by Beate Boeker
Francesca shook her head again. “I've got a glass blower training coming up. It's in Venice.”
“Well, how about afterward?”
Francesca shook her head. “I won't have time this week at all. The evening when I return, I've got a special dinner invitation by the town council. It's a project where they're putting together artists and craftspeople of different trades to see if we can inspire each other.” She put her head to the side and sighed. “Thank God I still love my job.”
“That's something to cling to,” Carlina gave her friend an encouraging nod. “And maybe there'll be an attractive craftsman at that town council dinner. Who knows?”
Francesca rolled her eyes. “Well, it's the second meeting for that project, and the first time, only three men attended. Two were not much taller than I am, and you know that I prefer hunks. The third was great, until I found out he was married with four kids.”
Carlina winced. “Ouch.”
“Yeah.” Francesca sighed, then gave herself a little shake and looked up. “Why did you say things are strained at your home at the moment? Is it your mother?”
“No, for once, it's not my mother. It's Uncle Teo. He's courting a woman some thirty years his junior. Her name is Olga Ottima.”
Francesca gave a little shriek and took one step back as if a tarantula had appeared on the stone floor in front of her. “Olga Ottima? The one who works for the Finanza?”
Carlina blanched. “The tax authorities? Are you sure it's the same Olga Ottima?”
“Trim figure, small, fiftyish, turned out like a mannequin, likes purple?”
Uneasiness clenched Carlina's stomach. “Yes.”
“Oh, Madonna.” Francesca's eyes widened. “You have to get rid of her. Immediately.”
“Why?” Carlina tried to take a calming breath, but her throat had closed.
“Because she's a spy. She gets a special bonus if she finds out about people who have not paid their taxes correctly.”
Carlina frowned. “Can the government use spies? Isn't that illegal?”
“Not paying your taxes is illegal.” Francesca's voice was dry. “They say that Olga Ottima is one of the best agents at the Finanza.”
“Agents?” The word had a faint Russian ring that chilled Carlina to the core.
“That's what they're officially called,” Francesca said.
“But how do you know all that?” Carlina clutched the edge of a shelf as she leaned against it.
Francesca gave her a pitying look. “Remember the little holiday home we had down in the South of Tuscany, near Grossetto?”
“The one you sold last year?”
“Yep. Guess why we had to sell it.”
“Not because of Olga Ottima!”
“Oh yes, very much because of her. She became friends with my mother at a sewing circle and managed to get herself invited to a week at our holiday house. When she had learned how long we had it in our possession, she reported it to the Finanza.”
“But I don't see the problem. What exactly did she report?”
“Well, first of all, the house wasn't officially registered at all. My Dad had always been afraid that they would find the house with helicopters – they do search for illegal houses like that, you know – and had planted big trees all around many years ago, but the bigger problem was the fact that he rented it out to tourists whenever we didn't use it ourselves. He always asked for the rent in cash and didn't report it to the Finanza at all.”
“Oh.” Carlina swallowed.
“Yeah. And due to that malicious Olga, the Finanza made a totally exaggerated estimate of what my Dad had earned in all those years and asked for a fantastic sum. We had no choice but to sell the house in order to come up with the money.”
“Madonna.” Carlina rubbed her bare arms to get rid of a sudden chill.
“Don't even mention her name to my Dad. He would gladly kill her if he knew how to get away with it.”
Carlina swallowed. “Right.”
“And you say she has latched onto Uncle Teo now?”
Carlina nodded. “It sure looks like it.”
“But do you know what she's looking for?”
Carlina frowned and fiddled with the hangers to her left. “No. I mean, we all live together in the family house. It's Uncle Teo's property and of course, we all pay something to maintain and keep it, but I'm not sure in how far it's all officially reported.”
“How many apartments are there again?”
“Well, on the ground floor, we have Uncle Teo's apartment and Leo's. Though Leo is just now moving into Benedetta's apartment.” Carlina smiled. “It's really sweet to see their romance.”
