Page 25 of A Place in the Sun
She asks if I’m from Casa Luna.
I say I am.
The table is laid for two. I can’t eat another meal, I think.
‘Please, sit,’ she says, taking the food and the wine from me and pouring it into a glass. I take a sip, trying to work out how to get out of eating. But it’s too late. I’m already being served.
‘I have made a littleantipastiandsalata,’ she says, as I’m faced with a platter of mixed meats, olives, cheese and beautiful ripe tomatoes. I attempt to eat the salad,hoping it will be light and not too filling, but the fig and goat’s cheese in it make it far too delicious to stop at just a mouthful or two. The saltiness of the cheese and sweetness of the figs, complete opposites, are a match made in Heaven.
When I sit back, she stands, her apron tied around her ample hips, and begins to serve the pasta dish I’ve just had at Teresa’s. Wonderful home-made pasta, with courgette, a kick of garlic and a spritz of lemon.
‘Just a little, please,’ I say. ‘Er, watching my weight,’ I add.
She turns slowly to me, looks me up and down, ‘Phfff,’ and serves a hefty quantity of the pasta.
I explain I’m here with my children, doing up the house by the end of the summer.
‘And where is your husband?’
‘He’s not with us,’ I manage, without feeling I have to tell a complete stranger I’m widowed and miss him every single moment of every single day. If I thought I was going to get away with leaving some of the pasta and saying I’m giving up dessert for my diet, I was mistaken. I’m handed a bowl of more fresh figs with creamy mascarpone.
‘From the garden,’ she tells me.
‘They’re delicious.’
Finally, I stand up, feeling as full as I did when I was nine months pregnant. I hand her the orange lasagnedish. She takes it, then looks at the final dish in my basket, the blue one, and sniffs. ‘I see you had another visitor. My sister, no doubt.’
‘Oh, your sister? Yes, it was delicious …’
She’s waiting for me to say something about her lasagne.
‘I enjoyed them all, but I could tell which one you’d made.’ I try to be diplomatic. ‘It was very distinctive.’
‘So mine was your favourite?’ She smiles triumphantly as if she’s lifting a gold medal at the Olympics. ‘I’m glad, though not surprised. I have worked hard to make the best lasagne in this village.’
‘Of course.’
I’m keen to leave, so after we’ve said goodbye, I open the door. Alessandro is waiting for me. I can hardly walk.
‘How was it?’ he says.
‘Filling!’ I say quietly, with a little burp.
‘Giovanni says one more to go. Nonna Rosa. And don’t be put off by her. Her bark is worse than her bite.’ He smiles.
With the last dish in my basket, I knock at the door. Dusk is turning to nightfall but it’s still warm and muggy. More than anything I want a cold shower and to drop into bed. At least I haven’t been bitten by any more mosquitoes since I doused myself in lemon juice.
I take a deep breath, hoping Luca and Aimee areokay. I need to get back to them soon. I check my phone. They could get in touch if they needed me, but there are no messages. I’m feeling anxious, though, and want to be back with them as soon as possible.
The door opens. ‘Nonna Rosa? I’m from La Tavola. I’ve brought dinner,’ I say, immediately recognizing her from when she dropped off the lasagne at my house.
Alessandro is right. She has a very lined and hard face. She’s older than the other two, her house is a little bigger, and she’s twice as intimidating.
‘And I brought your dish back.Grazie,’ I say, holding out the dish and the tinfoil box of food.
She reaches out and takes both. At first I think she isn’t going to invite me in but then she says, ‘I suppose you want to come in.’
Part of me wants to say no, then go home to the children, and undo the top button on my trousers, but I can’t. I promised Giovanni. And he helped with the electrics. It’s only right that I return the favour this evening. At least I’ve found a way to get all the dishes back to their rightful owners.
