She gave a gentle nod of gratitude. ‘Grazie. That would be incredibly helpful.’
Francesco beamed at Stefano, and reached across affectionately to caress his hand.
Instinctively, Stefano made to pull away, but Lucia interjected. ‘Stefano, I know about you two.’ She smiled and looked between them. ‘And I’m so delighted.’
Stefano looked to Francesco with a relieved expression.
‘I told you it would be fine,’ Francesco said.
Stefano exhaled what little was left in his lungs. ‘Lucia, I worried that you wouldn’t . . .Grazie.’
Mariella rose from her chair to wrap her short stumpy arms around them both.
‘Your happiness is all that matt—’ But Lucia was interrupted by the ringing of her phone.
Ordinarily she would leave a call that interrupted company, but even Mariella encouraged her to answer. ‘Sorry, it could be someone about a loan, or . . .’ She collected her phone from the kitchen bench. ‘It’s Olivia Caruso,’ she said.
Foscari, who had been enjoying his own share of lunch from his special little bowl, barked at the continued ringing.
Francesco did a quick mental stocktake. ‘About the production, I bet. It’s that time of year.’
Lucia answered. ‘Pronto, Olivia? . . .Brava. Good to hear. Yes, still here.Alwayshere. Francesco and Mariella . . . We are just having lunch with our colleague Stefano. Of course,dimmi. Hmm.Sì. . . That sounds exciting . . .’
The conversation continued for a few minutes, with Lucia eventually promising to call Olivia back in the next few days. She returned to the table newly invigorated.
‘Allora?’ Francesco asked, dropping a few emptyvongoleshells into the bowl in the centre of the table. He licked his fingertips.
‘It’s production time. Olivia is asking if we have any students who might be interested in an on-stage non-speaking role for their current show. Friday fortnight.’
‘What’s Il Camino staging this season?’
‘Carlo Goldoni’sLa Locandiera, in an exaggerated Commedia dell’Arte style. Masks and all.’
Francesco, who had been taking a drink of water, suddenly spat it down his front. He erupted in laughter. ‘La Locandiera?’
Lucia blinked in confusion. ‘Yes. What’s the matter?’
Wiping his chin with his napkin he said, ‘And you think the universe forgot about you, Lucia.’
‘Excuse me?’ She sat a little taller in her chair.
‘Mirandolina. Venetian innkeeper. Beautiful and wanted by all men. Source of intrigue. Cons potential suitors out of their money, is stubborn and strong-willed, fiercely independent. Finally breaks one man, only to mock him publicly. And eventually falls in love with the humble waiter.’ Francesco locked eyes with Stefano.
‘Lascia stare, tesoro.’
‘What?’ Lucia’s gaze darted between the two of them. ‘Are you implying that my life is like Mirandolina’s?’
‘Life,no. But some of her traits . . .’ Francesco glanced up at the ceiling as he pretended to ponder the matter.
‘Oh, yes.’ Stefano erupted in laughter but was silenced by the napkin Lucia flung at him across the table.
‘I amnothinglike Mirandolina. And I don’t run an inn!’
‘What I want to know is, who’s the humble waiter inyourversion of the tale, Lucia?’ This time it was an emptyvongolashell that flew at Stefano.
Then it was Francesco’s phone’s turn to chime. He pulled it from his pocket to flick it to silent, but his eyes caught a glimpse of the notification. ‘Oh. Just what we needed to reset the energy of the day.’ Lucia’s brow furrowed. ‘It’s a message notification from Nicolò, Lucia’s final potential masked kisser.’
Lucia’s emerald eyes widened. ‘I’ve been so distracted these past few days I had completely forgotten about him. What does he say?’