Francesca grimaced. “Don't talk to me about romance.”
“Sorry. Well, on the floor above Uncle Teo there's Benedetta with Annalisa and Ernesto on one side and Emma and Lucio on the other side. Benedetta and all her kids on one floor, you could say. One floor above that, we have Mama.”
“She's got the whole floor to herself?”
“Not really. The apartment on the other side is sealed off from our staircase. It opens into the house next door. It's a long-standing agreement with the owner of the house next door and the tenant. Uncle Teo once explained it to me, but I forgot what it was all about. And on the top floor, there's just me with my little place.”
“That makes seven apartments in total.” Francesca made a face. “I would be surprised if the Finanza didn't find fault with it. They usually do.”
Carlina felt sick. They had almost lost the family home a short time ago due to some investments gone wrong and ever since, she had cherished it more than before. She loved to hear the bells of the beautiful Santa Croce cathedral just around the corner, loved the smooth feeling of the banister beneath her hands whenever she used the staircase to go up to her apartment on the top floor, loved the scent of beeswax that welcomed her whenever she opened the heavy wooden door. It was home, her home. It had been the place to run to and curl up in ever since she had come from the States after the sudden death of her father when she was thirteen.
True, she now was ready to move out and create a new home for herself and Stefano – at the thought, her heartbeat accelerated – but she didn't want to lose it altogether.
Francesca broke into her thoughts. “If I were in your place, I'd try to kick her out as soon as possible. However, it won't be easy. She's like a bulldog, never gives up, and they say that she carries her grudges for decades.”
Carlina swallowed. “Well, in that case we're all done for because it seems that she had a major run-in with Mama when they were in their last year at school. They can't even stand to be in the same room together. Yesterday, Mama walked out on dinner when she discovered that Olga was joining us. Can you imagine that?”
“Wow.” Francesca stared into space for a moment, digesting the news, then she grabbed Carlina's hand and shook it fervently. “Thank you. I came here to be comforted, and it actually helped to hear that there is worse trouble than being without a significant other in your life.”
Carlina laughed. “Nicely put. Glad I could help.”
Francesca grinned. “I've got to go, but I'll call you to fix our date as soon as I have time. Maybe a hunky glass blower will be at the training. You know that I like 'em big and impressive, but if he's a glass blower, it's a given that he'll have gentle hands.” She winked at Carlina. “And you, make sure you get rid of Olga before something dreadful happens.” She blew a kiss at Carlina and flew out of the door with a wave. “Ciao!”
I have to speak to Uncle Teo. The thought troubled Carlina. She remembered Uncle Teo's happy smile as he had danced with Olga, the way he had hovered over her during breakfast the next day. He deserves better. But maybe it was all a big misunderstanding? Maybe she should first talk to Olga, find out for herself what was going on? She had barely exchanged a word with her so far. Carlina straightened and pulled back her shoulders. Yes, that's what she would do. She would go and confront Olga at the next convenie
nt moment.
“There you are, Carlina!” Fabbiola breezed through the open door. “I have to talk to you.”
“Hi Mama.” Carlina took in her mother's flowing skirt and colorful jacket. “I see you're dressed for summer already.”
“Yes. It's only the beginning of May, but the weather is perfect. Not too hot and not too cold. In fact, May is my favorite month of the year.” Fabbiola smiled at her daughter. “And I always have my best ideas in May.”
“Oh, really?” Carlina felt apprehension rising inside her. Knitting covers for statues was harmless enough. She'd hoped that this phase would last a little longer. Her mother's previous phases had often enough proved to be dynamite within the Mantoni family.
“Yes!” Fabbiola dropped her large handbag onto the low bench in front of the check-out counter and rummaged around in it. “Look here!” She took out a hand-knitted bra with a matching pair of briefs. It was done in soft rose with a white edge and looked like a mixture of a toilet roll cover and a tea cozy.
