Gilberta was laughing with Lucia and they each held a wine glass with something peachy orange in it. Gilberta looked up and gestured to Lara. ‘Cara, come, sit, eat.’
But Lara stayed standing. ‘Um, Gilberta, Lucia, I’m so sorry, but I have to go. Samuel needs me,’ she said. ‘I need to get home and I need, well, I’m wondering…’ Too many words, Lara. Make it simple. ‘Could you please drive me home?’ she asked, making car-driving charades. ‘I’m not far away, or so I’m told, I’m not exactly sure…’ She trailed off uncertainly.
There was a pause, then several people spoke at once, translations and discussion going on. She heard Matteo’s name, as well as Alessandra’s and Samuel’s.
‘Matteo is busy,’ she said, raising her voice to cut through the chatter. ‘I just need to get home to Samuel.’
Lucia spoke, finally, her expression unreadable. ‘Mario will drive you.’
Mario didn’t speak much English but that was fine with Lara. As he drove, he sang in a voice she guessed was classically trained. He occasionally pointed out something he thought might be of interest to her, and she tried to murmur in the right places. But it really was a short drive home, only six or seven minutes. Mario let the car idle in the driveway as she got out, and she noticed him peering through the windscreen, taking in the villa, maybe wondering where Samuel was, wondering if he should come in. She couldn’t know.
She waved goodbye as Mario reversed away.
It was still only early evening, and the sun had a while to go before it sank behind the hills. Lara wandered to an open stone deck at the back of the house and lay down on a reclining sun bed perfectly situated to take in the views. From inside the house she could faintly hear more classical music.
She was spent emotionally. The lovely bubble of happiness that had carried her away had shattered like a snow globe around her. It was all so ridiculous; she was ashamed of her runaway emotions. She was angry with herself for letting the pendulum of her mind swing so far out from the reasonable centre. She could not and would not allow herself to fall. Not here. Not now.
16
Samuel
From his chair next to the fireplace in the living room, Samuel heard a car pull up, the door open and the badante offer her thanks. If he wasn’t mistaken, that was Mario’s voice in response. Fleetingly, he thought of clambering out of his chair and going to meet his long-missed friend, but the car drove away before he could even pull himself to his feet. His unexpected disappointment was tempered by his relief. He took a deeper breath and realised, with a rush of shame, that he’d been worried the badante might not return. It shocked him down to his slippered feet. It was not that she was particularly wonderful. He’d had badanti better at making coffee, and certainly better at gardening. She wasn’t indispensable, though he did enjoy her cooking. He wasn’t anxious about her leaving, specifically. But between the notes of Vivaldi, sneaking in around the memories of holding Assunta close to his chest and dancing at their fortieth wedding anniversary, a window opened somewhere in his awareness of himself and he knew the awful truth.
He was afraid.
When he’d broken his wrist, he’d crossed a line. It was the first fracture of his life. And with a kick to his guts, the next thought—it probably wouldn’t be his last.
He’d thought he’d handled ageing well. He’d sensibly made the decision to close up his and Assunta’s bedroom and move downstairs while he could still choose how to do it, though granted, Assunta’s death had prompted the decision. The room held too many memories, too many regrets. Over many years, he’d made modifications to the house. Renovating the downstairs bathroom had been the biggest, but it was something he knew many older people left far too late. Not him. He planned to stay in this house till his dying breath, no matter what arguments his children might present as to why he should move over to England to live with them. This was where he was closest to Assunta, and this was where he would stay.
But how much longer would that be—a month, a year, ten years more?
Until now, he’d got by with badanti for housework, shopping and cooking. Travelling to Rome with a badante was a new experience. He’d known he’d need help to get through the manic streets of the city and to the Trevi Fountain. He couldn’t ask Matteo to help. Not because Matteo would have refused, but because Samuel didn’t want him to see what he was going to do there at the fountain, throwing away the ring Assunta had chosen for him. Matteo was his only link left to Assunta’s family, and while at times Samuel had tried to refuse his great-nephew’s help and push him away, on the inside he was crying with relief that someone still cared.
