Three Gold Coins

by Josephine Moon

  A long time.

  And this was a crazy thing to even think about, because the man was only buying her an ice cream. No one had mentioned anything about sex. Not everything had to lead to sex. The ‘rules’, if there were any, might be totally different here from back at home. Ice cream was just ice cream, wasn’t it?

  ‘What flavour?’ Matteo asked. The white-aproned attendant behind the freezer case had his metal scoop at the ready.

  ‘Tiramisu, per favore,’ she said.

  ‘Vaniglia, per favore,’ Matteo said.

  They took their cones into the street, the gelato already melting. Lara sat on a stone wall, peering down into the piazza below. The market-day stalls filled the space, with pop-up tents and a classical guitarist in the centre serenading the people. One stallholder was selling zucche—pumpkins. But his pumpkins were like nothing she’d ever seen before. Each basket on his trestle table held a different type. The one closest to her had palm-sized dark orange ones, like miniature jack-o’-lanterns. There were pure white ones, also palm-sized, and yellow-and-green-striped ones. Yellow ones in the shape of pears, with white pinstripes. There were even bright red ones, like capsicums.

  ‘I never knew pumpkins could look like that,’ she said between licks and slurps of her completely wonderful gelato. ‘This is so great,’ she said, indicating her ice cream.

  Matteo swung his legs so that his heels kicked the stone wall, reinforcing her feeling of being a teenager and ‘going around’ with a boy after school.

  Maybe this was what love did? Made you feel young.

  Listen to yourself. What she was feeling was not love, just the sweeping, romantic magic of Tuscany that had seduced her with a beautiful and charming life that was spontaneous and full of possibility. Either that or she was on the edge of a new upswing of a mania episode.

  ‘I know vanilla is boring,’ Matteo said, licking his lips, ‘but it makes me think of being a boy on holiday with the family down by the sea, all of us hot and exhausted after swimming all day, our skin burnt and our feet blistered from the hot sand.’

  See! She wasn’t the only one feeling too young for her body right now.

  After their ice creams, they found a small shop with cured meats, olives and cheeses, which also happened to sell some everyday grocery items. She managed to buy fresh chicken breasts for her recipe, along with cream, sun-dried tomatoes, garlic and spinach leaves. Matteo translated to help her get bottled chicken stock and a wedge of parmigiana cheese.

  When they were back out on the street, the large belltower above the basilica began to peal a call to Mass. Lara pulled out her phone to snap photos of the church to send to the kids. Matteo was relaxed beside her, seeming to enjoy the sights and sounds as much as she did, rather than fidgeting and wanting to move on.

  ‘W-w-would you l-l-like to come to my mamma’s place with me?’ he asked quietly. ‘I am going there for dinner.’

  Lara put her phone away to look at him. His eyes searched hers, a soft vulnerability in them that made her heart melt. She held up her bag of groceries. ‘What about my chicken?’

  Matteo smiled. ‘I love a girl who loves her chickens. We have a saying here—I know my chickens.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘It means when you know someone so well that you finish their sentences, or know what they’re thinking. Like an old married couple.’

  ‘That’s cute.’

  ‘Come,’ he said, and held out his hand for her bag. ‘We’ll put your chicken in Mamma’s fridge.’

  Matteo’s mamma lived in a casa just outside the hubbub of the village centre, overgrown gardens and bushes surrounding it and a bit of land at the back, from what Lara could see. Fields of crops lay in the distance. At two storeys tall, with peaked roofs and terracotta tiles, the casa was the same shape as Samuel’s villa, just a lot smaller. Its outside walls revealed its origins, Matteo explained.

  ‘This would have been a poor person’s house,’ he said, touching the yellowish wall fondly. The rows of bricks were interspersed with mud, branches and sticks. Lara surmised that the people who’d built it had simply needed a house and had pulled together whatever they could find. It was a testament to tenacity, bringing together scraps to build something solid, which was how she felt sometimes, having to knit back together the torn pieces of her mind and heart. She found it inspiring, and touched the wall, running her fingertips over the bumps and lumps, feeling the lingering warmth of the day.

