Chapter 7 Rafaella #2
‘Oh, I know …’ she stammered, taking in his open expression and realizing that, unlike Cosimo, he had no idea of the drama caused by his little sister and the ongoing fallout.
Rafaella didn’t doubt the sincerity of Romola’s apology at the beach caffè the day after the party – she had looked terrible – but how exactly were they supposed to move past what she had done?
Her actions – and Cosimo’s words – had betrayed an unpalatable truth: that this was who Romola had become in the past year.
And neither Rafaella nor Gina liked what they saw.
‘… There were so many people there. What a party! It was crazy … Good crazy!’
He laughed. ‘I’m not sure my mother would agree.
The gardeners are still finding cocktail glasses in the bushes.
And a forgotten firework went off unexpectedly the other morning, almost giving Papa a heart attack.
He thought the communists had come for him!
’ He laughed harder. ‘Not to mention the drains have been playing up ever since Piero …’ Fede stopped himself, not wishing to be indiscreet about others’ transgressions.
‘Well, anyway, that’s all in the past … But let’s take a proper look at you – another year older. Wiser … Definitely prettier.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Ha ha.’
‘No, it’s true. My mother said you had become the village beauty, and for once she wasn’t exaggerating.’
Rafaella blinked, stunned by the unexpected compliment.
His mother had really said that? She was the most elegant, beautiful woman Rafaella had ever met.
Valentina Fabiani had a shiny, surface beauty, but the duchessa’s ran into sinew and bone.
The very foundations of her were carved and cultivated, not just top-dressing.
Footsteps sounded, growing closer. Someone was coming, and she turned as they came around the corner and stopped abruptly.
Fon stared at them both, a pile of firewood laid out across his arms.
‘Rafa,’ he croaked, his shame sitting upon him like a dead fox, vivid and abrupt.
‘… Fon.’ She saw the horror come into his eyes as he realized she was standing with Romola’s eldest brother and that he was cornered.
A moment beat as she watched him squirm.
He deserved to feel like this, she told herself.
He had made her feel all the ways she thought he, of all people, would never make her feel: worthless, undesirable, stupid …
She had thought he was different, but whatever – and whoever – he truly was, she also knew Fede didn’t deserve to discover the tawdry truth about his sister from them.
It was for his sake alone that she gave Fon an imperceptible shake of her head, telling him Fede was ignorant of what had happened at the party.
‘It’s good to see you, Fon. I’m not sure I’d have recognized you.
You’re so tall now!’ Fede said warmly, oblivious to their wordless conversation.
He was still sitting on his bike and looking Fon up and down.
Clearly Fon was in no position to shake hands when he was carrying an armful of logs, but he seemed to swell a little in the glow of attention.
‘Fede – it was a great party the other night.’
‘Yeah? You had fun?’
‘Mm-hmm,’ Fon nodded, treading a thin line between complimenting his host and insulting her. His eyes slid back towards her, but Rafaella kept her smile on Fede. She just had to keep smiling and get through this …
‘I was just saying Rafa managed to elude me in the crowd, but you did too, I’m realizing now! It’s making me question just how many people I really did catch up with!’ Fede gave a ready laugh. ‘And I thought I’d done rather well getting around everyone.’
Fon blushed, his dirty secret scarcely hidden below the surface. ‘Well, there were so many people.’
‘Yes, it was a good turnout,’ Fede agreed, still watching him with interest.
Did he know of anything? Rafaella wondered. He was so well mannered, she wouldn’t put it past him to pretend otherwise for decency’s sake.
‘So, do you know why the traffic’s so bad?’ she asked, changing the subject. ‘I’ve never seen the cars backed up all the way down here like this.’
Fede twisted on his seat and looked back along the road too.
‘Actually, I do. I was just swimming at Marina Serra and I passed the roadblock about a mile back. There’s a house on fire and it’s spread down through the trees to the road.
No cars are allowed past while they’re getting it under control. They’re still worried it might spread.’
‘Oh, that’s terrible!’ Rafaella gasped. ‘Do you know whose house?’
