The morning passed quickly, what hadn’t been cleaned would have to stay that way. Fernanda now had a meal to prepare. Luckily, she’d been shopping the day before, planning some of the meals she thought she and Amy might share. The cupboards were groaning.
She chose two large zucchini and began to chop them. One piece bounced off the chopping board, falling onto the floor. Before she had the chance to pick it up, the little so-and-so rolled away beneath the unit. Fernanda tutted. She didn’t know if mice were partial to green vegetables but she wasn’t willing to leave it there and take the chance.
Her first instinct was to crouch down but she wasn’t confident she’d be able to stand back up again. Instead, she fetched the broom. With a wiggle, it would just fit underneath. Careful not to push the zucchino further back, she manoeuvred it out onto the tiles, tutting at the small clump of grey dust she’d also liberated. She turned the broom over to pluck it off. Something metallic sparkled; a coin threaded on a leather thong was tangled up between the bristles.
She eased it out and polished the one-lira piece on her apron. The hole drilled through it, the flourish scratched onto the back: it was unmistakeable. Fernanda frowned; this made no sense. Violetta’s keepsake had been upstairs on her dressing table ever since she’d snatched it back from Amy. She sank down on a kitchen chair, turning the coin over in her hands. Eventually she stood up and made her way over to the stove. She filled the Bialetti. Perhaps a shot of coffee might fire up her slow old brain.
She drank her coffee, savouring the rich taste, but she was still puzzled. She returned to the work surface and started chopping the zucchini again. Snippets from the previous few days floated in and out of her head, vague recollections swirling until they formed a fuzzy picture: Father Filippo calling on her, bringing his sweet little niece; the two of them absorbed in their discussions whilst the child flicked through Gino’s old picture book of saints’ lives; Fernanda consulting her calendar to mark the date of the church fundraiser; an apologetic Father Filippo jumping up when he realised the little girl had wandered off. Had he found her upstairs? Fernanda tried to remember but she hadn’t paid much attention, her thoughts full of brass polishing and hymns. But she did recall the guilty look on the child’s face. She’d assumed it was because she’d had a ticking off but had one of her little fists concealed Violetta’s necklace? Had a sudden pang of conscience prompted her to slip it out of sight as she played on the kitchen floor whilst Fernanda made more coffee?
Fernanda laid down her knife for a second time. Slipping the necklace into the pocket of her apron, she climbed the stairs to the bedroom. She half expected the other coin to have vanished but it was still exactly where she’d left it. She laid Violetta’s necklace next to it. Both coins were identical, minted in the same year, the hole in each perhaps drilled by the same hand.
She turned them over, studying the portraits of the old king on the other side. The same style of curved line was scratched into the reverse of each but they were different ways around, one forming the mirror image of the other. She pushed the coins together so their edges touched. She’d always wondered about the significance of the crude etching, whether it was a hastily executed asymmetrical letter ‘U’ or a ‘J’ – a letter that didn’t belong in the Italian alphabet but appeared in a few foreign words. It was only when the two coins were united that the drawing made sense. The curved lines weren’t initials. Each was one half of a broken heart.
43
The shop doorbell tinkled.
‘Buongiorno,Gino,’ Amy said. Her voice quavered as though she were as old as Fernanda.
Gino looked her up and down. ‘What are you doing here? Where’s Stella?’
‘She’s downstairs sorting out stock.’
‘You haven’t answered my first question.’
‘I’m helping out because Stella let me stay with her last night. But you don’t need to worry. You won’t see me again, I’m leaving on the afternoon bus.’
‘Not a moment too soon,’ Gino mumbled. He headed for the stairs. ‘Stella!’
‘Down here!’
He thudded down the stairs, displeasure written all over his face. ‘What do you think you’re doing? Didn’t you hear what happened? You’re putting a thief in charge of the till. Do you want Domenico to be robbed?’
Stella put a steadying hand on a shelving unit. ‘Amy’s no thief. There’s obviously been some misunderstanding. Fernanda must have got muddled up.’
‘My mother,’ Gino said slowly, ‘is in full command of all her faculties. She lost her coin necklace. The very next day, your little friend is wearing it. It’s a pretty open and shut case, don’t you think? Amy’s lucky Mamma didn’t go to the police.’
Stella took Domenico’s tray of costume jewellery from the shelf and rooted around amongst the gaudy contents. She handed him a slim golden chain.
‘The coin, was it strung on something like this?’
He ran it though his fingers. ‘The coin was originally on a leather thong but yes, Amy swapped it over for a chain like this one.’
‘That was the chain that I put on it. Amy didn’t steal that necklace. It was the broken one she brought in here several days ago.’
Gino’s brow crinkled. ‘That cannot be right. Violetta’s necklace only vanished yesterday. It makes no sense.’
‘Exactly.’ Stella folded her arms. ‘Or are you going to accuse me of handling stolen property?’
Gino rubbed his forehead. ‘So, you’re telling me that Amy and my mother own identical necklaces?’
Stella shrugged. ‘I admit it’s a strange coincidence.’
‘So, where’s Mamma’s necklace?’
‘That I cannot help you with. But perhaps you and Leo can help Fernanda to look for it instead of accusing some innocent girl.’
Stella returned the chain to the tray of costume jewellery and put it back on the shelf.
