Chapter 9
nove
As if he were a fireman carrying heavy equipment across an emergency scene, Alessio’s return to Trattoria dei Fiori, ten-kilo hessian sack of potatoes tossed over his shoulder, earned him applause from both Maria and Francesca, and a curt smile from Elena.
Although she tried to hide it, Francesca could not help but beam at the sight.
He’s enjoying every second of this attention. Look at him. All charismatic and gorgeous. Wait – gorgeous?
Just as she began to examine this thought, Alessio said, ‘Can you take my sunnies off, please?’ They had slipped down his aquiline nose and threatened to drop to the floor tiles.
‘Certo!’ Francesca removed them and folded down the arms. ‘I’ll leave them here,’ she added, and popped them on the serving ledge.
‘Patate per Nonna Maria,’ he announced, setting down the bag on the bench as Maria rushed to clear a space. ‘Dieci chili,’ he confirmed, which was rewarded with a pinch of his left cheek.
‘Grazie, Alessio!’ Then she launched into a torrent of dialect, and while the sounds were likely familiar to Alessio’s ear, Francesca knew the pace would be too quick for him.
Alessio turned to her with ‘help me!’ eyes, and she translated an abridged version: ‘She thanks you and she’s very happy to have you here.’
‘Right. Grazie. No wait, prego.’
‘Thank you, Alessio.’ Elena stood forward. ‘Do you have plans for the rest of your day? We are going to open soon for lunch.’
‘I thought I might go upstairs and unpack. I haven’t got around to it yet. Have some breakfast.’ He tapped the bag of groceries Francesca had kindly carried for him. ‘Then perhaps a beach walk, or some time down there with a book.’
Francesca’s heart seized again. That would be another opportunity for him to encounter the townsfolk. She felt Maria’s hand catch hers and give it a settling squeeze.
That’s her way of telling me to just let it happen. I can’t control this situation under these circumstances . . .
She stole a moment for a breath before saying, ‘There’s a street library box by the bar in the piazza. You should go have a look on your way down to the beach. You might find a book – o due! – to read. The English ones are mostly left by tourists.’
Suddenly, one of Maria’s phones began to ring and she pulled it from her apron. She had an interested party of three looking on as she sat back down in her chair by the end of the bench. ‘Pronto? Giannina, ciao. Ahh, sì. Mmm. E sì? Ma no?’
This carried on for a few moments, prompting Francesca to clarify for Alessio, ‘Giannina is her best friend. They play tombola together at the church social nights, double-date, cook and shop together. They have been best friends since they were five.’
‘Ahh. Impossibile! La signora Ricci? Ma no . . .’ Maria’s free hand came down with force on the benchtop beside her.
‘Is everything alright?’ Alessio asked, clearly noticing Maria’s shocked expression.
But just as Francesca was about to answer, Maria ended the call and began rattling off her usual brand of impassioned dialect, wild gestures accompanying her story.
Francesca doubled over from the force of her laughter and had to brace herself against the kitchen bench.
‘What? What’s happened?’ Alessio asked, eyes wide.
Rising again, Francesca fanned her face with her hands in an attempt to calm herself before saying, ‘There is a woman in town, Signora Ricci, who has a certain “reputation”. She was just seen in the supermercato. Buying plastic bags.’
Alessio blinked. ‘You’re joking?’
Francesca clasped her hands over her mouth and shook her head. ‘See? Do you believe me now?’
‘I’m a convert.’
‘Fidati di me, Alessio. I’ll look after you in Impastino.’
‘That’s right, Alessio,’ Elena said. ‘Francesca will always take care of you. She’ll put your needs ahead of her own.’ Alessio didn’t seem to notice the thinly veiled sarcasm, or if he did, he was too polite to show it.
‘Well, I’ll leave you to deal with that situation,’ he said to Francesca. ‘Thanks for the morning tour. And the pasticciotto. I might see you around later. Good luck with lunch service.’ He collected his shopping and nodded his farewell.
‘Ciao, Alessio!’ Francesca returned, while Maria blew him kisses and resumed singing his praises as a beautiful muscular man.
Once they heard the upstairs door leading to the apartment balcony open and close, Elena said, ‘Tell me, Francesca, do you think of this man as some kind of pawn in a chess game?’ She caught Francesca’s shoulders and spun her around so they were eye to eye.
Francesca shrugged herself free. ‘It’s not like that, Mamma. I’m just trying to get to know him. I want him to be able to trust me.’
‘Trust you, or fall in love with you?’
Francesca’s face dropped. ‘Are you serious, Mamma? I can’t believe you just said that!’
‘The little tour. The smiles. The laughter. The lunch on the terrazzo. And what’s this about a pasticciotto?’
‘I’m being polite, Mamma! He’s a guest!’
‘You never carry on with our other guests like this. You’re acting like a hormonal teenager!’
At this, Maria stood and waggled a finger at Elena. ‘You could use a fresh batch of hormones. Something to perk you up! You’re a miserable woman these days. Leave the poor girl alone. If she wants to sleep with him, then she should!’
‘Nonna!’ Francesca dropped to a squat and rested her forehead on the tops of her knees. ‘What a mess!’
‘Francesca, you can’t keep going like this. You need to tell Alessio about the festa.’
‘I know. I just can’t yet!’
‘Why not?’
‘Because, because . . . it’s not that straightforward. He’s . . . It could be a big deal for him. I need to respect that.’
Elena began pacing, the volume of her voice rising. ‘Respect? Please! You have no respect for this man at all! Look what you’ve done to him! Without his consent or knowledge!’
‘Mamma, please!’
‘Francesca, you need to tell him. By tonight. Or else I will!’
Francesca bolted to standing, her hands reaching for Elena’s, pleading to her to see reason. ‘No! Don’t do that! You need to stay out of it. I’ll tell Alessio.’
Then a voice from behind made them fall silent. ‘Tell me what?’