Page 30 of My Lemon Grove Summer
‘And if in doubt, get them drunk!’ says Barry.
‘Yes, don’t forget the wine,’ says Ralph. ‘Very important. If it’s from the barrel, we can decant it into jugs. It’s a bit rustic, but better than plastic bottles.’
‘Okay. Barry, you all right on signs?’ I ask.
‘On it! Just off now.’ He’s got a couple of the wooden signs under his arm and a hammer in his back pocket. ‘Want a lift into town?’ he offers, like he’s a young man all over again.
I hold up my hand. ‘Thanks, but I think I’ll be okay walking.’
‘Right then, I’m off!’ And we watch as he cycles down the long, dusty drive, avoiding the potholes like he’s been doing it all his life, whistling as he goes.
Lennie leans on his broom, where he’s been sweeping up the black dust that has settled all around us.
‘Want me to come with you?’ he asks, holding up his hand against the sun, which is getting hotter.
‘No, you carry on here. I should be okay. I’ve got my Italian app.’ I wave my phone at him and smile nervously. Clearly we’re both wondering what’s going to happen tonight, neither of us wanting to ask the other. The subject is like a huge elephant standing between us.
I’m standing at the high polished-wood counter with an armful of dried pasta and cheese, pine nuts, lemons and bacon pieces.
‘What? What do you mean, it’s not possible?’ I say, thinking I haven’t understood properly.
The woman behind the counter speaks to me again, very quickly, in Italian, shaking her head.
The young girl is standing my side of the counter.
‘My mum says it’s reserved. For another customer.’
‘But it was on the shelves. If it was reserved, why was it out?’
The woman shrugs, pulls down her mouth and makes a ‘pfffff’ sound, which in any language means she neither knows nor cares.
From the back room I can hear the canary singing loudly.
‘She says Il Nonno loves pasta. Her uncle, Romano, he has reserved it, she says. She can’t sell it to you. She cannot serve you.’
Him again! I bristle.
I put my hand out on top of the pasta packet, stopping her in her tracks. She slowly looks up at me from her heavily made up eyes. I’m desperate. I need these ingredients. Without them . . . well, I have no idea what we’ll cook for the paying guests we have coming to Il Limoneto tonight.
The woman is glowering at me like I’ve challenged her to a duel. I swallow, not entirely sure who’s going to win, and look at the young girl.
‘What did you say your name is?’ I ask.
‘Sophia, but I prefer to be called Sophie, the English way. I love England. I really want to go. I’m half English, apparently, but I’ve never met my father.’
The woman scolds her, and I think she’s telling her off for speaking English. Sophie lowers her eyes. The woman looks at me again.
‘Look, Sophie, please tell your mum I really need these groceries. We have guests coming to the farmhouse tonight. Paying guests. I need to feed them. This is business, one businesswoman helping another.’ I smile pleadingly.
Sophie turns to her mother and says something, but the woman replies sharply, then tries to snatch the packets of pasta from my hands.
‘I’ll pay! Whatever she thinks is a good price,’ I say. It is the only thing I can think of. To my shame, I’m offering a bribe, just like Lennie did to Matteo.
The woman eyes me like a python sizing up its prey, giving her lips a quick lick.
‘Yes, I’ll pay,’ I tell Sophie, and then I look at her mother again. ‘How much do you want for the pasta? I’ll give you whatever you’re asking. More than your other customer.’
I look in my purse.
