Chapter 24
Next day, Signora Grande phoned with the news that her sister was still in hospital and not at all well by the sound of it. She asked Amy if she minded looking after Max for another few days and Amy was happy to agree. It was on the tip of her tongue to suggest that she look after him permanently, but then the realisation dawned that, unless she made a radical decision about her career, she would be leaving in five days’ time, and Max wouldn’t be able to come with her. She knew that being separated from him would be a real wrench. She even wondered whether she should give up the day job and stay here after all for the dog’s sake but that, she knew full well, would be daft. Her final decision on whether to stay or go would very much depend on what happened between her and Adam in the course of this week and whether she could find a meaningful job over here.
Adam called her just before lunchtime. ‘Hi, Amy, thanks again for last night. Sorry I had to leave early. I’m phoning about that meal I promised you.’
Just hearing his voice brought a smile to her face. ‘You must still be exhausted. Are you sure you feel like going out again tonight?’
‘About that, I’ve come back to a mountain of work, so would it be all right with you if we make it tomorrow or, better, the day after. That’ll give me a couple of days to get straight.’
‘Wednesday’s fine.’ Although that would only leave her with three days before she would have to fly back to London. Stifling the wave of disappointment that swept over her at the delay before she would see him again, she continued, ‘Do you need my help with any translations in the meantime?’
‘No, thanks, this stuff’s all in English. I’ll tell you about it when I see you.’
‘It’s possible I might still have Max with me on Wednesday night. Signora Grande’s away for a few days. I imagine that if I feed him before we go out he should be okay. Alternatively, do you think the restaurant would mind…?’
‘No problem. Bring him by all means. I’ll book us a table outside on the terrace so he’ll be fine.’
After he had rung off, she looked at her watch. It was half past twelve and she was on holiday so she went through to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of wine. She took it out into the garden and sat in the shade of the olive tree feeling remarkably subdued. Max, somehow reading her mood, came and slumped down beside her, his head on her feet. She was halfway through her glass of wine, her mind turning over all sorts of unknowns, when her phone started ringing. It was Lucy.
‘Hi, Luce, how’s things?’
‘All good here. What about your man? Did he get back safely? Did you do what I told you? Did it work?’
Amy recounted the rather underwhelming evening under the constant scrutiny of Danny and Pierpaolo and she heard her friend snort.
‘That’s no good. You need to get him on his own. Remember, you don’t have much time.’
‘He’s taking me out for dinner on Wednesday night. We’ll be alone then.’
‘Well, make sure you invite him into the house when he takes you home. Repeat after me.’ She adopted a seductive voice. ‘Would you like to come in for a coffee or something? That should do the trick, especially if you let your voice linger on the word “something”. Okay, then when you’ve got him inside, you lock the door and ravish him.’
Amy almost spilt her wine. ‘Luce, I’ve never ravished anybody in my life. I’ll take it slowly and naturally. Like they say here in Italy, che sarà sarà.’
‘Time, Amy, time. Remember that time is of the essence.’
Amy knew that only too well.
That afternoon she spent an interesting couple of hours bottling the wine, and it wasn’t all easy going. First she had to wash the empty bottles and in so doing she evicted a number of sinister-looking spiders. She had never been a fan of anything with eight legs and, in particular, two or three of the spiders she discovered had extremely hairy legs and she didn’t like the look of them at all. Still, she didn’t like killing any animal so she assiduously caught them one by one with the aid of a glass and a postcard and took them out of the French windows and relocated them in the shrubbery, hoping they didn’t have a homing instinct. As a result, it took her twice as long to wash the bottles than she had anticipated, but it soon turned out that this had been the easy part.
She remembered using a rubber tube to syphon liquid in science class at school but the plastic pipe that Pierpaolo had located in the cellar was three times as thick, two or three metres long and definitely more of a challenge. The first problem immediately became apparent. The builders had placed the huge fifty litre glass container on the kitchen floor but she knew that the end of the tube submerged in the wine had to be higher than the bottles she was filling for gravity to do its work. There was no way she could lift the container onto the table so she had to settle for dragging it close to the door to the cellar and doing her bottling on the second step down. The next problem was that in order to start the flow of wine she had to suck so hard she almost ran out of breath and then when the wine finally arrived at her end of the tube it arrived at such speed that it went up her nose, made her choke, and sprayed all over her.
She gradually got the hang of it and by four o’clock the kitchen table was covered with full bottles of wine, each with a few millimetres of clear oil on top of the liquid and a simple cork to conserve it. She was seriously concerned that this wouldn’t be enough to stop the wine from going off so she went out and looked in the vines until she found Signor Montalcino. After explaining why her clothes were splashed with red wine, she told him what she had done. He reassured her that this was the right way to do it and she had nothing to worry about. Feeling pleased with herself, she returned to the house and set about storing the bottles in the kitchen cupboards. By the time she had finished and went into the bathroom to clean up, she found that the wine on her hands had dried almost a blue colour rather than red. Still, it all washed off after a bit of scrubbing and she was relieved that she wouldn’t have to have her date with Adam looking as though she was wearing purple gloves.
