Fortunately, breakfast with Lizzie was already on Sergio’s agenda – she had suggested as much the night before – so he was not surprised, as he stood on his balcony, to see her marching across the piazza in his direction, with Angelo and Giuseppe Scota in tow. Every few steps the two men had to break into a little trot, just to keep pace with her determined strides. Sergio smiled to see his ministers so completely emasculated by their British visitor.
Before long, they were in his quarters, assembled around Sergio’s desk. Sergio was dressed for business. In front of him a blank sheet of paper and a full ink pen betrayed their purpose. He had enjoyed a restful sleep, and the steady chiming of the clock throughout the night, rather than interrupting his slumber, had helped to keep the demons at bay.
Now Lizzie paced up and down. Angelo and Giuseppe Scota took their seats opposite Sergio, who sat patiently awaiting instruction.
‘You know there are jobs, don’t you?’ said Lizzie, eventually, having mulled it over for a while.
‘Jobs? What jobs? Where?’ said Sergio.
‘Everywhere. But you’re going to have to let some students graduate to fill them. It’s a chicken-and-egg thing.’
‘There is nothing keeping our students at their studies. They are free to enter the job market as soon as they graduate. They just haven’t quite fulfilled their full academic potential as yet.’
‘Well, Woolf wants to be a writer.’
Sergio scowled. ‘What do you know of Woolf? He is a low-life reactionary, not a writer. Has he been putting far-fetched ideas into your head?’
Giuseppe Scota’s ears had pricked up at the mention of one of his favourite students. ‘Woolf wants to be a writer? Why didn’t I know this?’
Lizzie shrugged. ‘Yes, he wants to be a writer. But his full-time studies prevent him giving it the time it needs. And apparently you’re lining him up for a post-post-graduate degree.’
‘Well, he’s a good student with much he can offer to academia, but he cannot fulfil his true potential without having completed his studies.’
‘But he wants to be a writer and he’s got things he should be sharing with the world now, while he’s a driven young man with the promise of life ahead of him – not when he’s a cynical old professor.’
Scota winced at the reference, but Lizzie continued unabashed.
‘And imagine what happens when Woolf is a writer. He finishes a book and he’ll need it published, won’t he?’
Sergio’s imagination immediately leaped to the baskets of loose-leaf manuscript he himself was storing for some such event.
‘It will need printing and then selling, won’t it? And a bookshop would be a huge boost to the – to the buckets and rope you’ve got on sale currently.’
Scota and Sergio each frowned for separate reasons. Sergio was imagining the many steps he’d have to take before he could be signing freshly printed copies of his own memoir, on sale in a bookshop visible from this very balcony. Scota was imagining the steps he would have to take to release a tranche of students to start fulfilling these new roles.
‘You’re going to need a printing press, some editorial staff and designers anyway. For the newspaper.’
‘The newspaper?’
‘Of course. There’s a great guy at the university who’s practically running a newspaper already. Edo is his name. He’s full of ideas and passion. He just needs encouragement, and perhaps a little investment. And Maria wants to be a florist.’
‘A what?’
‘A florist. She’d like to sell flowers from a shop here – and maybe make arrangements for special occasions. She’s already making the floral arrangements for Dario’s bar, and Piper’s been enquiring for some bigger and better ones for his place too.’
‘Flowers.’
‘Yes, but, of course, that’s a little way off.’
Sergio thought for a moment. ‘There used to be a florist … What was her name? Angelina? Yes, Angelina used to run a florist’s shop, didn’t she, Angelo?’ Sergio suddenly recalled his mother walking into a room, her nose buried in an armful of blooms.
‘Yes, but Angelina died and nobody took over. The shop has been empty ever since. I think the women here have been a little, er, preoccupied, for a while now. Certainly too busy to think about such trivia as floral arrangements.’
This comment drew Lizzie up short. She addressed the men with fire in her eyes. ‘Flowers aren’t trivial. They’re fundamental. When you make space for flowers in your life, it means you’re on top of all the other aspects. Well, that’s what my mother always says.’ She paused, searching for the link that had so neatly presented itself. ‘And they’re fundamental in other ways too. They help the other stuff happen.’
