Neither of them supplied an ending to the sentence.Sisters. Half-sisters. From the same father.
‘Can we get a wee coffee somewhere?’ Erin glanced out at the piazza and sun-dappled lake and mountain greenery through the balcony doors, as if eager to feel the heat on her face or enjoy the shade of a parasol at one of the crowded pavement cafés. She looked like a macchiato-and-biscotti person.
Jade checked her watch. ‘It’s past four-thirty. I’m afraid that from five till seven I’ll need to be near the reception desk.’ Catching a glimpse of vulnerability on Erin’s face at her brusqueness, she was immediately ashamed, knowing that Mairead wouldn’t recognise this stilted, unwelcoming Jade. ‘But we could drink a cup in the kitchen, if you don’t mind that I might have to break off to deal with guests.’
‘That would be great. I prefer tea, to be honest. It’s just what you say, isn’t it? “Get a coffee”? And sorry I spoke without considering your working hours.’ Erin shrugged out of her backpack, transferred a bright red phone from her crossways bag to one pocket and the room key to the other.
‘I like tea, too,’ Jade admitted, as she led the way from the pretty room.
Once they’d negotiated the many steps back down to Reception, Jade was surprised to find Vittoria chatting to Yara, despite having left at two o’clock. She’d known Erin and Rosalie would be arriving today, and Jade wondered whether her friend had returned to be on hand should support be needed. Warmed by the notion, she made introductions. ‘Vittoria, this is Erin Ferguson. Erin, Vittoria’s my right-hand woman. And you’ve met Yara already.’
Yara smiled. ‘Hello.’ As Jade hadn’t confided in Yara, their relationship being friendly employer-employee rather than proper friends, it wasn’t surprising that she showed no signs of knowing who Erin was. Vittoria, though she spoke good English, chose to greet Erin with, ‘Buonasera. Come stai?’
‘I can only reply “Solo Inglese”.’ Erin’s eyes gleamed as if she got that Vittoria was speaking Italian to show Erin that she was out of place. ‘Learning Italian’s on my to-do list.’
Then, at the clatter of luggage wheels on the tiles, everybody turned towards the glass doors. A young, slender woman with a fair, streaky ponytail halted as if unnerved to encounter four pairs of eyes. She stood her small, pink suitcase upright. ‘Hi. Rosalie Beretta.’ Her accent was unmistakably English.
For a beat, Jade just looked, noting the dark eyebrows like Jade’s own, but the hollow cheeks that added an air of fragility. At least she wasn’t a pixie like Gran and Erin. She was as tall as Jade, though willowy. Her purple summer trousers were baggy and her top was short enough to show a pierced navel. A tattoo of a swallow in flight decorated the side of her neck and several rings glinted on her hands – including her left thumb. If Erin was polished, Rosalie was... not. Gran would probably have approved of her as ‘hippy’ or ‘boho’.
Jade stepped forward. ‘Welcome to Pensione Three Sisters. I’m Jade Beretta. And this is Erin, Vittoria and Yara.’
‘Hi.’ Erin glanced from Rosalie to Jade and back again, perhaps processing her own thoughts about the differing appearances of the three women Joey Beretta had fathered.
Jade found herself speaking stiltedly, like a novice actor told to improvise. ‘Yara will check you in. Erin and I were about to have a look round and then coffee in the apartment. Now you can join us.’
‘Beretta?’ Yara asked, sounding interested at Rosalie sharing Jade’s surname. Obviously she hadn’t glanced at the namesof today’s arrivals and, belatedly, Jade realised that it would probably have been better if Yara had known what was going on.
Rosalie stepped closer. ‘Yes. I’m here till Monday.’
Casting Jade an inquisitive look, Yara began typing quickly at the computer keyboard. Their system was available both in Italian and English. Yara often chose English, as Gran used to. If Vittoria or Carlotta stepped in, they used Italian. Jade used whichever language it happened to be on.
While everyone else waited in silence, Rosalie completed the formalities. Then she turned large, light-brown eyes on the others, her gaze flicking from Jade to Erin, her expression friendly, yet reserved.
‘Yara, could you store Rosalie’s case behind the desk? Thanks.’ Now Jade found herself speaking like an estate agent. ‘The upper four floors are all guestrooms, and, obviously, this is Reception. In here’s the breakfast room.’ She took the necessary few steps into the stylish room that was re-laid as soon as breakfast was over, so anyone in Reception saw neatness and elegance rather than crumbs and crumpled napkins.
‘Nice,’ Erin said. Her glossy, highlighted hair shone like polished wood in the glow of the wall lights.
Rosalie agreed. Her long hair flipped over at the ends. People in north Italy were frequently fair, and presumably this had combined with her English genes to give her honey-brown hair and honey-brown eyes.
A door at the other end of the breakfast room allowed them into the stainless-steel catering kitchen where they could view utensils on racks and pans in stacks. A barista coffee machine gleamed from a surface by the window.
‘Who gets the job of keeping this so surgically clean?’ Erin sounded admiring. The air con was off and sweat shone on her forehead. Somehow, Jade was surprised, as if Erin was too groomed to perspire.
‘Whoever does the breakfasts. At the moment, usually me and either Carlotta or Vittoria.’ It had often been Jade and Gran in the past, of course. ‘With such a small staff, each of us does whatever needs to be done.’
‘I’ve worked in kitchens.’ Rosalie glanced around. ‘This is a goodie.’
Jade led the way back through the breakfast room and Reception. Vittoria had disappeared and Yara was working industriously at the computer as they bypassed the desk and entered the apartment.
Whatever was about to happen to Pensione Three Sisters, for now the apartment was Jade’s home, so she didn’t show Erin and Rosalie the bedrooms but headed straight to the kitchen, with its beams and scarred marble tops, where four plain wooden chairs surrounded the table, equally plain but for a few scratches and a scorch mark. ‘The apartment kitchen is a contrast to the commercial kitchen, as you can see.’ Jade gestured for Erin and Rosalie to help themselves to seats while she made drinks – tea for herself and Erin, while Rosalie chose water. As Gran’s rocking chair stood in the corner, as if she were there, watching, Jade made tea in a pot, rather than with teabags.
When they were seated around the table, Jade took a deep breath and broached the elephant in the room. ‘It was a shock.’
‘Gran’s death?’ Erin propped her chin on her fist, her teacup steaming at her elbow.
Again, Jade fought with a whiff of possessiveness of Gran, as if Erin should refer to her as ‘our grandmother’ or even ‘Mairead Campbell’. ‘Poor Gran had been fading for a while. She said she’d had a good life and urged me not to mourn her when the time came.’ Jade made every effort to keep the tremor from her voice, but was only semi-successful. ‘The shock was finding out about you and Rosalie,’ she said bluntly.
Erin’s brows knitted. ‘I get that. Mary Smith said you didn’t know about us. But Gran did and you lived with her.’ Polite and pleasant, she was neither friendly nor unfriendly, but, clearly, she found this information deserved to be tested.