There, he’d admitted it. His stubborn pride and ruthless convictions could carry him only so far. He’d once thought he could shoulder the burden of Assunta’s passing alone, and had deliberately distanced himself from her family, letting them hate him.
Even Carlo.
But Samuel had to be strong for his wife, no matter how much he missed the closest person he’d ever had to a brother over here.
It wasn’t just Carlo, though; he missed them all. He missed having people near him who knew his past, who wanted to share plates of food cooked in his kitchen, to open vino and let it loosen tongues and shoes until everyone was dancing under the lantern-lit trees at night. To laugh and joke in that easy way one could with family.
How would things change if he told them all the truth? What would it do to Assunta, who he knew with all his heart was watching over him?
He heard the badante pull up one of the sun lounges outside to watch the sun set. How long would she stay here? He didn’t know anything about her.
He felt his lips twitch into a smile. It was obvious to him that there were sparks between her and Matteo. An image flew unbidden into his mind, a coupling of Matteo and the badante and a whole new family to fill this villa. Where had that idea come from? He tried to extinguish it from his mind, but instead he could see Assunta smiling at the image, her round cheeks and long black hair, her dark chestnut eyes sparkling with glee. She loved a bit of matchmaking.
He shook his head lightly at her, but gave in to her will as he usually had.
Lara. The badante’s name was Lara. Maybe she was the answer.
17
Sunny
Sunny shoved water bottles and muesli bars into her denim handbag, checked her phone was in there, and fetched some more tissues as the kids still had runny noses from their mad cow disease. At least the blisters in their mouths and on their hands and feet had dried up. She paused mid packing to watch her mother.
Eliza laid out the lace tablecloth with care, then placed on it the blue vase containing the cascade of fragrant jasmine she’d just clipped from the front porch, where it wound its way along the balustrade. The mahjong women would start arriving any moment. She was nervous, Sunny could tell. Right on cue, Eliza wiped her hands down her dress, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles.
Her mother had only retired at the end of last year from her role as an executive assistant in the state parliamentary chambers. She’d been there for thirty years. They’d sent her off with a huge bouquet of flowers and a gold watch, as well as throwing her a lavish morning tea. The Minister for Agriculture, for whom she’d worked most recently, reportedly gave a flattering speech about how they simply didn’t make public servants like her anymore. Eliza had said she’d seen a few eye rolls between the younger staff members at that. Sunny bet it was true, though. She’d been sorry she hadn’t been there at that morning tea. Her mother had worked so hard to hold the family together.
Eliza laid out the teacups and saucers, while Sunny hunted for matching shoes for the kids. She was sure they had at least eight pairs of shoes between them, but she could never seem to find a complete pair.
Her mother’s scones were in the oven and the mouth-watering scent wafted through to the lounge room where Sunny was on her knees peering under the couch. She’d told Eliza she would take the kids out to give her some uninterrupted time with her mahjon
g group, but the aroma of those scones was enticing and the missing shoes almost weakened her into changing her plans. There was a cold wind blowing, and she’d much rather be drinking tea and eating scones than out with the wild mini-people.
At last she found Hudson’s missing shoe and hauled herself upright again.
‘The place looks beautiful,’ she said, gesturing to the peach-coloured napkins on the table.
‘Not too much?’ Eliza asked.
‘No, it’s perfect.’
Eliza touched her hair. ‘I know it’s silly to be nervous about something like this at my age, but I hadn’t realised how much I’d miss work and the chats with others in the tearoom. Jenny and I always dissected Madam Secretary the next day, and Helen and I always ran the Melbourne Cup sweep. The younger girls even asked my advice on relationships.’ She scoffed. ‘If only they knew!’
Sunny grimaced, thinking of how much Leonard had put her mother through.
‘But it was like incidental exercise, except it was incidental socialising. It all disappeared overnight.’ Eliza’s face fell. ‘I didn’t realise I’d given so much of myself to the chambers that I’d failed to cultivate a social life outside of it.’