There was a knock on the door.
‘Right on cue!’ announced Lizzie, and ran to welcome in Civicchioni, without even checking with Sergio that this was acceptable.
‘Enzo’s here,’ she called, over her shoulder, as she hugged him. ‘Leave the door open, Enzo. Breakfast should be right behind you.’
‘Good. Excellent,’ said Civicchioni, his delight at Lizzie’s warm greeting evaporating at the sight of his president, slack-mouthed, shaking his head.
Lizzie skipped back to the desk, gaiety in her step and voice. ‘We were just talking about flowers,’ she explained, leaning heavily on the last word as if that would make everything clear to the newest arrival.
‘Flowers,’ he confirmed, an edge of uncertainty creeping in.
‘Yes, flowers. And I was just getting to the bit about how fundamental flowers are to, you know—’ She was interrupted by a polite cough from the open door.
‘Ah, breakfast. Perfect.’ The clock chimed half past six and Sergio, Angelo, Scota and Civicchioni exchanged baffled looks behind Lizzie’s back. Sergio raised his eyes to the heavens, but he was smiling broadly.
Lizzie moved an occasional table out from against a wall and began to unload the trolley, setting out plates, knives, a butter dish and a mountain of pastries and breads. ‘Tuck in, everyone. I’ll be mother.’ She poured a cup of tea for each of the assembled men, making much of the filtering process as she sloshed it from cup to cup, straining it as she went. She took a cup to each man perched around Sergio’s desk and then, as she was about to sit down, pulled herself back up to her full height, sighing loudly. ‘Silly me. Honey.’
She went back to the trolley, came back with the pot and allowed the men to follow her movements. She stirred in a full spoonful of honey slowly and deliberately.
‘If you stay here long enough, young lady, you’ll learn to drink our tea as Nature intended,’ muttered Sergio, taking a full sip of the scorching, bitter liquid and sucking it through his teeth noisily.
‘No chance. I don’t actually take sugar in my tea at home – but here? Sorry, I really do find it too bitter.’
‘But tea is our symbol, and to dilute it is to dilute its message, its symbolism.’
‘There’s a point to be made here,’ argued Civicchioni. The extraordinary, awakening property of his first sip had immediately set his brain in motion and he sprang into action, taking his lead from Lizzie’s strangely exaggerated movements. ‘Honey is nearly as important to our nation as tea. It could easily justify its place as a national symbol too,’ he pronounced, reaching over to help himself to a generous spoonful.
‘Honey? Since when?’ Sergio looked suspiciously from the minister to Lizzie and back again.
‘Well, without bees, we probably wouldn’t have any tea,’ answered Civicchioni, now deliberately stirring the honey into his own cup.
Sergio looked sharply up at this new development. ‘We wouldn’t?’
‘The tea plant, in its own right, is actually sterile. It relies entirely on the bee for its fertilization,’ he explained, slurping from his cup happily.
‘Yes, of course. Simple science,’ agreed Sergio, cautiously, uncertain of the direction in which this might go.
‘And if we were to do anything to deny the bees
a good habitat in which to thrive, they might suffer. Perhaps that is what Lizzie referred to as the fundamental task of the flower.’
‘But we wouldn’t allow such a thing, would we?’ Sergio glanced nervously around the table, but the men seemed focused on their breakfast, examining the pastries with great care.
‘Well, I suppose there would be a risk posed if we were to over-cultivate the tea plantations – we might quickly find that a monoculture might be self-destructive quite quickly. If the bees didn’t thrive …’
Sergio, anxious now that another unforeseen disaster was about to befall him after the rigours of the last few days, felt desperate. ‘But isn’t that what we’re about to do? Have already done? Aren’t we in danger of planting the bees out of existence if we follow the American’s demands? Perhaps we’ve passed the point of no return already …’ He scanned the room wildly for hope. He found it in Angelo’s eyes, which met his.