Carlina eyed the creation in dismay. “Interesting.”
“I thought you could sell it at Temptation. I'm sure it would fly out of the door. If you wish, I can produce as many as fifty sets per week, with the help of my friends. I also thought--”
“Mama.” Carlina tried to speak calmly. “I'm not sure that there is a demand for hand-knitted underwear.”
“What?” Fabbiola recoiled and stared at her daughter. “How can you say that? It's an innovation!”
“Wool is scratchy. There's a reason why few people wear wool directly on the skin.”
“But this is super fluffy wool, Carlina! It's the best of the best!”
“It's still wool.” Carlina felt desperate. How could she talk her mother out of this without hurting her feelings?
Her mother lifted her chin. “I can see why Italy is going downhill all the time. Nobody is willing to innovate. Nobody is willing to take a risk, to try something new. If it's not proven, it will not work. In the past, now, people were different. They dared to try new stuff. They didn't stay in a rut, only doing what countless people before them did. They--”
“Mama.”
“What?” Fabbiola stared at her daughter, a strand of henna-red hair across her face.
“Have you tried it?”
“Have I tried what?”
“Your underwear. Did you ever try to wear it for a whole day?”
Fabbiola looked stunned. “But no. Can't you see that it's not my size? I thought you were a professional. You should have seen--”
“Try it.”
Fabbiola gulped. “You mean I should wear it?”
“Yes. Wear it for one day, from morning till night. Then wash it and wait until it's dry. The next day, come back and tell me how it felt and what you experienced.”
Fabbiola sniffed and opened her mouth, but before she could utter a scathing word, they were interrupted by an elegantly dressed woman who came through the door of Temptation with the smooth walk of one who knows how to make an entrance.
“Buongiorno,” she said with a cool smile.
“Buongiorno,” Carlina and Fabbiola chorused.
The customer came straight to them, confident and self-assured. She addressed Carlina. “I'm looking for something a bit out of the ordinary, and I thought you'd--”
“You've come to the right place.” Fabbiola lifted the rose-colored knitted bra and thrust it underneath the woman's nose. “This is the latest trend in fashion, and I'm sure you'll agree that's it's totally unique.”
The woman glanced at the bra in front of her and wrinkled her nose. “I grant the uniqueness. As to the fashion trend . . . maybe in rural Russia?”
Fabbiola's face turned purple. “Russia? Why Russia?”
“Because people are poor in rural Russia and--”
Carlina hurried to interrupt before her customer could go into details. “We also have some other unusual choices. Why don't you follow me to the shelf over here?” She pointed to the side and prayed that her mother would not insist on discussing her knitted model any further. While she presented several choices to the customer, she heard her mother mutter something under her breath and stomp out of the door. Phew. Saved for the moment. But it seemed as if the knitting phase was not without its pitfalls. She suppressed a sigh. Who had said that anybody can deal with disaster but that your real strength appears when facing the petty details of every day life?
They might have had a point.
The rest of the day passed so quietly that Carlina started to feel anxious. The Mantoni family was a closely knit clan and didn't think anything of calling each other fifteen times a day. However, this Monday, the telephone didn't even ring once. Carlina checked both her cell and her landline repeatedly, but they worked just fine. She tried to call her mother – no answer. She tried to call Uncle Teo – no reply. Starting to feel more than a little uneasy, she also tried to get in touch with her cousin Emma and her aunt Benedetta, but got the same result. Hmm.
At long last, it was time to close the store. Carlina hurried home on her Vespa, avoiding with the ease of long practice the disoriented tourists who stumbled onto the streets with no eyes but for the beauty of the buildings. When she finally arrived home in the historical street close to the Santa Croce cathedral, she was filled with a feeling of foreboding so strong that her hands shook. Where was everybody? Out of breath, she pulled the heavy wooden doors of the Mantoni house open, only to stop dead in dismay.
