Stella filled Domenico’s great pan with water and chucked in some salt but she wouldn’t start to boil the water yet. If Lauren called halfway through the cooking, her dinner would turn into a soggy mess. And there was no way Stella would get away with not answering the phone. Instead, she laid the table using a placemat and a battered coaster for her glass of wine, even though the kitchen table was decorated with the round rings from a hundred previous mugs and glasses.
She found a bottle of kitchen cleaner under the sink and sprayed some on the tiles, killing time until she received Lauren’s call. Communication had been so much less fraught when Stella could tuck the landline phone under one ear and potter around tidying whilst she talked. Now, Lauren’s fondness for FaceTime meant Stella couldn’t shy away from her daughter’s scrutiny. She’d have to watch her eyes widen in horror when she heard how Stella had been responsible for dear Papà’s death.
The theme tune fromSuccessionrang out. Stella tucked her hair behind her ears, drank a big slug of wine and picked up her phone. Lauren’s face swam into focus. She looked tired, washed out in her black work jacket and pale blouse. Her daughter’s fancy stainless-steel cooker was just in shot, she must be in the kitchen, probably perched on one of her leather-topped barstools.
‘Lauren, hello, love. How was your day? How did your presentation go? I don’t know how you do it, standing up in front of a roomful of people.’ Stella was aware she was babbling.
The vertical frown lines between Lauren’s eyes deepened. ‘It was fine. I’m pretty confident our pitch swung the deal.’
‘Sounds like you’ll be getting another promotion soon. Now, have you got everything ready for your trip to the States?’
‘I haven’t called to talk about me,’ Lauren said briskly. ‘I want to know what’s going on with you. What’s happening with Joe?’
‘Joe?’ Stella was all psyched up to tell Lauren about the worst day of her life – and her daughter wanted to hear about a lovers’ tiff!
‘Yes, the man you’re walking down the aisle with in less than eight weeks.’
‘Joe will come round, he’ll be fine.’
‘He’d better be. I’ve bagged an appointment on Saturday with the personal shopper at Selfridges to pick out my outfit. They’re like gold dust.’
‘Oh, well, I’ll have to get married then,’ Stella quipped.
Lauren glowered. ‘I don’t understand you these days, Mum. Is it something to do with the change? Maybe your hormones are making you do strange things.’
Stella stayed silent. She didn’t have the headspace to cope with a row.
‘Sorry,’ Lauren said. ‘I shouldn’t have said that.’
‘Maybe it’s coming back here, stirring up old memories.’
Lauren tapped a pen on her granite worktop as if encouraging a junior colleague to sit up and pay attention.
‘Okay, Mum, you may as well tell me: whatisall this nonsense about killing your papà?’
21
1981
Stella looked up, the mother of the woman who ran thesalumeriawas resting her skinny arms on the balcony. Stella called out, ‘Buongiorno.’ The old lady gave a toothy cackle; she made it her business to know exactly what everyone was up to and where they were going but Stella knew she wouldn’t give her away.
Stella walked on to the top of the street, the ancient stone archway at its end acting like a picture frame for the view across the terracotta rooftiles to the hills beyond. She checked her watch and hurried along the road until she reached the shallow steps climbing up through the countryside. The ground was uneven, weeds growing between the mismatch of stones that made up the path. A lizard scurried into a gap in the rough stone wall. Vivid red poppies bobbed their heads in the slight morning breeze. She felt as free as the yellow butterfly that fluttered past.
Now she’d got this far, she wasn’t likely to be seen by anyone except for old Francesco tending his vineyard. His plot was so small most people wouldn’t bother with it; rumour had it he consumed the whole harvest. This morning the old man wasn’t in sight but his scruffy crossbred dog stood at the perimeter barking and barking as she passed.
The steps became steeper the nearer she got to the Old Chapel. As usual there was no one around. The one-room building had long ceased to be a place of worship. Only Fernanda came here on a regular basis to clean the windows and sweep the step. Today, Stella and Gino were safe. Both their mothers were on church cleaning duties at Sant’ Agata and Papà and Uncle Domenico would be occupied at the shop. Stella could safely climb the mule track to where Gino would be waiting at his grandparents’ abandonedrustico. Their special place.
‘Stella!’ Gino’s voice came from out of the blue. He stepped out from behind the chapel, a small rucksack slung over one shoulder. Her heart leapt. She loved him so much and he was hers. How could she be so lucky?
‘What are you doing here? I thought you were going to meet me at our place.’
‘I have a surprise for you.’ His eyes were shining. ‘We’ll need to meet at the car park in half an hour.’
‘The other side of the village.’ Stella gave a great huff of irritation.
‘I wish I could have saved us both the walk but I couldn’t exactly phone you at home.’
‘I know, I don’t really mind. But why the car park?’
