"She has a very sensible face."
Damiano snorts.
"Thank you," I say, with some uncertainty.
Beatrice's eyes crinkle. "It's a compliment." I believe her. There's no cruelty in this woman, only a directness I can’t help admiring.She looks at Damiano. "Go and ask Agnesca for some coffee."
The moment he leaves, she looks at me more intently. "Are you good to him?"
"I try to be. He doesn't make it easy."
She nods. "No, he takes too much on himself. Even when he was young. Be patient with him."
"I'll do my best."
She stares off into the distance, an air of sadness about her. Then something shifts and her face lights up.
"You must go to Villa Borghese. We used to take the boys there on Sundays when they were small. They loved to race through the gardens. It always ended in tears."
"Because Lorenzo couldn't stand to lose," Damiano says as he appears with a tray bearing three cups and a plate of cantuccini. "He still can't."
"You must be good to him, Damiano. He's sensitive. Did you know he likes to draw, Violetta? He'd stand for hours, drawing the fountains."
Damiano meets my eye and subtly shakes his head. He mouthsGabrieleat me, then drops his gaze to his cup, showing exaggerated interest in his coffee. It’s hard for him to witness his mother’s confusion.
"I'd like to visit the Villa Borghese," I say to break the awkwardness. "There are lots of places in Rome I'd like to see."
"Damiano can show you around. Perhaps you can see Gabriele." She frowns and her whole body sags.
"I saw Gio this week," Damiano says, before his mother can sink into a maudlin mood. "He married a nice Scottish girl."
"Scottish? Where did he meet her?"
"Scotland." Damiano deadpans.
Beatrice bursts out laughing. "Of course he did. Where else would one meet a nice Scottish girl?" She looks up as Marco steps out onto the terrace, bringing a coffee pot and placing it on the table in front of us.
"Agnesca thought you might like a refill."
"We'd have to drink our first cup before we have a refill," Beatrice says. "Honestly, Agnesca does like to make a fuss."
"She takes good care of you, Zia Beatrice," Marco says.
"And so do you," Beatrice acknowledges. "Would you be a dear and fetch my knitting bag? I left it in the library."
"Still knitting, Mamma?" Damiano asks. "I thought you'd have a new hobby by now."
"No, I find it soothes me and Gabriele brought the loveliest wool when he came. He brought a girl with him, you know. She's a chef at some fancy restaurant in Florence. Perhaps you know her?"
"I haven't met her yet," I say gently.
"Well, she's a lovely girl."
Beatrice rests her head against the back of the chair. She looks tired. When Marco reappears with a large red canvas bag in hand she perks up a little.
"Oh, thank you."
She pulls three little knitted bears out of the bag, one blue, one red and one white.
