The Villa

by Rosanna Ley

  David … That was another thing. She hadn’t yet had a chance to ask Ginny much about David. But she sensed that David had entered her daughter’s life at a good time. Not the right time – that would have been when Ginny was born. But a good time – when Ginny was floundering. Tess smiled to herself. Perhaps meeting another flounderer (or should that be flounder?) had helped her daughter. Perhaps it was unreasonable even to expect a girl of eighteen – especially in this world of multiple choice – to know what she wanted to do with her life? Tess was pretty sure that at thirty-nine, she’d only just decided.

  ‘So tell us more about your plans, love,’ her father said on cue.

  Tess managed to tear her gaze from the red leather-bound notebook. They had already discussed her plans for Villa Sirena – Muma walking round room to room with this look on her face – as if she couldn’t quite believe she was here, seeing it all again, the villa of her childhood. Once they all left at the end of the week the renovation project would begin in earnest, and the next time Tess came to Cetaria it would hopefully be complete and ready to go. Thank you, David, thought Tess. Because it was his money – minus what she would be giving to Ginny – that was paying for it.

  ‘Is it just like you remembered?’ Tess had asked her, catching hold of her mother’s arm. There had been a bad few minutes when Muma had seen the ruin that used to be her family’s cottage, but Tess had prepared her for that, and in a way it was the mermaid’s villa, the grand villa of her mother’s childhood which resonated with her more.

  ‘No,’ her mother said. ‘And yes.’

  Tess had laughed. She knew exactly what she meant. Memory was a strange creature. It was selective and it could play strange unexpected tricks. Sometimes it was impossible to untangle what had really happened from what you had wanted to happen, what you had dreamed of happening and what you had been told had happened. And yet you thought you knew …

  ‘Well, there’s all the B&B stuff obviously,’ Tess told them now.

  She and Ginny had talked long and hard about how Ginny would feel about her mother being based in Sicily – at least for a while. Would Australia work out for her? Would she end up spending more time with her father? Or would she go back to the UK sooner than she expected? Even move to Sicily perhaps? None of them had any idea – but they’d cross that bridge when they came to it, Tess had said, trying to be philosophical. She was quite prepared to move back to England if she had to – she would let out the house in Pridehaven so that she could reclaim it if need be. It was hard not knowing when she’d see her daughter again, but she wouldn’t stand in her way. She had learnt to give her space; to be there and yet let go, she realised. ‘I love you, Mum,’ Ginny had said. ‘And I’ll miss you. But … ’

  ‘This is something you have to do.’ Tess nodded. And she was proud. They were strong again. And Ginny had embarked on her own journey now.

  ‘I’ll probably get in some domestic help when I can afford it,’ Tess continued. But to start with, she’d cope alone. ‘I’m going to learn the language. And I’m planning to start up a diving centre.’ Cetaria was so rich underwater that it was screaming out for one. And yet no one seemed aware of the potential – not yet anyway. The nearest diving centre was about thirty kilometres away en route to Palermo and the airport. There were hotels and B&Bs in the area – apart from Tess’s – which could accommodate tourists. A diving centre could provide equipment for hire, tuition, underwater photography diving trips and maybe whole scuba-diving holiday packages. Why not? It was ambitious, but it was exciting. And she’d discussed the aims of such a diving centre with Tonino already – to protect the submerged environmental and archaeological heritage of the area.

  ‘A bit different from the water company, love,’ her father said when she’d finished enthusing. ‘Though they do have something in common.’ They laughed. ‘Are you up to it?’

  ‘Of course she is.’ Muma surprised Tess with her emphatic tone. ‘She’s my daughter, is she not?’

  Everyone laughed. She’d have to reassure her dad later, Tess thought. He was a worrier and she’d been shocked at the airport to see how old he seemed – his hair surely thinner, his back more bent, his eyes more faded than before. When they’d hugged and she smelt that familiar smell of her childhood, she’d felt like she couldn’t let him go.

  ‘The fall upset him,’ her mother had whispered to her. ‘It will take a while to heal.’

  ‘He really hurt himself?’ But they’d told her it was nothing more than a fractured wrist and a few cuts and bruises.

  ‘His dignity.’ Muma had nodded. ‘Suddenly he knows he is an old man.’

