One Summer in Rome

by Samantha Tonge

  ‘This is it,’ muttered Alfonso and Natale linked her arm through his.

  ‘And the tenth place goes to …’

  You could have heard Lucia’s daisy fall onto the floor.

  ‘Margherita Margherita,’ said the mayor and he smiled.

  Chapter Thirty

  ‘Remind me again, why are we celebrating?’ asked Rocco, in Italian, and sipped his champagne.

  Alfonso stood behind the bar and topped up the waiter’s glass. It was eight o’clock and they had closed the restaurant early. After all the excitement, Lucia was finding it difficult to get to sleep, and Natale had just come down. Enzo had left for a jazz concert, after serving a delicious three-course meal to the dance couple finalists, invited over by Dante.

  ‘Because your sister and Dante won the dance competition,’ he said and smiled. ‘Plus, I feel a sense of change afoot. I think the Rossi family realises it is time to start looking forwards.’ He nodded at Rocco. ‘That includes you as well. And Paola. You both have a new home.’ He looked around the restaurant. ‘Once the summer season is over, we all need to put our heads together and rethink the look of this place – and the menu. So saluti! We must face the fact that business has slipped. Now we must turn things around.’

  ‘I have a small idea,’ said Mary. ‘I hope you don’t mind …’

  Everyone looked at her.

  ‘I walked past an antiques store, the other day, and spotted a collection of painted string instruments. There was a viola painted white with violet flowers.’ She looked around nervously. ‘It’s only an idea, but I thought it might be nice to buy it and hang it across the inside of the front door. Just to act as a little reminder. Not that any of you would ever forget her, but—’

  Natale’s eyes watered.

  ‘I think that is a lovely idea,’ said Dante, who’d been quiet since the Lombardi List was announced. ‘Papà?’

  Alfonso’s eyes shone. ‘Si. Viola would have liked that.’ He gave a small smile. ‘She learnt to play the viola when she was little, apparently – her parents were huge fans of classical music. But they hid the instrument after a few weeks, she was so bad.’ His smile widened. ‘She would find it funny.’

  Natale smiled too. ‘Mamma had a great sense of humour before … before the drinking got bad.’

  This was good. Talking about Viola. And in front of Paola. Lifting the secretiveness would help them all heal.

  ‘Perhaps that could be a theme for a more modern interior design,’ Natale continued. ‘A subtle violet shade on the napkins and tablecloths … perhaps with sage green. That’s a fresh colour combination.’

  ‘Piero, the finalist who came over for dinner, is a sign-maker. We got talking and he said that if we ever needed a new one he’d make it at a discounted price,’ said Dante.

  ‘And what about—’ A knock at the door interrupted Rocco. They looked through the glass. No one got up for a moment.

  ‘It’s Margherita,’ said Mary to Dante.

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘Let her in.’

  Natale got up and opened the door. Margherita hovered for a moment. Her hair looked a mess. Her eyes red.

  ‘Come in,’ said Alfonso and he walked around from the bar. She entered and he approached her, arm outstretched. ‘Well done on getting onto the Lombardi List.’

  She wavered from side to side for a moment, and then held out a limp hand. He shook it vigorously.

  ‘Please. Accept a glass of champagne,’ he said.

  However, in a daze, she went over to Dante.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

  Her face crumpled for a second. ‘Sorry about what?’ she croaked, in a tone that said she already knew the answer.

  With puzzled faces, everyone else looked at him.

  ‘I worked it out,’ he said. ‘A bunch of flowers, today, made me realise.’

  ‘You mean the daisies?’ said Mary.

  He nodded. Margherita stood right in front of him, tears pooling in the corners of her eyes.

  ‘Hugo told me once, that growing up, his parents had an incredibly broad taste in music – songs from history, in foreign languages, everything from folk to pop … when he was a child he used to ride on a tandem bike with his younger sister.’

  Margherita gulped.

  ‘It reminded his parents of an old English song called Daisy, Daisy – the lyrics talked of a bicycle for two. From that point on, he called his little sister Daisy Daisy – which was especially apt as her name was the Italian for that flower.’

