Chapter 59 Gayle
G AYLE
Mike walks into the room, puffing. ‘Those stairs are so darned steep. No staff at reception. Guess where I found them all? In the restaurant! Sitting at the table eating, happy as you please, like they don’t have any guests to look after.’
‘Those people have to eat too some time, hon.’
He sits next to her. ‘Signore Bianchi was there, poor old fella. Sitting there looking proud as punch with himself while his wife goes around kissing nuns willy-nilly behind his back. He asked me why we haven’t been going to the restaurant for dinner.’
‘What did you say?’
‘I said your headaches have been giving you extra trouble, so I’ve been picking up takeaways instead.’
Thank goodness.
‘You know what she said when I said that?’ He raises his eyebrows, waiting for Gayle to say ‘what’.
‘What?’
‘She said she was going to go on and fix us a hot meal right now. Said they were testing out for lunch what they’re serving for dinner, and she had leftovers. Said if we eat a big meal now, then she can send us up a sandwich for tonight instead of us needing to spend money on takeaways. She’s bringing up a plate for each of us. And it’s on the house!’ He rubs his hands together. ‘Smelled pretty good too. Some kind of casserole, I think.’
‘That’s very generous of Signora Bianchi.’
‘She knows she owes us for keeping her dirty secret, that’s what that is. It’s a good saving, though.’
Things have been a little easier with Mike today. Making love last night did what she hoped it would and thawed out the ice between them. They haven’t spoken about Noah at all today, but the tension is there, lurking in the background more subtly than before, but always there.
And her headache is as bad as ever. Will it ever go away?
There’s a knock at the door and Mike lets Signora Bianchi in. She’s carrying a silver tray with two covered plates, as well as an ice compress.
‘Buon anno, signora.’ She smiles a small tight-lipped smile as she sets the tray down on the side table. ‘This means “happy new year”. Your husband tells me you are not well.’ Signora Bianchi’s holding her head high, but the strain is showing in her eyes.
‘It’s my headache is all,’ Gayle says.
Signora Bianchi gives her a long look. ‘You have had a headache every day since you arrived, signora. This is no good.’
‘It’s like I said,’ Mike says. ‘The pink walls in the restaurant, they set her right off.’
‘It is not the walls,’ Signora Bianchi says brusquely. She doesn’t look at Mike. ‘There is a Mass tonight,’ she tells Gayle. ‘A very special Mass, for the Feast of the Mother of our Lord. We are all going. Come. If you pray for your headaches to be healed at this Mass, the Blessed Virgin will intercede for you. The Lord listens to His mother.’
Mike steps forward. ‘I don’t know about—’
‘Where’s the Mass?’ Gayle asks.
Signora Bianchi swallows. ‘It is at San Zaccaria.’
‘San Zaccaria?’ Mike says. ‘You’ve a nerve inviting us back there—’
‘I made a mistake, signore,’ Signora Bianchi interrupts, making a stop sign with her hand. ‘I made a mistake and I am very, very sorry that you saw this. Even though I ask myself why you were even in the sacristy, which is off limits to tourists.’ She adjusts her bun and turns her attention back to Gayle. ‘Come to the holy Mass. If you set your intentions on this special day, it will work, believe me. This Mass brings miracles every year. Last year, a couple who were infertile became pregnant after the Mass. Another year, a man’s cancer was completely cured.’
Mike crosses his arms. ‘Now, listen here, San Zaccaria is a Catholic Church. Gayle and I, we’re not Catholic. It wouldn’t be right for us to be there.’
Signora Bianchi turns to him. ‘Signore, it is never wrong to visit the house of God. You had no problem to go there as a tourist. The reason for a church is prayer, not tourism. Your wife has been unwell since you arrived. Mass is at nine. You are welcome to sit with us, but come early because it is a very popular Mass.’ She looks at Gayle again and it’s as if she can see right into her heart. ‘Come and share your worries with the Madonna, signora. She will not abandon you.’
‘Hold up, is Madonna gonna be there? If that demonic woman’s going, then we certainly won’t be.’ Mike puffs out his chest.
‘I don’t think she means that Madonna, hon.’ Gayle tries not to laugh at the look Signora Bianchi is giving Mike. ‘I think I’d like to go. Would that be okay with you?’ she asks him.
Signora Bianchi speaks before Mike can answer. ‘Of course. Il signore knows it is not his place to come between his wife and God.’
Mike opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.
‘I will send some sandwiches up to your room at six so you can eat away from the pink walls.’ She flashes Mike a look, then smiles at Gayle. ‘Have your lunch, signora. The food will fortify you. And here is the cold compress signore came into the restaurant when it was closed to ask for. I am putting it in the freezer for you. Eat first. You too, signore.’ She takes the steel lids off the plates and a mouth-watering aroma fills the room. ‘Prego.’
Mike is instantly mollified. ‘Well, well, what’ve we got here, then?’
‘This is my rabbit stew. The mushrooms were foraged from the Treviso forest only yesterday. It is very fresh.’ Signora Bianchi nods proudly.
The stew is accompanied by creamy-looking mashed potatoes and chunky bread, dripping in juices.
How difficult it must be for Signora Bianchi to be around them after the debacle at the church. But instead of avoiding them, she’s brought this delicious food. She could have sent someone else up with it, but she came herself.
‘It’s very kind of you to bring lunch for us, Signora Bianchi. I appreciate it,’ Gayle says.
‘Loretta.’ Signora Bianchi taps her own chest. ‘You call me Loretta.’
‘Thank you, Loretta. I love your name. It’s so exotic. Me, I’m just plain old Gayle.’
‘Gayle is a fine name.’ Loretta gives Gayle’s shoulder a pat. ‘Buon appetito. I hope I see you at Mass. We will sit at the front. Come and find us.’ She lets herself out, clicking the door closed.
Mike puts a hunk of bread in his mouth. ‘We’re not really gonna go to that quack church, are we? It’s pagan worship, hon.’ He shoves a forkful of rabbit in too. ‘Idolatry is what it is,’ he says with his mouth full.
Catholics have always confounded Gayle with their strange fixation on the mother of Christ. But what if Loretta’s right? She must passionately believe that the Mass will truly help Gayle, or why else would she draw their attention to that ill-fated church? What if they go along to this Mass and her headaches are healed? Or an even greater family miracle occurs?
‘I want to go, hon,’ she insists.
Mike rolls his eyes and shrugs. ‘Well, you seem to be doing whatever it is you like these days whether I agree or not, so I guess we’re going, then.’