light, lying on the cool sheet for a while, the only light from her e-reader as she tried to lose herself in a book.
Her mind was too busy to get lost.
Switching the e-reader off, she tried to sleep.
Her mind was too busy to fall asleep.
Hearing Amy come in from her shift, she got up again, pulled on a camisole and a pair of shorts, opened her door and stepped back out into the strip of garden, hoping there weren’t too many bitey bugs on the wing tonight because she didn’t have the energy to start squirting herself with repellent, even though she didn’t want to wake up in the morning covered with big itchy lumps.
Hardly had she settled herself on the bench, which was at least cool beneath her thighs, when Amy’s door opened and she appeared, looking young in an oversized nightshirt with a picture of a cute dragon on the front. Her phone was in her hand as if glued there. Sofia smiled a greeting.
‘I heard your door go.’ Amy perched on the bench alongside her, sticking her lower lip out and puffing damp tendrils of hair from her face. ‘It’s like an oven in my room.’
‘Same. With all these bushes and the vine out here there’s no breeze to our rooms and the summer’s really heating up.’
Amy bundled up her hair and kept it off her neck by resting her head back against the wall and trapping it. ‘I always thought servants were hidden away in attics, not under terraces.’
‘At least live-in jobs have their compensations. If you have to find an apartment or house share somewhere it’s a pain. Especially if you suddenly decide to leave, because you have to give notice and get your deposit back.’
When Amy turned to look at Sofia her fine blonde hair all fell down onto her neck again. Her eyes were massive. ‘So you are thinking of leaving?’
‘A bit,’ she answered unguardedly, needing to blow off steam. ‘I’m sick of Benedetta’s moods. I like my uncle and cousin now we’ve talked properly about the past but my aunt’s definitely against me getting too close to them. I’m beginning to feel a bit done with Montelibertà.’ She couldn’t explain that there was no reason to stay after Thursday because what was tying her to the job was Amy and what Levi needed was to be near Amy as long as he could. But once he’d gone … ‘I’ve fulfilled most of my promises to Dad. I can be young and free anywhere. I’ve barely scratched the surface of that one.’
‘So what are you thinking?’ Amy looked like an uncertain twelve-year-old in her dragon nightwear and her fine eyebrows curling apprehensively.
Sofia gave her a grin. ‘I’m thinking about looking for a job at a seaside resort. I hope you don’t mind though – not Spain, not yet. I want to see other parts of Dad’s country and speaking the language here is a definite advantage. Would—’
The phone in Amy’s hand began to ring and she frowned down at it. ‘Oh. It’s my little brother Louis. Since I talked to Dad the other night both my brothers have called. I think Louis is missing me.’
‘He must be to ring you this late. Answer! I’ll go in to give you privacy.’
‘But what—?’ Then Amy sighed and put her phone to her ear, saying, ‘Are you all right? Why are you up at this time? No, I can’t sleep either but Mum will stress if she knows you’re awake. Is it really hot at home? Yeah, boiling here.’
Sofia patted Amy’s arm and slipped off to her room. She
felt sleepy now. Maybe it was because she’d taken the first tiny step to moving on. She meant to wait until Amy’s call was over and pop out again to ask what Amy thought about moving to a coastal resort in Italy rather than Spain, but lost her battle with her heavy eyelids and plunged into sleep instead.
Sofia began her two days off. She tried hard to catch up with Amy again to conclude their conversation but the younger woman seemed to be either working or asleep. As the season heightened Benedetta had the wait staff working split shifts or longer hours. It was a touch maddening when Sofia wanted to talk.
Frustrated, she went out alone on Tuesday. It was easier to avoid temptation if she kept out of Levi’s way. The temptation of spending tonight with him. She caught sight of him once, frowning and grim as he did something to his motorbike in the car park. It was an awkward place for him to be hanging out if Sofia wanted to leave Casa Felice without encountering him, but she hit on the idea of departing via reception with the excuse of checking whether she’d left a pen behind last night. Benedetta was manning the desk and was obliging enough to search under all the paperwork while Sofia checked the floor but neither of them was able to locate her pen.
Unsurprising, really, as Sofia hadn’t actually lost it.
