Chapter Four #4
At the end of the breakwater, a massive steel monument, like the outline of a spark caught in metal, gleamed in the evening light.
Yet another homage to Alessandro Volta. Jade preferred the more traditional monuments that were dotted about the city – especially Giardini del Tempio Voltiano, which lay ahead of them now, green and leafy, but sadly overgrown and presently closed to the public.
Leo sidestepped a child on a balance bike, her sunflower-yellow helmet dipping over one eye, lips pursed in concentration. A bulky, middle-aged man with a moustache called out to Jade.
Jade waved. ‘Buonasera.’ When he’d passed, she said to Leo, ‘He manages the gelateria further along.’
He nodded. ‘I haven’t been back long enough to get to know local traders again.’ As if to himself, he added, ‘I’ve missed things. A long summer. The lake. My family.’ He looked out over the magnificent but busy lake, and its guardian mountains that in winter would wear caps and cloaks of snow.
‘But you’ll go back to the UK soon? After all, it’s always meant everything to you.
’ She shaded her eyes to gaze at a building that she knew to be a bank, a pleasing combination of ivory-coloured walls, blue shutters, grey cornerstones and a single ornate balcony above the portico.
Standing in its own grounds, it would have made a wonderful hotel.
The hotels in Como generally had little outside space, which was why Villa Panorama’s steep gardens set it apart.
Leo turned back to her. ‘I suppose I can go anywhere for the right opportunity.’
‘Each of us is destabilised,’ she said. ‘Everything changed by things beyond our control.’
He frowned at her. ‘I hate to know you’re scared of the future.’
‘I’ll be OK.’ Jade gathered her hair and put it up again, so she didn’t have to look at him.
Despite her cool reply she knew that any sympathy in those familiar blue-grey eyes could send her emotions bubbling to the surface.
She turned around. ‘I think I’ll go home.
’ Now she could see Villa Panorama, further round the Como harbour, its back to the village of Brunate high above, and the setting sun turning its pale apricot to peach.
It was beautiful, nestled in the stone landscape among other similarly impressive villas, a traditional building that had once been her home.
He turned too. ‘Gelato on the way?’
‘Great.’ They strolled back in silence until they reached a gelateria, where he chose fragola, or strawberry, an almost identical delicate pink as the outside of the pensione, and she chose nocciola, hazelnut, creamy and not too sweet, catching drips with her tongue so as not to waste a drop down the side of the biscuity cone.
They idled across the road as they ate, and crossed the piazza.
Anton’s Bistro was still busy, and Mia delivered a couple of meals to a table and then waved.
Jade waved back, before stepping closer to the entrance to Pensione Three Sisters and out of Mia’s sight.
Leo’s dark hair stirred in the breeze. ‘Buonanotte.’ But he didn’t move away.
‘Buonanotte.’ She, too, hesitated. She’d share a parting embrace with any other member of the Sartori family. But then she’d once loved Leo in an entirely different way to how she loved Sheenagh, Ferdinando and Massi.
How would it feel to be in his arms again, breathe in his scent, feel his heartbeat?
Too confusing, she decided. Her arms remained at her side.
His gaze became peculiarly intent, as if he’d been following her thoughts but, like her, he made no move. ‘If you need anything . . .’
Deliberately, she turned away. ‘I can call on your parents. Thanks. Good night.’ She hurried through the double doors, knowing it had been his own help he’d been offering. But when someone hurt you, you learnt from it. She summoned Gran’s voice. Once bitten, twice shy.
Inside Three Sisters, she heard the faint sounds that guests made, running showers or closing doors.
The air smelled faintly of polish, the cloudy marble floor gleamed and the wooden desk glowed.
Every table in the breakfast room was perfectly laid, the wall lights reflecting from the cutlery and glass.
By 6 a.m. tomorrow, she’d be in the equally shining-clean catering kitchen, ready to receive deliveries of bread and cornetti.
She’d stopped baking her own bread. It had been one task too many when Gran’s health had begun to decline.
In the quiet of the apartment, she undressed and removed her make-up.
She still wasn’t quite used to there being no Gran to share a home with.
When the silence seemed too loud, she wound the jewellery box Gran had given her and opened it to listen to its tinkling rendition of ‘La Bella Gigogin’.
With her fingertips, she traced a pearl necklace like a string of midnight moons, remembering Nonno dropping kisses on the nape of Gran’s neck as he fastened it for her.
She supposed the pearls were worth a substantial sum, but to her their value lay in those memories.
As she waited for the tune to wind down, her phone beeped the arrival of a booking notification.
Rosalie Beretta would arrive on Friday, like Erin Ferguson, she read.
Slowly, she buried her face in her hands and wondered about her future at Pensione Three Sisters.