‘Oh, it’s you. Amy, isn’t it? Please, share my table, it is the last one.’
‘Oh, no.’ She stepped backwards. ‘I don’t want to disturb you.’
‘Please.’ He waved his arm towards the other seat. ‘It was only talking to you yesterday that reminded me how many weeks it is since I came here. And you are a visitor. I would feel bad if I deprived you of the chance to sit in this nice spot.’
‘If you’re sure.’
‘Of course. Coffee? I will buy you one, no arguments.’
‘Thank you, there’s no need.’
‘No need but even so…’ He twisted his head towards the waiter. The two men exchanged a few words at a speed she could not follow. ‘Now tell me, what have you been doing, are you still enjoying our fine town? Have you found any more connections to your nonno?’
She rested her elbows on the table. ‘No. Somehow, I just can’t imagine him as a boy living here. I’m beginning to have a strange feeling that if I want to find out more about him, I need to go somewhere else. Grandpa left me a postcard of this town and I knew he grew up here but he left me a postcard of a small village as well. Of course, it could just be one he picked up anywhere, even at a flea market back in England. Something that reminded him of another place in Liguria he once knew.’
‘You have it with you?’
‘Yes.’ She rooted in her shoulder bag.
He reached over the coffees the waiter had just set down. ‘Let me take a look, would you?’
‘Sorry it’s so battered.’ Amy made another attempt to smooth the postcard but the creases were too embedded to flatten out. She handed it to him.
He let out a strange gasp. ‘But this is Leto… This is the village I grew up in! How extraordinary.’
‘Really?’ Amy felt a frisson of excitement. It was such an odd coincidence. Perhaps Grandpa really was guiding her after all.
‘Yes, really.’ Gino shook his head in wonder. ‘I wonder when this was taken. It cannot be later than the 1960s; the old school building is still in the picture.’
He took a sip of his espresso and leant back, studying the picture through narrowed eyes. ‘Whenever I visit, it seems nothing has changed for decades. My son Leo still lives there, in fact. He finds the countryside inspiring for his work. And he keeps an eye on my mother. Or perhaps it is his nonna who keeps an eye on him.’ He gave a wry smile.
‘There’s a message on the back,’ Amy said.
He turned the card over. ‘Allora… Baci e abbracci dall’Italia–that’s our way of saying love from Italy. But there is no clue who wrote it, not even an initial, and the name of the village has been struck through, that’s odd. It is strangely impersonal and yet it seems to have been folded and unfolded many times, as if your nonno had carried it around in his pocket.’ He held the postcard out to her. She tucked it back into her bag.
‘I’d like to visit the place. Would you know a reasonable hotel there where I could stay for a day or two?’
‘Stay longer if you can. I know it seems there may be nothing to do but it’s such a picture-perfect village. You can wander the old mule tracks up into the hills and just take in the views. You will not find a hotel there but my mother has a spare room she rents out from time to time to help make ends meet. It is simple, you will not have your own bathroom or anything like that but it is convenient and clean. When would you want to go? Tomorrow? I can ring her if you like.’
‘That would be so kind of you. I don’t need anywhere fancy,’ Amy said, trying to push down the doubts. Would she have to search out her own breakfast and cram her things into a wardrobe alongside some old lady’s spare clothes?
He stepped away from the table to make the call, speaking in a language that didn’t sound like Italian. After what appeared to be a protracted goodbye he sat back down, tore a strip off the edge of the newspaper he was carrying and wrote down a name, address and phone number.
‘You are expected tomorrow afternoon. Mamma speaks in the local dialect but her Italian and English are both excellent too. She spent hours making sure I learnt the language when I was a boy. Mamma believes that the devil makes work for idle hands.’
‘Oh.’ Amy took the piece of notepaper, half wishing she hadn’t agreed to the odd arrangement so hastily.
‘Do not worry. She may seem a little strange, stern and devout but her heart is good.’ He touched his chest. ‘Just do not allow her to catch you smoking, drinking excessively or taking the name of the Lord in vain.’
‘I don’t smoke.’
‘So you have only two things to worry about.’ She wasn’t sure from his tone of voice if he was joking or not and Gino did not mention his mother again, talking instead about the walks Amy might take in the surrounding countryside and recommending a pizza place he was sure she would enjoy.
‘Thanks so much for arranging this for me and thank you for the coffee.’ Amy made to get up.
‘Di niente.It is nothing. Good luck with the village – and Mamma.’ He picked up his newspaper.
Amy stepped back into the street. She could hardly wait until tomorrow. She was off to the village in the postcard but she’d only solved part of the puzzle.Baci e abbracci dall’Italia. Love from Italy. Whoever had written those words – and when – remained a mystery.
