Chapter 40
‘Coffee?’ Gino said.
‘Please.’ Stella didn’t feel like one but it was a safer bet than drinking another glass of wine and saying something she’d come to regret. Like, ‘Did you know your family was responsible for the death of my grandfather as well as my papà?’
Gino busied himself at the stove. Stella walked over to the kitchen window.
The air was warm, still. There wasn’t a wisp of a breeze.
Music drifted over from the piazza, several streets away.
She was tempted to suggest they abandon Leo’s house and join in with the dancing and raucous singing.
Immersing themselves in the revelry would be an easy way to avoid conversation.
He set down the coffee.
Stella found it hard to meet his eye. The effort of making small talk with the man with whom she’d wanted to share everything was bringing her close to tears. She faked a yawn.
‘Sorry. I really am tired.’
‘Looking after the shop and your uncle coming home, it’s been too much for you. It was selfish of me to think you’d have much energy left this evening.’
‘I’m sorry I’ve not been good company.’
‘Don’t be daft.’ He knocked back his coffee in two mouthfuls. ‘Finish your drink then I will walk you back.’
‘There’s no need.’
‘Okay.’ He looked too defeated to argue.
She tipped back her coffee. ‘Thank you for dinner. It was delicious.’
‘My pleasure.’ He walked her to the door.
‘Goodnight, Gino.’
He kissed her on both cheeks. Like a friend.
‘You do still want to have dinner with me on Saturday, don’t you?’ he said. ‘I’ve booked a table at Da Luca; I thought a sixtieth birthday deserved more than a return trip to the pizzeria.’
‘Of course I do, that would be lovely.’
She stepped outside; the door closed behind her.
She stood in the road, fighting the urge to turn back and bang the knocker.
To try and explain. But how could she put into words what she couldn’t understand herself?
Logically, she knew that nothing Violetta had done was Gino’s fault. She needed time to think, to be alone.
She walked aimlessly for a while. She didn’t want to go back to her uncle’s house and explain why she’d curtailed her evening.
And she didn’t fancy fighting through the crowds in the piazza; someone was sure to stop her for a chat.
Everyone knew she was back with Gino. How would she explain his absence away?
She wandered through the backstreets, the sound of the rock music becoming progressively louder then quieter as she went up and down steps, ducked and dived under arches and through alleyways.
Eventually she looped back to the start of the passageway beside Sant’ Agata’s and out onto the end of the main street.
There was no one around, the shops all shuttered hours before.
The bar stood deserted, but the tables and chairs were all set out, ready waiting for the revellers to spill in after the last note played.
Behind the counter, a bored member of staff played with his phone.
At the top of the street a lone figure stood at the bus stop, a bag slung over her shoulder, a small suitcase by her feet. The last service of the day hadn’t yet come through the village but it seemed strange that someone would be leaving so late in the evening.
As Stella’s footsteps drew nearer, the traveller turned. Her hair shone golden red under the streetlamp’s soft light. Streaks of dark eye makeup were smudged across her cheeks.
‘Amy?’
The girl let out a strangled sob.
‘What’s happened?’ Stella said. ‘Where on earth are you going?’
‘I can’t stay.’ Amy swiped a hand roughly across her tear-stained face.
‘Is it Leo?’ Stella asked.
‘It’s over.’ Amy stared down at the case by her feet. A bra strap poked out of the hastily closed zip.
‘Are you sure? Gino says the way Leo talks about you…’
‘Please don’t.’ Amy pressed her lips together.
The sound of a car approaching caught Stella’s attention, its headlights too bright in the empty street. Behind it came the bus to Sanremo. Amy picked up her case. She put out her other arm. The bus slowed to a halt. The front and middle doors opened. One lone passenger got off.
‘Bye, Stella.’
‘No.’ Stella caught her by the arm. ‘You’re not going anywhere. Not tonight, not like this.’
‘Why do you care where I’m going?’ Amy shook her off. She stepped aboard the bus. ‘Sanremo, per favore.’
Stella stood half in, half out the door. ‘I don’t know why I care, I just do.’
