Chapter 5 Rosie – Day 1
Rosie’s flip-flops slap across the polished Italian tiles in the dining room.
She hovers behind the patio doors, watching the family through the glass, drawing up the courage to join them on the large terrace.
The festoon lights that trail across a long wooden table sway in the evening breeze.
A silver tray is covered with small bowls of nuts, plump black olives, and crisp breadsticks.
Slender flutes of bubbles are topped with thinly sliced strawberries hanging over the edge of the glass.
Aperitivo. Everyone is outside apart from her.
They are all at ease and relaxed. Rosie is not.
Marianne is rocking a pushchair; the thick rubber tyres gently move back and forth over the terracotta tiles. A little girl – who looks about three – sits on Gerry’s knee entranced by an iPad. They must be Theo’s niece and nephew.
His sister-in-law, Fenna, is beautiful. Her dark brown hair is braided in a long, intricate plait that falls over her slender shoulder.
She’s wearing a floor-length midnight blue skirt, a relaxed cotton vest top, and a cream belt that cinches in her waist. Rosie has seen some of her modelling shots on Instagram, and considering she’s recently had a baby she looks fantastic.
Theo and Luke are sitting on an outdoor rattan sofa drinking pints.
Luke has one leg cocked over the other, flashing a sockless ankle in his tan deck shoes.
According to Theo, Luke looks most like their father who died when the boys were young.
He has much darker features compared to Theo and Marianne’s light complexion.
His deep, brooding eyes and sharp, angular face shape is less welcoming than his relatives.
He throws back his head and chucks a handful of nuts into his open mouth.
It’s all convivial and easy.
Rosie steels herself.
Get out there and be yourself.
Her stomach growls with hunger. She wishes she could get Theo’s attention so he would walk over to her. He’d asked if she wanted him to wait with her whilst she finished getting ready, but she told him she’d be ok, wanting to take five minutes alone to psych herself up.
She’d left their bedroom in a fluster, unsure if she was supposed to lock the door behind her.
But as Theo didn’t leave a key, she left it open.
Hopefully she won’t get in trouble for not knowing ‘the rules’.
She has her phone on her and her other valuables are locked in the safe – well, all of them except her notebook, which she’d slipped in between the pages of a magazine.
Julietta hadn’t tidied that away at least.
A burst of laughter from outside pulls her attention.
They will be wondering where she is. Rosie takes a deep breath and plasters on a bright smile.
She pushes the patio door but it’s stiff and refuses to budge.
For a horrifying split second, she panics that she’s broken it, but then the wood gives and a loud creak heralds her arrival.
They all turn to face her.
Rosie wipes her sweaty palms against one another. Luke lets out a snigger from the side, and Fenna shushes him.
‘Ah, here she is! Fenna, Luke, this is Theo’s girlfriend – Rosie,’ Marianne says with a wide smile, spreading her arm out as if heralding the main act.
Heat rushes to Rosie’s cheeks. She’s not used to being in the spotlight like this. She knocks into a side table. The glasses wobble dangerously.
‘Hi.’ She’s unsure whether to go and hug them or shake their hands. She feebly lifts her left arm and gives a pathetic wave.
‘Hello, I’m Fenna, Theo’s sister-in-law.’ Fenna steps forward and gives her a light kiss on both cheeks. Rosie isn’t expecting a double kiss so awkwardly bumps her nose to Fenna’s cheek.
‘Oh, gosh, sorry.’
‘She’s half Italian, that’s their way. I’m Luke.’ He leans forward with a polite handshake. His aftershave smells delicious and expensive.
‘Hi, nice to meet you both.’ Rosie smiles.
Marianne bursts with pride as she introduces her grandchildren. Rosie allows herself a moment to relax. They are both adorable.
‘Here.’ Theo hands her a cold glass of Prosecco from the rattan coffee table once Marianne has finished. ‘You look beautiful by the way.’
