Sicilian's Baby of Shame

by Carol Marinelli

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  REALLY, HER BIRTHDAY was just another day.

  Sophie got up late and had coffee with her flatmate, Teresa, who then headed off to her waitressing job.

  It had been Teresa’s birthday last month and Sophie had stopped on the way home from work and bought a cake.

  It shouldn’t hurt that Teresa made no mention of the date.

  She made too much of things, Sophie told herself. She pulled on a top and skirt and left a little earlier than usual for her twilight shift at the Grande Lucia.

  She unlocked the mailbox in the foyer of her building and there was a small wad of mail; Sophie found that she was holding her breath as she flicked through it.

  Nothing.

  There had been no phone call this morning from her parents and now not even a card.

  Her oldest brother had called the other week and told her that Luigi still came for dinner each week, only now he hit the wine.

  ‘Do you think that makes me want to come home and marry him?’ Sophie had said and ended the call.

  They didn’t get it.

  Bastiano had.

  Even after all these months just the thought of him could stop Sophie in the street.

  Just the memory of that day was enough to make her smile—a little gift she could open and treasure on a day when she felt forgotten and small.

  There was still a little while before her shift commenced and Sophie decided that she would drop in on Gabi and see how she and little Lucia were doing. It had been a while since they had caught up. Gabi had only been back at work for a couple of weeks and had already been on an international trip to help organise Sultan Alim’s upcoming wedding while her mother cared for Lucia.

  It all sounded terribly glamorous to Sophie.

  ‘Sophie!’ Gabi gave her a tired smile as she opened the door. ‘It’s good to see you!’

  Little Lucia was crying and Sophie was more than happy to hold her as Gabi made them a quick lunch. ‘What time is your shift?’ Gabi asked.

  ‘I start at two,’ Sophie said. ‘How was your trip overseas?’

  ‘It was...’ Gabi gave a tight shrug. ‘It was hard leaving Lucia.’

  ‘But what was it like?’ Sophie asked. She had never been out of Italy, let alone flown to the Middle East! But then she remembered that Gabi had had a bit of a crush on Alim and guessed her questions might be insensitive. ‘How was Alim?’

  ‘I didn’t really see him.’

  ‘So you don’t know who’s buying the hotel?’

  Gabi shook her head.

  ‘Everyone is worried for their jobs,’ Sophie sighed.

  ‘It should be okay,’ Gabi tried to reassure her. ‘Raul Di Savo has many hotels, one of them is here in Rome. I am sure there wouldn’t be too many changes.’

  ‘What about if the other one gets it?’

  ‘God help us all then,’ Gabi sighed. ‘Conti takes over old buildings, guts them and then modernises them...’ She pulled a face. ‘Sultan Alim has spent the past two years restoring the hotel. Conti will ruin all that...’

  ‘He might not,’ Sophie countered, though she recalled him talking about Lydia and the castle that she lived in and how much work it would have been.

  Was it all just business for him?

  ‘Apparently, he turns all his acquisitions into upmarket rehab facilities,’ Gabi said. ‘I can’t imagine there would be many weddings being held at the Grande Lucia if that is the case.’ Then she gave a tight shrug. ‘Not that it will matter much to me. I am not sure I can hold on to this job.’ Gabi explained things a little better. ‘My mother wants me to get a job with more regular hours.’

  ‘Is she still cross about the baby?’

  Gabi nodded. ‘She has started to come around—at least we’re finally speaking. In truth, I wouldn’t be able to work without her support.’

  ‘What about Lucia’s father?’ Sophie asked.

  ‘I’m not ready to talk about him,’ Gabi admitted.

  ‘Fair enough,’ Sophie said, and glanced at the time. ‘I’d better go. I’ll come and see you both soon.’

  ‘Make sure that you do.’

  And so her birthday went unnoticed again, and of course Sophie didn’t blame her friend. Gabi had enough on her mind as it was.

  Sophie walked the back streets, down the alley and entered the hotel via the side entrance, then walked through the kitchen and to the locker area.

  There was a pile of clean uniforms with her name on that were freshly starched and uncomfortably tight and scratchy when she put one on; quickly, she re-did her hair.

  The hotel was very full, they were told at the briefing.

  There was a high turnover of rooms to make up and no time to waste if they were to get everything done.

  Benita gave out assignments for the day. ‘Sophie, you are on the twelfth floor, odd numbers.’

  Sophie nodded. The twelfth floor housed the cheaper rooms, all without any landmark views and were just plain hard work.

  ‘Oh, and, Sophie,’ Benita added, and Sophie waited to be told that when she had finished she was to go and help out Inga, who always seemed to be running behind, but instead there was some surprising news. ‘You have a delivery to pick up at Reception.’

  ‘A delivery?’

  ‘Yes. Is it your birthday or something?’

  Sophie nodded and her heart started to beat fast, wondering if maybe, just maybe, her parents had sent her something here.

  She was almost bouncing on the spot for the briefing to finish and when it did, instead of heading straight up to the twelfth floor, she went straight to the reception desk.

  ‘There is a delivery for me?’ Sophie said to Anya.