‘Will you either get on or off please, signora.’ The bus driver looked weary. A murmur rose from the passengers, someone tutted.
‘I can’t go back to Fernanda’s,’ Amy said but she made no attempt to move down the bus and sit down.
‘Sbrigati per favore! Hurry up, please!’ someone shouted from the back of the bus.
Stella swiped Amy’s case and plonked it down by the kerb.
‘You’re going to stay with me and my Uncle Domenico.
Please, no arguing. It’s late. You can’t be wandering around looking for somewhere to stay.
If you want, you can leave straight after breakfast. What do you think your mum and dad would say? ’
‘I suppose you’re right.’ Amy stepped off the bus. Someone gave a sarcastic cheer. The doors closed with a hiss.
‘Everything will look better in the morning.’
‘No… No, it won’t.’ Amy chewed her lip. ‘But… umm, thanks so much for giving me somewhere to stay.’
‘No problem. We’ll go home right now and have a nice cup of tea.’
‘Okay.’ Amy sniffed. She followed Stella in silence.
* * *
Stella had expected her uncle’s house to be in darkness but despite the late hour, it looked as though Domenico hadn’t gone to bed. He might not be too impressed that she’d turned up with a visitor in tow, but she knew he wouldn’t have the heart to turn Amy away.
Stella opened the unlocked door and waved a hand to indicate where Amy might park her case.
‘I’m home,’ she called. No answer came. She pushed open the door to the little sitting room. The lamp was on but Domenico’s chair was unoccupied. Only the squashed cushions and abandoned newspaper signalled that her uncle had recently been sitting there.
‘Sit down, make yourself comfortable. I’ll make that tea.’
‘I don’t think…’ Amy hovered.
‘Sit,’ Stella said.
She stepped back into the hall. The sound of running water came from the kitchen.
‘Domenico, are you there?’
She turned the handle.
‘You’re back early.’ Her uncle was standing by the kitchen sink, a guilty look on his face.
‘I said to leave your washing up for me to do.’
‘All done and put away.’ He moved one hand behind his back, a gesture that drew attention to whatever he was trying to hide.
Stella crossed the room. ‘Show me your hand.’ It was the voice she’d used when Lauren was small.
Domenico’s eyes shifted sideways. He held out his knobbly hand, the skin painfully pink.
‘You’ve burnt yourself! I wouldn’t have left you that frandura if I thought you were going to heat it up.’
‘Pah! I would not do that. It tastes better at room temperature, it brings all the flavours out.’
‘Then how?’ Her uncle could make coffee in his sleep and she’d ironed all his shirts.
‘That new kettle of yours gives out a lot of steam. I didn’t realise it would burn like that, silly old fool that I am.’
Stella was incredulous. ‘You were making tea? I’ve never seen you drink one. Talking of which—’ She lifted the offending object off its stand and filled it to the halfway mark. Then she examined Domenico’s hand. ‘You should hold it under the tap for a while longer.’
‘I’m sorry, Stella.’
‘Nothing to be sorry for.’
‘There is.’ He pressed his thin lips together. ‘I was trying to surprise you, but I’ve wrecked that hat.’
‘The one I found in the storeroom?’
He tilted his head towards the kitchen table. The hat was still squashed out of shape and now the silk flowers had wilted and some of the colours had run. It looked sorrier than ever.
‘Oh dear.’
‘I thought if I steamed it like you were planning to do, you’d move it somewhere I wouldn’t have to look at it.’
Stella put her hand to her mouth. ‘I’m so sorry. I knew Violetta made it, but it was so pretty I just didn’t think. To be honest, I hadn’t given a moment’s thought to what I’d do with it. I suppose I should pass it on to Fernanda.’
‘You can’t give it to her in that state.’
He looked so serious she wanted to hug him.
‘I’ll try to revive it in the morning and if it’s no better, we’ll bin it. It’s only a hat.’
‘Wait,’ Domenico said quietly. ‘Did you close the front door? I thought I heard a noise in the hall.’
Stella gasped. ‘I almost forgot! We’ve… umm… I’ve got a visitor.’
She opened the kitchen door. The hallway was empty. Amy’s suitcase had gone.