  Everyone gasped.

  ‘Margherita,’ stuttered Natale.

  All eyes fixed on the guest.

  ‘Yes and the restaurant name, Margherita Margherita, is a direct translation of the song.’ Dante’s voice wobbled. ‘And Hugo came from Milan. You, Margherita, have a Milanese accent. And that aftershave you wear, I smelt it as soon as you came in, just now – Hugo wore the same one.’

  Tears broke away from her eyes and streamed down her face. ‘It is all true.’

  Dante held his head in his hands and then lifted his chin. ‘I’m sorry, Margherita. So sorry. If I could do anything to bring back your brother, I would.’

  A sob escaped her lips and Alfonso brought her a chair. She collapsed into it and dabbed her face with a napkin, discreetly passed to her by Rocco.

  ‘You shouldn’t all be so nice,’ she said. ‘I have done everything I can to ruin your business. I set up here, two years ago, after Hugo’s funeral, determined to knock you off that Lombardi List. Hugo often spoke about you, Dante – and this family. Said how proud you all were to be listed and how much it helped your trade. I wanted to hurt you back.’

  ‘And your family agreed?’ said Dante. ‘They wouldn’t let me attend the burial, in Milan.’

  Her voice wobbled. ‘They never blamed you – not after the initial shock – but I told them that if you attended the funeral, I wouldn’t.’

  Mary let out a long breath. ‘For someone just seeking revenge, you’ve done well in the restaurant business. Did you have previous experience?’

  ‘Your parents run a restaurant, don’t they?’ said Dante.

  ‘Yes. Not as modern as mine, but I’ve always wanted my own place. My parents lent me some money to set it up. Thought a fresh start would do me good. I said I wanted to move to Rome, to feel closer to my brother as he’d spent so many years working here. In their grief, they didn’t question it.’ She gazed at the floor. ‘They’d be so ashamed if they knew the real reason.’

  ‘So how does it feel to have won?’ asked Natale.

  ‘That’s the strange thing – I feel nothing. I’m not pleased. Nor displeased. I just feel numb. I’ve spent so long seeking my revenge; bitterness has driven me. And now I’ve achieved my goal and knocked you off the Lombardi List … I …’ She sobbed. ‘I still don’t feel any better. I still miss Hugo. I thought getting my own back would make that go away.’

  Alfonso bent down and patted her shoulder. ‘It’s okay. We all …’ He looked around at his family. ‘We all deal with grief in different ways. And you might have done us a favour. It has made us realise how our business has stagnated. We need to modernise.’

  Margherita covered her face with her hands. ‘Since I’ve got to know you, Dante, a little, over the last few weeks, and spoken to Maria …’ she said in a muffled voice, ‘I’ve realised that you’re an actual person, with challenges of his own. Not this fiend I’d created in my head.’

  They sat and chatted and the time grew late, a sudden realisation spreading over Mary that she understood most of the conversations and could now get by well in Italian. Dante told Margherita the details of what had happened that fateful night. She talked about her childhood – funny stories about Hugo. Dante chipped in with his own comedic memories of his colleague. Then talk turned to business, as Margherita regained her composure. Finally she left. The Rossis didn’t know if they’d see her again.

  ‘Poor woman,’ said Natale. ‘All that hate for all this time. It must ha
ve eaten her up inside.’ She looked at her watch. Just gone ten. ‘I’d better check on Lucia.’

  ‘And we’d better head off home,’ said Rocco and Paola.

  Dante still looked shell-shocked and Mary wrapped her arms around his neck. She pressed her lips against his, relieved when he responded. Together, they would get over this.

  ‘What is that?’ said Alfonso.

  ‘Maria! Brother!’ said Natale.

  ‘I knew it!’ said Rocco.

  Paola giggled.

  Oops. Mary’s cheeks blushed. She’d forgotten that other people were in the room. A wide smile crossed Dante’s lips and Alfonso clapped. Oro even barked.

  ‘Good choice, my son.’ He shook his head. ‘And all this going on under my roof.’

  ‘Only for a few days,’ Mary protested.