Chapter 4
I
On the staircase, her cousin Ernesto sat with bowed head, both hands burrowed deep within his red hair. This was so unusual that Carlina gaped at him with her mouth open. Like every eighteen-year-old, Ernesto claimed not to care about his exterior but that didn't stop him from spending a lot of time in front of the mirror, gelling up his hair until it stood up just right. Never before had he forgotten himself enough to destroy The Look.
“Ernesto? Are you all right?”
A mute shake of the head was the answer.
“What happened?” She realized her voice sounded shrill and tried to tone it down. “Where is everybody?”
“Gone.” His voice was low.
“Gone? What do you mean, gone? It's almost time for dinner!”
“There won't be any dinner tonight.”
Carlina sank down onto the step next to him. “No dinner?” Never before had the Mantoni family omitted dinner. It was as sacred as going to church on Christmas Eve – it was a duty only to be dropped if you were dead. “Did something happen?” Her voice became a whisper.
“Olga happened.” His voice was taut.
“Olga!” Carlina controlled her anger. “What did she do?”
“She made Mama crazy.” He finally lifted his head and looked at Carlina with huge eyes. “I've never seen anything like it. Do you think Olga is possessed?”
“Possessed?”
“Yes. By a demon.” He was one hundred percent serious. “I can't believe she would spout diabolical stuff like that unless she wasn't in her right mind.”
Carlina gripped him by the shoulder. “Ernesto. You're killing me here. Can't you be a bit more specific? What did Olga do? Is anybody hurt?”
He laughed in such a bitter way that Carlina recoiled. “No, physically we're fine. Though I wouldn't bet on Olga's survival for long . . .”
Carlina clenched her teeth and shook her young cousin by the shoulder. “Ernesto. Tell. Me. Now. What happened?”
He dropped his head again into his hands. “She talked to Mama about me.”
“About you? But what can she have said about you?”
“She said that gaming corrupts the soul and destroys every basic bodily function.”
“Gaming?” Carlina's jaw dropped. “But you're not gaming. Why, have you ever even been to a casino?”
“No, of course not.” He shook his head. “I'm only gaming at the Internet Café, and you know how Mama feels about that.”
Carlina winced. “Ouch.�
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He sighed. “Yeah. Olga riled her all up until Mama couldn't decide if I would die of a 'severe heart dysfunction due to minimal bodily exertion' or would suffer from a 'total loss of all my interpersonal skills' before the year is out. I tried to calm her, but she more or less broke down, and I decided I needed to get a bit of distance.” He looked up at her and grimaced. “I couldn't really leave, though, because I thought she would worry too much if I left the house now. Would you mind going upstairs? See if you can try to talk some sense into her?”
Carlina nodded. “Sure. Don't go anywhere.” She gave her cousin an encouraging pat on the shoulder and hurried upstairs to Benedetta's apartment. Usually, Benedetta was one of the more balanced people within the Mantoni family, and Carlina didn't think it would be too difficult to calm her down. On the other hand, things must have come to a pretty bad standstill if Benedetta had not even felt up to cooking dinner.
She pushed open the door and looked into the kitchen. The doors to the balcony stood open and the soft May breeze made the curtains billow. Benedetta was alone, sitting at the kitchen table without moving, staring at her folded hands on the table. She seemed like a statue, as if frozen in shock. Her red lipstick was smeared above her the upper lip, something Carlina had never seen before.
“Benedetta!” Carlina hurried to her aunt, sat down next to her and put her arm around her aunt's taut shoulders. “What happened?” She figured it would be better if she got Benedetta's side of the story before revealing what she had heard from Ernesto.
“I've been a bad mother.” Benedetta's voice trembled.
Carlina laughed and shook her gently. “You? Never! You're a devoted mother. Who told you such nonsense?”
“Olga did.” Benedetta took a deep breath that was half a sob. “She said Ernesto would go to the dogs. If he continued to game like that, he would lose all social skills, would be cut off from real life, would never get to know a nice girl, would never have children, would--”