‘Do I need an excuse, Sarah? Am I not allowed to come and pay you a visit at Convento . . . what was it?’ There was a snide edge to her tone that Sarah did not appreciate.
‘. . . delle Viole.’
Silvia drew her face into a tight condescending smile. ‘Oh, how very sweet. Not worthy of a five-star moniker, though, is it?’ Her beady little eyes traced disapproving lines across Sarah’s casual attire.
‘What do you want?’ Sarah’s tone began to show signs of agitation.
‘Is that any way to talk to family, Sarah? We wouldn’t want Alberto knowing how rudely you’ve treated me . . . A guest, after all, onhisproperty.’ She clicked her fingers and her driver suddenly jumped into action. He began unpacking crates of goods from the trunk of the car. At least eight crates were unloaded, each filled to the brim with decaying produce. At a glance, Sarah could make out shrunken loaves of bread, cartons of milk bulging to the point of rupture and dozens of wheels of mouldy cheese.
‘What’s all this?’ Sarah pinched her nose as the stench of rotting food finally found her nostrils.
‘This is yours,caraSarah. Delivered to our property . . . by mistake, of course.’
The blood rushing through Sarah’s veins threatened to boil. She moved closer to assess the collection: her special order for two whole legs of San Daniele prosciutto, marinated olives, fruit and vegetables, freshly ground coffee, small containers of fresh buffalo mozzarella floating in green rancid whey . . .
Sarah’s initial produce order, deemed lost, and gone to waste.
Steeling herself, Sarah asked as calmly as she could, ‘Why didn’t you tell us about this?’
Silvia casually waved her hand through the air. ‘Oops. I must have forgotten.’
‘Go.’
‘Excuse me?’ Silvia seemed more amused than surprised.
‘I said, go.’ Sarah stepped forward towards Silvia, her face was no longer able to contain her frustration. ‘Get out of here, and take all this with you.’
‘That’s not very appreciative, Sarah. I was merely returning what is rightfully yours.’
‘You’ve done your damage. Go.’ Picking through the wheels of cheese, she came across one she had been eager to try. It had cost a small fortune and had been freight expressed from Puglia especially for them.
‘It’s a good thing I held onto this delivery, Sarah. Your thighs certainly don’t need the extra calories.’
Turning to step back into the car, Silvia had almost managed a quick getaway, but was stopped by Matthew’s bellowing. ‘Take that back,’ he commanded from the front door.
‘Ah, Matteo.Buongiorno, finalmente,’ she trilled disingenuously, smiling through gritted teeth.
‘I said, take that back.’
‘What, exactly?’
‘That remark. I won’t have you speaking to my wife like that.’ He stood a foot in front of Sarah, and his arm reached behind him to keep her at a safe distance. ‘Take it back.’
‘PoveroMatteo. She has you under her spell, I see. Just you wait. She is not of D’Adamo material.’
‘Youare not a D’Adamo at all, Silvia. You are a Camogli.’
‘Perhaps. But she,’ Silvia flicked a finger in Sarah’s direction, ‘lacks the lustre and prestige the D’Adamo name requires.’
‘She’s a thousand times the woman you are, Silvia. And more.’
She feigned shock, then cackled before returning to her car.
Closing the door, she lowered the black electric window, glaring at both. ‘You married beneath us, Matteo!’ she shouted as the car took off up the driveway, leaving in its wake the same cloud of sandstone dust.
Once the car had disappeared over the ridge, Matthew turned to Sarah and threw his arms around her. ‘I’m so very sorry you had to face that.’ Shaking his head in disbelief, he exhaled, ‘So very sorry.’
Bewildered and emotional, Sarah pulled away from Matthew’s embrace. ‘What . . .? Why . . .?’ The food, the attack, it was all totally uncalled for. She struggled to form the words to express her frustration. Still holding the wheel of cheese, she tossed it onto one of the crates. Wiping her hands on her jeans, she said, ‘I happen to love my thighs . . . and cheese . . . and in that order, thank you very much.’
