“I don’t know that I am prepared to have you living here any longer, Francesca, unless you do something to modify your situation.”
“What!”
“I shall have to ask you to leave the house. You have a large enough allowance to allow you to live where you choose. I don’t see why it should be here.”
“You’re throwing me out? Why don’t you throw her out, little Miss Arse-licker? Why me? I’m the one that needs help.”
“Yes, you are, but you won’t take it when it’s offered to you, so there’s no alternative. I mean it. I want you out of here by the end of the month. My offer of help is good until then, but if you don’t accept it, you go.”
“An ultimatum.”
“Yes. I’m afraid so.”
“Oh fuck off, go on fuck off. I’ll go alright, I must have been mad to come here in the first place. Just go and fuck yourself and leave me in peace, you bitch. Get out. This flat is still mine till the end of the month, right? Well get out then, and don’t set foot in here again. Go on, go and tell little Miss Prune-face, the arse-licker, all about it. Go and concoct some more horror stories about Francesca the lush. Go and console yourself, and remember you did your best, you tried so hard, you’re such a wonderful mother.” Her voice had grown progressively louder and now she laughed hysterically, tears flowing down her face.
CHAPTER FIVE
Emily managed to hear most of the latter part of this conversation, as she had found it necessary to pop down to the ironing room while Diana was in the flat next door with Francesca. She waited till her mother had gone back upstairs before emerging with a freshly ironed dress. As she came out of the door, she saw Arturo walking from the garage towards the house and waved to him. He was rather tall and thin, with a receding hairline and watery blue eyes, a very thin mouth and a weak chin. Time had not been kind to his face, and he bore little resemblance to the man she had married fifteen years earlier. They walked into the house together and went straight upstairs to their bedroom.
“Artù, it’s been a dreadful day, I don’t know what’s happening to everyone. There’s been an appalling row with Francesca, and wait till I tell you about Cosimo. Even he has been awful to Madre. I heard him this morning, and then when she tried to reason with him after lunch, they had another row.”
“Cosimo, her little darling! I can’t believe it. What about, for God’s sake? I thought they always saw eye to eye on everything.”
“Not this time, wait till I tell you,” she said gleefully, and recounted what she knew.
Diana, feeling that things were slipping from her hands, went into the kitchen to talk to Signora Bianchi about the Friday evening dinner. The evening meal was under way, and the smell of vegetable soup filled the kitchen.
“Buona sera, Dora. I’ve probably come at a bad moment.” She waited for the denial that came promptly.
“No, no. It’s all under control. I was just putting the salad ingredients into bowls.”
“Well, I wanted to talk to you about the dinner on Friday. I believe I mentioned it.” Dora Bianchi nodded, as her great hands plucked at the green leaves, tearing them into pieces of roughly the same size.
“It’s an informal thing; I thought we could have two types of sauce for the pasta, one meat and one vegetarian. I’ll get Orlando and Arturo to barbecue stacks of sausages and spare ribs, and if you could do a couple of quiches for the vegetarians, I think that would do. Oh, and a giant salad.”
“How many are actually coming?”
“Well, all of us, the twelve music teachers and Miriam Greene. So that’s twenty, no twenty one, I forgot Giorgio. Get on to Riccardo about vegetables, eggs and the wine, and I’ll get Emily to see about the meat. I expect you’ll need help, so Emily will give you a hand, and I can get one of the twins, or both come to that, to help as well. Will that be alright?” It was a rhetorical question.
“Yes, that’ll be fine. Where are you eating, inside or out?”
“Oh, out I think. It would be a crush in the dining room and make more work for afterwards. Ask Riccardo to bring up two trestle tables and sufficient folding chairs. Miriam will need the big chair from the dining room as usual. I think that’s everything.”
She went to her study, one hand massaging her forehead in an attempt to relieve the headache that was starting to impinge on her consciousness. She was obviously too tensed up. It had been an awful day. The evening meal would probably be ghastly with people either absent or unpleasant. She could hear the girls back from their riding, chattering together, and opened the door to talk to them.
