Amore and Pinot Grigio - a Guido la Vespa Christmas Tale [Guido la Vespa] (BookStrand Publishing Mainstream)

by Bell, Veronica

  “Okay,” she said, hoping she was masking her disappointment. This is just about fun, Sigrid, she kept telling herself. Just enjoy the moment. So what if it has an expiry date? Ultimately, life does, too, right?

  Sigrid and Sandro arrived back at the estate about three hours before Christmas Eve dinner was being served.

  “I’d better go shower and change, Sandro.”

  “Yes, me too, but first I had better go see if Papa needs anything. Come in and say hi to my parents before going up to your suite.”

  “I’m all grubby though and…”

  “You’re fine. And my parents really like you and they know we were out on our bikes. They don’t expect us to look ready for a gala premiere or a charity ball.”

  Sigrid laughed. “Okay.”

  But she stopped laughing when she saw the expression on Sandro’s face change almost as soon as they stepped into the front hall.

  He looked worried and confused, as did his parents. What was going on?

  “Sandro, caro, there is someone waiting to see you.” Giuseppe nodded toward the sitting room.

  Sigrid looked over and saw a short and voluptuous dark-haired woman in high heels and a form-fitting pant suit standing by the Christmas tree, exactly the kind of woman that had always been the bane of Sigrid’s existence, not too different from Doug’s trampy government lawyer, actually. Even in high school, short, dark, curvy women were the ones all of Sigrid’s crushes had gone for, the mean girls that made her feel like a big, un-sexy, gangly geek.

  The woman looked over and cried out, “Sandro! Sandro! Buon Natale!”

  Sandro’s body language changed. He oozed strain and tension rather than his usual sexy self-confidence and ease. “Flavia,” was all he said.

  * * * *

  She burst out into the hallway, with her teeth extra white against tanned skin, and threw her arms around him, a hug he returned, to Sigrid’s dismay, though at least he didn’t appear to return it with enthusiasm. “Ma che bello! Still so handsome,” she said in English, looking over at Sigrid.

  “Flavia, this is Sigrid, a friend from Rome, well, from Canada, really. She’s going back there at the end of January.”

  Why would he say that to her? Sigrid wondered. It was none of her business. Did he want Flavia to know she was going to be old news soon enough?

  “Piacere,” said Sigrid.

  “Oh, she is so cute when she speaks Italian!”

  “Not really,” said Sigrid. “I’m not really that cute.”

  Sandro intervened. “Sigrid, this is Flavia Della Lucia.”

  “Not for long. Actually, that is why I am here. I am divorcing Enrico and I wanted to ask your father if he could recommend to me a good divorce lawyer. Your father”—she looked over at an angry-looking Giuseppe—“was always so good to me. So I thought he might help. And of course, I had to see you.”

  Sandro turned to his parents and to Sigrid. “I hope you will all forgive me if I ask for some time alone with Flavia?”

  Sandro’s parents nodded but said nothing, leaving the room quickly. They did not look happy. Sigrid did the same, but forewent the nodding. Up in her suite, she burst into tears. This was going from being the best Christmas of her life to the worst, the absolute, no-competition, hands down worst. She showered and changed for dinner and was in the middle of towelling her hair when she heard a knock on the door.

  “Come in,” she said.

  It was Sandro. “Hi,” he said, almost shyly. “Listen, I apologize for earlier. That was quite a shock.”

  “Yes, it was a shock for me, too.”

  “Look, Sigrid, I need to talk to you. It is very important, but dinner is being served in an hour or so, and I have to go run an errand first. So I just wanted to ask you to set aside some time after dinner and before midnight mass to come out for a walk with me. I need to explain some things to you, things I should have explained earlier today or even last week.”

  Sigrid thought she would be sick. “Sure. See you at dinner.”

  He nodded, looking grim and determined as he shut the door and left her there. Sigrid almost felt sorry for him. She could tell that he had no desire to hurt her. Feeling pretty grim and determined herself, she knew what she needed to do.