‘Well, I think you’ll find that your minister has anticipated this type of threat and is already putting in place some contingency plans to mitigate any risk.’
‘Contingency plans?’
‘Well, it’s important to ensure we don’t do any lasting damage to the eco-structure, you know. I’m just talking about a bit of set-aside to keep the insect world happy.’
‘Well, thank goodness for that. Good work, Enzo. Good work. How much should we set aside?’ Sergio relaxed and brightened, feeling in control once more.
‘Enough. Plenty. Enough to ensure the continued safety of the tea crop. Our American consultant has his agenda, obviously, but it is up to us to ensure the ongoing security of our country’s natural resource. I’m not sure these delicate matters, the intricate balance between flora and fauna, fall within his remit. And our own experts feel that perhaps we ought to protect our national interest from unforeseen forces. Complex issues. The maths alone …’ Civicchioni reached for the right words and appeared to find the answer, after a few moments of silent contemplation, in the depths of his teacup.
‘Sometimes, Sergio, it is the job of government to protect the people from the acts of government,’ he said conclusively, satisfied that nothing more needed to be explained.
Sergio followed the logic of the argument and readily concurred. ‘Yes, yes. So we set aside some land to allow the insect world to flourish. Excellent. I’m very happy to hear it.’
‘Which is why you have bees, and why I can add honey to my tea. It’s all part of the same cycle, really,’ offered Lizzie, encouragement in her voice.
‘Yes, yes, I’m following the argument, Miss Holmesworth, but my men have yet to furnish me with some detail. You’ll have to be patient with me. I expect you’re used to legislation passing at speed but here we have a process that is accompanied by a lot of debate and a quorum. My immediate problem is that I’m not absolutely following the government procedure. My government’s procedure, that is. Where would we set aside the land, Signor Civicchioni?’
‘Oh, we haven’t consulted extensively but possibly the upper north-west, sir,’ he answered, perhaps a little too quickly.
Sergio thought of the area and recalled the beauty of the land. ‘Haven’t needed to go up there myself for a while. Bit busy, you know how it’s been. But hasn’t that recently been cultivated with more intensive planting? I seem to recall that was where we were achieving the maximum number of plants per hectare.’
‘Yes, but the tea there hasn’t always been first class. We’re getting a better quality from the upper south side now.’
Sergio took an appreciative sip. Yes, it had certainly never been finer. ‘So you are masterminding this initiative, are you, Signor Civicchioni?’
Once again, the minister couldn’t quite meet his eye. And Sergio understood he was getting close to the crux.
‘And supposing we do set aside some land for some more diverse planting, how long will this take? Have you a plan?’
‘Well, not exactly. But I consider myself to be very fortunate to be surrounded by people who are instinctively very good at this sort of thing.’
‘Such as?’
‘My wife, Augusta? Angelo’s mother, Ada, a few others.’
‘Let me get this clear. Your wife and Angelo’s mother are helping you to anticipate our government’s potential short-sightedness and guarantee the safety of our entire country’s tea crop by singlehandedly planting some flowers?’
‘Well, yes, I suppose that’s the short version.’
Sergio allowed this information to sink in again, and tried a couple of times to voice some sort of intelligible response. But his mouth just gaped and nothing at all came out.
‘The important thing, sir, at this precise juncture, is to use this information to our advantage, politically speaking,’ chipped in Angelo.
‘Quite,’ agreed Civicchioni. ‘I mean, we’re fine, aren’t we? We didn’t risk the crop, we’ve done no long-term damage and perhaps if we could find a way politically, publicly, to recognize the people who masterminded the operation, we could turn this very much to our favour.’
‘You mean tonight, in my speech.’
Lizzie chewed her lip, barely able to contain her excitement as realization spread across Sergio’s face.
‘I publicly acknowledge their part in this and by doing so I publicly acknowledge our collusion.’
‘I think,’ said Angelo, ‘if I might be so bold, it may be politically useful to go one step further.’
‘By doing what?’
