by Val Wood
She lifted her eyes; the draught from the open doorway was blowing the beaded curtain that hung over the middle door and it was swinging gently, one string of wooden beads slapping into another. She walked towards it. This was where the aroma came from. How strange that the scent had lasted so long. She clutched a handful of beads, holding them to her nose and opening up elusive dreams of the room beyond. This room, then, was where all her childhood memories were kept, waiting for her to set them free and give her the answers she was looking for.
She parted the curtain and slipped through. There was the bed, and a chair and a small table.
Lift me up, Papa. Her voice was a childish treble. Lift me up. He had picked her up to sit on the bed beside him. Or wait! Had someone else lifted her? A pair of steady hands. But whose? Someone who had clasped her fingers and walked with her down the hill. Someone who had taken her into the church and had sat with her hand over her eyes as if she were praying. Her? She? Gianna? A small kernel of resentment unfurled itself inside her. Had Gianna stolen her away from her father? Her beloved Papa, who had read to her whilst she was tucked beneath his arm, so cosy and secure, and who had tried to show her how to write her name. You’re named after a beautiful English lady, he had said, but she had never met anyone else with the same name. She sat down on the chair at the side of the bed and closed her eyes and tried to remember.
He’d sat with her and kissed her cheek; and then he had said, ‘I have to go on a long journey. A journey only for grownup people.’ He had explained that she couldn’t go with him. And of course now she knew why.
A tear ran down her face. He had loved her, of that she was certain. She felt the warmth of that love as she glanced round the room, the room Maria had tended over the years, leaving most things exactly as they had been before.
She could hear the whispered voices of Maria and Clara and she rose from her seat and lifted the curtain. ‘Thank you for waiting,’ she said. ‘I needed to be alone.’
‘It ees the same, yes?’ Maria asked. ‘Just as your papa said. He said, in case you came back. All but the table,’ she added. ‘He said that we might have that.’
Jewel wiped her eyes and nodded. So he did hope that one day she would come back. ‘Did you ever meet my mother?’ she asked.
‘I think not,’ Maria mused. ‘We had been ’ere only short time when we heard the bambino cry. It was the first time we heard it; it was you,’ she added, smiling. ‘But I no see your madre. I would ’ave remembered. Pinyin say you ’ave a Chinese mother.’
‘How did he know?’ Jewel asked eagerly. ‘Did he know her?’
Maria shook her head. ‘I think he saw you and know you ‘ave Chinese in you.’ She seemed embarrassed and gave a little shrug. ‘I think she die.’
How could Pinyin have seen me from next door, Jewel wondered? Did he come into the garden, and why don’t I remember him?
‘Has Pinyin always worked for you?’ she asked as they walked back to the restaurant. ‘At the shop, I mean?’
‘Si.’ Maria nodded. ‘Sometimes he work for me when I bake the bread. He come to wash the baking things and the oven. Maybe once, twice a week. We ’ave no money to pay him for more, but still he like to come. Then after your papa die and we build the restaurant he come more.’ She laughed. ‘We ’ave more money then.’
‘I think I might speak to Pinyin,’ Jewel confided in Clara as they walked back down the hill. They had said goodbye to Maria and to Lorenzo, who insisted they come back the next day as he had been too busy to have a proper conversation with them. He held tightly to Jewel’s hand before they left.
‘I mustn’t lose you again,’ he had said earnestly. ‘Promise me that you won’t disappear.’
Jewel had blushed. ‘I promise,’ she whispered, and knew with certainty that she wouldn’t.
‘Why?’ Clara asked. ‘Why do you wish to speak to Pinyin? You can’t speak to every Chinese person that you meet, Jewel, in the hope that they might have known your mother!’
‘How old do you think he might be?’Jewel asked, completely ignoring her cousin’s advice. ‘Forty, do you think? If he is,’ she went on without waiting for an answer, ‘that would make him in his twenties when he first came to work for Maria, and so he would remember me when I was a baby.’ She paused for a moment to take hold of a fence as they negotiated a particularly steep part of the hill, which they had elected to walk down rather than take a cab. ‘But I don’t remember him at all.’
‘You don’t remember Maria’s husband either,’ Clara reminded her. ‘So there’s nothing strange in that.’
‘That is true,’ Jewel agreed. ‘I recall Maria because she often fed me at their house and sometimes she brought food to ours.’ She gave a little frown as she searched her memory. ‘She – she brought dishes of pasta to Papa when he was ill, I think, and I used to eat with Renzo in their kitchen.’
Clara smiled. ‘There you are, then,’ she said softly. ‘It’s all coming back. Don’t rush the memories. Give them time. By the way,’ she added diffidently, ‘I agreed to meet Federico at the restaurant tomorrow, if you intend – erm – to be there?’
Jewel turned to her with a look of astonishment. ‘Federico? Is that the man who came across to the table?’ When Clara nodded, she said, ‘But you don’t know him, Clara! You haven’t been introduced. You don’t even know his family name.’