“Hello, how was the ride?”
“Oh it was wonderful. We went down to the river and galloped over to the fields below the football stadium,” said Harriet
“Yes, only Zoë’s horse didn’t want to get his feet wet so he refused to cross over and she fell off,” laughed Annabel
“Is she alright?”
“Oh yes, just a bit wet. It’s her own fault anyway; she’s got no authority on a horse, that’s what Zia Chiara says. You have to show them who’s boss.”
“I see. Oh well, I’m glad you had a good time anyway. Off you go for your shower or you’ll be late for dinner”
They ran off up the stairs, their blonde hair swinging in long plaits. They were lovely girls, and it was true that Emily had done a good job there. They were doing well at school, enjoyed riding and swimming and tennis; both were playing instruments, Annabel the violin (Diana was giving her lessons) and Harriet, the pianoforte, like Cosimo. It was hard not to make comparisons. Zoë did ride, but whether or not she enjoyed it was questionable. She was doing well at school, actually better than the other two scholastically, but was obviously unhappy and was the only child in her class to be repeatedly reprimanded for rudeness, though the rudeness was mainly a form of sullen silence. Also, her report card noted that she took no part in the social life of the class, and did not work well on projects with other children, preferring to work alone. She had started playing the violin, but despite, or perhaps because, Diana had tried to give her hand, she had given it up a year ago. She was not easy to teach, or so Diana had found. She always felt very irritable when teaching her and got snappy with her. It had been a relief when the child had given up trying. Even her looks did not endear her to Diana, as she was a clone of her father, a beautiful child, with long dark hair and dark eyes, so different to the Guerrazzi line, who all had red or blonde hair, and blue or green eyes, with the exception of Emily, who bore an unfortunate resemblance to Diana’s older sister, Beatrice, who had bullied her unmercifully all her life, and who still came to holiday with them at intervals, overstaying her welcome and interfering with Diana’s arrangements, upsetting Dora Bianchi, nosing into the vegetable garden and telling Riccardo how to do his job, explaining to Diana how she could run things more economically and generally making a well-meaning nuisance of herself.
She went to the cupboard and poured herself a gin and tonic. She sat down nursing it and trying to relax. Thoughts whirled in her mind chaotically. Giorgio and the school; Ambra, well she was either in need of a doctor and old enough to decide about that herself, or she could wait till tomorrow; today had been bad enough. Angelo, what to do? Francesca’s voice telling her what a failure she had been as a mother. Cosimo. Cosimo. Cosimo. She couldn’t back out now, she’d gone too far. She knew she was right, just as he knew he was. An impasse. Francesca saying “an ultimatum!” and being so vulgar and unkind about Emily. Emily, so righteous and such a dear. ‘A drug addict and a gambler’, so Francesca thought so too. Angelo, how to approach him? No one to discuss things with. How had it all happened, and when, when had the rot set in? She felt sense of impending doom, an intangible menace that threatened to engulf her life, annulling any good she may have done, leaving her only the bitterness of her failures.
At eight o’clock, she braced herself and serenely entered the dining room. Only Emily and her family were there.
“Good evening Arturo. Did you have a goo
d week?”
“Yes, not bad, thank you.”
Ambra came in looking rather pale, and said, “Cosimo is eating out; he’s already told Signora Bianchi.”
“So are Francesca and Zoë,” said Emily. “Signora Bianchi told me.”
Orlando arrived, “Sorry I’m late, and good evening to you all.” he went up to his mother and gave her a peck on the cheek, put his hands briefly on the shoulders of the girls as he passed them and sat down.
“Where’s everyone got to this evening?”
“They’re all eating out, or are even later than you.” said Emily in a disapproving tone. She got up and went into the kitchen, returning with a large soup tureen and ladle.
“Shall we wait for Chiara, or shall I start serving, Madre?”
“Oh, I think we can start, otherwise it’ll be late and I’m going to the concert in the Duomo this evening. Who’s coming?”
“I am,” said Orlando firmly, passing plates of soup down the table as Emily ladled them out.