  Chapter Nine

  Sigrid arrived back at her B&B shortly after midnight—on Christmas Day in the very early morning. It was quiet and nearly empty—apart from Sigrid, just one couple from Sicily and the maintenance staff were there. The Sicilians had put a large candy cane on her doorknob with a Christmas card attached. That was sweet. Thank goodness I’ve got some of that Tetra-Pak wine Sandro holds in such contempt in my fridge, because man, do I need a drink.

  She hoped Sandro’s lovely parents would be not offended by what she had done, but she simply could not stay and be dumped on Christmas Eve and then head off to midnight mass and sing “Gesu Bambino” and “Adeste Fideles” as though all were well in her world. Besides, it did not seem right to force Sandro’s family to deal with unspeakable tension for the rest of the Christmas season. They were such kind people and she was not that good an actress. Surely it was better for all involved for the break to be clean and swift.

  While still at Sandro’s parents’ home, Sigrid searched the internet and found that the last Frecciarossa, or high-speed train, from Florence to Rome on Christmas Eve left at 10:30 in the evening. She also found that for an extra fee she could bring Guido la Vespa with her on the train. So, she booked a ticket and paid the extra fee and, with the help of online maps, found the fastest way from the Totti estate and vineyard to Florence’s Santa Maria Novella Station.

  She wrote an apologetic note to Mr. and Mrs. Totti, assigning no blame to their son, simply saying that “under the circumstances” she felt it best to go back to Rome. She packed up her belongings, put on some clothes suitable for a whirlwind trip on Guido la Vespa and, with her best stealth gait, began to make her way downstairs. She heard Sandro’s parents talking and it sounded as though they were in the kitchen which, thankfully, didn’t give out onto the stairs or the sitting area. Sandro was out, as he had said, probably with Flavia. Sigrid felt ill even thinking about the possibility. The cousins lived elsewhere so all that was left for Sigrid to do was say good-bye to the cats. She saw them both sleeping in the sitting room, by the tree. “Arrivederci, gatti,” she whispered, giving Boris and Maximillia each a quick kiss between the ears. “E Buon Natale.”

  Then it was out the back door and onto Guido la Vespa. Then Florence, all decked out in Christmas beauty—she was almost tempted to book a hotel and stay a few days but decided that the risk of running into Sandro or his parents over the holidays was too great—and now Rome, her home away from home, but unfortunately sans Guido la Vespa.

  For once she arrived at the station and checked in with an attendant, she discovered that there was no room for Guido on the train.

  “But I made a reservation,” she protested, “only a few hours ago.”

  “I am sorry, miss, the mistake is ours and you will be reimbursed. Sometimes there are errors in our online reservation system, particularly at such a busy time of the year. There simply is not room on this train for your Vespa. You can still travel, though.”

  “What do I do with Guido, though?”

  “Guido?”

  “My Vespa. That’s what I call him.”

  The attendant, a fifty-something man with a great white beard, smiling eyes, a gravelly voice, and a name-tag that said “Niccolo,” laughed.

  “That is wonderful, to name your Vespa!”

  “Well, thanks. He just seems like a little person to me with his headlight-eyes and his…you don’t want to hear this.”

  “I would love to hear it, but if we keep talking you will miss your train. You have two options: one would be to park Guido at the station and take your chances he will be safe and come back to Florence in a few days and get him. I think you should take that option because a lovely woman like you should spend time in this jewel of
the Renaissance.”

  “Yes, I would like to come back, in fact, I plan to, but first of all, I don’t want Guido to get stolen, and second, I need him in Rome.”

  “Ah then, the second option is best. We have storage units at the station and your Vespa will certainly be safe. You can arrange to have Guido sent to Rome via train in a couple of days. We will notify you when a spot becomes available and he is on his way. You can then pick him up at Termini Station.”

  “That sounds perfect. How much will it cost?”

  “Nothing, as you already paid a fee to bring him on the train with you tonight and you have been inconvenienced.” He laughed. “I keep calling your Vespa ‘him’.”

  “You can call him Guido, if you prefer.”

  “Certo. I just need you to fill out some forms and give me your keys so that we may move Guido to his storage space. Come this way.”

  “Thank you.”

