Chapter 26
CHAPTER 26
CASALTA, 28 APRIL 1985
LUCREZIA
It was another déjà vu moment. Sitting around the pristine table, Cavalli in the place of honour, the arbiter of this money-driven ceremony. The same pile of papers sat in the middle.
I noticed that Bianca was avoiding Lorenzo’s eye, and that Lorenzo was a little tenser, his movements a little harsher. We’d probably tested his patience.
Good , I thought to myself, recalling his proprietorial attitude when he’d come to our home. He’d behaved as if he owned Casalta already.
Once again, there was no trace of Vanni, and that hurt me more than I could say. He’d been clear about wanting to keep his distance from me, so I shouldn’t have been surprised… but it still stung. A part of me was hoping to see him there, smiling again like he had before Florence…
‘No more delays?’ Lorenzo said, pleasant only on the surface.
‘No more delays,’ I answered.
Only now Bianca looked at him, a long, even gaze. He held it, quietly strong as she was. It was a silent battle that neither of them won.
‘We have to do all the signatures again,’ Cavalli said. ‘With the proper date and time, and the witnesses. Wrist at the ready, Signorina Falconeri.’
I grimaced.
I waited to see if the roses would appear again, ready to ignore them this time. But they didn’t.
‘Last one.’
There was a knock at the door. Cavalli half-closed his eyes, irritated.
‘I’m with clients!’ he called, but the door opened anyway.
Cavalli’s assistant, a nervous-looking, balding man, peeped in. ‘I’m so sorry. But the lady here says it can’t wait. She’s a relative.’
‘A relative of who?’ Cavalli seemed exasperated.
The woman who’d been waiting outside passed under the assistant’s arm, which was extended towards the doorframe. Everyone gasped. It was like a scene from a film.
‘Mum?’
Emmeline McCrimmon Falconeri grabbed the documents off the table, and a tug of war with Cavalli followed. Had I not been so profoundly embarrassed, not to mention mystified, I would have found it funny.
‘Mum!’ Bianca was scarlet.
‘Signora!’ Cavalli kept pulling.
Lorenzo was too polite to say or do anything to a lady, so he just sat there open-mouthed, like a fish. A fish in a designer suit.
All of a sudden, Cavalli screamed, let go of the papers and began patting himself down. ‘What was that!’
‘What was what?’ Mum said with an innocent expression. I thought back to the roses climbing my arm, the thorn stinging me…
‘Something stung me, here, on my arm!’
‘Cavalli, maybe you need a glass of water,’ Lorenzo said coldly. ‘I suppose you’re Emmeline Falconeri? I thought you…’
‘It’s a long story,’ I said mechanically just like I’d told Vanni, too surprised by the whole situation to elaborate.
‘Emmeline McCrimmon,’ Mum said with immense dignity. ‘And I’m buying Casalta from Lucrezia, covering the debts and giving everything back to my daughters. Pass me the pen.’
Everyone’s jaws slackened.
‘Mum, I don’t think you understand…’ Bianca began in her gentle way.
‘Oh, I understand. You explained it to me. Your father lost everything and you are about to be thrown out of Casalta. But not any more.’ She grabbed a chair and was about to pull it to sit at the table, when Lorenzo pulled it for her. His manners had the best of him. He looked shell shocked.
‘This is the amount Casalta is going for,’ Cavalli said, half annoyed, half mocking. He pointed to a number on one of the papers.
‘Yes. That’s fine.’
‘How can you pay for it, Mum?’ Bianca was speaking in a slow, soft voice, like you’d speak to a child, or an elderly person who wasn’t quite compos mentis .
I smiled. ‘You’re not destitute like we thought, are you?’
‘All these years, I had two dreams. To have you back with me, and to become a successful painter. Now I’m with you. As for being a successful painter, I made that come true as well. I have enough set aside to cover the purchase of the house. And to finance anything my daughters decide to do, whether it’s rebuilding the business or doing something else.’
Silence fell.
I laughed, a laugh of pure joy. Bianca and I had said we didn’t want to live in a man’s world any more. That we were tired of having men telling us only they could save us, take things in hand, manage the business in lieu of us helpless women.
Turned out, it was a strong, powerful woman who saved Casalta. The one who had been beaten, belittled, intimidated, and ultimately exiled with nothing to her name and nowhere to go.
‘Cavalli, please prepare the documents for the Signora.’ Everyone turned towards Lorenzo. I was surprised to see him with a half-smile on his lips.
Cavalli shot up like the lackey he was.
‘Lorenzo, we—’ Bianca began, but Lorenzo shook his head.