Sunny went to her and hugged her tightly. ‘You had good reason to want to escape into something else.’
Eliza patted her back and pulled away. She looked Sunny up and down. ‘You look lovely. A bit harassed…’ she touched Sunny’s forehead, ‘but still beautiful. You have such a knack for layering clothes.’ She adjusted the teal silk scarf around Sunny’s neck. ‘I spent so much time worrying about you when you were a teenager, and now look at you! A strong, loving and capable mother.’
‘Some days,’ Sunny said, going back to her handbag. ‘Daisy! Hudson! It’s time to go!’ she called.
‘Really, you don’t have to go,’ Eliza said. ‘The kids will check everyone out and then leave us alone. We’ll be terribly uninteresting to them.’
‘No, Hudson’s in a mood,’ Sunny said. ‘I don’t want to ruin your morning tea with a screaming meltdown.’
Just then, Hudson rolled across the floorboards on his skateboard, lying on its deck. ‘I’m hungry,’ he grumbled.
‘You just ate,’ Sunny said.
‘But I’m hungry,’ he whined, jumping up from the skateboard and launching it so it ran into the wall.
‘Hudson!’
‘It’s okay,’ Eliza said, picking up the board and handing it to Sunny.
‘Sorry,’ Hudson muttered.
‘We’re going. Where’s Daisy?’ Sunny said.
‘Here I am,’ Daisy answered, wearing yellow and black tights, a pink tutu, a Snoopy t-shirt and blue gumboots. Eliza smiled at Sunny in an isn’t she adorable? way and Sunny felt her forehead relax.
‘Okay, let’s go. Hudson, you need shoes,’ Sunny said, getting her keys.
‘I hate shoes.’
‘I know. But it’s the rule. If you want to go to the fete, you need shoes.’
Hudson groaned and flopped down on the ground.
‘Bye,’ Sunny said, waving to Eliza. ‘Say bye to Grandma,’ she said to the kids.
‘Bye,’ Hudson mumbled, his face still planted into the floor.
‘Bye, darling,’ Eliza said, kissing Daisy, and then Daisy and Sunny walked out the door.
‘Wait for me,’ Hudson called, jumping up and running after them.
‘Bye, Hudson,’ Eliza called.
Sunny bustled the kids towards the car. She slung her handbag into the front and opened Hudson’s door, then headed around to the other side to open Daisy’s.
Out on the street, she could hear the gentle whir of a slow-moving car. She glanced up briefly, but kept instructing the kids. ‘Sit up straight, Daisy, or your seatbelt won’t reach. Hudson, leave the bee alone and get into your seat, please.’ Daisy opened a kids magazine on her lap.
The car in the street slowed right down and hovered just before their driveway. Sunny looked up. It was a blue sedan she didn’t recognise. It wasn’t a neighbour, she was sure. It was probably one of the mahjong women. The car’s windows were tinted, but she smiled congenially, welcoming her mother’s visitor.
But the engine didn’t cut. It continued to hiss quietly, and suddenly the roots of Sunny’s hair tingled. She straightened, staring at the car, trying to see through the window. The moment seemed to stretch out forever.
Sunny deliberately closed the door on Hudson, then walked around the front of the car and closed the door on Daisy. She placed her hands on her hips and glared at the car, mad now, despite the nerves that flickered beneath her skin.
The car’s wheels began to roll again, and it drifted past them and out of sight.
18
Lara
Matteo arrived in his beaten-up truck just as Lara was shutting the gate to the goat barn, her pail of warm milk on the ground, the smell of wet sawdust and fresh lucerne in the air. The sound of the goats chewing with greedy glee had lifted her spirits. It was lucky she’d had to be answerable to someone today, that ‘someone’ being the goats, even though it was Sunday, her day off; she’d barely slept a wink all night, riddled with angst over her misplaced feelings for Matteo and the memories of Dave that came with them. Her limbs were heavy; her spark had dimmed. Depression tugged at her like sticky black mud. It was only the insistent bleating drifting through the windows that had forced her to move. Thank goodness for the goats. Thank God for medication.
