Chapter 6 Fenna – Day 1
‘Oh gosh. Careful, darling,’ Marianne leaps to her feet, calling to Julietta for a cloth.
Red wine slowly drips onto the ground and resembles a crime scene. Rosie comments on how she doesn’t know her own strength, followed by a nervous laugh.
It’s not long before the mess is cleaned up and the atmosphere returns to normal. The conversation moves on. Fenna flicks her eyes to the new girl. Her broken glass was replaced and refilled. It’s like it never happened.
A chorus of excitable Italian flows over the terrace and breaks the tension.
Fenna is relieved to see Julietta jogging over, her neat, gold-rimmed glasses held on a metal chain bouncing upon her ample chest, tears in her eyes, arms wide open. There is a flurry of kisses and fast-flowing Italian.
‘It’s so lovely to see you.’
The older woman stands back, a beaming smile on her rosy cheeks. She reaches out to stroke Alba’s hair, shaking her head with an adoring look. In her mid-fifties, she is a substitute nonna to Fenna’s children.
‘Yes, she’s growing up,’ Fenna replies.
Marianne and Gerry have made several remarks about how rude it is when Fenna speaks to the staff in Italian, saying they feel excluded. But it is unnatural for her to be talking to an Italian in English.
She’s not talking about them.
Not now, at least.
Marianne clears her throat. ‘Rosie, this is Julietta. She’s worked here almost twenty years. A valued member of Villa Speranza.’
‘Benvenuta. Welcome!’ Julietta takes both of Rosie’s hands and gives them a shake. ‘I’m so happy to see the family all together. It’s been a long time.’
‘Too long.’ Marianne nods wistfully.
Another woman emerges from Julietta’s shadow.
‘Oh and this is Carla, she started a few months ago. Julietta has done a wonderful job training her,’ Marianne tells the table. ‘I think only Luke has met her before?’
Luke looks up from his phone screen and nods hello to the young woman. She flutters her long feathery lashes and lets out a light giggle.
‘Buonasera.’ Carla must be in her mid-twenties. She’s dressed in a dove grey tabard and black skinny-fit trousers. She looks like a puff of air will blow her away, a contrast to Julietta’s broad shoulders.
‘Mamma mia. What a beauty,’ Julietta says, beaming at Raffi in his pushchair.
Carla strokes Raffi’s cheek with a pointed fingernail, the tips painted a glossy red.
Their coos and exclamations swirl over Fenna.
Blood rushes in her head at how easy it would be for Carla to accidentally scratch him.
One millisecond is all it would take. After a minute or so, the women walk away to get on with their work.
Fenna lets out the breath she was holding.
‘Theo, darling, did I hear you say you were running a marathon? Don’t let me forget to sponsor you. Ask Richard and Evelyn too. They’re also around this week and next. They would love to see you boys.’ Marianne turns to Rosie. ‘They’ve been dear friends for so long and are wonderful company.’
‘And they’re stinking rich,’ Luke pipes up.
‘Luke, that’s not very polite of you, but yes, they aren’t short of a few bob. They don’t have children themselves; missed the boat as it were. See, money can’t buy you everything.’
Luke leans in closer. His breath smells of dry-roasted peanuts. ‘But it can buy you a super yacht and a villa in Monaco.’
Fenna rolls her eyes at her husband’s obsession with money.
‘You’re going to love them,’ Marianne says.
‘I can’t wait to meet them.’ Rosie smiles.
Carla silently moves around them and lights the candles.
The warm evening air is perfumed and sweet from the bougainvillaea trailing over their heads.
Raffi is in his pushchair, entranced by the shadows cast from the delicate flowers climbing the pergola.
Occasionally there’s a waft of luscious mint and rosemary coming from the tall clay planters.
Birds and crickets hum from the nearby fields.
Every time Fenna’s here she remembers why she loves it so much.
The solitude, the nature, the chance to take a full lungful of fresh air.
Nothing like their life in London.
The view from the terrace is like a painting, even in the fading daylight. Rolling hills and skinny cypress trees, farmers’ olive groves and churned earth crisscross the land. It’s breathtaking.
She’s on a high from the conversation she’d had with Luke earlier.
Landing back in Italy felt like a familiar hug.
This is where she belongs. She misses her Italian roots, the language, the weather, the food, and the lifestyle.
She wants her children to have the childhood she had.
London was the place to be in her twenties, and she doesn’t regret it – it’s where she met Luke after all – but now, as a wife and mother, things have changed.
She doesn’t want to be squashed on the Tube, rushing to casting calls, being judged, measured, dismissed.
How many more years does she have left in her anyway?
Whenever she glances in the mirror she sees another fine line that wasn’t there the day before.
She pictures them at Villa Speranza, running holistic retreats; Luke’s new business means he can work from anywhere, and she can learn to teach yoga.
The house technically belongs to Marianne, but will eventually go to Luke and Theo.
She wonders how much they would need to pay Theo for his share and whether Marianne would go for the idea of them taking ownership early.
‘I’m serious. We could make this dream come true. Not many couples have this chance to start a new adventure,’ she’d reminded him.
Luke huffed. ‘Fen, we’ve got enough on our plate.’
‘Think about it whilst we’re here, please. Maybe talk to Theo and your mum about it? It would be good for us, for our marriage,’ Fenna said quickly, crossing her fingers.
He promised he would. It might not be a firm yes but it was a start. A zip of adrenaline flies through her. For the first time in ages, she is hopeful that she might make this dream come true.
She allows herself a moment to breathe it in.
Her shoulders drop a fraction. The only cloud that hangs over this stunning place is Danielle Dixon.
Fenna wondered how long it would be until someone mentioned the schoolgirl’s name.
As a teen herself at the time, Fenna remembers the story making the news when she disappeared.
The nation was gripped by the many theories of what might have happened to her.
But after a while, and with no updates, the news agenda moved on and so did the rest of the world.
She didn’t realise they were still actively trying to find her.
People usually move on. People usually forget.
Fifteen years is a long time to be searching.