Music from Home

by Geraldine O'Neill

  Maria thought of asking Franco if her father had started disappearing from the restaurant in the afternoons again, but something stopped her: the usual feeling of betraying the person closest to her heart, the person she most depended on. Besides, she couldn’t be sure that Franco wouldn’t warn her father and then he would take more elaborate steps to cover up anything that might concern her.

  This was the problem when there was just the two of them. When there was no one else to safely share her fears with.

  She finished her main meal and was staring out of the restaurant window into the darkness when the kitchen doors swung open and Johnny came through with the dessert menu.

  “I shouldn’t have anything more,” she told him. “I’m already full.”

  “You should have whatever tickles your fancy,” he told her, winking. “You don’t have to worry about getting fat. You’ve got a lovely slim figure . . .”

  She felt her face start to flush and in order to distract from it she rolled her eyes to the ceiling as if she didn’t care what he thought. Secretly she liked the compliment and, although she didn’t fancy Johnny in the least, she knew the girls at school would think him good-looking and funny.

  After a few moments she felt awkward with Johnny just standing there, gazing openly at her. “If you come back in a few minutes,” she said, “I’ll have made my mind up.”

  She was debating whether to have an Italian dessert or ice cream when the restaurant door opened. She looked up as her father came rushing through.

  “Maria, I’m sorry I’m late, but I had some important business to attend to.”

  His eyes were shining, and she could see he was more animated than usual – obviously happy with his afternoon’s business.

  He kissed her on the cheek and then pulled out a chair opposite her and sat down. “And how was the ballet lesson?”

  “It was fine,” she told him, trying to keep a light note in her voice.

  He touched the side of her face. “You don’t seem so enthusiastic?”

  She smiled and pushed her long dark hair behind one ear. “Well . . . I really don’t know if I will keep the classes on much longer.”

  “If that’s what you want.” He nodded his head slowly. “Only you can decide.”

  “I know I haven’t got what it takes to be a professional dancer and, even if I had, I don’t think it’s what I want to do. I don’t feel the same passionate way as Stella does about it, and I don’t enjoy all the practising.” She sighed. “The other thing is, I don’t want to become panicky about my weight as lots of the girls do . . .” Maria was talking too quickly now and knew she was making more of the ballet thing than she needed to, in order to cover up her anxiety about where he had been.

  “No, no . . . we certainly don’t want problems like that.” A smile broke through the seriousness of his face. “And what would Franco have to say if little Marietta stopped eating all his lovely dishes? I think he would say forget the stupid ballet lessons.”

  “He would, wouldn’t he?” Maria was smiling now in spite of the little knot of anxiety. Whatever worries she felt about him, she could never get beyond the fact she adored him and wanted him to be happy.

  “You must make your own decisions. Hobbies are meant to be enjoyable and if they stop being that then maybe it is time to stop.” He thought for a moment. “What about the horse-riding?”

  Her face lit up. “That’s different! I still enjoy it every bit as much as I did when I started. It’s good fun and relaxing and I don’t have to enter competitions or anything unless I want to.”

  There was another reason that kept up her interest at the riding school – one she had not yet shared with her father. Paul Spencer. He was a couple of years older than her – eighteen this year – and she saw him at her classes every Tuesday evening and Saturday morning as his family owned the stables. His father – a short, wiry man – had once been a jockey, but Paul had obviously inherited his striking good looks from his tall, dark-haired mother.

  “Well,” Leo said, “I do think you need to have some interests outside of your studies, and only you can decide what those are to be.”

  Her father was always fair with her and gave her a lot of leeway – the only thing he was inflexible about was her education.

  The kitchen door swung open and Franco came into the dining room. “A cup of coffee, Leo?” he called.

  “Come here, my friend, come here!” Leo said, beckoning him. “I have some good news. I was just about to tell Maria about it, and I’d like you to hear it too.”

  As he came towards the table, Franco took his white chef’s hat off and scratched his dark curly head.

  “We were just talking about horses,” Leo said, “which is a wonderful coincidence, because that’s what my news is about.”

  Maria felt her throat tighten. “What do you mean?”

  Her father threw his hands in the air and laughed. “I have bought a horse!”

  Franco looked as shocked as he did. “For Maria?”

  There was a moment’s silence.

  “In a way . . .” Leo was making a juggling gesture with his hands now. “But it’s not for her horse-riding lessons. Not yet.” He patted her on the shoulder as though to reassure her. “I’ve promised her that I’ll buy her a good show-horse if she is still riding at eighteen and very serious about it. It’s not something you buy for a fad.”

  Maria and Franco waited.

  He grinned at one and then the other. “I’ve bought a racehorse! A fifty percent share in a beautiful yearling – a filly!”

  “That’s some news,” Franco said. “You’re a brave man, Leo.”

  Maria’s heart slowly sank. It was all she had dreaded and worse.

