‘Thank you.’ She glanced towards the till. ‘That’s a cute little hat.’
Stella tweaked one of the silk flowers. ‘I found it in the back of a cupboard downstairs. I was just wondering if I could salvage it somehow.’
‘Do you have a kettle?’
‘We might have a travel version, it depends what size you need,’ Stella said, surprised her customer had changed the subject so abruptly. But that was young people these days. They never seemed to have the time to just stand and chat.
The girl smiled. ‘It’s not for me. You could use it on the hat. You could steam it back to shape.’
Stella pulled the felt in her hands. ‘Clever you. I hadn’t thought of that.’
‘I went to a make-your-own-fascinator session on a friend’s hen night. The milliner shared all sorts of odd hints and tips.’
Stella didn’t want to think about hen nights. Carol was insisting on organising Stella’s: something over the top with a theatre matinee, cocktail making and cupcakes. Her friend would have a blue fit if she knew there was a chance Stella wasn’t going to walk down the aisle.Stop it, she told herself. Joe would come around. He’d apologise for his impetuous behaviour soon enough. He just needed a little time.
‘So, you don’t want to buy a kettle.’ Stella gave a laugh that she knew sounded a little false.
‘I was hoping you might have something for this.’ The girl fished something out of her handbag and laid it on the wooden counter: an old coin strung on a length of leather.
Stella rubbed the coin between her thumb and forefinger. ‘One lira, from Mussolini’s time. I haven’t seen one of these for years. There’s something engraved on the back but it’s not clear what letter it is.’
‘I don’t know whose initial it could be. This necklace was amongst a few bits my grandpa left me. The leather is old and cracked. I’m scared it will break and I’ll lose it.’
‘Was your grandpa Italian?’ If so, this girl didn’t take after him; she was a classic English rose.
‘No, he was English but his family lived in Alassio up until the end of the thirties.’
‘But this was minted in 1941.’ Stella squinted.
‘I don’t know where he got it from, it’s a bit of a mystery. As far as I know he never came back here.’
‘Not as a soldier?’
‘He – Grandpa Lance – fought in North Africa. I wish I’d taken the time to talk to him about it.’ She chewed the edge of her thumbnail.
‘Mmm… well, you don’t want to lose it. I’m not sure we have a leather thong like this, though. Have you thought of a chain? I will need to have a rummage to find something that will fit, the hole drilled here isn’t very big. What time does your bus leave?’
‘Oh, I’m not just here for the day, I’m staying at least until after the weekend.’
‘With friends? There isn’t a hotel as far as I know.’ Stella turned the coin again, running a finger over the eagle’s spread wings.
‘A man I met at the tennis club in Alassio arranged for me to lodge with his mother, Fernanda.’
Stella took a breath. ‘I can’t imagine Fernanda taking paying guests.’
‘You know her? Oh, I suppose you know everyone when you live here.’
‘I’m only passing through myself, but you’re right, everyone knows everybody here.’ Stella paused. She knew she shouldn’t, but she couldn’t help but ask. ‘The man at the club, I might know him. Did you catch his name?’
‘He was called Gino.’
‘Gino Perillo.’ It was the first time Stella had spoken his name in years.
18
Amy stepped back into the street. She hoped she’d done the right thing leaving the necklace at the shop. She wasn’t like her brother Jack, who’d happily leave his passport and phone with some guy he’d met in a bar. Maybe she was too cautious, the village didn’t seem like a hotbed of crime, and Stella seemed lovely. She couldn’t believe they’d been chatting for the best part of half an hour.
The rest of the morning passed by in a flash and by the time she decided to search out some lunch it was a quarter to two. For such a small place it was amazing how she’d managed to walk round in circles, getting lost in the maze of streets. It was the layering of the village she couldn’t quite get her head around. It seemed so odd to find front doors half-hidden beneath the steps to the neighbouring property and doorways that seemed to lead into rocky walls. Sometimes she’d see a house that looked poky and dark, only to round a corner and realise the views from its upper windows looked out upon hills. She’d stopped to admire an old lantern, a painted saint in a tiny shrine, a flight of steps with a potted plant on every tread. It was easy to see how her grandpa would have fallen in love with the place but the message on the reverse of the postcard told her there was something more.
