He’d taken Maria’s hand, leading her from room to room. He tugged down dusty curtains and rolled up the threadbare rugs. He told her stories from his childhood, of playing hide and seek with Gianfranco in the wardrobes of the unoccupied rooms, and showed her the kitchen stool he used to stand on to make bread with his mamma.
Maria gradually came around to his way of thinking. She stood in the courtyard with Nico and surveyed the peeling pistachio-colored window shutters and the juicy figs that hung in the trees surrounding the hotel. “If we stay here, we could install an outdoor swimming pool,” she mused. “We could open a trattoria and make improvements to the road. We need to dosomethingto make Splendido stand out.”
“Yes, I want this, too,” Nico said, aware they only had enough money to repaint the bedrooms and to update a couple of bathrooms.
Maria’s big plans remained as pictures in his head. Nico didn’t fit a pool or introduce fancy food. He watched as other families in the area transformed theirpensionesinto posh hotels, just as Gianfranco was doing. He stalled and got left further and further behind, especially when the pandemic took hold.
And, sadly, Maria had moved on, too.
“Your promise to your mother was made under pressure. You should plan for your future, and Loretta’s, too,” Gianfranco said, side-eyeing Nico’s minibus parked a few meters away. It had once belonged to a hospital and the wordambulanzashowed through the white paint. “Your hotel would make the perfect sister hotel for Castello Bella Vista, or perhaps a set of apartments. You could still live here and be the manager. Maybe Romeo could help you when he finishes college.”
Nico tried not to wrinkle his nose at the mention of Gianfranco’s son. Romeo was studying media at college and had promised to design a website for Splendido. It remained half-finished and featured stock images in place of real photos. The copy (also written by Romeo) claimed that Nico’s hotel was only fifteen kilometers away from Venice, when it was actually one hundred and fifty kilometers away.
Nico had told Romeo numerous times that the distance was a mistake, but the lazy boy had not made the change. Nico’s written English wasn’t the best, but he was sure Romeo’s description of his hotel wasn’t that great either.
Only fifteen kilometers from Venice, Hotel Splendido presents a rather drab inauspicious exterior to the outside world. Do not be dismayed! As you cross the threshold, you enter a different world. The aim is to create an elegant, friendly atmosphere. A nice breakfast from the territory is served with love in a light dining room and the landlord is always available for conversation. The spotless bedrooms are of modest size, not cramped. Some have little terraces looking over the courtyard where guests can view the white-painted tables, chairs and chickens. Bathrooms are functional and graced with adequate towels. Splendido is the art of creating good memories!
“At my castle, I host well-being workshops and guests can have ten different massages. They lie down and someone hits gongs around them,” Gianfranco said. “The vibrations are supposed to cleanse the soul. What can you offer your guests?”
Nico ignored the question and frowned. “Do the gongs work?”
“It does not matter,” Gianfranco replied with a shrug. “I charge fifty euros per person.”
“This is robbery.”
“This is business. You should follow your head, not the heart.” Gianfranco tapped his temple and then his chest.
Nico bristled. “I think you will find it is the other way around. My guests want simple living, not strange therapies. I can drive them to Florence, and Loretta can show them the best shops. There is also Venice.”
At the mention of her name, his daughter appeared outside with a swish of her white cotton dress and glossy long brown hair. She planned to attend a local college to study fashion, when she left school in one year’s time, and Nico was forever finding her draped around the hotel and courtyard, taking selfies for social media. She was growing more reluctant to help him out around the hotel, even though it was now the school summer holidays.
“Venice. Ha,” Loretta said, biting into an apple. “It is a theme park for tourists.”
Nico shook his head at how his daughter mocked the romance of the city. He loved its canals, meandering streets and multitude of bridges. If you went there early in the morning, or stayed late at night, there was a magic that didn’t occur anywhere else. He and Maria had spent many happy moments slipping along the back streets, and kissing in doorways at dusk. He loved how the canals rippled golden at daybreak and pink at sunset, and how the shops sold handmade marbled paper and carnival masks. He even enjoyed the overpricedgelato.
“Venice is beautiful,” he said. “It isnotfifteen kilometers away.”
Gianfranco raised a hand and sighed. “I will speak to Romeo again. He will change the website.”
“Grazie.”
Gianfranco finished his coffee and waited until Loretta had gone back indoors. “Seriously, you need to get with the times, Nico. Your hotel needssomethingnew, or it might shut down. What Hollywood actor would ever want to stay here?”
“Maybe one I have heard of, who does not stare at my daughter,” Nico said. “Do not worry about me. I have five guests arriving soon and my hotel will be full for three weeks. It will be the beginning of good times again.”
“I really hope so, my friend.”
After Gianfranco left, Nico washed their cups and plates in his kitchen. Everything was just as his mamma had left it. Her cooking pots sat on the shelves, and a chipped floor tile reminded him of where she’d once dropped a ladle. He recalled his family’s laughter as they sat around the kitchen table together and, one day, he hoped to hear it again.
He picked up a pink Murano glass vase he’d bought Maria for their first wedding anniversary and held it up to his eyes. They used to look through it together, to see the world tinted rose. It hurt him deeply that she’d not taken it with her when she’d left.
Nico ordered himself to look forward and not back. Soon his hotel would be full of life again, giving him lots to be proud of. Hopefully, one day, his wife would also realize this, too, and come back to him.
6
Suitcase
Since Ginny’s live announcement on air (orrambling meltdownas her local newspaper called it) the time leading up to her holiday passed by in a blur. The worst experience of her life, even worse than Adrian asking for a divorce, was when Phoebe called her in floods of tears. Ginny couldn’t stop replaying the moment in her mind.
