by Rosanna Ley
Chiara waited to feel some sense of her own disloyalty for referring to her husband this way, but it didn’t come. This was a sign, she knew.
And besides, even if you stay, who is to say that your position might not once again be in jeopardy in the future?
In Chiara’s opinion, there wasn’t much doubt about that.
For this reason, please accept this cheque. It is not charity. As the wife of your landlord, I do feel partially responsible for the position you find yourself in.
Yes, maybe she should have kept a closer eye on Alonzo’s business as well as her own. Perhaps they should have worked as a team, instead of being separate entities. Perhaps then, things might have been different – in all aspects of her life.
She frowned with concentration. She didn’t want the woman’s pride to prevent her accepting the money: this would no doubt seem a large amount to Signora Gavino.
Frankly, I can afford to help, and I want to. This small sum will enable you to put a deposit down on a new apartment and perhaps pay the first month’s rent too. Hopefully it will also cover your moving expenses. Whatever you decide, it is yours to keep. I ask only one thing – please do not tell my husband that I have given it to you. Think of it as a goodwill payment. I wish you well.
That should do it. She signed it with a flourish, put the note and cheque in a white business envelope, sealed and addressed it. In her opinion, there was still room in the world for a handwritten letter and a cheque book.
Her mobile bleeped with a message. She picked it up and sighed. Alonzo again. He had sent her five texts and tried to call her several times since she had left his apartment the previous day. Each text had sounded more pleading than the last. Each text sounded less and less like the man she knew.
Just give me one more chance, Chiara, she read. For Elene’s sake – just one more chance.
How many chances could there be? How many chances did any man – or woman – deserve?
There was a knock on the door and Elene came in as if Chiara had summoned her with her thoughts. ‘Mamma? Are you all right?’ Her daughter looked unusually bright-eyed.
Clearly, she knew nothing of what had happened in Pisa, which meant that Alonzo hadn’t contacted her, thank goodness. Perhaps Chiara shouldn’t have been surprised at what she’d discovered there, but she was. And what now? She had made a promise to Elene. Was she going to break it? Could she break it? Or was she willing for her sham of a marriage to go on, even after this? She had told Alonzo not to come back to the hotel – but he would have to come back sometime, and they would have to discuss this some more.
‘Hello, darling,’ she said. ‘I’m fine. Are you looking for something?’
Elene was flipping through some papers on the shelf. But admin was hardly her department. Usually she had to be dragged out of the kitchen.
‘Yes.’ She hesitated. ‘There was a large brown envelope. I left it in the kitchen last night. I think Isabella must have moved it.’ She seemed a little nervous.
‘Why don’t you ask her?’ Emanuele had taken over from Chiara in reception two hours ago – surely Isabella was back by now?
Elene shot her mother one of her disdainful looks. ‘Of course, I would, Mamma – if she was around.’
So, she was not yet back? Chiara was surprised, but it would do her granddaughter good to take some time away from the hotel. ‘What is in this envelope of yours?’ Chiara glanced through her own paperwork on the desk – there was no large brown envelope to be seen.
‘Oh, nothing important.’ But Elene’s fingers were twisting at the tie of her apron. ‘It’s mine though. My name is on the envelope. And I haven’t had a chance to look at it properly yet. So, if you come across it . . .’
‘Of course.’ Chiara shrugged. She hoped that she would not pry into Elene’s business however curious she might be. She waited for her daughter to ask when her father was coming home, but she said nothing. Perhaps Elene was so concerned with the contents of this mysterious brown envelope that she’d failed to notice Alonzo’s prolonged absence for once – which was no bad thing, because Chiara needed time to think.
‘OK, Mamma.’ Elene was still looking around the room as she opened the door and left the office. ‘And don’t forget . . .’
Chiara raised an eyebrow. ‘If I see it, I will bring it to you straight away.’ It was probably nothing. But it was curious, nonetheless.
*
It was late afternoon by the time Chiara picked up her letter to Signora Gavino. She would take it out to reception to go with the late post. Isabella had finally returned, looking surprisingly pale after her morning in Monterosso, and was now working on her laptop on the other side of the room. ‘Isabella . . .’