  Leo’s voice was high and excited. “And I know you will both love her! She’s a terrific runner. She has a pedigree as long as your arm.” He held both arms out as long as he could reach to illustrate the point. “From a terrific sire and dam who have won a great many races. She won her maiden race in record time and by fifteen lengths. Winning is bred into her.” He looked at Maria and his face suddenly became serious. “I bought her on the condition I could name her,” his voice was cracked with emotion, “and she will be called . . . Bella Maria . . . after the most important lady in my life – my beautiful Maria!”

  “Lovely,” Franco said. “That is lovely.”

  Maria nodded her head, not knowing how to react to the news. She could see so many pitfalls – mainly financial – but she did not want to spoil his obvious pleasure.

  “The name your mother and I chose for you is also the name of my mother and of Our Blessed Lady.” He shrugged and then held his hands up and joined them together as though he was praying. “It might just help her to look upon us more kindly and make our Bella Mariaa lucky winner!” He laughed, his lively, dark eyes darting between them. “Well, Maria, what do you say? Having a beautiful, winning filly called after you? Won’t all your friends at the stables think that is really something?”

  Maria swallowed hard. “It’s really nice of you . . .”

  “I knew you would be delighted with the name. It’s a great honour for a girl to have a boat or a horse named after her.”

  “It certainly is,” Franco said, standing up. “Congratulations, Leo, but I must get back to the kitchen or you will not be able to afford to feed that horse.”

  Leo laughed and shooed his friend away.

  When Franco had gone, her father suddenly seemed to notice her serious face. “Are you all right? You are happy about the horse?”

  His concern made her feel guilty. “I don’t mean to put a dampener on it, Dad. I’m just a bit worried about the cost of it. It’s a very expensive thing to own, isn’t it?”

  “It is, but I will be sharing the costs. Now, don’t you worry about anything. Your father has this whole thing worked out.”

  Maria forced a smile on her face and tried to look happy. Tried not to think that buying a racehorse meant he was back involved
in gambling. Because that meant that he had learned nothing from his narrow escape a couple of years ago when they almost lost the restaurant.

  Chapter 2

  Johnny came back to see what Maria wanted from the dessert menu but her appetite had disappeared. Anxiety about her father always did that to her. She told him she would just have a plain ice cream and remained resolute and straight-faced while he tried to persuade her to pick something fancier.

  “Are you feeling all right?” her father asked. “I thought the news about the racehorse would make you happy . . . I know how much you love horses.”

  Maria looked at him. He had the open, innocent face of a young boy, looking as if he truly believed that she should be happy. How could he not realise how unsettling the situation was for her? Did he not remember the nightmare he had put them through two years ago when the bank was threatening to close Leonardo’sdown by refusing to extend his business overdraft? When he had to beg them to give him another six months to get his finances back in order?

  Their financial predicament had come as a terrible shock to her, because up until then she had happily never given money a single thought. She could remember back to when her mother was alive, and money had not seemed a problem then either. Her mother had never had a permanent full-time job – Maria only remembered her working a couple of mornings a week in the local florist’s and maybe the full week leading up to Christmas and Valentine’s Day and busier occasions like that. This had led Maria to believe that they had enough money for her mother not to need to work. Looking back now, Maria wondered if her mother’s asthmatic condition meant she did not have the stamina for it, because she had often heard her father saying that she should take things a little easier, and make sure she rested when Maria was at school.

  Maria could recall a few occasions when her mother had had a bad asthma attack, and the doctor had to be called for, and on one occasion an ambulance came to the house and she was gone for several days. If her mother had been unwell at other times, she did not make a big issue of it to her, and was always discreet in her use of her inhaler and medication. She had appeared as active as most of the other mothers, she had kept the house perfect and cooked and baked, and she walked Maria to school every morning and then collected her afterwards. She took time to help her with her homework and, in the lighter evenings when her father was at work, she would walk her down to the local park with some of the other mothers and children to play on the swings and slides.

  Her father had worked long hours in the hotel and travelled home on the late-night bus. Apart from special events organised by the Italian groups that Leo was a member of, or Christmas staff nights at the hotel, they rarely went out. When she thought about it now, her parents did not then have an over-lavish way of life – they didn’t have a car or a television or phone up until a few years before her mother died. They had gradually built up towards those luxuries that were now taken for granted as part of her life. And she was sure they had been happy back then, and she could recall no incidents or arguments regarding her father drinking or gambling. And although she knew that it would be easy to remember her mother through rose-tinted glasses, her one solid memory was of lying in bed, her parents downstairs, and hearing the distant sound of her mother playing the violin. She knew that her father, relaxing with a glass of Italian wine, had asked her to play for him, and that sound had always told her that everything in their home was safe and well.

  Later, after her mother died and her father had bought Leonardo’s, she had believed that they were comfortably off. She knew they were not in the same league as Stella’s family with her father’s solicitor’s firm and their much bigger house, but compared to some of her other school friends, they were doing fine. Her father employed Mrs Lowry and her husband on a regular basis to take care of Maria and the house and garden. Leonardo’swas always busy and her father was easily making what it cost to pay for their nice home, television, phone, any clothes she needed and all the little extras like her riding classes and ballet.

