Chapter Four
Two weeks later, in the cosy apartment kitchen where every hairline crack and scratch spoke of decades of use, Jade was preparing to go out.
Her work-day black dress was perfectly appropriate for a mid-afternoon meeting.
On Reception or in the office she usually smartened up the dress with a muted pink jacket; in the kitchen or breakfast room she covered it with the same colour apron; servicing guestrooms called for a tabard.
Loosely, the colours for Three Sisters were honey, cream and that dusky pink.
At Pensione Three Sisters, all was quiet.
Vittoria and Carlotta had left at two, but Yara was at the front desk to deal with guest enquiries and the phone, process reservations and raise check-out documents.
There was one couple expected to check in, who Yara would provide with keys.
As part of its traditional charm, rooms at Three Sisters had locks, with brass keys and oval fobs.
Quickly, Jade picked up her sunglasses and then pushed a pad and pen into her bag. When her phone chirped, she paused to read a text from Sheenagh. They were finding comfort in keeping in touch as they got used to life after Mairead. Hope your errand prospers! Sheenagh had written.
Fingers crossed, Jade replied. If not, send help.
Or wine. Her errand was a meeting with a mortgage-and-wealth advisor.
She was in the market for the former. She slung her bag over her shoulder and slipped through the back door into the outdoor space where Gran had sometimes liked to sit in the sun and read, then through the creaky black iron gate to Via Plinio.
The sun peeped between puffy white clouds, warming her face and forearms as she crossed to Via Fontana, area pedonale other than permitted vehicles, such as buses and taxis.
Threading through other pedestrians, she reached the next piazza, named, as so many things were in Como, after its favourite son, Alessandro Volta, inventor of the battery.
A statue of the great man gazed down from a plinth four times as tall as herself.
Identifying the correct building, painted cream and with plasterwork like piped white icing, she pressed the entry bell next to Giampaolo Ripalunga, Commercialista, announced herself and was admitted.
At the first floor, a young man emerged from behind his computer to show her into a neat inner office.
Giampaolo Ripalunga rose. He looked to be in his forties, silver-streaked hair slicked behind the earpieces of his black-framed glasses, crisp white shirt open at the neck. He greeted her in a deep voice. ‘Buongiorno.’
‘Buongiorno.’ Getting down to business as soon as she’d seated herself on a red chair, Jade outlined the facts about her unanticipated co-beneficiaries to Pensione Three Sisters.
He listened over clasped hands as she shared her plans to buy out ‘the other parties’ as she termed them.
Her sisters, Gran had called them. ‘They live in England, so I hope they’ll be happy to convert their inheritance to cash,’ she declared.
‘It makes sense.’ Money wouldn’t be as plentiful as when she’d had Gran, but she’d be OK.
Giampaolo knitted his grey eyebrows. ‘It’s early for this conversation.
But when the formalities are complete and the property taxes paid, and if the other parties agree to sell, then I can obtain quotes.
Rates depend on many things but, in your favour, the pensione is established and you’re not proposing any interruption to trade.
’ He sketched a few other points that Jade would need to consider when writing her business plan and apologised that he could do no more for now.
Still, when she was back outdoors, waiting for a car to emerge from a nearby parking garage before starting back over the piazza, she felt she’d taken the first step around a significant corner in her life.
She awarded herself a break at a black metal table outside a café to order espresso and take stock, watching families in baseball caps and sandals, babies in slings and older children shouting as if excited by the summer sun, or crowding beneath an ivory-coloured parasol with tè freddo – iced tea.
As she sipped her rich, dark espresso, she admired a building decorated in the sgraffito technique, when the surface was scratched off in a pattern to reveal another colour below. It was a month and a day since Gran had died.
Three weeks since Jade had found out about Joey’s other kids and the sharing of Pensione Three Sisters.
Two weeks since the funeral when Leo Sartori had prevented her from getting more than reasonably drunk, and first Massimo, and then Sheenagh, had refused to let her pay for that swanky suite at Villa Panorama, which she’d squandered by drinking too much and passing out.
And last week, Jade and Sheenagh, following Mairead’s wishes, had placed her ashes in Lake Como.
Strictly speaking, they hadn’t followed the law, which said ashes could only be scattered in bodies of water in areas free of craft and buildings, so they’d chosen a quiet spot out by Villa d’Este, where Gran and Nonno had once spent much of their social life.
