“Let’s eat,” says Sofia.
I’m still thinking about Dad, wondering if there could be some healing ahead, as I twist my fork through the pasta and scoop it up to my mouth.
“Oh, wow, this is amazing,” I say, over and over.
Leo looks across at me, concerned. “Are you okay?” he whispers. But Roger catches it.
“Is there something wrong?”
“No,” I say. “No.” I glance at Leo. “Why?”
“Oh, just you said the dish wasamazingfour times. And so I was just making sure you were okay,” Leo says with a wicked grin, and I slap him on the arm. Leo is back. Or at least, he is putting on a show for me, to help me get through this first lunch.
“If we’ve rendered our guest speechless with a little linguine, I can’t wait to show you what I can do with my Limoncello,” Roger says, laughing.
Later, as our lunch dishes are removed, Roger is about to start another story about Dad when Sofia interrupts. “Roger, I’m sure Olive doesn’t want to go over and over stories about him all day,” she says. “Save a few. We’ve got a week together.”
“It’s okay, I’m kind of used to it now,” I say, smiling at her gratefully.
“But still,” Leo says quickly.
Roger looks momentarily deflated and I feel for him. He’s lost his best friend,and he’s sitting with the man’s daughter and sous chef and he wants to sink into memories, just like he used to at home with Dad all those years ago.
Sofia seems to sense this too, and kisses him on the forehead. “Come on, darling, let’s get them a shower and a rest. I want to get you settled in,” she says to Leo and me, “and then we can open the grappa and Roger can whip you up a tiramisu.”
“Ohhhhh... you’re going to like that,” he says, completely distracted and perky again. He grins at me. “I make a killer tiramisu. Better than Nicky ever did.”
“Come on, you’ve had quite enough. You’ll fall asleep on the pier again,” she says, and then glances at us, quickly adding, “I’m kidding. He’s actually rather teetotal when we’re alone. It’s like he saves all his most outrageous behavior for guests.”
She chuckles, and I stand to join her as we make our way back down the spiral staircase and Sofia leads us through one of the small alleys that shoots from the bay and up to the cliffs above. Roger waves his hat to almost every business owner on the way, it feels like, receiving enthusiastic waves in return. Leo and I share a few amused looks as we wander behind the two, weighed down by our bags.
Sofia points ahead to her house, indicating that it isn’t far to walk. I’m surprised by how small the house is, but I suspect small in Portofino is still out-of-this-world expensive. Besides, Roger tells us, this is the second house. The first is on Lake Como. They are mostly only here in the summer months.
“Sea, lake, and mountain,” he says, “the holy trinity.”
29
SOFIA’S “LITTLE PLACE”is deceptively big inside. A three-story, seven-hundred-year-old pale peach cliff-top home. It creaks with original flooring, a mix of tile and wood. The bathroom has a sloping roof and the water takes a few seconds to whiz up through the pipes before it comes gushing out the old faucet.
“It’s a bit of a fixer-upper,” she says, waving at some scaffolding holding up the top-floor balcony.
“It’s incredible,” I say, looking across at Leo as she shows us to my room, which is beautifully decorated, mostly in whites and dusty green with little orange shutters that open out onto the bay.
“What Sofia means is that it constantly needs fixing up,” says Roger. “And you can’t change anything, bloody regulations everywhere.”
“It’s perfect,” I say, gushing at the charm of it, while knowing I’m incurring none of the expense of having to fix the place up or pay to stay here.
“And, Leo, you’re in here,” says Sofia, opening the door next to mine. “Unless...”
“No, that’s fine,” Leo says, and Sofia nods, glancing between the two of us.She is wondering. Women never miss these things. Perhaps she’s spotted the sham: an awkward, almost playacted distance between us, with the moments of true tenderness piercing through the facade. A classic case of two lovers trying and failing to keep their feelings under wraps.
“The bathroom is down the hall,” says Sofia. “It’s shared, I’m afraid, and there is no lock, so just be aware.”
Leo and I catch each other’s eye and I suppress a smile, remembering our shared bathroom back in Tuscany.
“Noted,” says Leo. “Did you note that, Olive?”
“I noted it, Leo,” I say, shaking my head at him.
