Chapter 34 Loretta
L ORETTA
It’s impossible for Loretta to focus on the restaurant. Her phone is a grenade in her jeans pocket as she waits for it to vibrate with a message from Flavia, who has yet to respond to the message Loretta sent her yesterday afternoon. What’s taking her so long to reply? Has she left Venice? Or worse, is she still here but has changed her mind?
The waiting and the sleeplessness have made Loretta jittery. She hopes the guests don’t notice. The only blessing is that she hasn’t had to face Alberto yet today; he was still asleep when she came downstairs. She can’t let herself think about him.
Just once , is her mantra today as she reaches for the pendant of the Madonna inside her top. Just let me touch her once and I’ll never ask for anything again . She’s devoted thirty-six years of her life to Alberto. Surely God can forgive her one moment of living for herself?
She almost drops the pot of coffee in her hands when her phone vibrates. Leaving the pot on the buffet table, she sprints to the restaurant’s bathroom and pulls out the phone. She almost walks into Marina, who’s standing in front of the full-length mirror.
‘Where have you been?’ Loretta snaps, sliding the phone back into her pocket. ‘Breakfast is nearly over.’
Marina ignores her, turning from side to side, frowning at her own reflection.
‘I can’t rely on you or your brother to help me today,’ Loretta continues. ‘You nag me to rest, then you leave everything to me.’ She squints at Marina. ‘Are you wearing make-up? Since when do you wear make-up to work?’
Marina doesn’t take her eyes off the mirror, tucking the shirt tightly into her pants so that it pulls across her chest. ‘This shirt is completely shapeless. It’s so ugly . Why do we have such an ugly uniform?’
‘Forget about the stupid shirt and get out there and help me!’ Loretta huffs. ‘The restaurant’s full.’
‘Ugh, relax. I’m coming.’ Marina finally peels her eyes away from the mirror and opens the bathroom door.
Rocco walks past just at that moment. ‘The di Ritas are here,’ he says to Marina, looking less pleased than Loretta imagines he should, considering Alessandro is one of his oldest friends. ‘Signora di Rita’s asking for you, Mamma.’
‘Again? I was just with her a few minutes ago.’ Loretta sighs and follows Marina out into the restaurant. She’ll need to check her phone when she has a minute of privacy.
Alessandro and his mother’s blond heads are beacons shining from the best table in the house. She makes her way to them. Clara and her husband, Pedro, exclaim over the food. She’s always liked the di Ritas. They’re warm and gentle people. It’s no wonder they produced a son holy enough to be called to Rome. Although Alessandro still has a strange air about him this morning; he’s almost squirming in his seat and staring past Loretta at God knows what.
Clara tells her about a fundraiser for the church, and Loretta offers to donate a basket of her homemade shortbread. She hangs around the table for a few more minutes and talks with them about the weather (cold), Christmas (lovely having Alessandro home) and their insurance company (praise God, doing well), all the while wondering if the message on her phone is from Flavia and what it says.
Finally she excuses herself, too fraught to socialise any longer. On her way back to the bathroom, she notices that the cold meat platter is just about empty, and as much as she wants to check her phone, it’s impossible for her to ignore it. So she stops and picks the platter up to take to the kitchen to replenish.
‘Amazing spread once again.’
The voice belongs to the Australian doctor, Signore Taylor, who’s appeared beside her.
‘Prego, signore . I hope you enjoy.’ She gives him a brief smile.
‘Sure will.’ He reaches for a pastry. ‘I’m making up for my wife. She hasn’t got much of an appetite. I don’t know how she can resist all your delicious food.’
Loretta thinks about Signora Taylor gorging herself the other day.
He takes a step closer to her. ‘I know Ellie can come across as a bit standoffish. She’s really shy, that’s all. She loves it here. I’d hate for you to get the wrong impression.’
Loretta turns to see Signora Taylor cradling a glass of water, looking the personification of misery. This isn’t shyness, it’s something much more sinister. ‘Please let me know if there is anything I can do to make your wife’s stay with us more comfortable, signore.’
‘You’re the best, Signora Bianchi.’ He gives her a wink that makes her back muscles tense. ‘How’s your husband doing?’ he asks, almost as if to remind her of the hero he is.
Before she can reply, Alessandro comes to stand next to them. ‘Christian! Buongiorno, my friend.’
‘Padre!’ Christian grins.
Loretta frowns. ‘You know my guest?’ she says to Alessandro.
‘Of course I know Christian.’ Alessandro smiles. ‘The reason I came home is for the funeral.’
She shakes her head and speaks to Alessandro in Italian. ‘I don’t understand. What’s the connection between the funeral and this man?’
‘Zia, have you forgotten that Signore Zanetti is Elena’s father?’ Alessandro points at Signora Taylor.
Loretta’s breath catches in her throat. She whips her head around to look at the woman again.
‘ That’s Elena Zanetti?’ Her voice is shrill.
‘You know my wife?’ Christian frowns.
‘I do know her!’ Loretta holds her hand to her heart. Santa Maria, what’s become of sweet little Elena? She was a teenager the last time Loretta saw her. Never in a million years would she have recognised this sad, skeletal woman as the vivacious girl she knew back then.
She walks over to where Elena’s sitting and throws her arms open. ‘Elena, cara! E bello vederti!’
Elena shrinks away from her and responds in English, with barely a hint of Italian left in her accent. ‘I’m sorry, do we know each other?’
‘Of course I know you,’ Loretta replies in English. ‘Don’t you remember us? Rocco played football with Paolo. God rest his soul.’ She crosses herself.
‘I’m so sorry, Signora Bianchi, I ... I don’t.’ It’s clear she’s lying.
Elena looks past her, and Loretta turns to see Christian standing behind her. He’s looking at his wife with laser focus. His expression is dark.
‘You know these people? Why didn’t you let on, Ellie?’ His voice has changed. It’s low and still, and the way he says the word Ellie makes Loretta recoil.
‘I swear I don’t remember them.’ Elena’s words are shaky. Her eyes dart from Loretta to her husband. She wrings her bony hands together. The poor girl is beyond terrified of this man. What on earth is he doing to her?
Loretta thinks of Elena’s mother, Anna-Maria, who’s already lost her son and who now, only in her early fifties, has lost her husband too. It’s obvious her daughter is in deep trouble. How can this much tragedy befall the same family?
‘Excuse us, please, Signora Bianchi.’ Christian’s voice remains calm, but his jaw is clenched tight. ‘I’d like to speak with my wife privately.’
‘Of course.’ Loretta gives Elena an apologetic look and walks out of the restaurant to the bathroom.
Taking a deep breath, she locks herself in a stall and checks her phone.
Flavia’s message is there.
My love, I’m waiting for you at the church. Hurry.