by Rosanna Ley
‘I’d love to.’ Chiara was still getting to grips with everything that had happened over the past few days. Pisa, Alonzo, and not to mention Elene and Silvio’s ambitious plans for the hotel.
They’d had a further meeting to thrash out a few ideas – ‘thrash’ being about the right word for it. Isabella was reluctant for change – though truth to tell, she looked so starry-eyed that Chiara wasn’t sure her granddaughter’s mind was on the job at all – while Elene and Silvio seemed to want to change everything. How much of this was connected with the news of her parents’ separation and impending divorce, Chiara had no idea. Nevertheless, she found herself in the role of mediator – soothing, questioning, compromising. Because yes, she did want Elene and Silvio to feel valued and to have more of a say in the running of things. But she also had to stay true to her parents’ vision and the original nature of The Lemon Tree Hotel . . . And she was beginning to realise something else: the hotel was an important part of her life, but it wasn’t everything. This was a shock.
Giovanna opened the fridge to reveal a blue glass bottle of wine chilling in the door. Heaven knows where it had come from – there was no label, and the cork was fixed and tied around with rough string. But Giovanna had so many visitors – no doubt it had been produced in a local family vineyard and given to her as a token of goodwill.
‘Would you do the honours, my dear?’ She handed the bottle to Chiara.
‘Of course.’ Chiara located the corkscrew in a drawer and opened the bottle with a flourish. It made a satisfactory ‘pop’. Fizzy wine, no less.
She fetched two heavy crystal glasses from Giovanna’s kitchen cabinet and poured the wine. They raised their glasses. ‘To you and your continuing good health, Aunt Giovanna,’ she said.
Giovanna’s old face was wreathed in smiles. ‘And to you, dear Chiara,’ she said. ‘And The Lemon Tree Hotel, of course.’ They clinked glasses. For some reason that Chiara couldn’t fathom, it felt like a celebration.
‘Shall we sit outside and catch the last of the day’s sunshine, my dear?’
‘Why not?’ Chiara followed her through to the terrace where a few hens were clucking around on the cobbles as usual, the olive trees glinting silver in the early evening sun.
When they were settled on the bench, amidst the terracotta pots of scarlet geraniums, with the wine bottle and a bowl of fresh almonds between them, Giovanna sat back and folded her wrinkled hands on her lap. ‘You look tired, Chiara.’ Her expression was concerned. ‘I hope you’re not working too hard, my dear?’
She was tired, she knew it. This business with Alonzo had taken it out of her, and the hotel was still busy although the main season would be coming to an end soon and several of their guests were leaving in the next day or two. ‘I’ll be fine, Aunt. We’re beginning to wind down. Soon, I’ll be able to relax a bit more.’ She swirled the wine around the heavy crystal glass. Though how could she relax with all these potential renovations to worry about? And if they went ahead? She imagined the disruption, the dust, the noise, and had to close her eyes for a moment to take the thought of it away.
‘I certainly hope so.’ Giovanna took delicate sips of her wine, like a bird. ‘But is it just the hotel that is bothering you, my dear? The last few times you have come here . . . Allora, I don’t wish to interfere, but—’
‘You’re right.’ She might as well tell her. ‘It’s Alonzo.’ Soon it would be common knowledge. Not that this bothered Chiara – in some ways, that too would be a burden lifted. She would no longer have to pretend.
‘Alonzo?’ Giovanna raised a questioning eyebrow.
‘We are separating, Aunt Giovanna. Please don’t be shocked. We haven’t been happy for a while, and now . . .’ She was tempted to unburden herself further, but held back. She would keep Alonzo’s secret – and her own.
‘I see.’ She took another sip. She didn’t seem shocked in the least.
‘You’re not surprised?’
‘Not surprised, no.’ Giovanna leaned forwards and patted her hand. ‘Your parents only wanted the best for you, cara, but . . .’ She shook her head sadly. ‘Our parents cannot tell us whom to love.’
‘Very true.’ As always, Chiara was struck by her aunt’s quiet wisdom. She might lack experience of affairs of the heart, being tucked away up here in the grounds of L’Attico Convento. But she seemed to know so much.