Emily was so surprised that she blurted out, “You?”
“Watch out Emily or you’ll spill the soup all over the tablecloth. Yes me, why not?”
“No reason, just you never do. We’re all going too. What about you, Ambra?”
“Not me. I don’t feel very well actually. I think I must have caught a tummy bug or something.”
“Do you need to see the doctor, darling” asked her mother.
“No, I’m sure it won’t last long. I’ll have an early night and I’ll probably be fine tomorrow.” She smiled brightly.
Chiara burst into the room, and sat down quickly.
“Sorry I’m late Madre. Pass me some soup Emily, before I faint away. I’m starving. I’ve just had a very exciting chat with Piero, Madre . Actually that’s why I’m late. You’ll never guess,” she paused to gulp down a spoonful of soup, swallowed it and continued, “He’s going to open a riding school, and he wants me to go in with him; he’s coming to see you tomorrow, Madre, so you can go into all the details with him, but it’s so exciting. It’s just what I wanted, and not right under your nose either. You won’t smell the horse dung from the other side of the river.” She ate some more soup and then became aware that there was total silence in the room.
“What’s the matter with you all?”
“Chiara my dear, could we discuss this later, when you’ve calmed down. I hardly think this is the time or place to talk about business.” Diana’s tone was icily calm.
“Oh, of course, sorry, Madre. I never do think before I open my big mouth. Sorry everybody.” She gave a quick embarrassed smile at the others and ate the rest of her soup with her eyes on her plate and a pink face.
Emily smiled at Arturo as she turned from the table to take the soup back to the kitchen. He stood up and said, “I’ll take that and help you bring out the next course.” She held the door open for him and they went into the kitchen.
“Artù, can you believe it? Chiara must be mad talking like that. It sounds like she’s told Piero that Madre will finance her.”
“Your mother looked furious.”
“Well I’m not surprised, they all ask her for money all the time, you know. I’m sure Orlando must be up to something. I nearly dropped the ladle when he said he was coming to the concert. He’s after more money, and she’s already spent such a lot on him. There was that shop of his that went broke so fast, and before that there were the other little schemes. You remember when he wanted to get his pilot's licence and invest in that tourist plane company?”
“God yes! The trouble is, Emily, that your mother isn’t awfully fair. I mean you do all this work and look after her and the house, but all you get is an allowance like the others. I don’t see her financing you in any way. If she wanted to, she could buy us a house and set you free. As it is, we’re all stuck here, totally dependant. I’m sick of it.”
“Oh Arturo, I couldn’t ever leave her.”
“No, of course not. I see that,” he sighed. “Here give me the salad bowls, you take the other stuff. They’ll wonder where we’ve got to.”
The meal passed with very little said and then they all went up to get cardigans, or jackets, because it would be cool by the time the concert was over. Orlando drove them there in the station wagon. Chiara had decided not to come after all, so she and Ambra cleared the table and stacked the dish washer.
There had been no word from Angelo.
Signora Bianchi waddled home to her husband, and her son and daughter-in-law, who lived with them, with their three noisy children. She found it very refreshing to hear normal conversation, with the children laughing loudly and playing with their father in the courtyard. She sat comfortably in a large canvas chair crocheting a centrepiece for a table. A neighbour joined them and pulled out her knitting. Her husband brought them out some wine and little cakes and the children all ran up and begged for some. She smiled benevolently at them and felt very happy. The television was blaring from the house next door, and a baby cried and was comforted. Children shrieked and ran about wildly, while she and her neighbour put aside their work for a moment to nibble at the cakes, sip the wine, and gossip comfortably.