  Tess had to turn away then to hide her emotions. She didn’t want them to be old; she didn’t want them to ever leave her.

  ‘And did you know, my darling,’ Lenny turned to Flavia now, ‘that when our daughter went haring off to Sicily, she would also fall in love?’

  Fall in love? Tess blushed.

  ‘It scared me,’ her mother admitted. She clicked her tongue. ‘Sicily is a seductress.’

  Sicily …? Ah, yes. It was true that she’d fallen in love with the place. But more than that – it felt like home.

  ‘And will you do all this alone, Tessie?’ her father asked her, his eyes wise as ever.

  ‘We’ll see,’ said Tess. She had seen a fair bit of Tonino since their recovery of Il Tesoro, but she couldn’t tell what his intentions might be. Was she – could she ever be – just a friend?

  ‘And now,’ said Ginny. ‘Tell us about the treasure.’ Her eyes shone.

  So Tess launched into the story just as she’d launched into it to Millie a few days after she and Tonino had made their find. Yes, it could be worth a lot of money, yes it was beautiful – gold jewellery and coins, possibly Greek, and yes, it was first discovered by Luigi Amato.

  ‘But where is it now?’ Millie had asked, her eyes wide and greedy. Tess knew she was poised, mobile at the ready, eager to let someone know. And she knew which someone it would be.

  ‘You can tell Giovanni that we no longer have it,’ Tess had told her. ‘So there’s no point in him breaking into the villa again. It isn’t there.’

  For the first time since she’d known her, Millie looked uncomfortable. ‘What are you talking about, Tess? Surely you don’t imagine that I—’

  Tess laughed. ‘I saw you, Millie. So you’re wasting your breath.’ The day after the dive with Tonino she’d hotfooted it to the hotel, couldn’t wait to tell Millie and Pierro what they’d found. Pierro was away on business, apparently, Millie wasn’t in reception, so she’d gone round to their private rooms. Just as she got there, the door to their apartment had opened and Giovanni came out, looking somewhat rumpled and worse for wear. And as if that wasn’t evidence enough – Tess had dodged behind a potted palm, feeling like a character in a cheap detective movie – Millie had followed him, giggling, and tugging at his arm until he turned to give her the sort of kiss that left Tess in no doubt of their relationship.

  It was Millie’s business, she had told herself, taking a different route out of the hotel and back to the baglio. But she remembered the lipstick on Giovanni’s collar and she remembered the prolonged lunch with Millie at the hotel the day he’d broken into the villa. And that’s when she realised. Everything she’d ever told Millie … Well, she’d as good as told Giovanni too. Millie wasn’t her friend – she never had been. She was Giovanni’s mistress, first and foremost. She’d seen Tess with Giovanni at the market, got jealous and decided to befriend her so she could find out what was going on. Then she’d become Giovanni’s spy. It sounded ridiculously melodramatic – but it was true.

  Millie had sat back in her chair and regarded Tess coolly. ‘So why are you here?’ she asked. ‘To gloat?’

  Tess shook her head. ‘We wanted Giovanni to know that he could finally give up on getting it back.’

  Tonino had been adamant about what he wanted to do. ‘Il Tesoro never belonged to the Amatos,’ he said. ‘Not truly. And it
has only ever caused bloodshed for our family. It belongs to Sicily, and she shall have it.’

  Not all the authorities in Sicily were corrupt. By letting the right people know what they had found, Tess and Tonino were pretty sure that Il Tesoro wouldn’t fall into wrong hands. That it would go to a museum that celebrated its heritage, not into some greedy, grubby, corrupt organisation.

  Millie had gone very quiet.

  Tess reached into her bag and withdrew the ring, wrapped in tissue. ‘And you can give this to Giovanni as well,’ she said.

  After a moment’s hesitation, Millie unwrapped it. She turned it over in her fingers. Tonino had made a good job of cleaning it up and the engraved initials ELS shone out from the gold. ‘Who …?’ she began.

  ‘We think it belonged to his grandfather,’ Tess said. ‘Ettore Sciarra. You know, the man who was supposed to have been murdered by Tonino’s grandfather?’ She paused. ‘I know Giovanni has a similar ring engraved with his initials. It’s a family tradition, I suppose.’

