13
‘You agreed to dowhat? Stella, have you gone stark, raving mad?’
Stella stopped coiling her linguine around her fork. She’d thought it best to let Joe relax with a couple of glasses of wine before broaching their change of plan but judging by the way he was raising his voice, the alcohol hadn’t had the effect she’d hoped for.
‘I’m only going to look after the shop for a few days until Luisa’s husband can arrange to take time off to look after their grandkids. Then she can come and hold the fort.’
‘Well, you’ll just have to tell her you can’t do it. We’ve got a private car taking us to Portofino tomorrow, everything’s booked and paid for.’
‘They’re family,’ Stella said.
‘Not exactly close, are they? In all the months we’ve been together you’ve never mentioned them. In fact, you implied you’d no family left in the village.’
‘I didn’t realise Domenico was still alive.’
Joe forked up a great coil of pasta. ‘I think that rather proves my point.’
Stella stared at the remnants of herlinguine ai frutti di mare. Were they really having their first argument? She hadn’t expected him to be overjoyed at the turn of events but she had expected a calm discussion, not an outright ‘no’.
‘You were the one who wanted to come here. You were the one who said I should pop into the shop and see him.’ It was a pretty pathetic argument to make but she couldn’t think what else to say.
‘You haven’t thought this through, have you?’ Joe said patiently. ‘Where would we stay? We’ve only got the apartment here for one night. And I’m sure your uncle wouldn’t want to ruin the holiday of a lifetime.’
Stella frowned. Joe had already been abroad three times this year, he could afford to jet off whenever he felt like it.
‘I know it’s not what you planned but we can stay at Domenico’s place. It’s a funny little house but this is just a short trip, it’s not like it’s our honeymoon. We can go to Portofino anytime.’
‘I spent hours planning a special treat for your sixtieth and that’s all this is to you? Nothing important?’ His voice was getting louder. The other diners at Da Luca were beginning to stare.
‘Joe! You know I didn’t mean it like that.’
The waitress was approaching. Stella gave her an extra-big smile, trying to make up for the tension radiating from their table. The woman cleared away the plates from their first courses. Joe poured himself another glass ofrossese, not bothering to offer Stella any.
They sat in awkward silence until the main courses arrived. Stella had chosen fresh fish with creamed peas but her appetite had gone, her stomach as tangled up as her linguine starter. Joe shovelled his steak down, ignoring her attempts to lighten the atmosphere. He finished the last of his potatoes and drained his glass.
‘We’ll need to have breakfast early, Stella, our taxi comes at nine thirty. We won’t be able to get into our room in Portofino until two but we’ll drop our cases, take a look around and have a long lunch at this very special restaurant I’ve booked.’ He spoke as if their earlier conversation hadn’t taken place.
‘I can’t do that, Joe, I have to help out, even if it’s just for a day or two until Luisa can arrange someone else to cover the shop. I know this is a special trip but we’ve got a lifetime of holidays to look forward to.’
Joe leant across the table, dropping his voice to a whisper. ‘You just don’t get it, do you, Stella? You and I are getting the taxi I booked. You’re not going to work in that shop, not for one day, not for one hour. We’re leaving in the morning and that’s that. Have I made myself clear?’
Stella stared at his closed-up face, the glower that marred his good looks. She looked down at her lap and picked a piece of squid off the new dress he’d bought her.
Joe signalled to the waitress for the bill. ‘I’m beat, I could do with an early night. You didn’t want dessert, anyway, did you?’
14
‘I’ll see you in Portofino when you’ve come to your senses.’ Joe slammed the taxi door. The Mercedes drove off.
Stella stared at the receding number plate. She couldn’t believe he’d really gone. But she didn’t have time to dilly dally, wondering what she could have said or done differently. She had to wheel her case over to Domenico’s shop and open up. Luisa had messaged her last night and again this morning. Her uncle had been very lucky: plenty of bruising, no broken bones. But Luisa was insisting her father stayed in Genoa with her and his great-grandchildren for a few days, knowing that as soon as he returned to the village he wouldn’t be able to keep away from his beloved shop.
Stella set off up the road from the car park, calling outbuongiornoin response to a workman’s greeting, but her voice wobbled. The sun was bright, the sky a cloudless blue, but it was hard to find any joy in the holiday weather. Joe had gone. She was alone again. She could already hear Carol’s admonishing voice:Falling out over some relatives you haven’t seen for forty years and a tatty old shop–you must be joking! Stella, go after him!And worse, the inevitable,You’re practically sixty, Stella, you won’t find anyone else.
She passed the war memorial. This time she took the direct route to the bar. Yesterday she’d hovered awkwardly outside whilst Joe bought the gelati, worrying she’d run into someone from the past, but now she no longer cared. She was hungry, she hadn’t been able to face any breakfast, and she was desperate for a decent coffee before she started work. If people were still judging her for what she’d done so many years before, she would have to learn to cope. Somehow.
She squared her shoulders and stepped into the cool tiled interior. The bar was almost exactly as she remembered it: the long counter, the speckly grey-tiled floor, the stacks of waffle-textured cones lined up from little to large on the ledge above the enticing array of Italian ice-cream. The pairs of chairs at each small table were the same ones she’d sat on with her brother and sister on days when the sun was too hot to risk taking their rapidly melting treats outside. Now, her brother and sister had their own children and quite probably grandchildren. Did they have a favourite local gelateria where their families went without fail every week? She’d probably never know.
The person behind the counter was the same one who’d served them yesterday, a trim woman in her thirties, she wouldn’t have been born when Stella left. This morning she’d be treated like any other stranger passing through. Stella waited whilst the woman prepped the orders for the customers who’d arrived before her. Thecavoliniand almond meringue-filledpinolatathey’d chosen were the same favourites the place had served for generations but the display case looked shiny and new.