‘Buongiorno,’ Matteo said, approaching, sunglasses perched on top of his curls and a brown man bag over his shoulder. The top few buttons of his shirt were undone to show a sprinkling of chest hair. He greeted her with a huge smile. ‘I was going to h-h-help you to milk,’ he continued. ‘Mamma told me you had to leave early yesterday because Samuel needed you.’
‘Yes, that’s right.’ She squirmed.
‘But then he sent me a message this morning asking me to come.’
‘Did he?’ Lara looked over at the villa, towards the open doors that led into the kitchen. Samuel had been preparing himself a breakfast of prosciutto and cheese on croissants when she’d left him. She’d tried to assist, but he’d kept swatting her away. He was more capable with his wrist in a cast than she’d thought he might be, actually. He certainly hadn’t needed her help last night or this morning. She had to take him back to the hospital tomorrow to have his cast changed to a mouldable splint, and that would mean he’d be even more independent. She thought he was looking forward to it; his mood seemed to have improved and he didn’t even grumble at her for taking so long to get to the goats. She wondered what he was playing at, messaging Matteo.
‘But I see you’ve done a go-ooo-d job without me,’ Matteo said, grinning encouragement at her, admiring her pail of milk.
Behind her, Meg bleated and Willow banged on the door. They were eager to get out to forage around the grounds. She would let them out once she knew the pail of milk was out of the way. They had a habit of shoulder-charging through the gate before it was fully open and galloping down the hills, their tiptoed feet making a small thunder rumble as they went. They would kick up their heels and wag their tails, talking the whole time with excitement as if they’d been locked up for a month, not just overnight.
‘Thank you.’ Lara felt a flicker of pride, but really any skill she may have gained was largely due to how tolerant the goats were. Lara liked to think they approved of her. Willow, perhaps sensing how fragile Lara was this morning, had been especially affectionate, breathing in her ear and nibbling at the collar of her shirt. ‘I’m happy to do it.’
She reached a hand over the gate and rubbed Willow behind her ear. The goat leaned into her and murmured with pleasure, then spun around and presented her butt for scratching, wagging her tail and snuffling in delight. It was a Willow trademark. Meg was less physically affectionate, preferring to show her approval by grumbling at Lara like a stern but kindly schoolma’am.
Matteo bit his lip and watched her, perhaps wondering about her quietness
this morning. ‘I’m s-s-sorry for leaving you alone yesterday. I had to sort things out with Alessandra. Mamma, she…’ he wobbled his head from side to side, ‘she thinks she knows best. You know?’
‘Not really.’
‘Mamma thinks that Alessandra and I…’ He folded his arms across his body, then released them. ‘Well, she has ideas. She wants me married, you know?’
Lara nodded, noncommittal. She assumed that what Matteo was saying here was that Alessandra was his mother’s ideal daughter-in-law, and to that she had nothing to add.
‘But sh-sh-she is n-n-not,’ he said.
‘Not what?’
‘My woman of choice.’ He eyed her steadily. ‘And I have told Mamma this many times. But she thinks I need help to find a wife.’
‘Why?’
He gave her a look that said, Are you for real?
Lara felt for him. He wasn’t the perfect package; neither was she. She got it. Still, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘I saw you kissing her,’ she said.
Matteo narrowed his eyes. ‘You were watching?’
‘No. Well, I went looking for you. I didn’t know my way around, and I saw you. You and her. Her and you.’
He looked at the ground and scratched at the back of his neck before looking back at her, irritated. ‘Sì, she tried to kiss me. But I pushed her away.’
‘Oh.’ Lara hadn’t watched long enough to see that part.
‘There is nothing between Alessandra and me anymore.’
‘Okay.’ Lara thought she might be pleased about that, but her dark mood was making it difficult to think straight. An uncomfortable silence ensued.
Matteo looked up at the sky. ‘We’re lucky this great weather has continued,’ he said, obviously keen to move on. ‘The heat will be g-g-gone soon before we know it.’
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