  Matteo moved to a short add-on adjoining the house at a right angle. He pulled on the handle of a large metal plate that sat on a ledge of about waist height. The metal scraped over the bricks as he removed it. Behind it was a deep opening. Lara bent down to peer inside.

  ‘This was the oven they used to bake their b-b-bricks,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, wow.’ She couldn’t begin to imagine having to build her own house from scratch, let alone baking the actual bricks to do it.

  ‘Good for pizza now.’ Matteo smiled, putting the metal plate back in place.

  ‘You cook in there? Wood-fired pizzas?’

  ‘All the time,’ he said, dusting his hands off against each other.

  ‘Matteo?’ a woman’s voice called from the other side of the wall.

  ‘Sì, Mamma,’ Matteo replied, and raised his eyebrows at Lara. ‘Come,’ he said, indicating over his shoulder with his head. ‘This way.’

  Lara followed him, the plastic bag of chicken rustling as she walked. As they went up the two small steps and through the open door of the house, Lara could hear multiple voices inside.

  Matteo began to call out in Italian and she followed him down a hallway lined with bunches of flowers and herbs hanging upside down from hooks on the walls. She couldn’t see past him until they entered the kitchen, which fanned out in a circular fashion.

  Several people sat around a large wooden table, and every one of them stopped talking when Matteo and Lara entered. Lara frantically tried to take them all in and piece together who they might be.

  There were two white-haired men over near the gas stovetop, both nursing glasses of red wine. To their right was a woman of around Eliza’s age, with bright red hair in a bun, bright red lipstick to match, and a piece of cheese in her hand. There was another woman around the same age, black hair with a streak of white through the front, one arm leaning on the table, the other hand in midair as though she was partway through a story. A small girl of maybe six in a pretty pink dress sat playing on an iPad.

  Beside Lara, Matteo stopped short. Sitting in front of him was the long-legged supermodel that had appeared at the goat barn the other morning. She turned to face him and flashed a wide smile, which gave way to a steely stare when she caught sight of his guest.

  Lara waved a hand feebly, her plastic bag of chicken rustling.

  No one said a word.

  15

  Matteo, although clearly surprised to find the supermodel at the table, recovered himself quickly.

  ‘Buonasera a tutti. Vi presento Lara,’ Matteo said, putting his hand lightly on her back. ‘She’s f-f-from Australia. She helps Samuel. She is his new badante.’

  At the sound of Samuel’s name, the woman with the white streak in her hair lifted her chin, set her jaw and crossed her arms.

  Matteo addressed Lara. ‘This is my mamma, Lucia.’

  ‘Hi,’ Lara said, a little too brightly. Lucia was Samuel’s niece and she eyed Lara sternly.

  ‘Th-th-this is Mamma’s friend Gilberta, and her husband, Mario.’ This was the woman with the bright red hair who, thankfully, gave Lara a huge warm smile, and the man closest to her, who raised his glass of wine in greeting. Okay, not too bad there.

  ‘This is Costantino, a family friend, and his g-g-graaanddaughter, Teresa.’ A nod from Costantino and a shy smile from the young girl on the iPad.

  ‘And this is Alessandra.’ The supermodel’s chest was rising and falling in angry breaths beneath her sunflower-yellow strappy dress. She flicked her long, glossy
hair off her shoulder, completely ignored Lara and spoke-shouted in Italian at Matteo.

  The others at the table shifted in discomfort, while Lucia pursed her lips and nodded along in agreement with Alessandra’s words. Clearly, Lara was unexpected and unwanted, at least by the mother and the girlfriend. At least, that’s what Lara assumed Alessandra must be. She was certainly acting that way. Whatever was going on, Lara was stuck here for now; Matteo was her ride home.

  Matteo held up his hand to Alessandra, who had risen from her chair to better enunciate with her hands. He turned to Lara. ‘Scusa, for a moment.’

  ‘Sure,’ she said, trying not to make eye contact with the elegant, fire-breathing beast in front of her.

  Matteo reached out and took Alessandra by the wrist and drew her from the kitchen.

  As Lucia appeared to have forgotten her manners, her friend Gilberta stepped in. ‘Please, Lara, come have a seat. Tell us about you.’ She’d half risen from her chair, leaning across the table and indicating the free seat next to the little girl.