  As Sigrid filled out the necessary paperwork, the attendant cleared his throat. “Signora, there is a third option, which I did not mention.”

  “What is that?”

  “Get on your Vespa and go back and face whatever it is you are running from tonight…if you don’t mind my saying.”

  “I’m not running from anything.”

  “If you say so, Signora, but you seem upset and a foreign woman alone on Christmas Eve making last-minute plans to escape the city makes me think that perhaps there is a problem.”

  “You are astute and I’m sure you mean well, but I really believe it is best for me to go to Rome. It’s my home, after all, until the end of January, anyway.”

  “Of course, but you know, things are not always as they seem. You should give your young man a chance to explain.”

  “What makes you think this is about a man?”

  “Is it not?”

  Sigrid sighed. “Look, you are very kind but I have a train to catch.”

  “Si, Signora, but when you see him again, please listen to what he has to say.”

  “I won’t see him again.”

  “I think you will. Tonight he wanted to talk and you ran.”

  “How do you know he wanted to talk?”

  “I just guessed. After a certain age, some things are obvious.”

  “Right, there are only so many stories in the naked city.”

  “Scusi?”

  “Nothing, just a cultural reference only people who watched way too much TV when they were growing up would ever understand. Look, if you don’t mind my asking: who are you? I mean, is it part of your job here at the station to be nosy?”

  “Ha! Probably not, but I am just someone who loves to see people happy, someone who loves love, just a friend. You can just think of me as the Christmas Spirit. And my Christmas wish for you is that you will be happy and in love.”

  Sigrid shook her head. “Okay, whatever. Thank you. Grazie. And mine for you is health and happiness.” Because wishing being in love on someone is actually a curse, thought Sigrid. “Now I really must run.”

  “Binario 12. Platform 12.”

  “Thanks. Buon Natale.”

  “Buon Natale.”

  Walking from Termini Station to her B&B in the wee small hours of Christmas morning, Sigrid realized that she did so love this city—at this moment much emptier and quieter than usual—even if parts of it now held painful memories.

  Sigrid emptied the Tetra-Pak and wished herself a Merry Christmas and a Buon Natale and miraculously, managed to fall asleep. When she woke up, it was to the sounds of church bells, church bells everywhere, across Rome, across Italy. That was one thing she would miss when she left. In Canada, you rarely even heard church bells on a Sunday morning. In Italy, you heard them pretty much every day. And of course, on Christmas Day, you heard church bells and then some, sounding out with a vengeance. Rejoice, rejoice, rejoice, they seemed to insist. Yes, your life currently sucks and yes, you may have a broken heart and not as much money as one might want, but rejoice, damn it!

  She opened her shutters and looked out at the unusual lack of hustle and bustle. She felt a bit like Ebenezer Scrooge when he looked out his window Christmas morning and asked the little boy to go buy a goose and send it to Tiny Tim’s house, except that she was not a new person. She had not changed. Her heart ached as much right now as it had the night before and she was every bit as discouraged.

  The best cure for one’s own pain, she knew, was helping others. At about 3 p.m., Rome time, she called home to wish her mother a Merry Christmas, knowing she would have been up about an hour, at that point.

  “So, have you met a handsome Italian man with a castle yet, honey?”

  Ugh. A kick in the gut. Fighting back tears, not wanting to worry her mother, Sigrid forced a laugh. “Oh mom, stop watching those silly movies! Of course, I haven’t. But I have been doing volunteer work with these great ladies at a cat shelter, and I’ll be going over to feed the cats and clean some litter boxes today.”

  “That’s the Christmas spirit, Sigrid!”

  “Indeed. Listen, is Dad there?”

  “No, he’s delivering gifts to some of our neighbours.”

  “Oh, nice. Well, tell him I send my love and I’m sorry I missed him and give my hugs to the sibs, and I’ll call you all New Year’s Day, okay? In the meantime, I’ll tweet and email you all some pretty pictures of Rome.”

  “Okay, but, um, Sigrid?”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, I’m not sure I should tell you this, but I heard through the grapevine that that woman, Anna, well, she dumped Doug. He’s alone again.”