‘But why now?’ Giovanna seemed to be speaking her thoughts out loud – and it was a reasonable question.
Chiara took another sip of the wine. It was light, fizzy and delicious. ‘I found out some things,’ she admitted. ‘And someone came back – someone from the past.’ She let her gaze drift to the olive grove, where a few of Giovanna’s hens were loitering, as if they were wondering just how adventurous to be. The olive grove would always remind her of Dante and how she had once hoped . . . But what had happened with Dante seemed so far away now.
‘Ah. Someone from the past.’ And for a moment, Giovanna too seemed preoccupied with her own thoughts. ‘But what things do you mean, my dear?’ Giovanna followed her gaze and clicked her tongue gently. Her girls waddled back towards their coop.
Chiara shook her head in mild disbelief. ‘Non importa. It doesn’t matter what, Aunt.’ She still couldn’t help wondering though. When had it begun – that business in Pisa? Who had seduced who and how many times? She lifted her face to the early evening sunshine. It was as warm and comforting as the wine sliding so easily down her throat was chilled and delicious. Did these questions matter though? No doubt it was only her pride that needed to know the details.
Giovanna gave one of her wise nods. ‘Have you told Elene and Bella?’
‘Yes. They both know.’ At least, there hadn’t been quite the explosion she had feared from Elene. Perhaps Elene had finally realised how bad things had got between her parents, how they had hit an all-time low. Was that Silvio’s influence? She guessed that it was. He grounded Elene.
Chiara realised that she should have been more supportive of her daughter’s decision to marry Silvio back in the day. It was just that without love . . . There had been certain parallels in her own marriage and that of her daughter, and this had worried Chiara. But there were crucial differences too. Elene had chosen Silvio of her own free will for the qualities she perceived in him. And Silvio – a good man, undeniably – had always adored her. More than anything, Elene had not been in love with another man. So perhaps Elene was one of the lucky ones. Chiara hoped so. Perhaps for Elene, love had grown.
Chiara let out a small sigh. That moment when Elene seemed to understand at last how things really were for Chiara, had been one – like so many moments in the past – when they might have drawn closer, understood what the other was thinking and feeling, re-kindled that mother and daughter bond and found some common ground. Chiara had held her breath. She had reached for her daughter’s hand and longed for that closeness. It was a hard-working hand and for some reason she felt bad about this – as if she had chosen Elene’s career. Which in a way, she had, she supposed. How could she make it happen? What was the right thing to say, to do? But the moment had passed, just like all the others before. Once again, Elene’s barriers were up and she had headed inside, back to the kitchen as she always did.
Isabella had also been upset of course, but she seemed more concerned about her grandmother than anything else. ‘We will manage,’ she kept saying. ‘Don’t worry, Nonna. Everything will be fine.’ Then again, Isabella didn’t know about Dante, about all the recent troubles with Alonzo. Neither of them knew that he had hit her though – and Chiara prayed that they never found out.
As for Ferdinand Bauer’s sketches . . . Chiara didn’t know what would happen about those either, but she realised that the important thing was to trust in her family – because together, they were strong. When there was no trust, no communication – that was when people went behind one another’s backs; there was no sense of loyalty any more. So, they would continue to discuss Elene and Silvio’s pr
oposals as if they had come to them first; they would give each one the time, thought, and practical consideration it deserved.
They had started with a discussion about the proposed rooftop bar. And it was undeniable that, disruption aside, it could be a potential asset.
‘Just think of the views,’ Silvio had said, and Chiara had nodded her agreement. ‘It would free up the tables in the cloisters for the restaurant too,’ he added.
Chiara saw Elene throw him a grateful glance.
She gritted her teeth. ‘It’s quite a good idea,’ she said firmly. ‘Bella?’
‘We will have to get estimates before we even consider it.’ Her practical granddaughter would keep hold of the numbers, and that was good too.
‘Perhaps start with that then?’ Chiara suggested. ‘And then when the figures come back, we will discuss the proposal some more.’