‘I do. It’s Cavalli. And he’s Lorenzo’s friend, isn’t he?’ Clara said defiantly. ‘So I have been introduced and it’s not as if I’m going elsewhere with him.’ She blushed. ‘I only said I would meet him to have a cup of coffee. And I agreed only because you would be there, and Mrs Galli,’ she added sheepishly.
‘Well,’ Jewel said, as they trod carefully down some steep steps and at last gained the lower pavement, ‘I suppose it will be all right. But you know, Clara, we neither of us would be meeting anybody in such circumstances unless our parents were with us, and we must remember what Papa said about never going anywhere unless together.’
‘I haven’t forgotten,’ Clara told her. ‘That’s why I agreed to meet Federico at the restaurant. I knew we’d be chaperoned there.’
Jewel gave a giggle. ‘How wayward we are!’ she said.
‘But how silly it is,’ Clara answered. ‘We are both sensible young women and know when not to take chances; besides, we often see Thomas and Dan without our parents present.’
‘Oh, but that’s different,’ Jewel declared. ‘They’re our friends and we’ve known them all our lives. We know that we’re perfectly safe with them.’
As they entered the hotel they heard a rumble and both turned back to look outside. ‘Thunder,’ Clara said. ‘Perhaps it’s going to rain.’
‘The air is heavy,’ Jewel agreed, ‘but it’s still sunny.’
Another rumble, and two large vases standing in the reception area wobbled. A bell boy rushed up to them and put a hand on each, steadying them.
‘What was that?’ Clara said. ‘Not an—’
‘Earthquake!’ Jewel said. ‘They have them often, apparently. If there’s a big one, Papa – Wilhelm – said we must go outside immediately.’
‘Goodness!’ Clara said. ‘Should we go outside now?’
‘Miss!’ The desk clerk called over to them. ‘It’s all right. It’s only a tremor. We get them frequently. Nothing to worry about. We haven’t had a big one for a long time. Not that I can remember, anyway.’
‘So is it safe to go up to our rooms?’Jewel asked him.
‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Perfectly safe.’
But they were a little apprehensive and that night they both lay very still in their beds, waiting expectantly for the beds to shake and the pictures on the wall to shift. However, nothing happened and eventually they drifted off to sleep.
The next day they took a horse cab up to the restaurant. ‘San Francisco is so huge,’ Clara said, looking about her as they moved out of the quiet street where the hotel was situated and into the busier thoroughfare. ‘I overhea
rd someone at the desk saying that it’s one of the largest cities in California. I find it quite overwhelming, and very noisy.’
‘Do you?’Jewel said. ‘I think it exhilarating! It’s exciting and lively.’ Her eyes sparkled as she spoke and Clara wondered if there was some other cause for Jewel to be so enthusiastic. Like meeting a handsome, charming Italian by the name of Lorenzo.
Lorenzo was again writing on the glass and singing as the cab drew to a halt. How happy he seems to be, Jewel thought. I’ve never heard a man singing out in the street before. He turned to greet them with a beaming smile and kissed their hands, lingering longer over Jewel’s dainty fingers, Clara thought with amusement.
‘I’ve created a special dish for luncheon,’ he declared. ‘And my mama has made a cake! It is a jewel of a cake!’
They both laughed. ‘A jewel of a cake?’Jewel asked.
‘Yes. Come and see.’
He led them into the restaurant, where cups and saucers and plates were set on a white-clothed table. In the centre was a glass cake stand with a splendid cake on it. They both bent over it.
‘Oh, look!’ Clara enthused; she was a keen cake baker, unlike Jewel, who had never made one. ‘Gemstones! Candied orange and lemon for amber, golden sultanas, angelica – what could that be? Opal perhaps? And cherries of course for rubies. How wonderful!’
‘How very kind of your mother,’Jewel said shyly.
‘Ah, she is so pleased to see you again,’ Lorenzo said, adding softly: ‘Back where you belong.’
The door behind them was pushed open and they all looked up. ‘Fed!’ Lorenzo said. ‘Didn’t expect to see you again so soon!’
Federico took off his hat and gave a slight bow to the young women. ‘I had hoped,’ he said, ‘to see these charming ladies again and guessed that they might be here. And as I was passing I thought I would look in.’
So he hadn’t told Lorenzo that he was going to call, Clara mused. Why was that, I wonder?
‘I’m about to make coffee,’ Lorenzo said. ‘Perhaps you’d like to stay and also enjoy a piece of special cake?’
‘Indeed I would.’ Federico threw his hat on to the hat stand and came to greet Clara and Jewel. ‘Mm.’ He sniffed appreciatively. ‘Fruit cake. Maria’s speciality.’
They sat down and Maria came in to slice the cake. Jewel thanked her for her generosity. Maria patted her on the shoulder and said it was the least she could do to show how pleased she was to see her. ‘To see both of you.’ She included Clara within her big smile.
