Chapter 20
Stella ground rock salt and garlic to a smooth paste; Domenico’s small kitchen filled with its tantalising scent.
The bunch of basil she’d picked up on the walk home lay waiting on the old wooden chopping board, she’d found a hunk of parmesan in the larder and supplemented this with a triangle of pecorino.
She concentrated on the rhythm of pestle against mortar, humming the tune of an old Ligurian folk song as she worked.
She could almost be back in her mother’s kitchen at a time when struggles with mathematics and teenage spots were her only cares.
Mamma always gave her the job of preparing the cheese ready for the pesto, a task Stella rarely accomplished without scraping her knuckles on the grater.
How she wished she’d known to cherish those days instead of rushing through her chores, longing to escape, jump on her bike and cycle up the mule path to meet Gino at their secret hideaway.
She began picking off the basil leaves, tearing them roughly, inhaling the scent of home.
Her phone lay just in reach. She couldn’t quite believe Joe wouldn’t follow up his earlier message with another.
He’d sent a photograph from the hotel in Portofino: a bare-chested selfie, a lurid coloured cocktail in his hand.
A James Patterson novel rested on his pink swimming trunks.
An attractive blonde woman, face half-hidden behind oversized sunglasses, occupied the adjacent lounger by the turquoise pool; she appeared to be in the process of rubbing suncream into her caramel-coloured thighs.
Stella felt a frisson of irritation. Had Joe deliberately angled the camera to capture his shapely neighbour?
Was he trying to make her jealous? Stella didn’t play games; she’d had enough of that with Ricky.
She couldn’t resist picking up her phone again, even though it meant she’d have to re-wash her hands to finish preparing the basil. She read Joe’s message once more in the vain hope she’d somehow got the wrong end of the stick but his words were plain as the nose on his now slightly sunburnt face.
Joe
Waiting for you to join me x.
No missing you, no how are you? No hint of apology for leaving in a strop, no enquiry after Domenico’s wellbeing.
Just an assumption she’d hotfoot it to Portofino, strip off down to her swimwear and grab an Aperol Spritz, leaving her papà’s beloved younger brother in the lurch.
She knew her insistence on staying in the village was frustrating for Joe, but her gut told her she had to stay, whatever Joe, Lauren and Carol – if she ever found out – might think.
Stella filled Domenico’s great pan with water and chucked in some salt but she wouldn’t start to boil the water yet.
If Lauren called halfway through the cooking, her dinner would turn into a soggy mess.
And there was no way Stella would get away with not answering the phone.
Instead, she laid the table using a placemat and a battered coaster for her glass of wine, even though the kitchen table was decorated with the round rings from a hundred previous mugs and glasses.
She found a bottle of kitchen cleaner under the sink and sprayed some on the tiles, killing time until she received Lauren’s call.
Communication had been so much less fraught when Stella could tuck the landline phone under one ear and potter around tidying whilst she talked.
Now, Lauren’s fondness for FaceTime meant Stella couldn’t shy away from her daughter’s scrutiny.
She’d have to watch her eyes widen in horror when she heard how Stella had been responsible for dear Papà’s death.
The theme tune from Succession rang out.
Stella tucked her hair behind her ears, drank a big slug of wine and picked up her phone.
Lauren’s face swam into focus. She looked tired, washed out in her black work jacket and pale blouse.
Her daughter’s fancy stainless-steel cooker was just in shot, she must be in the kitchen, probably perched on one of her leather-topped barstools.
‘Lauren, hello, love. How was your day? How did your presentation go? I don’t know how you do it, standing up in front of a roomful of people.’ Stella was aware she was babbling.
The vertical frown lines between Lauren’s eyes deepened. ‘It was fine. I’m pretty confident our pitch swung the deal.’
‘Sounds like you’ll be getting another promotion soon. Now, have you got everything ready for your trip to the States?’
‘I haven’t called to talk about me,’ Lauren said briskly. ‘I want to know what’s going on with you. What’s happening with Joe?’
‘Joe?’ Stella was all psyched up to tell Lauren about the worst day of her life – and her daughter wanted to hear about a lovers’ tiff!
‘Yes, the man you’re walking down the aisle with in less than eight weeks.’
‘Joe will come round, he’ll be fine.’
‘He’d better be. I’ve bagged an appointment on Saturday with the personal shopper at Selfridges to pick out my outfit. They’re like gold dust.’
‘Oh, well, I’ll have to get married then,’ Stella quipped.
Lauren glowered. ‘I don’t understand you these days, Mum. Is it something to do with the change? Maybe your hormones are making you do strange things.’
Stella stayed silent. She didn’t have the headspace to cope with a row.
‘Sorry,’ Lauren said. ‘I shouldn’t have said that.’
‘Maybe it’s coming back here, stirring up old memories.’
Lauren tapped a pen on her granite worktop as if encouraging a junior colleague to sit up and pay attention.
‘Okay, Mum, you may as well tell me: what is all this nonsense about killing your papà?’