‘Yes, Nonna?’ She looked up.
‘Did you go to the cobblers?’
‘Yes, Nonna.’
‘And . . . Did you have a pleasant morning in Monterosso?’
A look of such innocence crossed Isabella’s face that Chiara knew she was hiding something. ‘Yes, Nonna.’
‘Hmm.’ Another mystery. Chiara left the office and shut the door behind her. She had a quick word with Marco who was on duty, and glanced at the hotel register. Everything was as it should be. Guests were drinking aperitifs in the Cloisters Bar, and the courtyard beyond; some soft background music was playing. The hall and reception area were spotlessly clean. Although she’d been absent yesterday, all was running smoothly. No one was indispensable, it seemed.
Ferdinand Bauer stood at the foot of the stairs near Luca Bordoni’s painting, deep in conversation on his mobile. His tone was urgent, she could tell that much, though she spoke very little German. Chiara gave him a polite nod as she passed by. She didn’t know why he had come here, but she worried for Isabella. How could you tell who was a decent person on first acquaintance alone? Every woman needed a lie detector, a charm-offensive test – men too perhaps? Not knowing who could be trusted . . . Allora, this made life and love so much harder, that was all.
She stood in the doorway in the late-afternoon sunshine and put a hand up to her eyes to protect them from the brightness. The leaves of the olive trees seemed almost translucent; the rays of the sun had tinged them amber. The gravel path wound through the grove. It was so enticing that for a second she longed to dart along the path, run to a shady place, and lie down, the twisted roots her pillow.
Chiara shook the thought from her mind. For goodness’ sake – she had responsibilities; she had a hotel to look after. Besides, she could dart along that path whenever she damn well liked. She was free. Wasn’t she? This was her hotel, and she had no one to answer to.
But today, Chiara was finding it difficult to live with herself. How could she be running this beautiful and tranquil hotel here in Vernazza when her husband was allowing such terrible conditions to exist in his apartment block, and when he was evicting old ladies and taking payment in kind from a prostitute, no less? Madonna santa . . . She crossed herself – and it had been a while since she’d done that . . . And she had slept with him. He was her husband – she had slept with him before, afterwards, during. It sickened her to the core. He might even have given her some awful disease for all she knew.
Chiara shuddered. She had known when she made love with Dante that her marriage was over – perhaps she had known when Alonzo first raised his hand to her. She touched her cheek, remembering how she had felt in that moment. And now she also believed that he might do it again. It was unacceptable, unforgiveable. Was there really any way they could come back from this – what seemed like the last straw?
She turned from the afternoon sunshine. Ferdinand Bauer was still on the phone. She glanced quickly away. She could have sworn he had tears in his eyes.
CHAPTER 33
Chiara
Chiara pushed open the swing doors. Elene was still in the kitchen, though everyone else had left and gone home. Chiara dipped her hand into her bag. ‘The envelope you were looking for – it turned up.’ She passed it over. ‘It was on the reception des
k. Emanuele found it tucked into the register, it must have got caught up there by mistake.’
As she was talking, Isabella entered the kitchen. ‘Ciao, Mamma, Nonna.’ She sounded unhappy too. Chiara thought about Ferdinand Bauer. Was it something in the air perhaps? It had been a long season – they all must need a break from the hotel, from the guests, from the endless demands of the hospitality business.
‘Ciao, Bella.’ Elene’s attention remained fixed on Chiara. ‘Did you look inside, Mamma?’ She practically snatched the envelope from her and sat down at the table, tucking it into her bag.
‘No, of course not.’
Elene narrowed her eyes.
Chiara spread her hands in righteous innocence. ‘No, I did not,’ she repeated more firmly. True, she’d been tempted – though only because Elene had made such a fuss about the thing. But perhaps she had learned over the past few days not to meddle in other people’s business – in case you found out something you didn’t want to know.
‘Va bene.’ Elene seemed mollified. ‘That’s OK, then.’
‘But I looked inside, Mamma.’
Elene glanced up at Isabella. ‘What did you say?’