That evening, changed into a clean top and leaving her wine-stained T-shirt to soak, she and her four-legged friend walked through the town to the pizzeria. It was another gorgeous warm night and when she sat down at table she checked on her phone and saw that the temperature in London was currently half what it was here. That, too, was going to be a shock to the system, when or if she went back.
She was just finishing another wonderful pizza ai frutti di mare when her phone rang and she saw that it was Dominica.
‘Ciao, Domenica, have you been able to persuade Rolando to come and talk to me?’
‘Hi, Amy, I’ve had a long talk to him – well, several long talks to be honest – and he’s finally agreed to sit down and talk to you. He says he’s free any evening this week.’
‘That’s great news. Why don’t you two come round for dinner tomorrow? Would that be okay? My new kitchen’s up and running now.’
‘Thank you so much. Tomorrow will be fine and, Amy, don’t let it bother you if he’s still a bit surly. He’ll soften up once he’s got to know you, I’m sure.’
‘Let’s hope so.’
The following night all went well as far as the food was concerned, or at least as well as could be expected for somebody with a new kitchen. Amy decided to go with a tried and tested favourite: her go-to chicken casserole, made with white wine, leeks and mushrooms. This was to be accompanied by a selection of vegetables roasted in the oven.
As she prepared the meal that afternoon, she found herself in reflective mood. On the one hand she was nervous at how Rolando was going to react to sitting down to dinner with her, but on the other hand she was excited to forge closer links with her only living relation whose existence had been completely unknown to her until barely a handful of days earlier. This meant that when the doorbell rang at seven thirty she was feeling both pensive and apprehensive.
Domenica was on her own. She came in and kissed Amy on the cheeks before apologising, telling her that Rolando had called to say he would be a few minutes late. Amy hadn’t planned on eating until eight, so she assured Domenica that was no problem, but secretly found herself wondering if this might be the prequel to Rolando crying off.
Domenica handed Amy a brown envelope. ‘You asked if I had some photos of Martin. I’ve got lots more and some time we can go through them together, but I thought you might like to have these for yourself. I have copies, so just keep them.’
They sat down side by side on the sofa and Amy opened the envelope, tipping out a dozen or so photos. Some were obviously taken at the seaside, one was taken somewhere in the mountains as her father was dressed in skiing gear, and a couple were of him looking very smart in a dinner jacket and bow tie. One in particular stood out. It was a close-up of his face, and she could see him in fine detail, from the colour of his eyes to the gentle, loving smile on his face. Somehow the eyes reached deep inside her and by the time she slipped the photos back into the envelope again, both she and Dominica had tears in their eyes.
To change the subject and while waiting for Rolando to arrive, Amy jumped to her feet and gave Domenica a full tour of the house and got the impression she was impressed, but she couldn’t miss the nostalgic look in Domenica’s eyes when they climbed the stairs and inspected the newly redecorated bedrooms, bathrooms, and her father’s study. In consequence Amy didn’t hang about and made sure they returned to the ground floor as quickly as possible. She was relieved to find that the chicken was still bubbling away happily and the roast vegetables hadn’t turned to a crisp. She opened a bottle of the local spumante, filled two glasses and saw Domenica gradually recover and start looking around the renovated kitchen.
‘Martin was a very generous man but he hardly spent any money on himself or on the house. I’m sure he wouldn’t recognise the place now. You’ve done so well.’
‘It was all done by some super local tradesmen who knew my father. I’m going to invite them all for a meal some time to say thank you.’ Although she was counting off the days until she would have to leave. ‘In fact, I’d like to have a party for all the friends I’ve made since I arrived here.’ She caught Domenica’s eye. ‘And hopefully Rolando will be one of the guests.’
They had just returned to the lounge area and were standing chatting when the doorbell rang. Amy took a deep breath, went over and opened the door.
‘Ciao, Rolando.’ She used the familiar greeting.
‘Buona sera, Signora.’ His choice of a more formal response spoke volumes but at least, she told herself, he was here.
‘Do come in, please.’ She carried on speaking to him in Italian as she imagined he probably hadn’t spent long enough with his father to have picked up much English.
She led him over to where his mother was standing and as she reached for the bottle of fizz to give him a drink she couldn’t help noticing how he was staring about with an expression on his face that was somewhere between awe and disgust. After handing him his glass she decided to take the bull by the horns and be the first to try to make conversation.
‘The builders have just finished. I imagine it’s changed a lot since you were last here.’