She feels underdressed in her jean shorts and plain white cotton t-shirt but she appreciates his compliment and nestles into him. The bubbles pop up her nose when she takes a sip. It’s not a great idea to drink but she’s craving something to take the edge off.
‘So, Rosie, I hear you were given Gerry’s famous tour?’ Luke says. ‘You should get a badge. “I went on the tour of Villa Speranza and survived”.’
Marianne throws him a look.
‘Come on, you know I’m teasing.’ Luke grins. He’s got the same broad smile as Marianne. Dazzling teeth. Rosie tries to find similarities in the brothers’ appearances but there’s not many. ‘I’m sure Gerry wowed her with his facts.’
‘It was a pleasure,’ Gerry replies, not picking up on Luke’s tone. ‘Rosie was asking lots of great questions. She kept me on my toes.’
‘Your house is amazing,’ Rosie says to Marianne and Gerry.
‘Thank you, darling. It was a project. A labour of love.’ Marianne turns to face the building as if greeting an old friend.
The up-lighters throw a golden glow against the chunky Italian stone.
‘I’m sure Gerry would love to show you his photos.
You’ll be able to see all the work we’ve done on this place over the years.
We’ve got so many photo albums in the library here. I must dig them out.’
The fact they have a library blows her mind. There’s also a drawing room with a piano and an ornate chess-set, laid out as if someone paused mid-game. This is a world away from what she’s used to.
‘I’d love that. Now?’
Everyone laughs and she realises how eager she sounds. Her cheeks flush.
‘There’s plenty of time whilst we’re here, darling.’ Marianne smiles fondly. ‘I have to say, it’s refreshing for one of my boys’ girlfriends to take an interest. Most of the others were empty up here.’ She taps her head.
‘Charming.’ Fenna sniffs.
‘I don’t mean you, dear. We all know that not all models are airheads.’ Marianne laughs but Fenna doesn’t crack a smile. ‘Have you been to Tuscany before, Rosie?’
Theo puts a warm arm around Rosie’s shoulders. ‘This is her first time to Italy.’
They look at her with pitying glances.
An uncultured slug in their midst. Her northern accent sets her out as different from everyone here with their soft, southern-clipped consonants.
Theo’s ‘posh boy’ tones were what caught her attention when they first met.
He could be the main British character in any American movie.
She finds the way he pronounces certain words endearing, but now the shoe is on the other foot and she’s the one who stands out.
Gerry looks as if Theo told him Rosie has never drunk water before.
‘Oh, lucky you. You’re going to love it here; we might be biased but Tuscany is the best part of the country. It’s so peaceful. And the light. It’s wonderfully inspiring.’ Marianne nods to her husband. ‘Gerry photographs the landscape and I used to paint it.’
‘Theo said that you’re an artist?’ Rosie asks, hoping her question sounds innocent.
To look at her this evening, in her freshwater pearls and pashmina, she doesn’t have the air of a bohemian artist, but Rosie knows exactly who Marianne Fraser is.
She’s read articles in The Times about her influence in the art world.
Her paintings are worth thousands of pounds.
Marianne is a celebrity in her own right.
Or at least she was. She hasn’t exhibited anything for the past fifteen years.
She never gave a reason for her sudden departure.
‘Gerry used to own a gallery in Soho many moons ago. It’s where we met. He was in charge of my exhibition,’ Marianne explains.
‘Ah yes. The Dursak Gallery; it’s on Bold Street, around the corner from the big Starbucks.
Easy to find. It’s a beautiful space. The good old days of the Soho set.
They wrote a book about us, you know – The Light Within,’ Gerry says, sounding equally proud and nostalgic.
‘Elton John bought one of your pieces at the publisher’s launch, didn’t he?
Told us he hung it in one of his guest bedrooms.’
Luke lets out a dramatically loud yawn, patting his open mouth.
‘You must miss it? Painting I mean,’ Rosie asks Marianne.
‘No.’
There’s a painful beat when nobody talks. Has she said something wrong?
Marianne picks up her glass, her bracelets jangling on her thin wrist and takes a long, slow sip. ‘I retired a long time ago.’