After a few minutes of the fruitless searching she was able to shrug off the supposed mystery and exit via the front door and around the far edge of Il Giardino, so avoiding the car park.
Strolling down the hill, the sun pressing on the top of her head and exhaust fumes from the traffic drowning out the scents of lavender and oleander, she visited a few shops to gaze at gaily painted ceramics and useful items made of olive wood. Drifting into Piazza Santa Lucia she spotted Ernesto at one of the open-air cafés, reading a newspaper, an empty coffee cup at his elbow. She threaded her way through the tables and asked if she could join him.
Folding up his newspaper, Ernesto proclaimed loudly, ‘Of course! Of course!’ Over more coffee, and later lunch and wine, Ernesto shared his many stories of Montelibertà and whatever he could dredge from his memory about Aldo and his family.
‘And now you’ve met your Uncle Gianni.’ His kind eyes twinkled.
‘I have,’ she agreed. ‘I think Dad would be glad he’s done well. Hotel Alba is very grand and impressive.’ She deliberately didn’t mention their inauspicious first meeting, feeling it didn’t reflect well on either of them. ‘I expect my grandparents were proud of his head for business.’
Ernesto rumbled into an anecdote about Gianni’s entrepreneurship that involved brokering a deal to sell the olives from his parents’ olive grove when he was fourteen. ‘Unfortunately,’ he ended on a roaring laugh. ‘The olives were not his to sell and Agnello had already made a deal of his own.’
Though Sofia laughed she felt the hot prickle of tears more than once as Ernesto’s rich baritone hit all the same rolls and peaks as she’d heard from Aldo for so many years.
At two-thirty Ernesto consulted his watch and declared he had an appointment at the registry in fifteen minutes and regretfully took his leave with two smacking kisses to Sofia’s cheeks.
Feeling as if she were mentally checking out from Montelibertà, even if she could easily be here for a couple of weeks yet, she bought a bottle of water and toiled up the slope to call again at Hotel Alba. The afternoon heat had really taken hold and some of the smaller businesses had closed their shutters for siesta but Sofia had an urge to revisit the gracious building and perhaps tie another of those little strings on her heart.
This time to her family.
As Sofia neared the open area at the front of Hotel Alba she saw her cousin. In a smart business suit, Chiara was evidently taking her leave of a man outside the hotel. Though Sofia hung back, unwilling to intrude, Chiara swung round with a big grin as the man hefted his briefcase and headed off towards the nearby public car park.
‘Sofia!’
They kissed cheeks, Sofia feeling overheated and scruffy next to Chiara’s business chic.
‘You’re just in time for coffee,’ Chiara exclaimed. ‘My parents are away for the day, taking some well-earned time off. Let’s sit on the terrace. It will be pleasant beneath the pergola.’ She chattered about the hotel as she led the way to a wooden table on a curved stretch of paving edged with tubs of clipped box to separate it from a formal garden. The pergola, roofed with split bamboo, filtered the sun without closing it out entirely.
Chiara’s hair was swept up into a topknot. She looked much more at ease in her dark business suit than Sofia ever felt in her similar-but-the-cheap-version uniform.
They ordered drinks from a waiter then Chiara turned to Sofia expectantly. ‘So. Have you come to talk about joining us at Hotel Alba?’
Certain that even had she wanted to join the Montelibertà Bianchi empire, discussing it while her uncle – and particularly her aunt – were away would not have gone down well, she tried not to commit herself. ‘I thought it would be nice to call again. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing.’
Chiara looked happy enough to hear it. ‘It’s lovely to have the opportunity to get to know my English cousin. I’m just sorry I never met Uncle Aldo. But I have something to show to you if you have the time?’
Sofia’s curiosity was piqued. ‘I do. I’m not working today.’
Chiara jumped up and vanished in the depths of the hotel, and Sofia had time to admire her surroundings. The garden was symmetrical and well kept with geometric flowerbeds and an ornate marble fountain burbling in the centre of a grassy lawn.
It was only moments before Chiara returned, a dusty blue volume in her hands, faded tassels hanging from an equally faded chord. ‘Look!’ she urged. ‘This is an old photograph album. It belonged to my grandmother. Our grandmother,’ she corrected herself.
