‘No, Lucia. No!’
‘I just don’t think I can share the school with anyone, Mariella. You’ve been with us forever – since the start. Can you imagine anyone else running it? Changing it? Erasing my parents? Erasing our history?’
Mariella’s eyes had begun to well with tears. ‘But the palazzo . . .’
‘Is mine. Of course. But he could buy the business and take it elsewhere.’
‘And what would you do?’
A solitary tear trickled down Lucia’s cheek, and she caught it with her sleeve. ‘I’d just . . . disappear. Like my parents’ legacy.’
‘This is not an option, Lucia.’
‘I don’t see any viable alternative.’ The image of her little eleven-year-old face – cold, wet, in shock and mourning, plastered across the papers and television – returned to her mind. Then the stories following the covert surveillance operation from within La Commedia.
Those eyes.L’Orfana.
‘Surely you could negotiate some boundaries around what you share, Lucia? If there truly is no other way.’
Lucia’s emerald-green stare locked on to Mariella, and she asked the question only Mariella, of all people in the world, could answer. ‘What do you think Mamma and Papà would tell me to do?’
Mariella shook her head. ‘Lucia, there’s no way to know. They never experienced whatwedid after they . . . They never saw . . .’
‘I know. And this is why I am so torn. I feel like I am disappointing them.’
‘Nothing of what you do is a disappointment, Lucia.’ She too wiped away a tear. ‘But know that your incredible parents would have wantedyouto do whatyoufeel is best. What you sense is right. They spent their time empowering so many of us. They enriched the community. They cared and supported the neediest. Now the time has come for you to empower yourself. Do whatyouneed to do. Foryourself.’
Lucia held her breath, allowing the words to settle in her mind. Finally, taking a deep inhale and long exhale, she announced, ‘I think I know what I have to do.’ She nodded decisively. ‘Thank you for the permission, Mariella.’
‘Permission to do what?’
‘To betray the one person I’ve strived to protect and keep safe from harm all these years.’
‘Who’s that?’
‘L’Orfana.’
ventisei
Lucia spent the rest of Saturday and most of Sunday in bed, aside from a quick trip to take the donations in the community basket to the parish office, of course.
Francesco had been just as devastated as Lucia and Mariella to hear about how things had played out with Tiziano and Vittorio. While he had wanted to come over to talk it out in person, Lucia insisted she needed time alone to think. And think she did, long and hard, not only about the decision she’d made at Mariella’s, but also about Francesco’s suggestion that she open up to Alex.
In Lucia’s mind, Gatti was Enemy No. 1, with Tiziano now labelled ‘Traitor’. The thought of Alex being an enemy of their ilk simply didn’t fit the bill. He wasn’tthatbad. Stubborn and abrupt at the window, yes. But not the same as the other two. And although it made her feel uncomfortable, she could now accept that she too had been out of line. Brash and rude, and deliberately annoying. The Verdi concerto had been a cheap shot. And her idea to screen Pinocchioal frescoin winter had been swayed by her new desire to assert herself more – but also, if she was truthful, to taunt Alex. He had merely been an easy target.
You’re not thinking straight, Lucia. You’re usually more collected than this. It’s all too much at the moment.
With this clarity Lucia was able to give honest consideration to what Francesco had suggested: Alexcouldbe a potential ally, a helping hand should the need arise. A neighbour to help keep an eye on thecalle. While she still had many questions about who he was and his comings and goings, she decided to make time to talk to him. To start over, fresh. Tonight, however, wasn’t the night.
With Foscari by her side and theVenezia, Ovunque!project notes splayed across her bed, Lucia had set to work to do what she felt she did best: preparing her lesson plans for the week ahead. Being the first week of Carnevale meant providing a more colourful themed program at La Scuola Rosa.
On Monday all three groups would spend time refining their use of Italian adjectives and adverbs, completing writing pieces which described the stock costumes of the Commedia dell’Arte theatre tradition. To expand on this, Tuesday would see the groups work with a series of comediclazzi, short comedic scenes of the Commedia style, and script their own Italian role-plays in pairs.
What about Wednesday . . .?
Lucia’s mind drew a blank, and she decided that she required chocolate to bolster her mental clarity. It was as she was standing by her little pantry cupboard reaching for a bar ofcioccolato al lattethat a delicious idea came to her.
Had Foscari read the twinkle in her eye? He gave an excited yap, and she returned it with a wink and gentle smile. It occurred to her with surprise that it was the first time she’d smiled all day.