  ‘Indeed there is,’ Anya said. ‘Lucky girl.’

  Even as she came out of the cloakroom, Sophie knew that the flowers Anya held were not from her parents, for this was not the type of gift they would ever give.

  It wasn’t a big bouquet; in fact, it was a small posy that Anya handed to her, wrapped in cream tissue paper and exuding understated elegance.

  The flowers really were exquisite.

  Perhaps a hundred miniature roses in the softest creams, all edged in the palest green. Each one looked as if it had been individually painted with the most skilled brush, and the scent when she drew the bouquet close to her face was like inhaling summer.

  ‘It’s stunning,’ Anya sighed. ‘All the staff have been coming in and out for a peek.’

  And as if to prove her point, Inga came over.

  ‘They’re nice,’ she said.

  ‘I think Sophie has an admirer,’ Anya teased. ‘Come on, open the card.’

  ‘Who are they from?’ Inga asked, but when Sophie opened the card it was blank.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she lied.

  Or was it the truth?

  For the Bastiano Conti everyone spoke of did not send flowers and was guaranteed to forget.

  Had he remembered?

  Or was this an elaborate gift from Gabi?

  Even an expensive gift from a stressed, broke, new mum made rather more sense than it coming from Bastiano, yet her heart knew they were from him, and each bloom felt like a tiny kiss to her soul.

  ‘They need to go in water,’ Anya told her. ‘I can do that for you and you can collect them when you go home.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Sophie said, but she was reluctant to let them go and so she selected one and coiled it into her messy bun.

  Oh, the twelfth floor had never seen such a smiling maid, for even if the roses weren’t from Bastiano, it was simply nice to know that someone had remembered.

  And yet the flutter in her heart told her that that someone was him.

  ‘Benita’s looking for you,’ La
ura told her. ‘She wants to see you now in the staffroom.’

  There was still that slight edge of dread, Sophie thought as she took the elevator down. Still that fear that she was about to be found out.

  But it had been months ago, she consoled herself.

  Three months, in fact.

  And, Sophie knew, Bastiano had stayed a couple of times at the Grande Lucia since then, though never when she had been working. Sadly, she wasn’t privy to the guest list and tended to find out about these things after the event.

  But surely, Sophie thought, if word was going to get out then it would have happened by now.

  Her palms were just a little slippery as she opened the door to the staffroom.

  ‘Buon Compleanno!’

  ‘Happy birthday’ was being called out to her and there was even a cake with candles and jugs of soft drink.

  ‘Your favourite chef made this for you,’ Benita told her. ‘He says next year a little more notice would be nice. You should have told us!’

  The chef had made her torta setteveli, or seven veils cake. Layers of chocolate mousse, hazelnut, praline, cream and sponge, all topped with a chocolate glaze.

  It was the last thing that Sophie had expected. To have her colleagues gather and wish her a happy birthday meant everything and she thanked her lucky stars for the day she had been given a job at the Grande Lucia.

  The cake tasted like chocolate silk and was a mouth-watering slice of home.

  ‘Actually,’ Sophie admitted, ‘this tastes better than any I have ever had.’

  ‘Well, don’t have too much,’ Benita teased, and gave a little pinch to her waist as Sophie went for a second slice. ‘Or you will be asking for new uniforms.’

  Sophie laughed; the cake was decadent and rich indeed but that would not stop her from having a second slice. Soon, the staff who had gathered drifted back to their responsibilities and the remains were left in the fridge for Sophie to take back to her flat.

  She sailed through the rest of her shift. The flowers and cake had lifted her, yet home would have to wait for as her shift neared its end she was offered an hour of overtime.

  ‘Sophie,’ Benita called her, ‘we have an important guest arriving. Are you able to stay back?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Overtime was always welcome, and it was also nice to be asked.

  They raced up to the presidential suite—though cleaned, it had not had the finishing touches for an important guest.

  It was always hard to be up here, but Sophie did her best not to show it, to carry on as if it was just another room that she was preparing, rather than the site of her magical day with Bastiano.

  ‘Why don’t these stars give a little more notice?’ Sophie asked as the champagne and flowers were brought in and she and Benita turned back the vast bed.

  ‘Because they don’t have to; they know we will always jump to their tune,’ Benita said as she turned down the silk sheets. ‘Anyway,’ she added, ‘it’s not some famous rock star coming to the Grande Lucia tonight, it is Signor Conti, the soon-to-be...’ She paused, because the news had not yet been confirmed.

  And Sophie just scrunched the sheet in her hand as, unwittingly, Benita let her know that not only was Bastiano due to arrive tonight but that soon he would be taking over the hotel.

  ‘I should not have said that,’ Benita admitted.

  ‘It’s fine,’ Sophie answered. ‘It shan’t go any further.’

  ‘Make sure it doesn’t. The contracts have not yet been signed and Alim wants to leave any formal announcement until they are.’ Benita let out a long sigh, but now that Sophie knew, Benita admitted to a little of what was on her mind. ‘Really, I wish it had been the other. Conti is bad news.’

  ‘Bad news?’ Sophie said, and while she usually acquiesced to Benita, suddenly she saw red. She was sick of hearing everyone bad-mouth Bastiano.

