Chapter 15 Loretta
L ORETTA
After being stuck in the ICU, Loretta imagined that once she was back in her spacious apartment, she’d throw herself on the white leather recliner and breathe a huge sigh of relief. Her apartment has always been her sanctuary. Most of the furniture, passed down the generations, was restored by Alberto years ago with a whitewash finish, giving the whole space a calm feel. And it’s not just the restaurant that looks like an indoor forest; Loretta’s been collecting plants all her life. Dozens upon dozens of them are dotted throughout the apartment, in every nook and cranny, in an assortment of large and small marble, terracotta and colourful mosaic pots. Being surrounded by green has always soothed her.
Loretta was born at Il Cuore and, God willing, she’ll die here. Not in her wildest dreams would she consider living anywhere other than this apartment she adores. But right now there’s nothing good about being home. She’s trapped on the couch as Marina paces up and down the lounge room shouting, shouting.
‘Can you come in here, please, and help me talk some sense into our deranged mother?’ Marina yells at Rocco, who’s in the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water. ‘Where did you go, anyway? One minute you were here and the next you were gone.’
Rocco leans against the kitchen doorway and has a long drink before replying. ‘Relax, would you? I took some biscuits to Sophie. She worked all day without a break, with no pay. She barely had time to eat. Do you want our guest to starve?’
Marina arches an eyebrow. ‘Okay, fine, feed your new girlfriend biscuits. But please tell Mamma that she’s completely lost her mind if she thinks we’re letting her back into the kitchen any time soon.’
‘Letting?’ Loretta shouts. ‘What do you mean letting? You think you have any say in what I do? Ragazza stupida. You’re talking about my kitchen and my hotel, and I’ll do as I please until I join my parents in paradise.’
‘The way you’re behaving, that trip to paradise will be here sooner than you think!’ Marina throws her hands in the air. ‘Look at how much stress you’re under. Please, please be reasonable. It’s time you and Papà retired.’
‘The only thing giving me stress is you fighting with me after everything your father has put me through these last two days. The restaurant is where I go for some peace.’
Marina turns to Rocco. ‘Do something!’ she yells.
Rocco kneels down in front of the couch and takes Loretta’s hand in his. ‘Mammina, please. We’re worried. What if it ends up being you who has a heart attack next from all the stress? What would we do without you?’ He speaks softly. ‘Luca rang Marina today and said he was just as worried about you as he is about Papà. We’ve got it all worked out so you don’t have to come back to work yet. I can go to the market in the morning and do the cooking. Sophie’s here to help for the next two weeks. Salvatore says he can stay as late as we need him to every day as well. Why don’t you rest until you get your strength back after the shock of yesterday, hmm?’
Loretta’s having none of it. ‘There’s nothing wrong with my strength. Every day the people crowd our little restaurant for a taste of Signora Bianchi’s cooking. Do you hear them asking for Rocco? No. Now, pass me the remote control. Let me watch Il Commissario Montalbano in peace. And then both of you, leave me alone. I’ve had enough of the pair of you in my face.’
Rocco shrugs and gives Loretta the remote.
Marina shoots him a withering look. ‘That’s it? You’re not going to say any more? Honestly, you’re as weak as bubbles of soap in Mamma’s hands. I’m the only one who stands up to her.’
‘I just did stand up to her! She won’t listen,’ Rocco protests.
Loretta shuts her eyes. ‘Please, Marina, Rocco, enough,’ she whispers. ‘Enough.’
‘Bene!’ Marina snaps. ‘Have it your way. But if you drop dead from exhaustion in that kitchen, don’t come crying to me!’
Loretta doesn’t reply. Instead, she pulls her hair out of the tight bun, taking out the pins that were pressing into her scalp. It falls in thick waves over her shoulders, and she enjoys the momentary sensation of letting go.
Only seconds later, a key’s being jiggled into the lock of the front door and in walks Alberto, in his slippers with his jacket over his checked blue pyjamas, grinning from ear to ear like a lottery winner.
‘Buonasera, famiglia mia!’ he announces in the doorway, standing there with his arms in the air as if he’s just scored a goal for Inter Milan.
Loretta’s mouth drops open. Rocco and Marina race to the door and bombard Alberto with questions. He ignores them and walks over to the couch, flopping down next to Loretta.
‘I had enough of the hospital,’ he tells them. ‘The food’s terrible.’
‘But, Papà, your surgery! It’s in two days. You have to go back!’ Marina’s voice is shrill.
Alberto shakes his finger at her. ‘No surgery. There’s nothing wrong with me. All I need is a good sleep in my own bed.’
