Chapter 20 Fenna – Day 5
Back at Villa Speranza, everyone crowds around on the terrace to see the ring. Theo stands, chest out proudly like he’s caught the catch of the day. Rosie looks starstruck. A tray of Negronis sit on the low table, a row of celebratory sundowners as the sun sets.
They’re joined by Richard and Evelyn. The last time Fenna saw them was at her and Luke’s wedding.
Richard, a balding man in his mid-sixties with the round stomach of a privileged solicitor, gifted them a ridiculously expensive but horrendously ugly vase.
If it hadn’t broken when they last moved house she would have sold it to get some extra cash whilst she’s on maternity leave.
‘Another wedding!’ Evelyn lets out a whoop, flicking her glossy, curly black hair.
Richard’s wife is a lot younger and slimmer than her husband.
She comes from Barbados and is full of warmth and smiles.
Fenna forgot how much energy Evelyn has.
She likes to be centre stage whereas Richard prefers to stand on the sidelines and observe.
She’s always wondered if there has ever been a thing between him and Marianne. They seem a lot better suited.
‘Congratulations,’ Fenna says, coming to kiss Rosie’s cheek.
‘You’ll be sisters-in-law.’ Gerry smiles, a camera in hand to capture their brief embrace. ‘A new addition to the Fraser family.’
Rosie Fraser – it doesn’t sound right.
‘It belonged to my great-great-grandmother, and survived two world wars,’ Marianne clucks, angling Rosie’s hand for everyone to see better. The deep blue sapphire and gold ring glints in the golden evening light.
Evelyn squeals, proclaiming it to be ‘the most beautiful thing’ she’s ever seen.
Fenna swallows the sudden bubble of jealousy.
She wasn’t presented with a family heirloom.
Not that she dislikes her engagement ring, but there is no story behind it.
Luke picked it up at a local jewellers – she knows because he got the wrong size and she had to get it altered.
Saw the receipt. Saw how it was bought the day of the proposal, in the sale.
She’s always sensed it was a rushed decision and seeing it printed in black and white confirmed her suspicion.
She waits for Julietta to finish setting up the aperitivo. She needs a drink after the rollercoaster of emotions of the day.
She was convinced their bank account had been hacked.
The moment she saw the low funds she’d called Luke, but it had gone to voicemail.
She’d left a hysterical garbled message, pacing the stone steps opposite the gallery, ignoring the concerned looks from tourists enjoying a gelato.
She was calling the bank to tell them to block their cards in case more money vanished when Luke had rushed around the corner to find her.
Alba was covered in chocolate ice-cream stains and Gerry trailed behind the two of them, looking frazzled.
‘We’ve not been scammed. I did it,’ he’d said under his breath so Gerry couldn’t hear.
Fenna cancelled the call.
‘What?’
‘I moved the money. It’s fine. It’s in the business account. I completely forgot to tell you; it slipped my mind.’
‘But . . . what about the mortgage?’ she’d stuttered.
Her heart had slowed a fraction as she’d listened to him explain that his accountant had advised it, something to do with the rate of inflation and tax purposes.
He offered to send her a screenshot of the money in this different account to prove it was safe if she wanted him to.
She’d felt embarrassed for being so dramatic.
Sleep exhaustion was clearly affecting her ability not to catastrophise.
‘Fenna? Hello, earth to Fenna.’ Marianne waves her hand. ‘Gosh, you do look tired. I was asking if you could move along so Rosie can sit down?’
Fenna does as she’s asked, blinking away the thoughts about money. Luke seemed calm about it; she knows he will have been advised to do the right thing.
‘So, tell us everything.’ Marianne turns towards Rosie.
‘I’m still in shock.’ Rosie lets out a high-pitched giggle. Her cheeks are flushed and she keeps twiddling the ring.
‘You didn’t suspect anything?’ Theo asks.
‘Nope,’ Rosie blinks.
‘Did you know he was planning this, Mum?’ Luke asks Marianne.