  ‘I doubt he got to be a billionaire by accident,’ Sophie said tartly to her senior. ‘I think the Grande Lucia would be very lucky to have someone as astute as Signor Conti as its new owner.’

  Benita raised an eyebrow as Sophie sprang to his defence but decided against saying anything further about her potential new boss!

  ‘The room looks perfect,’ Sophie said, blushing a little at having spoken her mind to her senior.

  She put a slip of paper by the bed, informing him about the weather tomorrow—she wanted to add a heart.

  Benita went to close the shutters and drapes so that all the esteemed guest had to do was peel off his clothes and drop into the sumptuous bed.

  It seemed a shame to block out the view but that was how things were done during turndown.

  The lights were dimmed and the room ticked off on the service sheet, and then Benita did one more sweep of the drawing room and lounge before exiting to the corridor.

  And Sophie stood there, her heart hammering, uncertain what she should do.

  Oh, she wanted so badly to speak to him—she simply had to find out if she was about to be in trouble, but more than that she needed to see him again.

  And then Sophie knew how to let Bastiano know that she was thinking of him.

  She walked over to the drapes and opened them, pushing back the shutters, and remembered that moment when her heart had found him.

  It truly felt as if it had.

  Not the man everyone spoke of so ominously, more the man who had smiled and made her melt.

  She looked out on Rome at night and recalled turning to his smile.

  ‘What were you doing?’ Benita asked when Sophie joined Benita in the corridor.

  ‘I was just checking that I had written the weather down for tomorrow. Everything is looking perfect.’

  ‘Then you can go home now, Sophie. When are you back on?’

  ‘In the morning, at six.’

  ‘Well, go and get some sleep.’

  Sophie walked slowly down the corridor and, instead of taking the elevator to the basement, she went to the foyer, hoping for what, she did not know.

  A glimpse of Bastiano perhaps?

  But he had not arrived.

  Benita had already told her that she would be on house duties tomorrow and working in the foyer. Certainly she would not be up in the presidential suites.

  Sophie knew she had to speak with him.

  But how?

  Her voice might be recognised, or perhaps he would not take the call.

  As Sophie reached Reception she thought about hanging around to wait for his arrival.

  ‘Sophie?’ Inga stopped as she walked past. ‘What are you hanging around for?’

  ‘I had some overtime,’ Sophie said, ‘but I think I dropped my notebook...’

  And in that moment she made up her mind and turned for the elevators.

  It was wrong; she could well be fired for what she was about to do, and Sophie’s heart was hammering as she pressed the buttons that would take her to the floor from which she had just come.

  She had to use her staff pass as the presidential suites had limited access.

  He might bring a woman back with him, or a friend, Sophie suddenly thought in panic. The butler would be there, and also there would be the bellboys delivering his luggage. There were a million things that could go wrong, but she simply had to speak to him, to thank him for the beautiful roses.

  If Bastiano was to be the new owner, then she was probably about to lose her job anyway, so she let herself into the suite.

  The lights were dimmed and there was soft music playing to welcome him.

  She touched nothing.

  Sophie sat on a chair by a writing bureau and waited as the moments ticked by, but then finally there were voices.

  Voices!

  She stood from the chair and went i
nto a small alcove where the staff would be unlikely to venture.

  Sophie stood in the dark, her heart hammering, realising the foolishness of her actions and anticipating his anger...yet there was also excitement curling in her stomach for finally she would see him again.

  ‘I have no luggage...’ She heard his deep voice tell the butler that there was nothing to unpack, and then a terse, ‘I can pour my own drink!’

  * * *

  Bastiano simply wanted the man gone.

  The butler closed the door and finally there was silence.

  What the hell was he doing here?

  What was he doing, putting in an offer for a hotel he didn’t even want, just to score a point over Raul?

  Raul didn’t want it either.

  He had paid Bastiano a visit the other day. At first Bastiano had assumed he had come to argue over the hotel.

  Instead Raul had asked for Lydia’s address.

  Bastiano’s price?

  The return of his mother’s ring.

  This morning, just as he had finished speaking with the florist to arrange Sophie’s birthday surprise, a packaged had arrived.

  Bastiano hadn’t yet opened it.

  Now, all these years on, he gazed at the ring, remembering Maria trying it on and holding it up to the light.

  Yet memory was not kind.

  Now that he held the ring in his hand, long-buried memories were starting to come back.

  ‘Give me back the ring, Maria.’

  He could hear his younger voice attempting to hold on to his temper as she had claimed his mother’s ring as her own.

  A couple of hours later, still wearing it, she had died.

  He placed it on the gleaming table, for holding it kicked up black dusty memories that were best left undisturbed.

  Bastiano stood and poured a cognac. Looking around the suite, he remembered the last time he had been here, reading the paper, finding out about Raul and Lydia, but then he remembered the hours before that, the bliss of a day away from the world, and so clear were the memories that for a moment he was sure he could recall the scent of Sophie.

  He could.

  Bastiano opened his eyes and wondered if it was Sophie who had prepared the room; as he filled out the breakfast order, he wondered if she might be the one to serve it.