Chapter One #2
This is the hardest part of the letter to write.
I fibbed about naming the pensione Three Sisters because of the mountains of Scotland where I honeymooned with Nonno – actually, our honeymoon was spent driving from Scotland to Como with all my possessions stuffed in the car.
I named Three Sisters for you, Erin and Rosalie.
Nonno and I had talked about things in general terms – so Nonno must have known too!
– but after he’d gone, the decisions became mine.
As the years went by, I chewed things over and decided to leave the pensione between the three of you – which Italian law will accept, once Joey has refused his share.
It’s not just because someone must acknowledge that Joey has three daughters.
It’s because Mary Smith asked an agency to keep tabs on Erin and Rosalie, and each of them lives alone.
Therefore, I have a dear wish that you’ll form attachments to each other and not be isolated, any of you.
(And to be money-minded, as you know I am, your combined tax allowance will mean there’ll be little or no inheritance tax.
It’s a damned shame that people must be taxed on what’s left to them, but that’s governments for you.)
Hearing Mairead’s indignation in the words, Jade managed a tremulous smile, despite the shockwaves whooshing through her.
I’m grieved that I’ll never meet Erin and Rosalie, but I hope that perhaps a little of my huge love for you will somehow filter through to them.
Buckets of love,
Gran xx
It was what Gran had put in birthday cards.
Buckets of love. Gran had always given Jade buckets of love, wrapping her in impulsive hugs in the middle of the street or hiding chocolate truffles in Jade’s bedroom as delicious surprises.
Those memories made believing the contents of her letter all the harder.
Still locked in disbelief, Jade reread every word of the letter and the shocking, distressing secret that Gran had kept to pander to her extraordinarily self-centred son. Maternal love was a very strange thing.
By the time Mary returned five minutes later, a paper cup of water in hand, Jade was clutching most of the contents of the tissue box to her face, soaking them in silent tears. She took the water with a choked word of thanks.
‘I’m sorry you’re distressed.’ Mary resumed her seat behind the desk. ‘Would you prefer to take a copy of Mairead’s will away with you after I’ve explained a few things? It’s very straightforward.’
Jade turned burning eyes on the sympathetic but businesslike woman. ‘Yes, please. I think Gran’s told me the gist. I’m . . . shocked.’ She gulped back a new sob.
‘Of course.’ Mary outlined the contents of the will, which did indeed echo what Mairead had explained in her letter. Then she passed over another envelope, bigger than the first, and bulkier, as it contained Jade’s copy. ‘Do you have any questions?’
Jade turned the envelope over in her hands, unopened. ‘Are you the one who tells . . . the others?’
‘Erin Ferguson and Rosalie Beretta? I am,’ Mary confirmed. ‘Your grandmother’s wishes were very clear.’
‘OK. Thanks.’ Stiffly, Jade rose. Then she hesitated. ‘Do they live in England? The others?’
Mary maintained a professional smile. ‘The addresses I hold are in England, yes.’
Jade threw the wodge of wet tissues in a grey bin beside the desk and scrabbled the last few from the box. ‘Sorry. I’ve used them all.’
Mary’s smile lifted the lines around her eyes.
‘That’s what they’re there for.’ She hesitated delicately.
‘One thing we must consider without delay is whether you’re prepared to run the pensione until everything’s finalised.
I believe you have authority over the business bank account and of course you’ll draw your usual salary.
If you prefer not to continue, Three Sisters could be closed and sold as is—’
Jade recoiled. ‘Of course I’ll continue with things as they are.’ Right now, it felt like the only constant in her life.
Mary seemed to take no offence at the edge to Jade’s voice and in another minute, they’d said goodbye and Jade found herself outside on the street.
The summer breeze that tried to tease the envelopes from her hands felt like a tornado that had ripped her life from its foundations.
It seemed surreal that the world was as she’d left it before she’d entered Mary’s office.
The wrought iron at the window above the church door caught the sun; a van waited outside the Poste Italiane building.
Here, outside the twelfth-century fortress walls surrounding the historic city, the steep, cobbled road was filled with grumbling traffic, its pavements thronged with people going about their daily lives, taking advantage of the shade of balconies or awnings where they could.