  Lara sat down gingerly. ‘Thanks, er, I mean, grazie, grazie,’ she said.

  What the hell was going on here? Why did Matteo bring her here if it was going to cause such unpleasantness? She couldn’t see how this could possibly end well.

  And also, she still had chicken in her hand.

  Gilberta looked down at the plastic bag Lara was clutching.

  ‘Oh,’ Lara said. ‘I’m very sorry, but I am wondering if I might borrow your fridge?’ She pointed helpfully to the fridge in the corner. ‘Chicken,’ she said, indicating the bag. Then, remembering the right word, ‘Pollo.’

  ‘Ah!’ Gilberta translated for Lucia as she reached over the table for the bag, which Lara gladly handed over.

  The two men in the corner resumed their conversation, perhaps bored with all this carry-on. Lucia went to the stove, lifted the lid from a pot and began to stir with a wooden spoon. It smelled like vegetables of some sort; Lara hazarded a guess that it might be lentils. That would be good if she was to stay for dinner. This awkward situation would have been much worse if there had been something like a baby pig in that pot.

  ‘Are you here long time?’ Gilberta asked kindly, sitting herself back at the table.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Lara said, distracted for a moment, wondering what Sunny was doing right now, wondering if she needed help. She forced herself to focus, and smiled; at least Gilberta was trying. ‘No return ticket to Australia yet,’ she clarified.

  ‘You will fall in love with Italy,’ Gilberta said dreamily. ‘You will not want to go home. These Tuscan hills are alive with dreams.’

  Lucia crashed the lid back onto the pot, making Lara jump.

  ‘Italy is beautiful,’ Lara agreed. ‘I haven’t seen much yet, but I’ve loved all of it.’

  ‘Ah…’ Gilberta sighed, her eyes going bright. ‘You must forgive me; I am easy tears,’ she said, wiping at them.

  ‘I am too,’ Lara said, recognising a kindred spirit in Gilberta.

  Gilberta put her hand on her husband’s shoulder and Mario reached up and patted it, while continuing his conversation with Costantino. ‘These days I just take photos of the hills but once I used to dance across them. I used to be on the stage, singing, dancing, acting,’ she whispered, a nostalgic smile on her red lips.

  ‘Really?’ Lara was instantly charmed and felt even more kinship with the woman.

  ‘Oh yes,’ Gilberta said. ‘They were the wonder years of my life.’

  Lucia came and sat back down, pushing a glass of water across the table at Lara.

  ‘Oh, grazie,’ Lara said, eager to connect with Matteo’s mother too. But Lucia was already leaning over to Teresa, talking to the girl about the puzzle she was doing on her iPad.

  ‘And what about you?’ Gilberta said. ‘What you do for work?’

  ‘Many years ago, I did a bit of acting too,’ Lara said.

  ‘No!’ Gilberta said, smiling at the coincidence and placing her hand on her heart. ‘But that is fanatical!’

  Lara assumed she meant fantastic.

  ‘Some days it was,’ she agreed, thinking back to the days of tight schedules, unruly children, quick-fire costume changes and cheesy but catchy song lyrics. The thing about being on the stage was that it forced her to be in the moment. There was a welcome sense of escape—total freedom to inhabit the role of someone other than herself. It was a relief not to be her. ‘But those jobs finished.’ Because of Dave. ‘And then I did a few different things, and lately I’ve been managing rental houses. Real estate work.’

  ‘Ah,’ Gilberta said, frowning a little. Lara wasn’t sure if she totally understood, but it would do for now. ‘And are you married?’ Gilberta asked, nodding towards Lara’s left hand, which was tucked under her right.

  Lara pulled it out and held it up to show Gilberta. ‘Not married.’ Lucia glanced up to check for a wedding ring too, she noted. ‘And no children,’ Lara said, to forestall the next question. Without warning, her eyes grew misty.

  ‘Oh, tesoro,’ Gilberta said, her hand flying to her heart again. She reached across the table. ‘Bambini will come when they come.’

  Lara nodded, embarrassed, swiping at her eyes with the back of her hand.

  Lucia had paused to watch Lara and shifted in her seat. Lara supposed she was unsettled by her guest’s brief but startling emotion.