‘Va bene,’ said Elene. And Chiara saw her squeeze Silvio’s hand, tightly. So, it was worth it. It was all worth it. Because if necessary they could embrace change – it was the way of the world.
‘These things happen.’ Giovanna pushed the bowl of almonds towards her. ‘You mustn’t worry too much, my dear.’
Chiara took an almond and ate it absent-mindedly. The olive grove beyond the terrace always seemed closer to her heart at dusk, when the light was fading and the night was ahead.
‘But I suppose you are thinking: what next?’
Chiara looked at her aunt sharply. That was exactly what she had been thinking. ‘I don’t know yet, Aunt.’ She would tell Giovanna about the hotel renovations, but not yet, not until they were more certain.
Giovanna put her head to one side. ‘Who are you most concerned for, cara? Elene? Isabella?’ She gave a throaty chuckle. ‘Not me, I hope.’
‘I am always concerned for you, Aunt.’ Impulsively, she leaned across and gave Giovanna a little squeeze of the shoulders.
‘You do not need to be,’ her aunt told her sternly. ‘I am feeling better than I ever did. And I have a strong constitution for change – better than yours perhaps.’
‘You’re probably right.’ Chiara laughed. She considered her aunt’s question. ‘I’m not concerned for Elene. She will get used to the idea, and she has Silvio.’
Giovanna nodded. ‘He is a good man.’
‘And Isabella . . .’
‘She will be fine too.’ Giovanna sat back, a satisfied smile on her lips. ‘She also will have the support she needs.’
Chiara stared at her. ‘You can’t be talking about Ferdinand Bauer?’ For she was certainly meaning something of that nature.
‘Perhaps. Perhaps not.’ Giovanna shrugged. ‘Ah, but they are certainly taken with one another those two. Who knows?’
‘But . . .’ Where to begin? ‘He will be returning to Germany soon, you know, Aunt.’
‘Oh, yes, I’m sure he will.’
‘And he’s just a guest, isn’t he?’
‘Is he? Ah well, yes, perhaps he is.’
Chiara frowned. How forgiving could she be? Over events she had witnessed with her own eyes? Events that had affected her old friends and compatriots so deeply?
‘But we will see, oh yes, I’m sure we will see.’ And those eyes twinkled as if there was much more she could say.
‘Indeed.’
‘So, you are free to do what you need to do, Chiara.’ Giovanna poured more wine for them both with rather a shaky hand.
It struck Chiara that she had rarely seen Giovanna drink wine before. Had something else happened that she didn’t know about?
‘Well, you know there is still the hotel . . .’ Leaving Alonzo hardly meant that she was free.
‘A short holiday perhaps?’ Giovanna clapped her hands. ‘Yes. Why not? It would do you so much good, my dear.’
Chiara considered. A holiday was an attractive prospect. She might even be able to avoid some of the disruption when work started on the rooftop bar. If it started . . . But it would be nice to get away long before that. ‘I haven’t been on a holiday for a long time,’ she agreed.
‘Ah, sì.’
In fact, when had she gone away? Practically never. And how she longed to travel. She was weary of all these disputes over the future of the hotel. It would be so good not to worry, simply to let go. ‘And now that Isabella is old enough to take charge – with Elene and Silvio’s assistance, naturally.’
‘Yes, naturally so.’
‘I might actually do it,’ she conceded. She took another sip of wine. It really had the most delicious floral bouquet.
‘Think about it some more,’ Giovanna advised. ‘No need to go too far. But I would leave Italy, at least. Spread your wings. Some parts of Europe are very lovely in the late autumn, I have heard. And you can always take an umbrella, hmm?’
Giovanna seemed very taken with the idea. And perhaps her aunt was right – the family didn’t need her so much any more, Alonzo certainly was no longer in a position to need her, and even her beloved hotel . . .
‘You cannot please everyone,’ Giovanna shook her head. ‘It is impossible, my dear.’
‘Oh, I know. You’re right.’ For her entire life, she realised, she had always done what other people wanted her to do. She had always tried to live up to the expectations of others. First her parents, then Alonzo, then Elene.