‘I don’t need an explanation, truly,’ he said, and offered his hand to my mother, who took it and shook it heartily. ‘I don’t know how you came back from the dead, Signora Fal— McCrimmon, but well played. Congratulations,’ he said and walked out, leaving us all awestruck.
I threw a glance at Bianca – she’d followed Lorenzo with her eyes, and her gaze was still on the door.
‘Talk about deus ex machina !’ On our way out from Cavalli’s, I felt like I was walking a metre off the ground. I was so light, I could have flown away. ‘Can we walk? I really need to shake off some energy!’
‘Yes, please. I’m electric too, right now! Oh, Mum. You came back just at the right time,’ Bianca said.
‘The right time would have been many years ago,’ Mum answered, a shadow of sadness on her face. But the sadness dissolved as she smiled. ‘I can’t wait to tell Nora and Mia. Oh, and show you the catalogues of my exhibitions… they’re in my house in London, but I hope you can all come and see me soon.’
Bianca stopped in her tracks. ‘In London?’
‘Well… yes,’ Mum said. Her expression was expectant: it was clear that she was holding out for something. For an invitation…
‘Are you not staying with us?’
‘Do you want me to?’
‘More than anything!’ Bianca said and held her hands. ‘It’s a dream come true!’
‘I won’t be able to be in Casalta all the time; my work is in England. But I’ll be here as much as possible. If Nora and Mia agree, though.’
‘Mia will be delighted. As for Nora, leave it with us,’ Bianca said, beaming.
‘What about you, Lucrezia?’ Mum asked. ‘Will you go back to Paris?’
‘I promised I would stay until everything was sorted. And now it is, although not in the way we expected it.’
‘So, will you leave, Lulu?’ Bianca’s voice was shaking a little. The idea of leaving my sisters again, my mum, after all the years of separation, was a stab in the heart.
But would I belong here again?
In my mind’s eye, Vanni’s face: the hostility, the sorrow. The way he’d looked at me, like I was a painful reminder of what he’d lost, instead of…
Well, a friend.
Although I knew that what I felt for him was not friendship.
‘It wasn’t the right time to enquire,’ Mum said and caressed my back. I decided to change the subject, before more questions had the chance to hit me over something I still wasn’t sure about. ‘I can’t wait to tell Nora and Mia! They’re not going to believe it…’
‘I hope…’ Mum began, but didn’t finish.
‘What do you hope, Mum?’ Bianca asked.
‘To have my little Nora back,’ she answered, and we were silent.
We decided to walk straight to the stables, looking for Nora to tell her the news – the three of us climbed the hill where Nora’s new horse had almost trampled us, and down the gentle slope that’d take us to the outbuildings complex, with the stone warehouses where grapes and olives were processed to be sent to the wine and oil makers. In my memory, they’d been buzzing with activity, but now they were deserted. The period of limbo between my father’s death and the next step wasn’t finished yet.
Then it struck me: it had nearly ended up with the Orafi taking charge, with all their boasting about strong men looking after the business. It infuriated me, that they’d assumed none of us could do it. It was time to show them we could, and it was exciting, but daunting too. This empty place would have to be filled with activity again. Step by step.
‘There’s a lot of work to do, now, if we want to try and get the Falconeri firm off the ground again,’ I said.
‘You don’t have to do that. You can create your own business. As long as the workers are looked after, this is your blank sheet,’ Mum said.
‘You have no idea how relieved I am,’ Bianca said, her voice jumpy with every step we took down the slope. ‘I can never thank you enough…’
‘Lorenzo took it graciously. I certainly didn’t expect congratulations from him!’ Mum commented.
I threw a glance at Bianca, and saw that her cheeks had grown pink.
‘A gallant adversary, I suppose,’ I said. I noticed that Mum was looking sideways at Bianca too.
We entered the stables, and a strangely pleasant smell of horses and hay filled my nostrils. The last time I’d been here was before I was sent away – I had a vague memory of small outbuildings with three or four horses that my father and his friends occasionally rode. What I found now was different: the barn that was already there had been extended, and another one added. The place was immaculate, almost licked to perfection: the love that Nora had for her small empire was unmistakable.
Matteo, the man I’d met the first day I was back, was grooming the riotous Ettore, the Maremmano that had almost trampled us, stroking his warm brown neck. Ettore didn’t seem riotous today at all: his eyes were semi-closed and he was offering his neck to the grooming.
‘Oh hello,’ Matteo said cheerfully. ‘Are you looking for… Signora Falconeri ?’
‘Yes,’ Mum said with a smile. ‘It’s me. I don’t believe you worked here when I lived in Casalta?’