Jade trudged back to the pensione past where the enormous market stood several times a week, so numb with disbelief that she was scarcely aware of the sun on her bare arms as she entered the historic sector at the square tower of Torre Gattoni.
She even passed the pink-painted frontage of a favourite gastronomia without stopping to enjoy the enticing display of wine bottles and oil, and brightly packed pasta, or the designer dress shop next door.
She didn’t gaze upward to admire shutters freshly painted muted lilac or a particularly beautiful, scalloped balcony encompassing the corner of a building.
She didn’t admire the sun’s rays slanting on the mountains visible behind the tall, coloured buildings that seemed to lean in over the narrow streets.
Instead, she plodded dumbly over the cobbles, where few vehicles were allowed.
Gran had kept her promise that Joey wouldn’t inherit half of Pensione Three Sisters. But . . .
But never had Jade suspected that Mairead might know of more of Joey’s children. How could her beloved grandmother have kept a secret of such epic proportions? And acknowledge her other granddaughters to ensure the pensione must be divided three ways?
Being fair can be difficult . . . Mairead’s words echoed down the years, so easy for Jade to have misinterpreted.
Finally, she arrived outside Pensione Three Sisters.
Diagonally opposite, the gardens of Piazza Cavour were bright with beds of cerise flowers among paler pink oleander bushes.
Shady benches beneath trees were notably more popular than those baking in the sun.
Beyond the piazza and the lakeside road glittered Lake Como, a couple of small boats navigating around an incoming, black-hulled ferry, its white decks brimming with tourists.
Jade looked up at the building that had been her home since the age of fourteen.
The dusky pink of the pensione walls toned with the cream-coloured corner stones and window shutters.
Balconies on upper floors provided glorious views up this, the west leg of the lake.
Inside, each of the sixteen guest-rooms was furnished traditionally, with ornate light fittings, tiled floors and wooden furniture that Gran and she had chosen with such care.
Pensione Three Sisters had been their new start without Rocco, and Jade had scraped wallpaper alongside Mairead or helped to carry out threadbare rugs.
She took a deep breath of the heated, mid-afternoon air, not even glancing towards the tables and parasols outside Anton’s Bistro to wave if owners Mia or Hector were outside with their customers.
Instead, she worked the noisy latch on the black wrought-iron gate and stepped into what Gran had called ‘the bit at the back’, the access area to the back doors of the apartment and the commercial kitchen with room for a couple of garden chairs.
This route allowed Jade to reach the apartment without crossing Reception, thereby avoiding Yara, the receptionist who’d moved from nearby Switzerland less than a year ago.
Yara dealt with guests with a charming smile and a whisk of her fair plaits.
Her first language was Italian, but her English was good, as was her German.
Right now, Jade didn’t feel like fielding her chatter in any language.
Vittoria and her cousin, Carlotta, should have completed their shifts at 2 p.m., so Jade was surprised to find Vittoria at the kitchen table, coffee cup in one hand, phone in the other.
Five years older than Jade, Vittoria was what Gran had termed ‘a strapping lassie’, brisk and sturdy, her hair streaked like a hazelnut.
Her dark eyes flew to Jade’s face and a frown creased her brow.
In Italian, she said, ‘Carlotta’s gone, but I wanted to wait for you. You look . . .’
‘Shocked?’ Jade tossed the envelopes onto the white marble counter, then crossed to the small coffee machine and made herself a caffè lungo, filling the air with its roasty, nutty aroma.
She flumped into a chair. As Vittoria was Jade’s best friend as well as a long-serving employee, there was no point trying to keep secrets.
Baldly, she announced, ‘Gran knew Joey had two more daughters to different women. Three Sisters will belong equally to the three of us.’
Coffee cup poised halfway to her parted lips, Vittoria’s eyebrows flew into her hair.
Jade shrugged, as if Vittoria had uttered a protest. ‘It’s true. She left me a letter saying how sorry she was not to have told me, but Joey said she’d never hear from him again if she did.’
Uncertainly, Vittoria murmured, ‘I suppose, when you have so little contact with your only child, you’re terrified of risking what you have. She held him close in her heart, however weird he is and however long ago he left.’