  Millie nodded.

  ‘It was in the cave,’ Tess said. ‘Alongside Il Tesoro. And a skeleton.’

  ‘A skeleton?’ Millie flinched.

  Tess got out of her chair. ‘Giovanni might want to think about what it was doing there,’ she said.

  When Tess had returned to the baglio, she told Tonino about Millie and Giovanni – why should she bother to protect Millie’s reputation?

  ‘I guessed already,’ he said.

  Tess stared at him. ‘How?’

  ‘Millie Zambito chases after every man.’

  Tess considered this. ‘You as well?’

  ‘For some months,’ he admitted. ‘The woman – she does not give up so easily.’

  Tess remembered what Millie had said about him. How she had looked. ‘Were you tempted?’ she asked. She realised it must have been Millie too who had told Tonino that she was Flavia Farro’s daughter the night he turned up late and drunk, the night she’d expected to make love with him and ended up breaking up with him.

  He shrugged. ‘I am a man,’ he said.

  She’d noticed.

  ‘But no. Millie is too brash. A man-eater.’

  ‘And what about Pierro?’ Tess felt sad about Pierro. He was a lovely man. He didn’t deserve what Millie was doing to him.

  Tonino made a sign. The cuckold. ‘Maybe he knows. Maybe not. Maybe he too has someone. Maybe not. Millie Zambito is a very unhappy woman, Tess.’

  Tess knew that he was right. She thought of the brittle brightness Millie seemed to exude. And she was sad because she had hoped Millie could be a friend. Could she stay in Cetaria when it also housed Millie and Giovanni? Yes. She had the feeling they might leave her alone from now on.

  In the restaurant they raised their glasses in a toast. ‘To Il Tesoro,’ said Ginny. ‘The famous treasure returned to Sicily by my mother!’ They all laughed.

  ‘They say the Grotta Azzurra is very beautiful,’ Flavia murmured.

  ‘Oh, it is.’ Tess stopped abruptly. Had she told them the name of the cave? Definitely not. ‘Muma …?’ She caught her mother’s eye. ‘You didn’t know about the treasure and where it was hidden – did you?’

  Flavia clicked her tongue. ‘Do you think those men would have told me?’ she asked.

  No … But Santina had told her how Flavia liked to listen … And as Tess looked into those wise old eyes, there was an unmistakable twinkle … ‘Muma,’ she breathed.

  Flavia smiled and shrugged. ‘It was your pathway, my darling,’ she said.

  ‘To Edward Westerman.’ Tess looked around at them all, her family, here with her in Cetaria, where – for Muma, at least – it had all begun. She thought she was beginning to comprehend at last – why Edward Westerman had left her the mermaid’s villa. There was a lot to lose, when you lost sight of your roots. She had come to Sicily in order to understand her mother, but in coming, she had learnt to understand her daughter too. Mothers and daughters … It had been quite a journey.

  ‘To Edward,’ echoed Flavia. She glanced across at Lenny and smiled. ‘And to his sister Bea.’

  So when are you going to tell us what this is, Nonna?’ Ginny pointed to the red book. ‘I’ve seen you writing in it, you know.’

  ‘It is my story.’ Looking suitably modest, Flavia handed it to Tess. ‘It may fill in some of the gaps, my darling.’

  Tess took it from her. She opened it. Her mother’s handwriting filled the pages – neat and sloping. She felt a lump in her throat. ‘Muma … ’ How brave she was. Tess put a hand on hers.

  ‘And at the back … ’

  Tess looked. There were pages of recipes, all in her mother’s handwriting. She started reading one. A pinch of this, a handful of that, a few of the other … She flicked through. Antipasto and meat and fish and dolce … All Sicilian; all the recipes that she had grown up with.

  ‘I started writing it for you, my dear,’ said Flavia. ‘But I ended up writing it for myself too.’

  ‘Thank you, Muma … ’ Tess said. Food is your identity … Food is where you have come from. The place you call home … This was it, she realised. This was the real mother and daughter stuff. This was the real treasure.

  CHAPTER 72

  In bed that night, Lenny turned to Flavia. ‘What do you think of our girl?’ he said.