Loretta’s temples throb. ‘What the hell is the matter with you?’ she yells, whacking him hard on the arm. ‘It took me all morning to convince you to have the surgery. What changed?’
‘Nothing changed.’ He smirks. ‘I only agreed so you’d stop nagging me.’ He reaches across the table for his cigarettes and lighter, which Loretta intercepts.
‘You’re an even bigger idiot than I thought!’ she shouts in his face. ‘Stand up! I’m taking you straight back.’
Alberto laughs as he kicks off his slippers and rests his feet on the table. ‘Relax, Loretta. Everything is good now, don’t worry. Stop frowning so much. You’re prettier when you smile.’
‘Papà!’ Marina begins, but Rocco interrupts her.
‘Leave him alone. Let Papà relax, he’s been through a lot.’ Rocco gives Loretta a wink and a simmer down signal with his hand.
He’s right, there’s no point in arguing with Alberto now. If Alberto was determined enough to discharge himself from the hospital and walk all the way home in the freezing cold in his pyjamas, he’s hardly going to turn around and go back there now.
Tomorrow morning, after he’s had a good sleep, she’ll talk sense into him. She forces herself to breathe slowly.
‘By the way, I saw the new food writer out in the hallway,’ Alberto says. ‘She didn’t say who she was, but I saw her going into suite four so I knew it was her.’ He taps Loretta’s leg. ‘You should see her. Oof! That one samples the food more than she writes about it, let me tell you. She hardly fit through the door of her suite.’ He chuckles.
‘Papà!’ Marina and Rocco yell in unison.
Loretta flicks his hand off her. ‘Cretino.’
He takes the insult with a smile.
‘If it wasn’t for Sophie, what would we have done today?’ Rocco’s face is burning, his even temper suddenly gone. ‘We should all be kissing her feet for what she did for our family – instead you’re mocking her. And you’re not one to talk, Papà. You’re not exactly a butterfly yourself.’
Loretta looks closely at Rocco. This is more passion than he’s shown about anything in a long time. Has he been charmed by this new Australian woman? There’s no denying the spark in his eyes right now. Well, this is a surprise! He hasn’t looked sideways at a woman since Gabriella.
And what about this stranger, Sophie, volunteering to work from morning till night for people she’s only just met? Perhaps it was out of the goodness of her heart, but it could also be that she nominated herself for a day in the kitchen to be near Rocco.
Loretta can only hope that if anything is to happen, it will be a short and sweet holiday fling, because any more than that would be too complicated. And the last thing Rocco needs is complications, after everything he’s been through.
She remembers something she meant to tell Rocco and forgot with all the drama. ‘A proposito, Rocco, do you know that your old friend Alessandro di Rita is in town?’
‘Yes, I heard a rumour he was back.’
Loretta detects the falter in his voice.
Rocco’s eyes dart to Marina, who stands frozen in place. What is it about il padre that her children know and she doesn’t? Has he been involved in some kind of scandal? Please, God, no, not Alessandro. His poor mother would be heartbroken.
She continues as if she hasn’t noticed their reactions. ‘Such a holy man, his parents must be so proud.’
Rocco and Marina exchange another meaningful look. Something’s definitely going on here.
‘Go to San Zaccaria and pay him your respects. I assume he’ll be staying there in the rectory,’ Loretta tells Rocco.
He nods. ‘I will.’
‘And ask for a benediction while you’re there,’ she adds. ‘Padre Alessandro is loved by the Holy Father. A blessing from him is almost as good as being blessed by il Papa himself.’
‘Si, Mamma.’ Rocco walks towards his room. ‘Buonanotte, everyone . ’
Marina finally moves as well.
When they both close their doors, Loretta stands with a groan. ‘Come on, Alberto. Let’s go to bed.’
‘I stood outside the door listening to all the shouting before I walked in, you know,’ he says. ‘I’m surprised the hotel’s guests haven’t called the police to our apartment. Marina’s right, maybe my little faint was the sign we both need to work less.’
‘Little faint? It may be time for you to retire, but there’s nothing wrong with me.’
Loretta needs to work as much as she needs to breathe. If she lets the children run the kitchen for much longer, they’ll quickly come to see how well they can cope without her. Rocco’s an excellent cook; he’s more than capable of taking over the restaurant. Once they realise they don’t need her, what will become of her? If she isn’t Signora Bianchi from the restaurant, who is she? She doesn’t even have grandchildren to keep her busy.
Sighing, she walks into her bedroom and changes into her nightgown. She retrieves her mobile phone from her handbag to charge it overnight and freezes when she reads the text message flashing on the screen from an unknown number.
Come back to me.