And they’d gone very early in the morning.
As the sky above them changed from sepia to dawn pink and steely blue, Jade had watched the finest of the ashes swirl and dance across the surface of the water, ethereal and almost beautiful.
Maybe Gran had had something fairy about her, as Joey supposedly had.
If so, in Gran, it had been outweighed by her humanity, her enormous heart that had made her love and nurture. Unlike Joey.
Jade’s phone rang, making her jump. It was Yara, sounding apologetic. ‘It’s past five o’clock.’
Guiltily, Jade bounced to her feet, almost tipping over her empty coffee cup.
How long had she been dreaming? Five p.m. was when Yara left for the day and someone else had to be within earshot of the reception bell.
‘You go. I’ll be there in five minutes,’ she promised.
Quickly fishing sufficient euros from her purse to leave on the table for the espresso, she raced back towards Three Sisters.
Even as she hurried through the back door and dumped her bag, she could hear the ding, ding-ding of the front-desk bell. Scrambling into her jacket, she hurried into Reception with its cloudy marble floor tiles.
And there, leaning on the polished wooden desk, she found Leo Sartori, looking as if he belonged on the cover of an outdoorsy magazine, right down to his perfect stubble.
His T-shirt was black and his shorts cream, his shoes deceptively simple black canvas but probably expensive.
He greeted her. ‘Mum sent me. She knows you have enough food and flowers, so she’s sent a son with idle hands instead.
She and Papà have developed heavy colds, so can’t come themselves.
’ He grinned, grey-blue eyes inviting her to smile back.
‘She said you might need help. And wine.’
‘I’m fine.’ It was the automatic reply people gave even when life was rubbish. Or ‘Sto bene’ in Italian. ‘I was joking. I should have added a smile emoji to my message.’
He shrugged. ‘Even if you don’t need help, Mum says I’m to coax you to dinner at the bistro next door to take you out of yourself.’
‘I’m not even sure what that means,’ she fibbed ungraciously, as only a few minutes earlier she’d been sitting alone considering her newly inhospitable world rife with unknown sisters, a lost Gran, an absent father and a shared inheritance.
Sheenagh would definitely think she should be ‘taken out’ of that. But by Leo?
One of his eyebrows dipped. ‘Mum’s made the booking for seven-thirty. Am I to go back and tell her you won’t come?’ He made it sound as if disappointing Sheenagh was a fate to be avoided.
‘She’s booked?’ Exasperation made Jade’s voice rise until she heard guests clattering down the stairs, chatting and laughing, and paused to sing out a greeting.
‘Buonasera.’ They were an English couple in their forties with twin girls of around ten, who seemed to have solved the issue of being mistaken for each other by one wearing her mousy hair short while the other wore hers long.
The adults chorused back. ‘Evening.’
‘Buonasera.’ The girls beamed. ‘We’re going for pizza,’ the short-haired twin explained, while the long-haired twin nodded.
‘Sounds lovely,’ Jade said. Friendliness at Three Sisters was mentioned in many a Tripadvisor review.
Leo chimed in. ‘We’re going next door to the bistro. Apparently, their pasta’s amazing.’
The stocky, florid father smiled as widely as his daughters.
‘That sounds awesome. Maybe we’ll eat there tomorrow.
But there are nice eateries in every street in Como, so it’s hard to choose.
It’s a beautiful place with all the different-coloured buildings.
’ Then he shifted his gaze between Jade and Leo.
‘You both sound a bit Scottish, but look Italian. Are you brother and sister?’
Leo glanced at Jade, his widening eyes dancing with laughter.
Though embarrassed, as their history did not indicate a sibling relationship, Jade maintained her cheery host persona. ‘Just family friends. We were both brought up by Scotswomen and Italian men. Are you enjoying your holiday?’
The mother wore her ashy blonde hair in a twist behind her head, but looked pink and sweaty even in the air-conditioned foyer. ‘The days are flashing by. We haven’t even been on a ferry yet.’
The long-haired twin broke in. ‘We want to go to Bellagio and spot celebs.’
‘Bellagio’s busy, but beautiful. Give yourself an hour to queue for the ferry,’ Jade said.
‘Thank you.’ The family called goodbye and headed into the evening discussing whether they should go to Bellagio tomorrow or take the funiculare to Brunate and try the steep trek to the Volta Lighthouse for its stupendous views over Como and the lake.