‘Can I leave these in the luggage room?’ Leo rolled the suitcases round the desk to the door painted pale green to look like one of the tall décor panels, and parked them and his backpack inside. The young man gave him a reclaim token, as if he were a guest. He flipped the silvery disc in the air before stowing it in his pocket. Hewasa guest. It felt great.
Before leaving Reception behind, he glanced into Massimo’s office with bothDirezioneandHouse Managersign-written on the door. Empty. The rest of the staff suite – his parents’ office, the conference room and other facilities – lay behind a door protected by a keypad to which he possessed no code. Breathing in the scents of food, coffee, air freshener and polish, he strolled across gleaming grey tiles into Bar Fiori and paused to drink in its fantastic view of the glittering lake and blue sky. Dozens of motorboats were moored in the nearest marina, with rowing boats dragged up on the slipway and wrapped in canvas as if mummified. Two ferries bobbed at the breakwater that protected the further marina, while boats underway churned blinding-white wakes on the lake’s surface, and a red seaplane circled overhead. Beyond, buildings peeped between the trees covering the uneven ridge of the mountain. To the right, the lake widened between majestic, steeper slopes. Left lay Como’s historic centre, the green dome and cupola of il Duomo, the cathedral, rising above all other buildings like a benevolent eldest child keeping watch over its shorter siblings. No wonder the place had been named Villa Panorama. Thebella vistaalone must be worth a fortune, but Leo knew his parents’ hard work had made the hotel more valuable still.
Twenty or thirty people sat at the bar or at one of the dark wood tables and a young woman glanced up from behind the counter with a smile for Leo. But his attention swung to the folding doors opening into Lounge Panorama as a familiar voice floated through. It was answered by another, equally familiar and well-loved, and followed by the scraping of furniture. Lounge Panorama – which shared Bar Fiori’s stunning views – must be in the throes of being prepared for a function.
Eager for the loving welcome he’d been anticipating, he fairly bounced into the lounge. ‘Hello, Mum!Ciao, Papà. Getting ready for a party?’ Too late, he noticed a third person in the room. And she wasn’t a member of hotel staff, despite her plain, dark dress.
She was Jade Beretta. Her glorious hair that looked as if it were threaded with copper wire rippled over one shoulder. Her complexion was pale and her luscious lips lay in a flat line. Stonily she said, ‘Ciao, Leo. It’s not a party. It’s Gran’s funeral tomorrow.’
His parents stared at him with matching expressions of dismay, both wearing neat work garb, Sheenagh’s hair up in a bun. Ferdinando’s shirt hugged his round stomach, his thin grey hair combed back.
Mortification burned Leo’s face. ‘Jade... I’m so sorry. Sorry you lost your gran. Sorry I burst in on you with such an ill-judged remark.’ He lifted his hands to take hers to convey the heartfelt depths of his apology, expecting her fingers to loop through his for the first time in years.
But she kept her arms firmly by her side, with a smile that failed to reach her eyes. ‘No problem.’ She turned to his parents. ‘Thank you both. I don’t know how I could have managed without you. I’ll leave you to welcome Leo. I need to speak to the celebrant. See you tomorrow.’ A warm hug for each of his parents and a cool nod for Leo, before she turned for the door.
He winced, shaken by the sorrow in those familiar, beautiful, whisky-coloured eyes. ‘Sorry again,’ he called after her, painfully aware that he’d been about as sensitive as one of the craggy mountains encircling the lake.
Sheenagh sighed as Jade strode from sight. ‘That was unfortunate, Leo.’ But then she smiled as she dragged him into the warm hug he’d expected.
Ferdinando followed suit. ‘Benvenuto a casa.’
Being yanked against the thick, hot body of his generally undemonstrative father made Leo’s eyes prickle. ‘Grazie, Papà,’ he muttered gruffly, returning the fierce hug, thinking that the phrase ‘heart-to-heart’ shouldn’t refer to conversation but to loving embraces like these, when the heart of a loved one beat against yours.
But he felt guilty to be enveloped in so much love, when Jade had just lost the only family member she knew.