‘I might have done.’ His mum beams. There is a sheen where her foundation has slipped. The powder of her taupe eyeshadow sits in creases. She’s pretty drunk already. ‘It was a giveaway when Theo asked for Grandma’s ring to be cleaned.’
There is the sound of a cork popping.
‘Half a glass for Fenna,’ Marianne says to Julietta who pours the expensive Champagne into gleaming flutes. ‘She’s breastfeeding, remember.’
A glass of pale pink bubbles – barely half filled – is handed to her. Fenna tries not to be wound up by the miniscule measure. Why does Marianne insist she knows what’s best?
‘Congratulations.’ Gerry leads the toast. ‘To Rosie and Theo. Welcome to the family.’
Fenna lifts her flute and gulps the bubbles, which fizz at the back of her throat. She finds it hard to swallow.
‘You know, Rosie, I feel like we’ve met before,’ Evelyn says, coming to join the women on one side of the terrace. The pearls around her neck are the same shade as her incredibly white teeth.
Rosie politely smiles. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Were you at the celebration for Marianne’s lifetime achievement in March? The one at the art gallery on Bold Street? That was the last time I was in the UK.’
‘Nope. Not me . . .’
‘Hmm. Strange. Maybe it’s because you remind me of that actress . . . you know the one? With the lovely big brown eyes? Fenna? Do you know who I’m talking about?’ Evelyn asks.
Fenna shakes her head. ‘You need to be more specific.’
‘Darling, do you know who I mean?’ Evelyn loudly calls to Richard, pulling him from his conversation with Gerry.
‘Doesn’t Rosie look familiar? Who am I thinking of?
An actress. Brown hair. Wide stare-y eyes.
Neat chin.’ Richard’s face is scrunched in thought.
She wafts a hand. ‘Perhaps she’s not an actress. ’
‘You’re not getting confused with Theo’s ex-girlfriend, are you? She was also very pretty,’ he says, his voice baritone deep.
Evelyn lets out a tinkle of an embarrassed laugh. She fidgets with her shoulder-length curls. ‘Richard! You tease. Please ignore him. He’s terrible.’ She wafts her husband away. Rosie presses her glass to her lips and holds her fixed smile in place.
Marianne claps her hands to get everyone’s attention.
‘Now this might sound premature, but I was hoping to get plans underway for your engagement party. You will want to do something official when you get back home, but it would be wonderful to celebrate together here before you leave, and I’ve got lots of ideas. ’
‘Calm down, Mum,’ Theo laughs.
What’s happened to her relaxing holiday? The ring and an engagement party? Why are they treating this new girl like she’s royalty? No one even knows her! Fenna coughs on her Champagne.
Everyone turns to check she’s ok.
‘It went down the wrong way.’ She pats her chest.
‘What about getting married here?’ Marianne asks, ignoring Fenna’s splutters.
‘We could help organise everything. Destination weddings are en vogue you know. It would be easy to get a licence; I’m sure we know someone in the village who can help us out.
Oh, imagine this place fit for a wedding,’ she breathes, beaming up at her house.
‘Gerry could do the photos. Julietta could make the cake. Evelyn can help with the wedding favours. You always give the most thoughtful gifts.’
Marianne and Evelyn start mentioning names of people they could call on to help organise marquees and catering and airport transfers for the guests. A dart of jealousy strikes Fenna. She was never offered Villa Speranza for their wedding.
‘It’s all coming together.’ Marianne clasps her hands. ‘What do you think? Wouldn’t it be great?’
Rosie puts down her glass and is about to reply.
‘If it gets that far.’ The words spill out of Fenna’s mouth before she realises she’s said them out loud.
Everyone twists their heads to face her. Evelyn gasps. Luke and Richard give her an amused look. Rosie shifts on her feet.
Her stomach lurches. She needs to quickly backtrack.
‘What I mean is that . . . erm . . . marriage is hard work, and some people change their mind. Cold feet and things,’ she adds, flushed at the way they’re looking at her.
‘Nothing will go wrong,’ Theo says, protectively wrapping an arm around Rosie’s shoulders. ‘Nothing.’