‘I read it. Sorry. And I think I need a drink, if you don’t mind?’ Isabella was already getting herself a wine glass from the kitchen cabinet, but she had her back to them, so Chiara couldn’t see her expression.
She turned around. ‘I didn’t mean to pry.’ Her eyes were red. She had been crying.
‘Bella . . .’ Chiara was filled with concern. ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’
‘It was addressed to me, Isabella.’ Elene rose to her feet. She looked furious. ‘And I really can’t see why a few drawings should have upset you so much.’
‘Drawings?’ Chiara looked from one to the other of them in confusion.
‘I didn’t notice it was addressed to you, Mamma.’ Isabella brought over a bottle of white wine from the Cantina Cinque Terre along with three glasses, and came to sit down at the table. She didn’t seem to want to look at anyone. ‘I didn’t see your name. Emanuele told me it had been left in the kitchen, and I assumed it was something to do with the hotel, so I pulled out the papers to check what it was, and . . .’ She poured the wine. Her nerves were apparent from the way she spilt some drops on the table.
‘And?’ Chiara was getting a bad feeling about this. She picked up her glass and looked from one to the other of them again. She was certainly ready for a drink – it had been a tough day. But what could be so awful to make Elene desperate that they didn’t see it?
‘And it’s personal,’ snapped Elene. Her chignon had become unpinned, and there were two spots of red high on her cheeks.
Isabella raised a delicate eyebrow. She took a deep glug of her wine.
‘And private.’ Elene did the same.
Isabella put down her glass. ‘Did you ask him to come here, Mamma?’ she asked.
‘What?’ Chiara frowned. She took another sip. The wine was crisp, floral, and citrussy – it was one of her favourites, but it was hard to take any enjoyment from it tonight. She had no idea what her daughter and granddaughter were talking about – but they weren’t happy.
‘Who?’
‘Ferdinand Bauer.’ Once his name was out of her lips, Isabella’s shoulders slumped.
‘Of course not.’
‘I don’t understand.’ Chiara was more confused than ever. What did that young man have to do with all this?
‘Then why would he do such a thing?’ Isabella blurted.
Elene shrugged. ‘Because I asked him to.’
‘Asked him to?’
‘Va bene.’ Elene sighed. She grabbed her mobile with one hand and repinned her hair with the other. ‘I will call Silvio.’
‘Why are you calling Silvio?’ Chiara took another sip of her wine. It might help her get to grips with this conversation.
‘You may as well all know. Who can keep any secrets in this place, eh?’
Chiara thought of Dante. She had a point.
‘Bella knows already, and no doubt she will tell you the second my back is turned.’
‘Mamma!’
‘Allora, you are thick as thieves, you two.’
‘But why do you need to call Silvio?’ Chiara persisted.
Elene shot her a sharp look of disbelief. ‘Two against one is never fair, Mamma.’ She broke off to speak to her husband. ‘Can you come to the kitchen – now? We need to talk. It’s about the drawings . . .’
‘Drawings?’ Chiara still didn’t understand.
Elene took another deep slug of her wine. ‘I asked him, Bella, because he is an architect.’
‘But . . .’
‘And why not? It seemed like the perfect opportunity.’
*
An hour later they were on their second bottle of wine and they were still talking. Elene had laid the drawings out on the table between them and confessed – she had found out that the Signor Bauer was an architect when she had got talking to him one day, she had persuaded him to make a few drawings; they were just ideas, that was all, only ideas.
Chiara knew that Elene would never have just ‘got talking’ to an architect who happened to be a guest of their hotel. Elene didn’t just get talking to anyone. And she wondered how her daughter had persuaded him. No doubt Isabella would be angry with Ferdinand Bauer for doing it – given how she felt about her mother’s ideas. Still, Isabella had calmed down, and so had Elene.
They all looked over the drawings. They were only rough sketches it was true, but they were done sympathetically – perhaps then the Signor Bauer knew what he was doing after all.
‘And so, what is this?’ Chiara asked.
‘The new bar.’
‘On the roof of the old convent?’
‘Well, why not?’ Elene’s eyes gleamed. ‘There would be more space, don’t you think?’