  ‘She has done well.’ Flavia smiled at him.

  ‘D’you reckon she’ll be happy here?’

  ‘As a rabbit in clover.’ Flavia had seen Tess talking to the man who made the mosaics in the baglio. He was Alberto Amato’s grandson. A fine man. She would trust that one.

  ‘And you, my love?’ He opened his arms and she crept inside, resting her head on his shoulder. ‘Are you happy to be back here – even if it is just for a holiday?’

  ‘I was going to talk to you about that,’ said Flavia.

  ‘Which part of that?’

  ‘The holiday part.’

  ‘Ah.’

  They were quiet. Flavia felt his familiar warmth and she was content. This afternoon she had visited Santina and they had both wept copiously.

  ‘I thought you would never return,’ Santina said, over and over, hugging Flavia close and then propelling them apart. ‘So that I can look at you, my friend.’

  My friend … Santina had shown her the sampler they had embroidered together too. It was funny – Flavia had almost forgotten about it, but when she saw that piece of faded linen, well, it brought everything back.

  Sometimes home is about forgiveness. And sometimes you have to search for home. Over the years England had become home to Flavia. But … As she‘d told that young man down in the baglio, Flavia had come back because it was time to put the past to rest. Time to end the journey. Time to forgive her family. And Sicily too. She had finally let it go.

  CHAPTER 73

  When they were all in bed, Tess made her way down to the baglio. It was midnight and Tonino was in the bay waiting for her. He had lit a wood fire and was grilling fish and prawns. The fragrance of the burning wood filled the night air, mingling with the sweetness of the seafood, salt and wet stone.

  She sat on the wall by the jetty. He had brought a couple of oil lamps down to the bay and these were propped against the stones, letting off a yellow-blue light from the flames, which combined with the glow from the fire and the full moon, to illuminate the scene. He had laid a rug down on the pebbles and set out white wine, ice, glasses and bread in a basket.

  ‘Have you finished it yet?’ she asked. She knew that the mosaic he was designing was special, but he hadn’t revealed what it was or why. He was waiting, he kept saying, for the missing piece.

  ‘Yes, it is complete,’ he said. He squeezed some lemon juice over the fish.

  ‘Really?’ And then she noticed that he had propped something – a large flat object – up by the jetty, covered in tarpaulin. ‘Is that it? Is there going to be an unveiling?’ she teased.

  ‘Of course.’

  He made her wait until they had eaten t
he last of the fish and prawns with hunks of Sicilian bread and drunk the last glass of white wine, until the fire was dying and they lay back against the rocks, looking out towards il faraglione, the shadowy cliffs and the moon gleaming on to the waves in the bay.

  He got up, positioned it until it was directly in the moonlight, and moved the oil lamps closer. He pulled back the tarpaulin.

  Tess sat up, stared at the mosaic. It was beautiful. She was beautiful. For it was a mermaid, designed in profile, holding a mirror in one hand, a comb in the other, her long seaweed-coloured hair hanging down her bare back, her gorgeous tail curved and pointing behind her. She reminded Tess of the motif on the villa; the mermaid she thought of as her mermaid. Though her face was tranquil rather than sad; she looked as if she had discovered a secret; it was as if she knew much more than she would say.

  ‘She is all seaglass,’ Tonino said.

  ‘Because that’s where she came from.’ Tess could make out the shades of the glass now; the turquoise and sea-greens of the body, the lilac sheen to the hands, arms and face, the yellows and browns of her hair.

  ‘And the missing piece?’ she asked him.

  He pointed to the perfect almond-shaped, blue-violet eye.

  ‘So you found it!’

  ‘It wasn’t easy.’ He grinned. ‘But it is worth the wait, do you not think? It is a special piece. I found it right over by the far rocks.’

  ‘Well, yes, it’s lovely.’ Tess had the feeling she was being teased. ‘So what does the mermaid signify? When are you going to tell me her story?’

  He rested on his haunches, seemed to deliberate for a moment. ‘The mermaid was sighted out on il faraglione by a fisherman from Cetaria,’ he said. ‘She was looking in the mirror and combing her long brown and yellow hair.’ He pointed and smiled. ‘It seems she only appeared when the moon was full.’