Chapter Three
As Massimo was busy, Leo lunched with his parents before moving his belongings into Villetta Nascosta – Hidden Cottage, in English – so named for its secluded spot, overhung with waving palm trees and surrounded by dark pink oleanders. The Roman numeralsMDCCCXLVIIIetched into a stone above an arched window told him that the cute building with the steep terracotta roof had been completed in 1848.
Though Leo was delighted with the refurbished interior of Villetta Nascosta, Sheenagh frowned around the living space of white kitchen and the grey sofa and coffee table. ‘Look at the mess on the floor tiles, Nando. We shouldn’t use that builder again.’
Knowing his parents’ preoccupation with standards could lead to lengthy conversations, Leo chipped in before Ferdinando could do more than frown at blobs of grout marring the tile. ‘What a fantastic spot, so green and private yet only metres from the hotel and minutes from the city.’ He’d left the front door open, preferring the whirr of cicadas and the scent of grass to the air-conditioned chill indoors. The far-off calls of people on the street below carried on the whispering breeze. ‘We should talk about rent,’ he added.
Ferdinando gave his rich, rolling laugh. ‘Non penso.’ He ruffled Leo’s hair as if he was a boy, though he had to reach up to do it. ‘I don’t think so,’ he added, as if repeating it in English would give his pronouncement weight.
‘Of course not.’ Sheenagh began showing him around the bijou property. ‘There’s only one bedroom, but it’s roomy. And here’s the bathroom.’ She indicated a glass shower enclosure and gleaming white sanitaryware before returning to the kitchen. ‘While we were at lunch, I sent someone to stock the essentials.’ She opened the fridge.
Leo laughed as he surveyed the packed shelves. On Sheenagh’s list of ‘essentials’ were lettuce, basil, cucumber, tomato, asparagus, a squash, an artichoke, chicken, fresh tortellini, white wine, a lemon, olives, garlic, bufala, pecorino, fresh eggs, olive oil and balsamic vinegar.
Finally, his parents left him to unpack. ‘We’ll all meet at eight in Bar Fiori, for dinner, as Lounge Panorama is set up for the repast tomorrow,’ Sheenagh said, a proclamation rather than an invitation. She hugged Leo, and then she and Ferdinando hurried off down the winding cobbled path to the hotel’s main garden below.
Leo changed into shorts and enjoyed the cool floor beneath bare feet, and the singing of birds drifting in through the open door. As he unpacked jeans, trousers and shirts, the image of Jade Beretta in Lounge Panorama sneaked back into his mind. In his memories, she was always laughing and sparkling, hair bouncing, her gold-flecked eyes alight.
He switched on the Italian news on the bedroom TV, but neither the value of the euro nor the antics of a politician prevented him from recalling Jade’s expression today. So sad.
By the time the Sartori family gathered for the evening meal in Bar Fiori, Leo had changed again, this time into trousers and apale-grey shirt, knowing Papà wouldn’t eat dinner in public in shorts.
Massimo was already at the table, slighter but almost as tall as Leo, hair so gelled that it showed the furrows of his comb. He leapt up to drag Leo into a hard hug. ‘You found your way home.’ Wearing the hotel uniform of dark blazer and trousers, he’d probably come straight off duty.
‘I knew you’d missed me.’ Leo hugged Massimo and then ‘accidentally’ ruffled his smart hairstyle.
Massimo’s wife, Sofi, was slim, with pale blonde hair clasped loosely behind her head, her purple-framed glasses dwarfing her small features. ‘Sofi.’ The hug Leo awarded her was much gentler, feeling she’d snap if he treated her to the boisterous embrace he’d given his brother.
Sofi coloured. ‘Ciao, Leo.Benvenuta.’
Sheenagh and Ferdinando hugged everyone and then the family took their seats, chatting in a mixture of Italian and English, because Sheenagh spoke English better than Italian and Sofi spoke Italian better than English. As Leo listened, he noted that almost every table in Bar Fiori was in use. The hotel was popular not only with tourists but with locals and, as it was summer, Villa Panorama’s guestrooms would probably be full.
A young waitress in a white shirt and black trousers arrived with a stack of leather-backed menus. Massimo introduced her to Leo. ‘This is Paolina.’
