Page 24 of My Lemon Grove Summer
‘And I take it your father . . .’ I try to pick my words as carefully as I can, ‘has quite a lot of influence around here.’
Again, he takes a moment. ‘He does.’
I’m thinking this might be the hold-up that Giuseppe was referring to. Is Luca’s father making it difficult for him?
‘And you? What do you think about us coming here?’
He smiles, and something like excitement ripples through me.
‘I am delighted you are here.’ His dark eyes sparkle as I look straight into them. ‘As you can see, the town is dying on its feet. We need more people. My father likes to keep things the way they were, but that can’t go on forever. We need change.’
I smile. ‘I’m glad to hear it.’ I finish my coffee.
‘And it means my father will hopefully stop pushing me to marry my second cousin! The superstition says there must be a wedding every ten years, or Etna will be unhappy. Now you are here and getting married, I am off the hook!’ he says, and for a moment I have no idea if he’s joking or not. And then I remember the young woman in the restaurant kissing him on the lips.
‘You’re not serious?!’ I blurt out.
‘Totally,’ he says, straight-faced.
‘Your cousin?’
‘My second cousin, Donatella,’ he corrects.
‘Was that the woman in the restaurant the other night?’
‘Uh huh.’ He nods. ‘Round here, they like to keep everything in the family – money, business, even marriage. They trust no one, so they think it’s safer that way.’
‘But . . . I mean, surely . . .’
He shrugs. ‘Like I say, it’s how things are around here. If I had my way, things would be done very differently . . . But I just try and stay out of family affairs.’
For once, I’m lost for words. It’s terrible that people should be forced to marry for all the wrong reasons . . . or the right reasons. My head starts to get confused as I think about my own marriage.
‘I have to find Giuseppe. Ask him if everything is okay,’ I say, standing and rattling my coffee cup in its saucer. ‘Sorry.’
But Luca just smiles again. ‘I think Giuseppe is probably praying right now . . . praying for a miracle,’ he says with sadness and a shrug, looking out at the hazy, heavy sky. ‘Like I say, my father is a powerful man.’
As if confirming all our worst fears. I knew it, something’s not right. ‘Praying . . . Of course, the church!’ I turn to run down the steps from the apartment and back the way I came, the wind circling me as I go.
‘Zelda?’ He stops me in my tracks, and I turn. ‘Please don’t tell anyone you’ve been here. Don’t mention . . . this.’ He holds out his hands to the thriving lemon grove.
I nod. ‘Of course, you have my word,’ I say, too worried about Giuseppe and our future to ask why.
Chapter Thirteen
I arrive at the church, hot, sweaty and out of breath. I lift the heavy handle and push the big wooden door open with an effort. There at the front of the church, about three rows back, is a hunched figure. It doesn’t look like Giuseppe, but something tells me it is. The smart suit. The way he rakes his fingers through his hair and then clasps his hands together and holds them to his forehead.
‘Giuseppe! Here you are!’ I step inside. My eyes can’t help but be drawn to the ornate high ceiling. It’s so cool in here, and quiet.
Giuseppe turns round, clearly surprised to see me. My footsteps echo like bullet shots as I hurry down the aisle.
‘We’ve been worried about you,’ I say. ‘We went to your house, the town hall, everywhere.’
‘Buongiorno, Zelda.’ He stands and kisses me on each cheek, ever polite. His own cheeks, I notice, are damp. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you.’ He holds one hand over the other and wrings them together.
‘What is it, Giuseppe? What’s the matter?’
‘It’s . . .’ He bites his lower lip and looks to the big statue of the Virgin Mary.