‘Now, it is time to live for yourself.’
‘Mmm.’ It was a seductive idea. Chiara got to her feet. ‘Thank you, Aunt. But for now, I must return to the hotel.’
‘Of course, my dear.’
‘Shall I put the wine back in the fridge on my way out?’ She bent to kiss her.
‘Oh, leave it here, if you will.’ And she’d swear Giovanna’s eyes actually sparkled with mischief. ‘I may treat myself to one more glass with that delicious-looking pasta you brought.’
On the way back, as Chiara walked through the darkening olive grove, the idea of a holiday seemed to take root and begin to grow. She couldn’t please everyone, no, and it was true that a change of scenery would be most pleasant. This break with Alonzo – perhaps it was a turning point. She could easily go for two weeks – even three weeks maybe – the hotel could manage without her. It was not so long. And yet, it was long enough, certainly, for what she had in mind.
Around her, the olive trees spread their protective branches. This place was a cocoon. She felt safe here. But what would happen if she took a step out of her comfort zone? Did she dare? One could not experience a sense of liberation unless one had been tied down. So. It was her place of safety. But, maybe Dante had been right about the hotel also tying her down, stopping her from doing other things. Maybe he was right in all sorts of other ways . . .
She paused and listened to the faint rustle of the trees, a sound that was so familiar, so entwined with her memories, her past. And her future? Could she really be free to make such a choice? It was a concept almost alien to her. But yes, Giovanna was right. She needed this, and so she would go. She felt a new confidence in the future and perhaps that was what happened when you found the strength to break free. As for the rest – allora, it was ambitious she knew. But it was good nevertheless, to have a purpose in mind.
CHAPTER 39
Elene
Elene was serving the last of the desserts when her mother and Isabella came into the kitchen. They both helped themselves to pasta and salad, and no doubt they would be sampling some of her latest Ligurian lemon cake for dessert. She put a couple of slices aside.
They were chatting – hotel business – throwing the occasional comment her way. Elene was only half-listening. Last night she had told Silvio about her parents’ separation.
‘What point is there in them staying together, my love?’ Silvio had said. ‘If they no longer love one another? If they have grown apart? If they lead separate lives?’
‘I suppose you’re right,’ she had conceded. Though it was easier for him to accept – they weren’t his parents, after all.
He drew her closer and into his arms – somet
hing Elene had found herself resisting less and less lately. ‘You don’t want them both to be miserable, do you, my love?’
‘No,’ she whispered into his shoulder, so grateful that he was always there for her. ‘I don’t want that.’
Now, Elene clattered about the kitchen, putting the cake tin into the sink to soak, loading cutlery into the dishwasher. The scent of the lemon cake hung in the air – cleansing and fresh. She knew Silvio was right. And now her mother seemed to be making an effort to understand Elene’s issues about the hotel. Maybe she felt guilty. Maybe she was trying to redress the balance. But at least they were talking about it.
Nevertheless, there was a time and a place for everything. Right at this moment most of her attention was focused – as it so often was – on her food and its presentation. The Ligurian lemon cake was delicate and golden brown as honey. Elene liked to serve it with only a dusting of icing sugar – it was moist already, and needed nothing more.
‘So, I was thinking – a short holiday perhaps? The English family are leaving tomorrow morning, the Americans the day after that.’
Elene glanced sharply towards her mother. She was going away? But her mother never went away.
‘You could manage, couldn’t you? The three of you?’ She glanced towards Elene now.
Elene raised an eyebrow in lieu of a reply and turned her attention back to the cake. A twist of olive leaves would make a pretty garnish and signify the fact that the lemon cake was made with olive oil, but no doubt people would try to eat them, so best not.
‘A holiday? Yes, Nonna, of course you should go.’ But Isabella sounded concerned. She too must have noticed how tired her grandmother was looking these days. But then again, it was hardly surprising – after everything. Elene sighed.
‘But will you go alone?’
Elene plucked her little sieve from its hook and spooned in the icing sugar. She tapped it on the side to achieve the light frosting she required. Basta. She moved on to the next plate.