  Then Gilberta tapped her husband’s arm with the back of her hand, instructing by the sound of it and gesturing to Lara, and he nodded. She patted Lara’s hand, then withdrew her bosom and arms from where they’d lain on the table while she’d dispensed comfort, sitting up straight once more. She winked at Lara. ‘It is time for aperitifs,’ she said. ‘The men will get.’ Then she reclined in her chair with her hands knitted on top of her belly.

  The men got up and began to pull glasses from a cupboard with a stained-glass door. Lara took her moment to excuse herself and look for a bathroom, not so much because she needed to go but because she needed a break from the intensity of the room. She was hoping to run into Matteo somewhere along the way, but there was no sight or sound of either him or Alessandra.

  In the bathroom, which had a small bathtub with rusting edges and many shelves of lotions, potions and perfumes, she splashed her face with water and checked her reflection. She pulled off the hairtie and ran wet hands through her curls to give them some bounce. She put on fresh lipstick and wiped away a few smudges of mascara. Then she pulled out her phone to send a text to Samuel, just to check if he was okay—she wanted him to be okay, of course, but if for some reason he wasn’t, it would be a great excuse to go home early. She needed to get out of here.

  His answer: I’m fine. So that ended that chance to escape.

  She tried Hilary. It would be midnight in Australia, but the chances of Hilary being up were still good. She was an avid reader, and the only time she got to read uninterrupted was the middle of the night.

  The goat man took me home to meet his mamma

  and have dinner. Now has disappeared with

  gazelle-like model creature and I’m stuck

  hiding in the toilet in hostile territory. Help!

  Hilary wasted no time in replying.

  Grab the wine and the cheese (because

  I just KNOW there will be wine and

  cheese—it’s ITALY, right??) and run as fast

  as you can! The goat man doesn’t deserve

  you xx

  Lara was startled by the sound of a feisty argument going on outside in the garden. Listening, she thought she recognised Matteo’s voice in the fray. She put down the wooden toilet seat and climbed on top to peek out of the small window high above, knowing it was totally inappropriate but also desperate to see what was happening. Standing on tiptoe, gripping the stone windowsill with her fingertips, she could just see Matteo and Alessandra seated on a stone bench under a large tree, surrounded by purple and white flowers waving in the breeze. Unable to follow the rapid Italian, or even intuit by
tone of voice—she’d realised that even a normal conversation in Italy could sound like an argument—she had nothing to go on but body language.

  Matteo was half facing Alessandra, one arm resting on the back of the bench seat, his knees pointing in her direction and the other hand gesticulating as he spoke. Alessandra was more upright, her tanned knees together, her legs crossed at the ankles. She had her hands clasped together at her chest as if praying, or pleading.

  Lara’s fingers slipped on the edge of the sill and a fingernail bent backwards. She lowered herself, swearing viciously till the pain subsided, turned the nail back the way it was supposed to go, then gripped it tightly to ease the pain. It probably served her right for spying.

  A warm breeze puffed in through the window, lifting the white cotton curtains across the top of her head. She climbed up again to give it one more go.

  Out on the bench, Alessandra was crying now. Lara could hear her sobs and saw her wiping her face. She felt a pang of pity for the woman but a small moment of victory too, something she wasn’t proud of.

  This was crazy! She barely knew Matteo. He owed her nothing. In fact, they were nothing. Nothing at all. This was just some whirlwind crush, and whatever was happening between those two had been going on for a lot longer than she’d even been in the country.

  And Lara didn’t even want to entertain the idea of romance. Okay, she actually might want to but she shouldn’t, especially not in a foreign country and especially when it was only a temporary stay.

  But just as she was about to step down again and start behaving like an adult, Matteo reached out his hand and cupped Alessandra’s face. She nuzzled her cheek into it like a cat. And then she pulled him to her and kissed him.

  Lara whimpered and dropped down onto her heels so she was facing the stone wall. She took a breath, then carefully climbed off the toilet seat. She smoothed her dress, and held her head high as she returned to the kitchen, where a huge platter of olives, sun-dried tomatoes, capers, crackers, cheeses and dried fruit had been placed in the middle of the table.