  Sigrid registered the information and realized she was surprised, but not interested and not even validated by the information. “What are you suggesting, Mom?”

  “Nothing. Just thought you’d like to know, for when you come back to Canada.”

  “Mom, I love you, but I have no interest in Doug. It’s over. I wish him no harm and I’m sorry if he is hurting, but it is truly over.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Well, you are not a stupid girl, Sigrid. I trust you.”

  That was music to Sigrid’s ears, because at that moment, she hadn’t a lot of faith in her own judgment.

  “Mom, thanks. That means a lot.”

  “I’m glad. Bye, sweetie.”

  “Bye, Mom.”

  Sigrid decided to be true to her word and walked over to the Torre Argentina cat shelter. The ladies looked surprised to see her. “Your young man?” asked one of them, hopefully.

  Sigrid shook her head, not wanting to prolong the conversation, but the tears welling up in her eyes made everything crystal clear to the ladies.

  “Oh, mi dispiace, Sigrid. I am so sorry. He was so in love with you, we could all tell.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Before anyone could show her more sympathy or throw their arms around her or make her cry or make further comment, Sigrid asked what needed to be done. Two hours later she had fed cats, talked to cats, cuddled cats, pilled cats, injected insulin into one of them, brushed the mats out of three or four of them and cleaned several of their litter boxes.

  Back in her room that night, she cursed the fact that she had drunk all the wine-in-a-box the night before. And she cursed Italians for being so bloody respectful of tradition that they kept absolutely no stores open on Christmas Day.

  She decided to check her email, expecting nothing but a slew of tacky Christmas e-greetings. Instead, what she saw made her stomach jump into her throat. A message from Doug: Merry Christmas, baby. I miss you. I made a huge mistake with Anna and once I realized what I’d lost when you left, I dumped her. And I’d love to see you again.

  Sigrid stared for a long time at Doug’s message. She thought of all the mean things she could say. She thought of how she could tell him that she knew he was the one who got dumped. She thought of all of that and simply wrote: Hi Doug, I’m not interested in seeing you again. I wish you no ill and hope you meet the right person for you and
continue to prosper. Merry Christmas, Sigrid. Oddly, she felt bad that she might be hurting Doug.

  I guess, she realized, that this is how it feels to be truly over someone. You don’t even take any satisfaction from rejecting them, in spite of all the fantasies you may have had in the past about doing so.

  She started sucking on the candy cane the Sicilians had left and again wished she had wine. She looked out the window at all the Christmas lights—for it was now dark—and said, to no one in particular, “If there is a God in heaven, send me wine this Christmas Day!”

  She waited. Nothing. She closed the shutters and wondered what to make for dinner. It would have to be spaghetti primavera, since spaghetti and veggies were all she had. She began chopping the tomatoes and peppers when she thought she heard something. Was it a knock on the door? If it was, it would have to be either the Sicilians or the B&B staff, since you couldn’t get into the building without a key.

  She approached the door, preparing a fake smile for whoever it was.

  But when she saw who it was, her smile faded and her heart began thumping so wildly and loudly she assumed her visitor could hear it, too.

  “Hello, Seegreed,” he said. “Merry Christmas.”

  What seemed like minutes went by, but it was only a few seconds before her visitor said again, “Seegreed? Merry Christmas.”

  “Hello. Buon Natale. What are you doing here?”

  “May I come in?”

  She stepped back.

  “Have a seat, if you want.”

  “Why did you leave? Do you not think that was a bit rude, leaving with no good-byes?”

  “I left a note and I said good-bye to the cats.”

  “Yes, Boris and Maximillia mentioned that.” He was glaring at her, and he looked angry.

  “What right do you have to be mad?”

  “I invited you to my family home and you walked out on us on Christmas Eve. I would say that is plenty of reason.”

  “I think you know I had a good reason to leave.”

  “Do I?”

  “Yes, Flavia and that ‘talk’ you wanted to have with me. Why would I stick around for that? I got dumped once already this year. A second time would have been too much, okay? I apologized to your parents in my note and if you want me to do so again, I will, but I think I was well within reason to protect myself from more mortification.”