‘And this?’
‘An annexe for a fitness suite.’
‘A fitness suite?’ Madonna santa! What would the old nuns have thought of that?
The debate had been heated, and suddenly Chiara felt so weary of it all. First, Alonzo, and what she had discovered in Pisa, and now this. The wine had gone straight to her head. ‘You should have spoken to me first,’ she told her daughter. ‘You should not have gone behind our backs like this.’ She thought of her own parents, who had worked so hard to save this building, and she couldn’t deny the feeling of betrayal.
Elene looked close to tears.
Silvio put a protective arm around her and, perversely, Chiara was glad about this. They had all had a lot to cope with recently. They all needed some rest.
‘We have tried to talk to you many times,’ he said stiffly.
‘Pff.’ What nonsense. They were always discussing possible improvements. There were regular meetings between the four of them, and any of them could put forward an idea for discussion.
‘We feel you don’t listen to us. We feel we are not important.’
‘Oh, really . . .?’
‘I am not important, sure.’
He held himself more upright, and Chiara was conscious of a small stab of guilt. It was not true. As Elene’s husband and someone who worked hard in The Lemon Tree Hotel, he certainly was important. He was family, and a vital part of their business. But had Chiara ever regarded him in this way? The answer was ‘no’.
‘But Elene . . .’ He tailed off. ‘She feels sometimes that she is treated more like a paid chef than an equal partner, that’s all.’
‘I can speak for myself, Silvio.’ Elene’s eyes blazed.
He sat back. ‘Then do it.’
Elene seemed to hesitate. She gave one of her defensive little shrugs. ‘What he says is true.’
Chiara frowned. It was the first time Silvio had ever spoken up like this. Usually he left the talking to the women. She leaned forwards. ‘We do listen,’ she said. But perhaps not enough. It saddened her that they should feel this way, that Elene should feel un-valued. She had alway
s felt that everyone had a clearly defined role within the hotel, and that this very definition was what helped The Lemon Tree run smoothly. But had she ever given them enough choice about this? Should she have done things differently – actively encouraged everyone to have more of a say?
‘It’s just that me and Nonna don’t always agree with you and Mamma, Papà,’ Isabella chipped in. She poured them all more wine. The second bottle was finished. ‘We don’t want things at The Lemon Tree Hotel to change. Right, Nonna?’
Chiara nodded. She wouldn’t like to be in Ferdinand Bauer’s shoes when her granddaughter confronted him about these drawings. But it wasn’t just that she didn’t want anything at the hotel to change. ‘Though we shouldn’t be entirely resistant to change, Bella,’ she said. ‘The important thing is to make improvements that enhance what the hotel offers, whilst still retaining its integrity. Is that not so?’
‘Oh, yes.’ Isabella nodded. ‘Exactly so.’
‘Elene? Silvio?’
‘We never wanted to lose the integrity,’ Elene flashed back. ‘Having a rooftop bar does not lose the integrity. An infinity pool does not lose the integrity. A spa—’
‘Elene.’ Chiara put up her hand. ‘Let’s take one thing at a time, yes? Let’s fix up a meeting tomorrow when we are all feeling fresher, when we have slept on it and had time to consider, perhaps? We will take notes. We will discuss everything properly. We will be professional, yes?’
‘Yes, Mamma.’
‘And this time, we will listen.’ Chiara exchanged a glance with Silvio. And she had the weirdest feeling. Suddenly it felt as if he and she were on the same side.
CHAPTER 34
Isabella
Isabella couldn’t believe how much had happened today. First, Monterosso and seeing Giovanna and Ferdinand – that had put her in a spin. Then she had got back to the hotel and unthinkingly opened an envelope addressed to her mother – she blamed her distracted state of mind for that one. And when she looked at the drawings inside . . . Comprehension had slowly dawned. Sketches of the hotel – but not of the hotel as it was now, but of the hotel as it might be in the future – if Isabella’s mother had her way. A rooftop bar . . . An annexe with a spa . . . Isabella shuddered. What was she thinking of? The sketches were tastefully done, but really? What exactly was her mother planning? And more to the point – what would Nonna say?