Page 33 of The Tuscan Child
Paola shrugged. “He is all talk, that one. No real harm in him, at least not to the ladies. If you had become amorous, he would have run a mile.”
Angelina laughed, too. “But in his business dealings, well, sometimes he does like to play with fire,” she said.
“We don’t know that,” Paola said. “It is only rumours.”
“It is what they say in the village,” Angelina replied. “They say he is friendly with those who might beMafiosi. They say he might trade in stolen goods. And then there is the olive press...”
“Olive press?” I asked.
Angelina nodded. “The only olive press for the whole community is owned by Cosimo. Did you meet Cosimo?”
“I did. He looked rather...” I didn’t have the Italian word for “imposing.”
“He is powerful,” Paola said. “Rich and powerful. A dangerous man to cross. He owns the only olive press, and he lets those he likes or to whom he owes favours get the best times to press their olives. If he does not like you—if you refuse to sell your trees to him, like me—then you find that your time to press olives is at two o’clock in the morning.”
“Does the press run day and night?”
“It does. In the picking season, the sooner the olives are pressed, the better. So each person wants time at Cosimo’s press.”
“So what was Gianni doing that might anger Cosimo?” I asked.
“He still has olive trees, over beyond the old monastery. Cosimo has never liked him, and he always gives Gianni the worst times. Sometimes he makes him wait for days. So Gianni was trying to get together with some of the local farmers to set up a co-op and build their own olive press. I don’t know how far he has come with this idea, but of course Cosimo would be angry if anyone tried to go against him.”
“Gianni is a fool,” Angelina said. “He likes to talk big. But if it came to a showdown with Cosimo, he would run away with his tail between his legs.”
While we talked Paola carried in dishes and placed them in front of us. “Asparagus from the garden,” she said. “It is asparagus season. Such a short time that we make the most of it and eat asparagus at almost every meal.”
She placed a dish of white stalks in front of me, then drizzled them with olive oil and grated Parmesan cheese over them from a big block. I had eaten asparagus before—certainly not often, as it was a delicacy in England—but it had tasted nothing like this. Each mouthful was heavenly, the sharpness of the cheese contrasting with the sweetness of the vegetable.
After we had finished this course, Angelina cleared away the plates and returned carrying a big tureen. When Paola took off the lid, the herby aroma filled the room. She served me a generous portion, much bigger than I would have liked, but it would have been rude to refuse. “Here we are—the pici you and I made this afternoon and the rabbit ragu. Enjoy.”
And I did enjoy. Somehow I seemed to find room to clear my plate. There was just enough of the rabbit in the sauce to flavour it, but it was the herbs and tomatoes that made it so delicious. I resolved to learn about herbs from Paola before I departed, and if ever I had a garden, I’d grow them myself.
After the main course had been cleared, biscotti were put on the table along with small glasses of a rich amber liquid. “This is the Vin Santo I told you about,” Paola said. “The holy wine.”
I looked surprised. “This is really holy wine from the church?”
She laughed. “This is what we call it. No, it doesn’t come from the church now. There are many stories about the name. Some say it was the style of wine from dried grapes favoured for Mass. But others say there was a holy friar who used the leftover wine from the Eucharist to go around and cure the sick. These days it just tastes good for dessert. This is how you eat the biscotti. You dip and then you eat.”
Angelina got up. “I’m going to bed, Mamma. I am tired. The little one kept me up most of last night. Please God she sleeps for a while now.”
Paola gave her a big hug and kisses on both cheeks. Angelina shook my hand, giving me a shy smile. “Tomorrow you must tell me about life in London,” she said, “about the fashions and the music and the movie stars. I want to know everything.”
“All right.” I returned her smile.
She picked up the little cradle and carried it from the room. After she had gone Paola leaned closer to me. “It is good to see her animated again,” she said. “For a while after the baby she showed no interest in anything. She was very ill, you know. They had to take the baby early, or she would have died. I thought I would lose her, my only child. But now, thank God and the Blessed Virgin, she is on the road to recovery.”
She put a hand on my shoulder. “You lost your poor mamma, so you know what it feels like to lose someone you love. After my dear man it would have been more than I could have borne. It’s the very worst thing in the world for a mother to lose her child.”
I felt tears welling up in my eyes and tried to swallow back a sob. The wine had worn at my defences. I wanted to tell her. I wanted to tell somebody and have her arms around me, telling me softly that she understood. But I stopped myself at the last moment. I couldn’t tell even this sweet and kind woman how it felt to have lost my baby.
“Don’t look so sad,” she said, touching my cheek. “All is well. We are tested and we survive, and life will be good again.”
With those comforting words I bid her goodnight and went to bed.
It was only when I was curled up in bed feeling the cool touch of those soft sheets against my cheek that I allowed the tears to come. I might have held them back until now, but I couldn’t any longer. I relived every moment. I remembered my surprise when the doctor told me that I was pregnant. My initial fear was replaced with reassurance. The pregnancy was not planned, and had come sooner than we’d hoped, but Adrian would do the right thing and marry me. I’d put my clerkship with the solicitor on hold, that’s all. But that wasn’t what happened. Adrian had looked scared, then annoyed. “Are you sure? It couldn’t have come at a more inconvenient time, could it? We’re both so close to taking our bar exams. Certainly in no position to settle down and start a family.” He paused, a frown spoiling that smoothly handsome face. Then he relaxed again, and gave me a little smile. “Don’t worry,” he said. “It will be all right. I know someone who can take care of it.”
It took me a while to realise that he wanted me to have an abortion. Shock, horror, revulsion.
