Chapter Three #5
‘And I answered, “Well, she obviously knew him and I didn’t. I’ll take her word for it.
” Then you shoved him on his back in the dust,’ she said, remembering with a grin.
‘Being your friend helped at school. You were popular whereas I was odd, having a grandmother in place of a mother.’ She felt properly drunk now, even queasy, but, recklessly, she topped up her glass once more.
The bottle cap slithered from her fingers and bounced across the rug. She let it.
Her vision whirled and she closed her eyes to slits.
‘Joey has two more daughters and Pensione Three Sisters will be split between us. I’ve made an appointment with a mortgage advisor.
I’m going to buy them out. No,’ she said, holding up the whisky bottle as if it could pre-empt the questions she saw leap into his eyes.
‘I did not know Joey had other kids, though I’d wondered, of course.
Yes, Gran knew. No, Gran did not tell me before she died for fear of Joey cutting ties with her.
No – I mean, yes – I can see that they’re as much her granddaughters as I am.
And, yes, I’m apprehensive about having contact with them, even though that will initially come via Gran’s notaio.
’ Feeling she’d satisfactorily headed off all possible questions, she put the whisky bottle back on the table, catching it when it tried to topple, then leant back and shut her eyes.
‘How do you feel?’ His voice was soft with compassion.
She closed her eyes tighter to hold in the tears. ‘Bewildered. Shocked. Sad. Drunk.’
His voice only grew softer. ‘Understandable. Can I do anything?’
‘Nope.’ She popped the ‘p’ again.
He sighed. ‘Oh, Jade. I’m sorry this has happened.’ After several moments, she opened her eyes to see he’d risen and was gazing down at her. ‘Can I use your bathroom?’ he asked, like a courteous guest.
It took a moment, but she got her tongue around the words. ‘Of course.’
He was gone for a minute and as he returned, she became aware of a funny noise. Realising what it was, she sat bolt upright – well, maybe not quite upright – and glared at him. ‘You’re letting out my bathwater.’
He smiled faintly. ‘If you get in there, you’ll drown.’ He retrieved the bottle top and screwed it on the whisky.
Outraged, Jade staggered to her feet. ‘Who the hell do you think you are? Get out of my room. I mean, suite.’ Then she charged a not-quite straight line to the bathroom to repair the damage and top up the hot water in the bath.
But the pop-up plug had been unscrewed and the water was circling and gurgling as it drained away.
‘Leonardo Sartori!’ Straightening up, she bellowed his name. She had to pause to clutch the wall to save herself from pitching into the emptying bathtub. ‘Bring back that damned plug.’
When he didn’t reply, she tottered back to the bedroom. Leo was gone.
And so was the bottle of Ledaig. And all the alcohol from the minibar.
‘Bastardo,’ she mumbled, because swearing in Italian she was no stranger to, having attended Italian schools.
But maybe she should have eaten more at the funeral, judging by the spinning of the room.
She dropped onto the bed and let her eyes close as she said into the air, ‘I’m not mourning, Gran. Not much. I’m trying to understand.’
At least the whisky gave her the only full night’s sleep she’d had since Mairead died.
In the morning, she was woken by a knock on the door. Slowly she opened her eyes, wondering where she was and how she’d got there. Her watch said it was already ten o’clock. Why did the light hurt her eyes? Why did she feel sick? What had happened to swell her head to melon-sized proportions?
Then she remembered the funeral and the whisky, and, lastly, that someone was waiting at the door.
Still wearing the white robe, she staggered across the marble tiles to answer, managing not to trip over an exquisite pale-green rug.
‘I will kill Leo Sartori if it’s him,’ she muttered.
Snatching open the door, she discovered the hall empty but for a covered tray on a stand.
After a suspicious glare in each direction, she carried in the tray and lifted its chrome cover.
Pink bacon, brown sausage and a fried egg glistening white and yellow made her hastily avert her gaze from that white china plate in favour of tea and dry toast, alongside which was porridge, black coffee, a salt cellar, a pot of baked beans and a small tumbler of whisky. Behind the whisky was a note.
This is every hangover cure I can think of. I don’t believe in the cold beans, but someone I knew at uni swore by them. If you want to try the Italian cure of salt in coffee the ingredients are here as well, but I’m sure it’s a myth. I’m more of a ‘hair of the dog’ man.
It wasn’t signed but the unexpected, sweet gesture still had Leo Sartori’s name all over it.
Surprised but somehow comforted that he’d thought of how she’d feel this morning, she decided to follow his advice. And after that, she’d swear off whisky for a year.