Matthew agreed. ‘Yes. I’d love one, thanks.’ His stomach gurgled at the thought, and he eyed some of yesterday’s bread, still wrapped in its brown paper bag on the counter.
‘Grazie. No milk or sugar. Strong.’ Angelo made a fist as if to indicate just how strong he intended.
‘Leave it to me,’ Sarah said, springing into action and quickly gathering the cups, ground coffee and moka pot. ‘What are you feeling, honey?’ she asked Matthew.
‘I’ll have what he’s having,’ he said, giving Angelo a gentle nudge of the shoulder.
Angelo eased himself into a chair beside Matthew, pointing to the covered wicker basket he had brought in earlier. ‘For thefrigo, Sarah. Just a few things I picked up this morning.’
‘That’s so kind of you,’ she said, and gave him an appreciative squeeze of the upper-arm as she passed by. Pulling back a red and white check cloth, Sarah found a chicken – neck wrung, head and feet still attached and plucked completely clean – curled up on top of some vegetables. She held it up for Matthew to see. ‘I haven’t seen one as fresh as this for a while.’
‘I’ve never seen one so yellow,’ Matthew commented respectfully, hiding his shock.
‘Diet. Mainly corn and food scraps.’ Angelo said. ‘Slaughtered this morning.’
‘Well, tell me you’re staying for lunch, Angelo.’ Sarah’s eyes were hopeful.
‘Of course. But then I will leave you to have some quiet time. You need to get to know the place a little on your own first.’
‘Wonderful.’ She nodded once, tying a tea towel around her middle. ‘I’m going to make you a chicken soup for lunch. Let’s just pretend I know how to say that in Italian.’
‘Brodo di pollo,’ Matthew said with a grin from ear to ear. He was keen to see how she would pull this together, and deal withthatchicken.
‘Yep . . . that. What he said.’ She made her way to the sink and began washing her hands. ‘You sit tight. The coffee’s on. I’ll have this going in no time.’
‘Allora, tell me what happened with Alberto,’ Angelo started, turning to face Matthew. ‘He called me a few days ago and was short of words.Molto agitato. Not at all like him.’
Matthew and Sarah shared a meaningful glance before Matthew cleared his throat and began to recount the events which had transpired in Alberto’s office the day before. Sarah read the moment as one to keep quiet, so quickly set about making their coffees.
In a matter of moments, knives had been arranged, the Dutch oven had been sat on a low flame to preheat and Sarah had emptied the contents of Angelo’s basket onto the bench. The chicken now lost its feet and legs, its head and neck and its giblets, all which were living in the fridge. The bones and feet she decided she would eventually use to make stock and freeze for later use.
At her disposal she had a head of celery, two small brown onions, a bulb of purple garlic, two lusciously red tomatoes and a small bunch of knobbly contorted carrots tied together with twine. She poked her head in the fridge and withdrew a wedge of parmesan cheese and a small parcel of thinly sliced prosciutto.
Excusing herself from the discussion, small paring knife in hand, she stepped outside and made her way across the rear courtyard to the garden beds. Poking through the leafy fragrant herbs, she decided on the flavour palate for her soup. Using the paring knife, she carefully cut away at the flat leaf parsley and thyme, and tightly bundled their stalks in the crook of her thumb.
Turning her attention to the immense building in front of her, Sarah caught herself smiling into the beams of sunlight raining down over the courtyard. The breeze was gently perfumed by the herbs and plants Angelo had been carefully tending to and she breathed it all in. It hadn’t been the plan, and she knew they had a long road of hard work ahead of them. But something deep down inside was thankful for the situation they now found themselves in. She just couldn’t put a finger on what that was exactly.
Returning to the kitchen, Sarah was pleased to see that Matthew and Angelo had found some biscuits to nibble on while she got thebrodo di polloon. She chopped and sautéed while Matthew wrapped up the recount of their story, received by Angelo with much shock and disbelief.
As the heady aroma of caramelised onions and garlic wafted across the kitchen, Matthew found his attention drifting constantly to his wife. For the first time since stepping foot in Convento delle Viole, Matthew could sense how the broken bones and crumbling façade of the building could one day be a home. The place suddenly felt cosy, familiar. Alive. The simple aromas emanating from the pot were enough to instil in him a hope that they could bring the four walls surrounding them to life once more.
They locked eyes as she stepped away from the stove momentarily, and without thinking, he mouthed, ‘Thank you.’
‘Alessandro, it’s on. See? You can see them there. Here on the screen. For the love of God, stop touching it,’ Lidia pleaded, swatting her husband’s hands away from the iPad.
‘I can’t see it properly from this angle.’ Alessandro’s chin, along with intermittent glimpses of his nose, were visible over Lidia’s left shoulder.
‘You’re behaving like a child. Acting out.’
Matthew waved both hands to catch their attention. ‘Mixed company here, guys. Hello. Relax, please.’ He and Sarah were sat at the kitchen bench that evening, ready to drop the bomb on his parents about how the handover of the D’Adamo holdings had played out. ‘Guys, hold on. I can see you just fine. Mum, tilt the screen a little so we can see both your faces.’ He momentarily muted his microphone, saying, ‘A PhD, a university faculty, decades of management and consulting experience and millions of dollars of legal assets between them, but they can’t operate Zoom to save themselves.’
Sarah tried her best to giggle inconspicuously, but feared that her reddening cheeks might give her away. ‘They’re adorable,’ she said behind her right hand, feigning a nose scratch.
Matthew unmuted his microphone. ‘Are you right now?’
‘Yes,’ reassured Lidia. ‘Just as long as your father keeps his hands to himself.’
‘Son, I’ve been told.’ He dramatically mimed offence and proceeded to sit on his hands.