  Natale grinned. ‘My little treasure was right. Lucia has been saying for weeks that you two were in love.’

  ‘What made her think that?’ said Dante and he wrapped his strong arm around Mary’s waist.

  ‘She said you both made gooey expressions, behind each other’s backs. She thinks it’s disgusting.’

  Everybody laughed. Natale headed upstairs leaving the others to carry on teasing Mary and Dante.

  ‘I just want to say, though,’ said Mary, eventually, and she cleared her throat. ‘Just because Dante and I are together, I don’t expect to keep this job or live here. I know this position was only temporary, so if you need to let me go after the summer, that is fine. I can find a flat.’

  ‘Hold on!’ said Dante.

  ‘Whoa!’ said Alfonso. ‘What are you talking about? You are one of the family now – whether you like it or not.’

  ‘And that involves a whole gamut of responsibilities,’ said Natale as she came down the mahogany stairs. ‘Like telling Lucia a bedtime story. The cheeky madam has been playing with her toys and is still way too excited to settle down. I blame the fizzy drink I let her have. So she asked if Mary could go upstairs, for a treat.’

  Mary swallowed. Looked around. A warmth spread through her chest.

  ‘I wouldn’t keep her waiting,’ said Dante gently, and she kissed him on the cheek before heading to the little girl’s bedroom.

  ‘Maria! You came!’ said Lucia and she clapped her hands.

  Mary tried to pull a stern face. ‘Yes. But I will only tell you a story if you lie down in bed.’

  Dutifully, Lucia snuggled under her sheets.

  ‘What sort of story do you want?’ said Mary.

  ‘Princes and princesses!’ she said.

  Some things never changed.

  Mary used to love reading bedtime stories to the little twins, back in Hackney, and jumped at the opportunity. She remembered Dante making up his own story, on the train. Mary cleared her throat.

  ‘Once upon a time there was a little princess and she was very sad. She had no parents of her own so had to be looked after by others. But some of the families had their own baby and didn’t have room for her any more. Others fed her horrible food.’

  Lucia grimaced. ‘No cake?’

  ‘Just salad.’

  ‘Poor princess! Didn’t she have anyone who could help?’

  ‘Just some magic beans that would give her the answer to her problems.’

  ‘A bit like your crystals?’

  Mary smiled and nodded. ‘So when she got older, the princess decided to run away. She escaped to an enchanted land with lots of sunshine, pretty buildings, and fantastic food. Everyone ate pizza.’

  ‘Just like in Italy.’

  ‘Yes. She eventually got a job in a small castle with a handsome prince. He lived at the top. But he was lonely too and … like your uncle Dante, couldn’t see.’

  Lucia’s face screwed up. ‘How did that happen?’

  ‘It … happened in a battle.’

  ‘And did he ride a white horse? Use a sword?’

  ‘No. But he was brave and kind. Although when he first met the princess he was very grumpy as he was so used to being on his own and not letting any new woman become his friend.’

  ‘You mean love stuff. Who could blame him?’ Lucia pretended to be sick.

  ‘The princess also struggled as, at the beginning, she secretly thought that finding a prince might solve all her problems. But they were both wary, because of their past. However, they couldn’t ignore the magic between them. And over time, the prince and the princess found out that, together, they could do good things.’

  ‘Ooh, what did they do?’

  ‘They saved a man from his cruel friend and also helped a dog.’

  ‘Cool!’

  ‘And eventually the princess realised that to be happy, you had to be strong and content inside. That no prince could save her from sadness – she had to do that herself. So she concentrated on a job she had, in the castle, and began to realise she loved her new life, just on her own.’

  ‘Awww – so wasn’t there a happy ending?’

  Mary swallowed. ‘Yes there was,’ she said, ‘because they realised that together they made a great team and made each other powerful. And by the end they both understood more about their own pasts. This helped them build a new future. The princess realised that the families, in her childhood, had tried their best and that’s all people can really do. She finally felt at home, in the prince’s castle – and he finally trusted someone – the princess – enough to open his heart to love.’