‘Renato Lobascio’s, I think? I’m not entirely sure,’ Fede shrugged, losing interest as he looked back at her again.
‘But tell me – we haven’t seen you at the villa since the party.
It’s so strange being there and not having you and Gina shrieking in the halls!
Not to mention no one’s eating us out of house and home!
There’s a glut of food, you know, just waiting for you … Where have you been hiding yourselves?’
She forced her smile wider, aware of Fon shifting his weight in her peripheral vision. Did he feel ashamed of what he’d done, blasting apart a lifelong friendship? Or was he just proud of his conquest?
‘Not hiding; but Gina and I have to work these days. Sadly we’re not children anymore; we can’t just play all summer.’
Fede jerked his head in the direction of the villas. ‘But you could come over for a drink and a swim, right? Both of you, of course,’ he said, quickly looking at Fon and politely including him too.
Rafaella saw the look of surprise come onto Fon’s face as he stared back at Fede, a flare of delight illuminating his eyes.
He had never hung out with them as kids, always keeping to the company of the local boys – Luigi and Gino – who preferred to mock and pour scorn from a distance on the summer residents.
Fede’s open smile and warm invitation were irresistible and Rafaella saw Fon smile back, allowing himself to be seduced into the fantasy of lazing idly in the lush villa garden all afternoon: floating in the circular pool as, beyond the high walls, traffic chortled past and the fishing boats chugged back into port.
They would drink pink drinks and listen to music and the only blot on the perfection would be, high in the blue sky, tendrils of black smoke drifting over from a burning house somewhere in the wooded hills …
Rafaella cleared her throat, and Fon drew himself back sharply from the daydream.
‘Honestly, you’d be doing me a favour, actually,’ Fede went on in a more confiding tone now. ‘To be honest, everyone’s moping about there like the cat died. Valentina’s gone, of course, and Papa’s working. Romy’s sick, but Cosi is—’
‘Actually, I was just about to head home,’ Rafaella blurted, reaching for her bike, still propped against the cobbler’s wall. ‘Papa wants me to help him do some cutting in the grove.’
Fede looked taken aback by her abruptness. ‘Oh … But you could come just for a drink, then? It’s so hot out here and—’
‘Oh no,’ she said quickly, quite determinedly backing away. ‘I couldn’t possibly. Papa would be furious. He’s expecting me, you see. In fact, he’ll be waiting right now.’
It was a lie; she was working with her father the following day. She could see Fede’s bewilderment at her strange vehemence, but he simply smiled, far too polite to press her on the refusal. ‘Oh. OK … Fon? Are you up for it?’ He looked over hopefully.
‘Uhhh …’ Fon seemed surprised that the invitation still stood now that Rafaella had withdrawn herself. They all knew he’d never been part of their inner circle.
She shot him a sharp look. Was he really so arrogant that he would seduce Fede’s sister and accept his hospitality?
Fon read her expression correctly. ‘Sorry, I have to get back with this wood,’ he mumbled. ‘We’re rebuilding the chicken coop today. The fox got in.’
‘Chicken coop,’ Fede nodded, as if such a thing had never once crossed his mind in his life. ‘Shame …’
‘Yeah.’
‘Well, another time, then?’ Fede called after Fon, who was now hurrying away.
Rafaella watched him go, too, so eager to leave first, not bothering to hang around to talk to her alone and apologize face to face now he had the chance.
Fede turned back to her. ‘Is he always so elusive?’
‘Pretty much,’ she shrugged. She threw her leg over the crossbar of her bike and tried to look late. ‘See you around, Fede.’
‘Certo … Ciao, Rafa.’
She watched as he kicked back the stand of his scooter and headed the short distance towards the froth of bright pink bougainvillea spilling over the garden walls of Villa Agosto.
He cut a forlorn figure but she didn’t feel too sorry for him.
He would enjoy his tall, cool drink in the shade, lying in the grass under the orange trees.
Another afternoon of indolence awaited him, his brother and sister.
But not her.
They only summered under the same sun.