Chapter 51 Loretta
L ORETTA
There’s something wrong with Sophie. Her make-up may be perfectly applied, but it can’t hide how bloodshot those pretty green eyes are. Sophie, who’s always so quick to laugh, hasn’t smiled once since coming back from the markets with Rocco. Elena Zanetti’s sitting out in the restaurant with her husband, and Sophie, who was obsessed with her yesterday, hasn’t so much as looked at her. And, just a minute ago, Sophie realised she’d left her camera up in her room. Instead of fetching it, she shrugged and said she’d get it later. That girl’s camera is an extension of her hand. Things aren’t right.
While Sophie’s out in the restaurant, Loretta finds Rocco stacking the freezer. ‘What’s the matter with your friend?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Don’t play the idiot, you know what I mean. What’s wrong with Sophie?’
He turns his attention back to the fridge. ‘She said she didn’t want to talk about it, so I didn’t push her.’
‘Cretino.’ Honestly, men !
Sophie comes back into the kitchen and Loretta watches her as she empties scraps into the bin. Sophie’s face is raw with sadness.
‘Is it time to slice the meat, Zia?’ Salvatore asks.
‘Leave the meat for another day,’ Loretta answers. ‘Today we make gnocchi.’
‘Gnocchi?’ Alberto looks up from reading the paper. ‘We just spent a fortune on veal!’
‘Nobody asked your son to waste money on meat I don’t want.’ Loretta snaps. ‘Today we make gnocchi.’
‘But I’ve written veal on the menu,’ Alberto argues. ‘People will be expecting your cutlets at dinner.’
‘Well, stop sitting there like your arse is glued to the chair. Go outside and change the menu!’ She waves her arm at him. ‘And don’t even think about sneaking a cigarette out there.’
Alberto mutters under his breath as he walks out.
Sophie’s a girl after Loretta’s heart, one who takes comfort from preparing food. And there’s no greater balm for a troubled soul than kneading warm potato dough. Loretta needs this therapy almost as much, if not more, than Sophie does today. Something has to get her through the day without her succumbing to her nerves. Tonight she will meet Flavia at the hotel.
So the veal can wait.
Loretta instructs Rocco to go back to the market for potatoes, sage and eggs. He opens his mouth to protest but she gives him a look that keeps him quiet.
‘Take Sophie with you,’ she says. ‘Another walk in the fresh air will do her good.’
While Rocco and Sophie are at the market, Loretta and Salvatore get a head start on the cakes. Her nephew is good company; he keeps quiet and leaves her alone with her thoughts.
When Sophie and Rocco return with the produce, Alberto follows them in from the office, and Loretta announces that she wants the restaurant tables set up in a new way. ‘I’m sick of the way the restaurant looks. It’s been the same, year after year. I want the tables and chairs lined up in two neat rows.’
‘Have you lost your mind?’ Alberto says. ‘Why would we make the restaurant look like an army barrack with rows of tables?’
‘Why are you even still here?’ she barks. ‘There’s nothing for you to do with your weak heart. Can’t you go and find one of your friends to annoy up the street instead of staying here like a thorn in my side?’
Alberto snorts a laugh and stays exactly where he is. It’s almost as if he can sense what she’s planning and is determined to make her feel as guilty as possible by showing her his face all day.
‘Papà’s right, Mamma. The restaurant won’t look good that way,’ Rocco adds.
Loretta acts as if she hasn’t heard them. ‘Sophie, come, put on your apron. First, we boil the potatoes in their skins, and then I will show you my nonna’s way to make the dough. The secret is a sprinkle of nutmeg in the flour.’
‘Mamma, it will take all morning to rearrange the tables. We don’t have time,’ Rocco complains.
‘You will have more time if you stop talking and start moving. And find the white tablecloths, I am bored with these pink ones.’
‘The white tablecloths will be creased.’
‘So? Iron them.’ She turns her back to him. ‘Salvatore, fill two of the big stockpots with salted water and put them on the stove. Then go and help Rocco.’
Rocco and Salvatore finally finish griping and leave the kitchen, followed by Alberto. Loretta works beside Sophie, filling the silence by telling her stories about the history behind some of the more popular Venetian dishes. Every dish has its own tale and Loretta knows them all. Sophie listens while they pick the sage and chop the garlic.
‘Did you know, Sophie, that it took many centuries from when rice was first introduced to Venice for Venetians to actually cook it as whole grains instead of grinding it with pestle and mortar?’
‘Really? I assumed risi e bisi was an ancient dish.’
‘It is old enough, yes. It was the main food of the peasants from long ago. But I am talking about even before then, when the trading ships first came from the East. Venetians thought that rice could only be used if it was ground as a thickener in soups and stews. It was hundreds of years before they realised it could be cooked as a whole grain.’
‘Wow! Hang on, I want to make a note of that so I don’t forget it.’
While the potatoes are boiling, they sift and season the flour. When the potatoes are done, Loretta teaches Sophie how she makes the dough. She speaks to her in her gentlest tone, calm and reassuring, guiding her along. It doesn’t take long for the kneading to take effect.
With egg yolk running between her fingers and her hands deep in flour, Sophie begins to cry. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispers. ‘I’m not myself today.’
Loretta nods and says nothing.
‘I had an argument with my mother on the phone this morning. She criticised my weight. I’m a disappointment to her.’
Loretta wipes the sticky dough off her hands. She walks around to Sophie’s side of the bench.
‘Look at how beautiful you are.’ She holds Sophie by the shoulders. ‘You are so accomplished, so talented, so kind and intelligent. How can your mother be disappointed?’
‘She literally said those words.’
‘You know something, not a day goes by that I do not criticise my children. Do not mistake your mother’s sharp words for what is in her heart. Trust me, I know.’
‘Maybe.’ Sophie sniffs.
Loretta hands her a tissue. ‘Relationships between mothers and daughters are never uncomplicated.’
‘I see how much love there is in your family, though, how close you all are. I’m happy for you, but it makes me so sad for myself.’
‘Marina wishes for an easier mother too, believe me. Would it help you to talk to me about it?’
Sophie shakes her head. ‘I wouldn’t know where to start.’
‘Okay, but if you change your mind, I am here.’ Loretta sprinkles a handful of white flour onto the bench and spreads it around with the palm of her hand. ‘Now we roll the dough into rows and cut the gnocchi, and then we make the sauce.’
Sophie wipes away her tears. ‘What sauce are we making?’
‘Burnt butter.’
‘My favourite.’
‘And mine. Rocco hates it when I make this sauce because the butter sticks to the bottom of the pots, but it is not you and I who have to do the scrubbing, so what do we care?’
It’s the first laugh to come from Sophie all day. ‘Do you mind if I quickly run upstairs and get my camera?’
Sophie leaves the kitchen with a spring in her step and Loretta allows herself a smile.
Rocco comes in. ‘Mamma, come and see the restaurant. We’ve changed it the way you want. It’s not so bad the new way.’
She walks into the restaurant and gives it a perfunctory glance. ‘You were right, it looked better before. Change it back.’
She avoids eye contact with Alberto as she speaks. The less she sees of him today, the better.