  ‘Did they get married?’ asked Lucia, eyes wide.

  Mary blushed. ‘That, sweetheart, is a story for another day. Now, you get some sleep.’

  Lucia held up her arms and Mary bent down for a big hug.

  ‘Great story,’ she said and yawned. ‘But next time can you include dragons or flying carpets?’

  Mary chuckled about this with Dante, an hour later, after they’d made the most magical love in his bedroom. And, to her surprise, she had the answer to Lucia’s question about the princess’s future. Whilst lying in his arms, Dante asked for her hand in marriage; said he had put his life on hold for long enough. She’d been so surprised, Mary hadn’t said a thing. So Dante had asked if she was nodding and they both laughed.

  Who’d ever have thought a pizzeria would give her the Happy Ever After she’d chased? Jill had been right. You won’t lose your problems by doing a geographical, as wherever you go, they follow. A new location or potential prince won’t save the day. You have to be your own hero.

  Firstly, I would like to thank my editor, Charlotte Mursell, for helping me make this book the very best it can be – along with the rest of the hardworking HQ Digital team.

  Thanks also to my super agent, Clare Wallace, for her ongoing support.

  Love and gratitude to Martin, Immy and Jay.

  Last, but not least, I have to mention all of you bloggers and readers who take an interest in my career and enjoy my work. It means everything when I receive positive feedback and I very much hope this Italian tale satisfies!

  If you loved One Summer in Rome then turn the page for an exclusive extract from The New Beginnings Coffee Club, also by Samantha Tonge…

  Prologue

  I looked at Mum and we grinned. Every time I made fairy cakes, flour somehow ended up on my face. The giveaway? Like the Easter bunny’s, my nose twitched from side to side.

  ‘Just look at the state of you, Jenny Jarvis,’ she teased and rolled her eyes. All crinkly around the edges, they looked tired. It was Easter Sunday and Mum had looked after my grandparents all weekend. They were still in bed. We’d got up early to make chocolate mini-egg cakes. They were my favourite and Mum had baked them for my last birthday, when I turned ten. I’m not a stickler for tradition, she would say, and we sometimes had turkey roast with all the trimmings, months away from Christmas. Dad said that was one of the reasons he loved her to bits. She’d always make a big batch of his favourite festive figgy puddings, so that he could also eat them in summer, autumn, and spring.

  My chest glowed as I watched her hum a cheerful song
, whilst doing the washing up. Strong. Comforting. Cuddly. Mum was like the best teddy bear in the world. I breathed in the yummy cocoa smells that wafted from the oven.

  ‘Keep beating, sweetheart – the butter and sugar won’t cream themselves.’

  As Mum hummed increasingly loudly, I bit my bottom lip and my arm moved faster. Finally the ingredients came together and the icing looked all shiny and smooth.

  She passed over a mini-egg and winked. ‘We ought to try one each – just to check they’re okay.’

  I giggled. Mum could obviously read my mind as well. I popped it into my mouth. My teeth cracked the outer shell and as the gooey insides melted across my tongue, I glanced at the clock. Nine o’clock.

  ‘Will we have time to fill the bird feeders, before Granny and Granddad come down? Those goldfinches need to keep up their strength to care for the chicks. They looked so cute, last week, hopping across the lawn after Dad mowed it.’ I gazed out of the window, to see a blue sky and sunrays lighting up the oak’s new leaves. Attached to the trunk was a bird box Mum had assembled from a kit.

  She was clever like that. Did amazing things with craft stuff and food. Worked part-time as a receptionist, at the local vet’s. The kitchen always smelt tasty and the garden overflowed with life.

  ‘Don’t worry. We’ll make sure they also get Easter treats.’ Mum brushed straggly curls out of her eyes. She didn’t wear much make-up but, I reckoned, was the prettiest person in the world. Of course, we had our fallouts. She didn’t look quite so pretty when she was cross with me for not doing my homework. And she could be annoying, like insisting I tidy my room, even though I knew exactly where I’d put everything. But Mum believed in keeping things simple. Appreciating nature. Making instead of buying. That made life fun.