Sofia’s stomach turned over as Chiara placed the album on her lap. ‘Wow,’ she breathed, running her hand over the faded brocade cover before opening it up, inhaling the scent of aged paper. The pages were thick and black, the photographs held in place with shiny black triangles at the corners. She gazed down at a faded monochrome wedding photo, the bride’s eyes glowing, a huge veil frothing back from dramatically waved hair, the groom beaming from above a tall collar and a dark suit. ‘Is that them? Our grandparents?’ she whispered.
‘It is. More than fifty years ago.’ Chiara squeezed Sofia’s arm. ‘They look so happy. But how Nonna ever moved in that enormous dress, I don’t know. And Nonno looks as if his collar and tie will choke him.’
They turned the pages together. Chiara was able to point out great-grandparents and great-aunts and uncles and Sofia had to wipe her eyes. ‘I feel as if the missing part of me is in this album.’
Soon a baby appeared in Maria’s arms in a picture, Agnello beaming beside them.
‘Baby Aldo,’ Chiara murmured.
Sofia had to wipe her eyes again, gazing into the cherubic face. ‘The missing part of him’s in this album too.’
Every page brought a chapter in Maria and Agnello’s lives, a chapter of Sofia’s unknown family history. Another baby joined the family, Gianni; family snaps of picnics and footballs and bikes mixed with the occasional studio portraits. Colour photos became more common than black-and-white.
Chiara and Sofia laughed together over outmoded clothes and cheeky grins, bikes in the garden and birthday cakes in the middle of a polished dining table. ‘This table is in our apartment now,’ Chiara said. ‘My father kept it.’
‘I must have seen it.’ Sofia turned another stiff page.
Chiara tapped a faded colour photograph of a birthday party that depicted Gianni posing with a cake iced with a big 10, children gathered around him. ‘Do you know who that is?’ Her polished fingernail came to rest beside the thin, excited face of a girl who looked a couple of years younger than Gianni.
‘No idea. Should I know?’ Sofia prepared to turn to a fresh set of prints.
‘It’s my mother.’
‘Really?’ Sofia returned to the photo, examining it carefully. ‘Y
our parents knew each other as children?’
Chiara laughed. ‘Almost all their lives. The families were friends and attended the same church.’
‘I didn’t know.’ Sofia began to turn the pages with a fresh eye, looking for that same little girl at other parties, at picnics, riding a bike that was too big for her, wearing an expression of intense concentration. ‘Is this our grandparents’ garden?’
‘But yes, it is on Via Salvatore.’
‘Of course.’ Sofia turned more pages, studying the stone house and its many windows. She worked through the album, pausing for a long time at a photo of teenage Aldo and Gianni in football kit, arms slung around each other’s necks and beaming. ‘It’s nice to see there was affection between them once.’
It was when she reached the pages relating to when Aldo and Gianni were young men that her heart began to beat harder. Not all the photographs were uniform squares or rectangles; some were smaller, as if scissors had been taken to them.
Once or twice an elbow or shoulder intruded at the cut edge.
Someone had been cut off. Sofia had to drag in a deep breath to counteract the drumming of her blood in her ears, realising that one missing part of her was not in these pages – her mother, Dawn. Had someone methodically excised her from the family history? A heartbroken Gianni? A jealous Mia? A sensitive grandparent keen to avoid further hurt?
Chiara had fallen silent as if she were seeing the album through Sofia’s eyes now and feeling uncomfortable.
To alleviate the awkwardness Sofia said, ‘Here’s your mother as a young woman. You look like her.’ The early-twenties Mia in the picture stared at Gianni with her heart in her eyes. Sofia turned page after page. In one of the cut-down images, Mia, Aldo and Gianni were looking towards the cut edge of the photo. Aldo and Gianni were smiling, eyes alight. Mia’s expression was more of a glare.
Very soon, Aldo disappeared from the photos. The snapshots were once again of a uniform size and, after many more pages, Gianni and Mia’s wedding photograph appeared to round the album off.
One Summer in Italy Page 20