He returned his gaze to her and shook his head stiffly. ‘I wouldn’t know, Signora. I’ve never been in here.’
‘Oh, I see.’
This came as a real surprise and Domenica was quick to explain.
‘It’s like I told you, Amy: Rolando and Martin were never close.’
‘Never close?’ His voice rose sharply but Amy saw him make a conscious effort to restrain himself as he stared at her. ‘There was only ever one child in his life and that was you.’ His eyes ran around the room again. ‘It’s just not right that he left this place to you and not us.’
Amy deliberately counted up to ten before replying, but before she could speak, Domenica cut in.
‘Just listen to yourself, Rolando. How can you be so greedy, so ungrateful? Who do you think paid for the house we live in? Who arranged for me to have more than enough money to keep both you and me comfortable for life? Who bought me my car, or you your shiny new motorbike? Shame on you.’
He gave no response but he was still looking like thunder. Although Amy had been expecting him to be far from cordial, his outburst had shaken her and she had to measure her words when she spoke to him.
‘You do know that I never met my father, don’t you, Rolando? Did your mother tell you that?’ In spite of her best efforts, all of a sudden the pent-up emotion began to pour out. ‘At least you saw him, spoke to him. All I have are a couple of letters, a handful of photos and this house. I’ll tell you this: I’d trade it all in an instant if it meant I could meet up with him, get to know him – just like you had the opportunity to do.’ Her eyes had filled with tears and she turned away. A large black shape materialised at her side and gave her a supportive prod with his cold wet nose. Behind her, she heard Rolando’s voice, this time less aggressive but sounding incredulous.
‘You really never met him? I can’t believe that.’
She concentrated her attention on the dog, who was looking up at her with deep concern in his eyes. ‘Well, whether you believe it or not, it’s true. Until a few weeks ago I hadn’t even heard his name, and until a few days ago I didn’t know he was my father.’ She steeled herself before turning back towards Rolando. ‘So if you feel hard done by, how do you think I feel?’
Taking heart from an expression of what might have been comprehension that appeared on his face, she ran the back of her hand across her eyes and carried on.
‘He must have been a complex man and my mother was every bit as emotionally screwed up as he was. Like it or not, Rolando, I’m your sister and I would dearly like to be able to get to know the brother I didn’t realise I had, but that’s up to you. If you want to blame our father’s behaviour on me there’s nothing I can do about it but, deep down, you have to know that I did nothing wrong. Now, I’ve got food in the oven, so please excuse me.’
Followed by the Labrador, she headed back to the kitchen where the automatic actions of readying the meal gradually calmed her down and steadied her hands, which were shaking after the confrontation.
That morning the fish van had been in the square and she had been able to buy six fat scallops. She threw them into a pan with some pieces of smoked ham for barely a minute on either side before turning them out and serving them with a salad of wild rocket, sliced shallots and Parmesan shavings as a starter. She was just about to carry the plates over to the table when she heard a low voice beside her.
‘Let me help you with those, Amy.’ It was Rolando and now he was using the familiar form of the language to address her. ‘I’m sorry for what I said just now. You have to understand what it was like growing up with a father who didn’t want me.’
She glanced around at him. ‘And you have to understand what it was like for me, growing up with no father at all.’
He had the grace to look a little shamed. ‘Like I say, I’m sorry. I just didn’t realise. All my life I’ve had this image of you living a happy life at my expense.’ His expression softened. ‘I now realise that you had it as tough as I did, maybe more so.’
Amy managed to produce a little smile. ‘Thank you for the apology. All I can say is that I would really like to get to know you. You are my little brother, after all.’
He smiled back at her. ‘And I promise I want to get to know you too… big sister.’
She felt a wave of relief. ‘Thank you, Rolando, I’d love that.’
The three of them sat at one end of her father’s big old table, and the scallops were pronounced delicious. The chicken was also well received and by the time they got to the cheese Amy was relieved and delighted that all had gone to plan. Signor Montalcino’s wine was as good as ever and, above all, the conversation around the table gradually picked up pace and her half-brother’s demeanour changed radically from confrontational to friendly. She was delighted to see Rolando begin to come out of his shell in the course of the meal and he was soon chatting freely. From time to time, she saw him laugh and when she looked at him there was often a smile on his face. Her little brother was definitely loosening up.
By the time they had finished her attempt at apricot tart and custard, Amy reckoned they had all had more than enough to eat and she could rate the evening a success – not just for the food but for the distinct thawing in relations between her half-brother and herself. The party broke up at eleven. As Amy kissed Rolando goodnight, she wished him well. He thanked her and when he suggested meeting up for coffee one of these days, she was quick to accept, even as a voice in her head whispered that she wouldn’t be in Italy for much longer.