  She had never paid any attention when her father was talking business on the phone or to any of his friends, and he did not expect her to be involved. Naturally, he told her when the restaurant had a particularly good night, and how pleased he and Franco were with the takings around Christmas and holiday times. Money therefore, to her, was something that was always there and not an issue until the first financial bomb had gone off, and Leo had sat her down to explain that he had been so busy that he had not been keeping an eye on his home accounts and had overspent in certain areas. She had not understood everything that followed, but got the gist that he had used money from the house to subsidise the restaurant which had to be paid back in six months, and that was why they would not be having their annual trip to Italy or the piano he had hoped to buy her that Christmas.

  He had not mentioned gambling in his talk to her, but it was clear from his many phone conversations and from general chat to the men in the restaurant, that it had, over the years, begun to feature more in his life. And, she was aware that his drinking had increased both at home and after work, which was bound to have had an impact on the gambling.

  Later in the year, he had told her how relieved he was that finances were back on track and her concerns about money had begun to fade away again. But they had only faded, they had never completely gone, and the experience had left her wary about what she now saw as a weakness in her beloved father. And she realised now that her wariness had been warranted.

  After all the hard work and cutting back, the restaurant accounts had eventually come out of the red and back into the black. And now he was obviously back in the racing and gambling world again. She wondered if he thought she didn’t understand all that had happened – and what might happen yet . . .

  “I’m okay – I just have a bit of a headache,” she told him now, reaching for her schoolbag. “I think maybe I should go home now.” She often stayed for a few hours in the evenings until the restaurant started to get busy and then her father would run her home, or, if he was very busy, he would call her a taxi.

  Leo took one of her hands in his and when she looked up she saw the concern and love in his eyes and all her anger began to seep away. She now felt guilty at spoiling his excitement about the horse. Maybe she was worrying too much. Maybe buying the horse had nothing to do with his gambling problem. She wondered perhaps, if all his attention were to be focussed on looking after the horse, consulting with the trainers and the stable staff, he might not have the time or interest to bet on the others. Surely he wouldn’t have the time between the restaurant, horse and home to be part of the gambling group as well? She wanted so hard to believe that.

  Her father was still looking at her with concern. “I’m fine,” she reassured him. “I’m just a bit tired after school and ballet and studying.”

  “I think an early night might be a good idea with your exam tomorrow.” Leo looked at his watch. “I’ve just got a few things to check in the kitchen and then I’ll run you back to the house. I’ll ring Mrs Lowry and ask her or Michael to put the heating on for you.”

  “Thanks.” He was so loving and caring that she couldn’t stay angry with him for long. She smiled and thought she should say something to take the frown of concern away. “I’m looking forward to seeing the horse.”

  His handsome face lit up. “It’s a dream come true,” he told her. “How many people have the good fortune to own a horse? Such a beautiful, vibrant animal! And I have a strong feeling that Bella Mariais going to be a winner for us. Exciting times are ahead!” He took her face in his hands and kissed her on the forehead.

  Leo went off into the kitchen singing and moments later Maria could hear the distant sound of laughter and congratulations. For the moment her father was happy, and she loved seeing and hearing him like that. His handsome face did not wear worry well.

  She stared around the rosy-tinted restaurant for a few minutes, her eyes flitting over the carefully ironed wine-coloured table
cloths, the shiny silver cutlery and the candlesticks. Then she turned her gaze to the window and looked out onto the cobbled street, wondering what their housekeeper would make of her father buying the racehorse.

  Mrs Lowry was an Irishwoman in her late sixties, who lived in a small house a few streets away from the Contis’ larger Victorian detached house in Heaton Moor on the outskirts of Manchester. She had baby-sat Maria when she was a toddler on the occasions her parents went out, and then became a full-time minder when Maria’s mother died, to allow Leo to work. The elderly lady now came in a few times a week to tidy the house, do the washing and anything else that was required and have a meal ready the evenings that Maria wasn’t at Leonardo’s. Rose Lowry’s husband, Michael, did the gardening and any odd jobs that Leo was too busy to attend to. The couple kept the Conti household running and gave Maria a steady home routine.

  As Maria waited for her father to drive her home, the evening waiting staff came in, each one stopping to have a word with her. By the time the last one disappeared into the kitchen her face was aching from smiling so hard, pretending everything was fine.

  All the way home Leo talked about Bella Maria, and the good friend he would share the horse with – Charlie Ford – the butcher who supplied the meat to the restaurant.

  “Being a butcher sounds like a simple occupation,” he explained, “but there’s a lot more to it than meets the eye. Charlie is a very successful businessman. Do you know he has a chain of seven shops in the Manchester and Stockport area now?”

  No, Maria said, she hadn’t really thought about it.

  “And every one of those shops is doing very well. He is not only doing well for himself, he is giving employment to over fifty men. Isn’t that something to be proud of?”