Chapter 64 Loretta
L ORETTA
Loretta wipes the make-up from her face and examines herself under the harsh fluorescent light of the ensuite. The dark circles under her eyes, the deep lines around her mouth and the greyish tone of her skin reveal themselves. ‘I look so old ,’ she grumbles.
Alberto, who’s perched on the edge of the bed, replies, ‘You’re the most beautiful woman in Italy. No, the world.’
‘Put out that cigarette!’ She applies night cream to her cheeks. ‘Who smokes at this hour? And with your heart the way it is.’
He takes one last, long drag and stubs the cigarette into an ashtray without complaint. ‘Your singing in Mass was amazing.’ He removes his shoes. ‘You should join the choir.’
‘Join the choir? In all my spare time?’
He shrugs. ‘At least let us hear you sing, then. You don’t need to be in a choir for that. You have the voice of an angel, and you never sing.’
Loretta doesn’t answer. She unpins her hair and it falls to her waist. She joins him on the bed and brushes it out slowly.
Flavia’s gone and Loretta knows in her heart of hearts she’ll never see her again. Her grief is palpable, compounded by the shame and guilt of going behind Alberto’s back.
Alberto looks at his watch and groans. ‘It’s almost midnight already. Merda.’
‘Don’t curse on the Holy Mother’s feast day.’
He rolls his eyes. ‘What were you talking to Pia Falcone about after Mass anyway?’
‘Nothing. I was wishing her a happy Christmas.’
He snorts. ‘The two of you looked like you were planning a rebellion with your heads bent together like that. What were you saying to her? Tell me.’
‘I invited Pia for breakfast. They’re coming the day after tomorrow.’
‘ They. Who else is coming?’
She swallows. ‘Her son.’
‘Ah, Loretta. Again, with Luca Falcone? Poor Marina. Why do you waste your time like this? Can’t you see this matchmaking obsession of yours is useless?’
‘Luca saved your life last week. Can we not thank the man?’
‘What are you talking about? He didn’t save my life at all. I was ready to run a marathon by the time he examined me.’
Alberto pulls back the covers and they climb beside each other into the four-poster bed. He switches off the light. ‘We both know Luca’s medical expertise isn’t the reason he’s invited to dine at our restaurant. Weren’t you sitting right next to me in church tonight? Didn’t you see the way your holy priest from the Vatican was looking at our daughter?’
She sighs a long sigh. ‘Of course I saw. Everyone saw.’
‘Did you know?’ he asks. ‘Did she tell you?’
‘No. Did you know?’
‘No.’
This doesn’t surprise her. Alberto’s only thoughts are about the rising cost of produce at the market or if Inter Milan are playing well. What does surprise her is that she herself never suspected it. She knew, of course, that there must have been a heartbreak to explain Marina’s sudden return to Venice five years ago when she seemed so happy in Rome. The sadness was written in Marina’s eyes. But it didn’t once cross Loretta’s mind that it was Alessandro who was responsible for it. She’d tried and tried over the years to get her daughter to open up to her. It was no use, Marina was a closed book.
She also tried to find a suitable man for Marina, someone to make her smile again, but Marina was resolutely disinterested in any of the men Loretta presented her with. She was a ghost, that girl, going through the motions of life as if she was already dead.
Tonight, with Marina looking so jaw-droppingly beautiful with her hair blow-dried straight, her glamorous make-up, wearing pants so tight they looked painted on, and walking all the way to San Zaccaria, in the freezing cold, with her bare feet in sky-high strappy heels, Loretta suspected that Marina was in love again. But even then, she didn’t for a minute entertain the idea that it was the priest her daughter was off to seduce.
It was only when she saw Alessandro, the only priest she’d ever known who was holy enough to be chosen to do God’s work in the Vatican, stare at Marina for most of the Mass, with that clear and intense longing in his eyes, that she knew.
And now it stuns her that she didn’t figure it out earlier.
Of course, only a complicated love affair could affect someone the way Marina was affected on her return from Rome. Her daughter was too good-hearted to ever compete with another woman for the love of a man, especially after she’d been burned herself, so of course it was the priest. The reason Marina was so tortured was because her competition for the person she loved was God Himself.
La figlia è uguale la madre. Like mother, like daughter.
‘What are we going to do about Marina?’ she asks Alberto.
‘What can we do?’ he replies. ‘We can do nothing.’
‘She’s throwing her life away for a man she can’t have. Are we going to stand by and not say anything?’
‘Like I said, what can we do?’
‘Can you for once in your life not be so, so ...’ She can’t find the words. ‘Why are you like this?’
‘Like what?’
‘Like a dead fish. You should be crazy with worry!’
‘Tranquilla, Loretta, tranquilla. There’s only room for one crazy person in this bed.’ He rolls onto his side, facing away from her. ‘He’ll go back to Rome soon, don’t worry.’
‘And then what? It’ll be a fresh wound in her heart all over again.’ She sighs. ‘I want to fix it.’
‘You can’t. There are some things even the great Loretta Bianchi can’t fix.’
‘And what about Rocco and Sophie? Another thing to worry about.’
He chuckles. ‘You’re starting on Rocco now? He’s the happiest he’s ever been.’
‘Why do you think Sophie ran out of church like that? She has problems, that girl, big problems.’
‘We’ve known the woman for five minutes – we know nothing about her. And she’ll be gone soon enough too. You worry too much.’ Alberto yawns. ‘Let me get some sleep.’
‘Okay, sleep then, if that’s what’s so important to you. I may worry too much, but you don’t worry enough. These are our children .’
‘Who are both adults!’
‘They’re still our children. If we don’t worry about them, who will?’
He changes position again, lying on his back now. ‘Do you know what I worry about? I worry about my wife, who works like a slave and who pretends to be happy in public but who is never happy in private.’ His voice wobbles. ‘My wife who only days after my heart attack was so eager to get back to work just to escape from me, and who finds extra things to do every minute, so she doesn’t have to spend time with me. That’s what I worry about.’
‘There’s no need to be so melodramatic.’ The words are caught in her throat. ‘I’ve been busy, Alberto, I have a hotel to run.’ The guilt twists like a corkscrew in her chest.
‘So I’ve gone from being a dead fish to melodramatic, depending on what suits you. Let me sleep, Loretta. I’ve never felt as old and tired as I have this last week.’
His words make her heart splinter. In the dark, she reaches for his hand under the covers. ‘Alberto, I beg you, please have the heart surgery. I know you’re scared, but we both know you need it. I’m terrified you’re going to die.’
‘Sometimes I think you’d be relieved if I died.’
She gives his limp hand a squeeze. There’s so much she wants to apologise for, she doesn’t even know where to begin. But when she opens her mouth, all that comes out is, ‘Per favore, Alberto.’
He wheezes in and out, in and out. ‘Okay,’ he says finally. ‘I’ll have the surgery.’
She doesn’t let go of his hand until he falls asleep.