‘I wish you would pick up a paintbrush,’ Luke pipes up, breaking the strange tension. ‘We all know how much you could sell your art for.’
‘Anyway, enough about me,’ Marianne forces a smile, ignoring her son.
‘You must try the sun-dried tomato tapenade. It’s from Monterchi.
Julietta picked it up at the market this morning.
Sadly, the one in Laprezia has finally closed as there are simply not enough customers.
It was heading that way for a long while but the locals didn’t want to admit defeat. ’
‘Another nail in the coffin for this place,’ Gerry says wistfully. ‘Such a shame and all because of that girl.’
‘Who?’ Rosie asks Fenna. She nibbles a spindly, salty breadstick, dropping fine confetti-like crumbs on her lap.
‘Danielle Dixon,’ Fenna leans across and whispers, darting her eyes to her mother-in-law. ‘Bit of advice, don’t let her hear you say that name.’
Rosie is about to ask her why when a clay dish of olives is passed around. She politely takes one, despite being hungry enough to eat the whole bowl.
‘What are you two whispering about?’ Marianne asks, dabbing a napkin to her mouth.
Fenna shifts in her chair. Her cheeks redden. ‘Nothing.’
‘You were talking about something.’ Marianne flashes her perfect teeth. ‘Go on. There’s no secrets here.’
Rosie glances at Theo but he’s not listening to this conversation. She tries to decipher what the women are saying with their eyes.
Fenna takes a deep breath. ‘Rosie was asking about Danielle.’
At the sound of the name, the others stop their conversation and turn to face her. She immediately feels like she’s done something wrong, without realising.
‘I wasn’t. I mean, well, I was. I wondered who you were talking about and—’ She starts, coughing on the olive.
Theo rubs a reassuring hand across her shoulder and passes her a cold glass of mineral water. Heat flames across her face.
‘Theo’s not told you? Well no, I suppose he wouldn’t.
It’s not much of a selling point for the town,’ Gerry says, over Rosie’s splutters.
‘There was a foreign exchange between an all-girls school from Surrey and a high school not far from here. During the trip, a British student called Danielle went missing. She was maybe sixteen or so, and—’
‘No. She was younger than that,’ Luke interrupts.
‘Not by much. Fifteen perhaps? Yes, that’s it.
She was a year younger than you, Theo, if I remember rightly,’ Gerry replies.
‘Anyway, it’s the fifteenth anniversary of her disappearance this week.
They’re still hoping that people might remember something.
Clutching at straws if you ask me; everyone knows she’s dead. ’
Marianne dabs her napkin at the sides of her mouth. ‘Last week, an Italian TV news programme filmed a reenactment by the lake, which was terribly upsetting.’
Gerry nods. ‘They still think her body might be in there. That’s where a Polaroid camera and a denim jacket that belonged to Danielle were discovered.’ He adds for Rosie’s benefit, ‘Sadly, that’s the only trace of her.’
‘Is that the same lake where the birds vanished?’ Rosie asks. ‘Something to do with parakeets?’
‘Yep. Lago Parrocchetto. People say the birds left because of Danielle,’ Luke whispers in a ghoulish tone.
Rosie grips her wine glass.
‘Ignore him.’ Gerry rolls his eyes. ‘There’s a lot of local superstition as to why the birds chose a different nesting place. Not everyone listens to facts about climate change, instead believing what they want to believe.’
Luke leans back in his chair, a toothpick angled in his mouth.
‘But they’re still looking for her?’ Theo asks.
Marianne takes a deep breath. She straightens, brushing her hair from her face. ‘Do we have to talk about this now?’
‘The strange thing about the Danielle Dixon case is that—’ Gerry starts.
‘Let’s leave it there, darling.’ Marianne pats Gerry’s hand firmly. ‘It’s not exactly dinner party conversation.’
Gerry’s response is cut off by the sound of glass cracking.
Rosie looks down.
The stem of her wine glass has broken in two.