‘By making a gift of the set-aside land back to the people. Allowing them to take ownership of the land for themselves. It might help them feel compensated for the land that they have lost over the years to the great tea experiment.’
‘And a scrap of land would serve as compensation, would it?’
‘Well, to be fair, I haven’t measured the exact curtilage. It may be a bit more than a scrap. It may even, by chance, somewhat match exactly the area of land lost to the tea plantations on the north side.’
Sergio nodded, wondering if perhaps, like his men, the less he knew about it the better.
‘And I think we may want to go one step further in your speech, sir, if we can. I’m wondering if perhaps you might want to backdate the gift of the land.’
‘Backdate it? To the start of this fiscal period? I can’t see that being a problem.’ Sergio, animated now, was scribbling notes as he spoke.
‘I was rather thinking by about a decade.’ Angelo kept his eyebrows raised high as he looked squarely into the face of his president. Now was not the time for a weakening of resolve.
‘Backdate a gift by ten years? Are you serious?’
‘I think it would make people feel very comfortable with the decisions that have had to be taken. If you backdate the gift, it will allow them to make more long-lasting plans, the better to protect our tea crops. Without actually breaking any laws along the way.’ Angelo spoke with confidence; Civicchioni backed him with enthusiastic nodding. Lizzie fiddled with her ponytail, barely able to contain the grin that was trying to spread across her face.
‘Is there anything else you want me to do, other than give away what sounds like a substantial area of land to the people of this country and to backdate that gift by two presidential terms, even though I knew nothing about the need to protect this land for all these years?’
‘Well, we may want to allocate a few resources to that area, sir. The land is valuable. It really is the land that keeps our tea, and therefore the whole country, safe. Not to mention the fact that most of the country’s foodstuffs could – hypothetically – come from that area.’
‘Of course, if it’s to play such a vital role in our future prosperity I agree entirely. We can protect it immediately, build some walls, station some men, now that we’re investing such a huge amount of money in the area, let alone attaching so much importance to it. This is surely a job for Alix. We must consult him.’
‘I wasn’t really thinking along the lines of security. We may just want to em
ploy a few of the women who are already working very hard voluntarily. I think if we were to allocate a few resources to it, perhaps a bit of irrigation too, then we may get some of our women back. We’re rather missing them, sir.’
‘So you’re suggesting we’ve lost more than just Augusta and Ada to the project.’
‘I think you’ll find that’s where all the women spend most of their time. And when they do get home, they’re exhausted. If we can find a way to help them out a bit, perhaps they’ll have a bit more time for – for dancing.’
Sergio smiled to himself and began at once to craft his speech.
CHAPTER 44
In Which the Bell Tolls
In the final hours before the celebrations were due to commence, a stillness hung in the air, punctuated every fifteen minutes by the proud toll of the bell. Each clang reminded the citizens of their appointment that evening, stirring up the thrill of anticipation and sending it rippling through a city gripped in the final throes of personal preparation – the dresses and suits, the shining of boots, the braiding of hair.
And, to Sergio’s watchful eye, it seemed that the city was indeed ready. It glistened and gleamed as if, with the reparation of the clock, the fabric itself had begun to heal. The paint was a little less flaked, the stonework shone with a new lustre, the windows gleamed and bounced the early-evening sunlight around the piazza, adding to the overall sparkle. The stage was laid out beneath the clock tower. Red and black bunting framed the set and the proud flags of Vallerosa swayed gently in the cooling evening breeze. The band had already been out to practise, to the satisfaction of all concerned, and had now left the sheet music pinned to their stands, ready for the opening ceremony. Chairs were neatly set out, those flanking the stage for dignitaries and special guests, while row upon row of chairs facing it were for the city folk, those who had braved the queue at Remi the postman’s horribly disrupted post office to buy tickets for a comfortable seat. Other onlookers would simply crowd into the piazza and fill the space around. Loudspeakers had been rigged to allow the voices of the orators to ring out around the town.
The Museum of Things Left Behind Page 31