The man was mute for a moment. I was pretty sure what was going through his mind: She’s supposed to be dead.
‘No, but my father did. Vito Campi.’
‘Of course! I can see the family resemblance. And your name?’
‘Matteo.’ He was staring at her like he’d seen a ghost. Which in a way, he had, given that my mother had had a funeral officiated and a casket – empty – buried.
Matteo seemed to give up trying to work out the situation, and gestured towards the back. ‘Nora is in the riding barn.’
‘Thank you,’ Mum said, and he followed us with his eyes, bewildered – he’d seen two long-lost Falconeri women turn up out of the blue in the space of a few weeks. If he hadn’t thought that our family was strange before – and I wouldn’t have blamed him – he certainly did now.
The riding barn was a light, airy space where Nora gave lessons. She was there, slowly walking alongside a chestnut mare who carried a little girl on her back. We waved, probably more gleefully than she would have expected, considering that we were just back from the supposed sale of the house.
‘Just a moment!’ Nora called. A couple of circuits later, during which we were almost jumping up and down with excitement, Nora helped the child dismount and took her to her mother, who was waiting by the sidelines.
‘Is it done?’ she said darkly, walking towards us with strides of her long legs, the girl’s helmet in hand.
We looked at each other – in silent agreement, we waited for Mum to give the news. ‘Casalta is yours. I’m going to buy it, and give it back to you. This’ – she gestured to the barn – ‘is all yours still.’
The helmet slipped out of Nora’s hand and fell on the dirt with a dull thud.
‘But I don’t understand.’
‘It’s ours , Nora!’ Bianca exclaimed. ‘You don’t have to rehome your horses; you don’t have to sell them or move the school. We can stay in Casalta!’
‘How…?’
‘It’s a long story,’ Mum said. ‘I suppose the bottom line is that people like my paintings.’
Nora looked at her, long and hard. ‘Thank you for doing this,’ she said, but there wasn’t much feeling in her words. She looked down – and then straight into our mother’s face. ‘It doesn’t change the fact that you abandoned us.’
Mum didn’t even blink. ‘No. It doesn’t.’
‘Mum told us what really happened, Nora. You need to know, too.’
‘Do I? The end result was that my father’s name was covered in mud. That we grew up alone. That you, Lucrezia, never bothered to check on us. You both only thought of yourselves.’
‘Nora…’ Bianca looked crestfallen. I searched for words, and couldn’t find any.
‘I’m grateful that you bought Casalta for us. But I can’t go any further. Not yet.’
‘You need more time,’ Mum said. ‘I understand…’
‘I don’t know if I’ll ever get there.’ Nora’s voice was hard, but her expression was one of pain. There was no point in asking myself who suffered the most in all this, who made the most mistakes, who the victim was and who the perpetrator. It didn’t matter any more. This wild sister of mine, who was more at ease with horses than with people, who was so beautiful as to turn heads, had built walls as high as mine.
‘I promise you, I’ll try,’ she said. With a last nod of her head, she walked back to the mare and led her out gently.
Mia’s reaction was the opposite. She hugged Mum and refused to let her go – not that Mum wanted to be let go. ‘I can keep my studio! My frescoes are definitely safe! We don’t have to move… I didn’t see this coming!’
‘What happened to I know things I’m not supposed to know ?’ I teased her.
She raised her shoulders. ‘Not this time! I had no idea. And you, Mum… you’re a famous painter, now! Is your work in a museum?’
‘Not in a museum, no, but art galleries. I do exhibitions a lot. I can’t wait for you to see one, to come to England and see the galleries…’
Mia’s face fell. ‘I can’t leave Casalta. I never leave Casalta.’
Bianca was quick to lay a hand on Mia’s cheek. ‘You don’t have to, tesoro ! You’ll only do what you want to do.’ Mia looked at Mum, who smiled and nodded, reassuring her.
Mia’s enthusiasm was restored. ‘Does Nora know?’
‘Yes. She’s happy, of course.’
Mia studied Mum’s face. ‘She’ll come round. Nora is Nora. I love her, thorns and all.’
Bianca clapped her hands. ‘Well, it’s time to open a bottle. One of the good ones. Father’s special ones.’
‘The ones he kept for his associates?’ Mum asked with glee.
‘The very ones! I’ll go,’ I said, and made my way towards Father’s study. It seemed like only yesterday that I couldn’t face going inside: now it didn’t bother me at all. I stepped in… and I jumped out of my skin, letting out a small cry. There was someone there, sitting at Father’s desk, a dark silhouette hunched over the table. I steeled myself and switched on the light, my hand shaking.
