Page 49 of A Place in the Sun
‘No. We’re friends, good friends.’
‘Ah, okay.’ Again my thoughts turn to Stella.
‘Once burnt, twice shy!’ he says. ‘What about you?’
‘Oh, I’m not looking for a partner right now. That’s the last thing I need.’
We carry on walking up through the village, watching the bats flit in the lamplight.
‘I have the children to think of. And, besides, I don’t know if I’m angry about Marco dying and leaving me, or just so sad that he did. Or sad for the future we didn’t get. I couldn’t bear to have his memorytrampled on right now.’ I swallow, my mind wandering back to what on earth Stella had meant by her and Marco being ‘friends’. ‘He was the love of my life. I could never see myself with anyone again. Especially not someone …’ I stop, not knowing where that came from.
‘Who worked in a kitchen, reminding you of him. Not wanting to put yourself through it again.’ He turns to me, and my insides fizz with excitement that I try hard to extinguish.
I clear my throat. ‘Something like that.’
And we walk on in silence, lost in our thoughts.
Back at La Tavola Giovanni pushes open the wooden door into the courtyard, and Bello rushes to meet him. The soft orange glow of the lights draws us into the kitchen where everyone is tidying up after Friday-night deliveries.
They turn, practically as one, to us.
‘Well?’ says the mayor, who is there, shirt sleeves pushed up and elbow deep in soap suds at the sink, ‘What did they say?’
We stand in the doorway, and then, together, we smile.
‘They saidsì!’
Everyone cheers and whoops. It’s like we’ve had a lottery win! Giovanni tries to manage expectations, but everyone is buzzing with delight.
‘Look, all we’ve managed to get them to do is turnup to the lasagne competition on Sunday,’ he says, trying to calm things. ‘They know nothing about the cookery weekend yet. They think they’re coming just to defend their recipes and honour.’
‘And so they are!’ says the mayor. ‘We want them to share those recipes and help keep this place going. It’s the heart of the village.’
‘It’s a start!’ I say cheerfully. ‘We’ll get them to share their food and hopefully agree to help us.’
‘I wouldn’t like to be in your shoes.’ Giuseppe gives a throaty laugh, patting the mayor’s shoulder. The poor man looks as if he’s carrying the weight of the world on it.
And now the big day is here, Sunday. The church bells are ringing, signalling the end of Mass and the beginning of lunch in the village. The thin congregation files down the steps, stopping to talk to each other. There is a buzz in the air in anticipation of the lasagne competition. Everyone is talking about it. Who will enter? Who will win? Will it come to blows like last time? I’m nervous. All we can do is hope that thenonnas turn up … and that it doesn’t end in a brawl.
Everything is prepared. The salads are made, with fresh green leaves and herbs that Caterina has grown in the borders and the pots in the garden at La Tavola. The table is laid, with jugs of wine and water. The bread is in the kitchen, waiting to be sliced, alongside baskets.Giovanni made it that morning, Luca helping – he got up especially early to join Giovanni in the kitchen. It’s been so good to see him want to be involved.
Now, nervously, we’re standing in La Tavola with the doors wide open. We look at each other anxiously, myself, Giovanni, Caterina, Enrico, Alessandro, Giuseppe and the mayor, who seems more worried than anyone else.
‘One of them wanted to marry me once,’ says Giuseppe. ‘I decided to stick to goats. Much more predictable.’
‘Look!’ shouts Alessandro, pointing down the road from his lookout position standing on the wall. ‘She’s coming. Nonna Lucia is coming!’ he shouts to us.
We hurry out into the road, to see her walking up the road, carrying a basket.
‘Go and help her with her basket,’ I tell Luca and Pietro. They race down the hill and relieve her of her heavy load.
‘Buongiorno!’ we call to her and wave. She’s happy to be here by the look of it.
We usher her inside. She sits and accepts the glass of water she’s offered. The weather is hot but she’s in her Sunday best. Gold earrings and matching necklace. A blue dress covered with sunflowers, pop socks to her knees and smart court shoes.
We offer to help unpack her bag, but she shakes her head and pulls the basket closer to her, clearlyprotecting her ingredients and favourite kitchen utensils.
She soon realizes she is the firstnonnato have arrived, sips her water and waits.