In the Duomo, the cathedral dedicated to St. Christopher, set at the top of the hill town, Diana led her family into the front pew. They sat facing the giant statue of St. Christopher, the organist to their right. The pews were extremely uncomfortable. They were of the sort that dig into the back and had no doubt been designed to keep the congregation awake during even the most boring of sermons. Diana's ramrod back, however, had no need of support, and the rest of her family bore the discomfort in silence. She nodded at a few acquaintances and, when the concert was over, went to talk briefly with Hilary Wright, an English acquaintance, who was with a rather good looking man. However, by the time she reached her, the man had disappeared into a side chapel where he seemed to be engrossed in an attentive observation of a painting that celebrated the town's release from the grip of the plague, due to divine intervention. They discussed the concert briefly and then Diana took her leave. As Hilary walked home with Ruggero, her lover, who was a magistrate, he asked her who she had been talking to.
“Another hybrid like me,” she replied.
“There seems to be a lot of them in this town,” he said.
“I'm afraid so. That was Diana Fothergill, the widow of Pier Francesco Guerrazzi.”
“Good heavens. An illustrious personage then.”
“Yes, rather. I'm not a bosom buddy.”
“But slightly more than a nodding acquaintance.”
“More or less. You could have waited to be introduced.”
“Did you want me to?”
“Why shouldn't I?”
“How you would have introduced me?”
“As a friend, of course.”
“Ah! Of course.” He grinned.
Hilary and Ruggero had only met a short while ago, and their relationship was still new enough to be slightly embarrassing. Ruggero, who had been sent to Borgo San Cristoforo to head the investigations for the first murder case in the area for some years, had fallen in love with Hilary, a widow, who lived alone and worked as a translator. They had both been taken by surprise, and were wary of commitment, as both had lost a partner in tragic circumstances. Their plan now was to go for a holiday in a remote mountain area, and see how things worked out.
They walked in companionable silence to her house and were met by Cassius, her Siamese cat, who had already accepted Ruggero as part of the family.
“Have you sorted out some one to look after him, while we're away?”
“Of course. I'm very organised, Ruggero. I have been running my life on my own, for years.”
“Yes, I suppose you have.”
“Have you ever had a cat?”
“Not for years. We always had at least one at home, when I was a boy, but not after I got married. There was no one at home all day, and living in town, well… it didn't seem fair.” He stroked the cat, a ve
ry large un-doctored tomcat with massive shoulders and a truncated tail. “He really is big, you know.”
“Yes, but he's a very gentle cat, except when other toms try to spray on the terrace, then he is extremely fierce.” The cat threw himself on the ground, and rolled on the cool tiles, he gently took Hilary's leg between his paws and lovingly nibbled at her leg. She shook him off and they went to sit on the cool terrace. The cat followed them, and sat on the table staring at them, then he jumped off and disappeared into the night.
“I'm going up to town tomorrow. I still have to finish up some paper work, and close up the flat. I might stay the night but I'll try and get back as soon as I can.”
“Good.”
“I think you'll love the chalet, it's very high up, nearly two thousand metres, and cool, cold at night, and very primitive.”
“Good, I like things that are primitive.”
“What sort of things.”
“I especially like primitive men.”
“I am shocked. I'd better leave, I'm too civilised for you.”
“No, you’re not. I think you're just about right.”
CHAPTER SIX
Thursday morning heralded yet another hot, sunny day. Early in the morning, Riccardo, the gardener, moved among the marrow plants cutting off the ripe zucchini, and carefully detaching the yellow, male marrow flowers. He laid them side by side in shallow crate. They would be sold to the local greengrocer, unless they were needed at the house. He had already picked three crates of tomatoes. Lettuce would be picked later for the house, so that it would be fresh for lunch. He straightened up and looked about him. There was lush growth everywhere, giant pumpkins fattening up, cucumbers, aubergines, peppers and chilli peppers all doing very well. Leeks were already in for the winter, and the onions, fat and juicy, could be lifted whenever they were needed. A large dark green patch of ‘bietola’, a leafy vegetable similar to spinach or kale, would keep going all year as he had planted an everlasting variety. He loved being in the garden and did a lot of the picking himself, except for the soft fruit. For that, the family would descend on the rows of raspberries, black-currants, or strawberries, depending on the season, and then there would be great activity in the kitchen with everyone giving a hand for the making of jellies and jams.
The Tuscan Mystery Trilogy Page 27