It was Gabriella, her face in her hands, crying silently.
My heart was beating hard in my ears – a dark sense of humour made me think, Thank goodness it’s not another parent of mine having come back to life.
My yelp must have alarmed my sisters and my mum, because they reached me there.
‘What happened… Oh, Gabriella!’ Bianca ran to her and put her arm around our stepmother’s shoulders. We were all shocked by this sudden outburst of emotion. Gabriella had always been on the calm side, and this explosive reaction was out of character, at least as far as I knew. ‘I’m so sorry. You must be missing Father so much…’
‘That’s not why you’re crying, Gabriella, is it?’ Mum asked gently.
Gabriella shook her head. She was sobbing so hard, she couldn’t speak. Something long pushed down had finally erupted.
‘The night Fosco died,’ Mum said. ‘They told me you’d left the room… he was alone, and nobody could have helped.’
My father’s wife wiped the tears from her face. It was awful seeing her come undone this way. Why was Mum reminding her of such trauma?
Father’s books and folders were watching us from the shelves. I smelled cigars again – maybe a stale odour left lingering, maybe my imagination.
Mum continued. ‘But you were there, weren’t you, Gabriella?’
She nodded, still too choked to speak.
I looked from one to the other. ‘You were?’
‘You didn’t give Father his medication,’ Bianca said slowly.
Gabriella composed herself a little, and cleared her voice. It came out croaky, full of tears.
‘I didn’t give it to him. I watched him die. I watched him die, when I could have saved him.’
I think you’d call that killing someone .
‘What did he do to you?’ Mum asked, still in that gentle, compassionate voice.
‘To me? Nothing. Nothing at all. He was kind to me, loving. I didn’t know there was a before . I had no idea that there had been a time when my Fosco was cruel, and he did terrible things. But you see, he wanted to unburden his heart. He wanted a sort of confession, to let it all out. He thought I would understand, I would forgive him. But if he wanted forgiveness, he should have gone to a priest.’ That last statement sounded like a sentence, like the announcing of a guilty verdict.
I felt my eyes widen. It was all coming together in my mind, now.
‘That night, he told me everything he’d done in the past. Or at least, I want to believe it was everything. How he sent you away, Lucrezia, because you reminded him too much of your mother. He told me what he put you through, Emmeline, what him and Diego did to you.’
‘He told you why I was forced to leave…’
‘Yes. Which was bad enough. There’s something else. Something… unforgivable.’
We waited in silence, while a shiver went down my spine.
‘What happened to the Orafi wasn’t an accident,’ she continued. ‘Fosco sent one of his men to tamper with their car so the brakes would malfunction.’
‘Lorenzo was right,’ Bianca whispered.
‘I never really knew him. I thought I did, but my kind-hearted Fosco never existed. It was never kindness; it was remorse that made him be so tender with me. When he told me all those things, he wanted absolution. He expected absolution. But I certainly couldn’t absolve him – nobody could, except the people he’d hurt.’
Gabriella swept her hair behind her ears, composed again. Her voice was now a murmur. ‘When he saw the horror on my face, he was… surprised. He truly thought I would say it didn’t matter, that it was all in the past. When I didn’t, I think he couldn’t quite believe it. He said he was sorry, that he had nightmares, that he wished he could turn back time… he implored me to understand. But I couldn’t. His face turned grey… he couldn’t take a breath. His pills were there, within reach, but he couldn’t reach them…’
‘And you did nothing,’ I said.
‘I did nothing. Nothing at all .’
This quiet, unassuming woman had dismantled my father’s house of cards. He had nothing to blackmail her with, no daughters to be staked against her silence, like our mother had; he couldn’t terrorise her, or leverage her loyalty, like he’d done with my sisters; he couldn’t buy her, like he’d bought Diego and his other lackeys. She wasn’t part of the net of misplaced fealty, of reciprocal favours, with Fosco Falconeri at its centre.
‘Nobody needs to know!’ my mother declared.
‘Nobody needs to know,’ Bianca, Mia and I repeated at the same time, and it was a little like a ritual, a pact of silence among four women who’d been brought low, but had risen again.
Later, I found Mia in her studio, where she sat on the ground working at her latest painting: she was giving the last touches to Judith’s hand, her fingers curled around the knife. Judith was killing Holofernes in an eternal act of justice.
Oh.
She had known .
Mia turned around and smiled, her arm raised holding the paintbrush, her head a little tilted. In that moment, she made me think of Artemisia Gentileschi, the woman who’d painted the Giuditta decapita Oloferne kept in the Uffizi.
‘It’s all finished, now,’ she said.