‘I was thinking.’ Federico stretched his long legs. ‘How would the ladies like to take a ride along the coast? I’ve got the buggy outside and it’s a lovely day now that the fog has lifted. Perhaps we could take a picnic?’
‘You know I can’t get away during lunchtime,’ Lorenzo told him. ‘Not all of us exist only for pleasure.’ His tone, though jocular, had a slight edge to it. ‘Some of us work for a living.’ He disappeared into the kitchen to make the coffee.
Clara glanced curiously at Federico. Surely he must do something with his time? Yet he couldn’t have a regular commitment, she thought, as he hadn’t hesitated over the suggestion of coming to meet her this morning.
‘Do you have a profession, Mr – Federico?’ she asked, and added with an engaging smile: ‘Or are you a gentleman of leisure?’
He nodded and grinned. ‘That’s what I am, much to the chagrin of my friends.’
Clara raised her eyebrows but said nothing. It was neither her business nor polite to enquire about his fortune.
‘Federico is very rich,’ Maria said, putting a slice of cake on each plate and handing them round, first to Jewel, then to Clara and lastly to Federico. ‘But not by his own hand. His papa give ’im too much money. It make ’im lazy.’
The two girls were astonished by her openness. It was not done in their social circle to talk about money in such a lax way.
Federico shrugged and took a bite of cake. He blew a kiss to Maria. ‘Delicious,’ he mumbled. ‘One of your best.’
The cake was moist and fruity, and tasted of rum. Lorenzo brought the coffee to the table.
‘So you can’t come?’ Federico said. ‘That’s a pity.’ He glanced at Clara and then Jewel and smiled. ‘This is a beautiful coastline. If we can’t persuade Lorenzo to leave his dishes, perhaps I might be permitted to escort you myself?’
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
There was an awkward silence. Jewel broke it with an apology. ‘Thank you very much but I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘Lorenzo has invited us to have lunch, and we have accepted. Perhaps some other time, when he is free?’
Clara leaned forward. ‘I’m curious,’ she said. ‘Is a buggy large enough to hold four passengers? In England a buggy is a two-wheeled vehicle, like a gig or a curricle.’
‘No ma’am,’ Federico said. ‘A buggy such as mine is a four-wheeled surrey. It’s quite new, well upholstered, and has a canopy to keep the sun off the passengers. It’s outside if you’d care to take a look.’ There was a touch of pride in his voice which was apparent to everyone.
‘You can go,’ Maria said suddenly to Lorenzo. ‘I can manage. Pinyin will help me.’
Lorenzo opened his mouth to protest, but Clara spoke first. ‘Excuse me, but couldn’t we go after lunch?’ she suggested. ‘Lorenzo has said that he’s making a special meal in Jewel’s honour.’
Lorenzo looked at her gratefully and glanced at Federico. ‘You can stay and eat with us.’
Federico appeared doubtful; he looked as if he was used to having his own way, but then he said, ‘Well, thanks. That would be really good.’ He pushed back his seat. ‘Excuse me. I’ll just check that the mare is secure.’ He grinned. ‘Don’t want her setting off home without me!’
Lorenzo cooked a delicious meal for the four of them, his mother declining to eat but insisting she served. They started with a small plate of prawns tucked into a thin pastry parcel on a bed of spinach. Then Maria brought in a large dish of just tender fettuccini pasta in which Lorenzo had tossed thin strips of succulent chicken breast, garlic, herbs, red pepper and a creamy white wine sauce, topped with grated Parmesan cheese. He then served Jewel and Clara and invited Federico to help himself.
‘Delicious!’ Jewel said, wiping her mouth on a crisp white table napkin. ‘I remember eating pasta with you, Lorenzo, when we were children, but I don’t recall it tasting like this.’ She put her hand over her mouth as she realized that Maria might think her remark a slight on her cooking.
Maria lifted her hands. ‘No!’ she exclaimed. ‘I no cook like this for bambinos. Only pasta with butter or olive. Or mushroom, or basil sauce.’
‘I’d never eaten pasta before I came here,’ Clara said. ‘It’s lovely.’
‘Tch!’ Maria said. ‘It is peasant food.’
They finished the meal with a board of different cheeses, and then were brought a plate of crisp biscotti made with almonds and pistachio nuts, which Maria urged Jewel and Clara to dip into small glasses of sweet wine.
Pinyin, in the meantime, had been clearing dishes from their table, and although he kept his eyes lowered Jewel felt that they were straying towards her. I must speak to him, she thought. He might have known my mother, or met her at some time. She resolved to have a conversation with him as soon as she could. Perhaps, she mused, he could advise me, and maybe better than Sun Sen or his father.
Federico seemed anxious for them to take the drive as soon as they were finished. At his mother’s insistence that he should take the afternoon off, Lorenzo changed into a jacket and donned a cream panama hat, which Jewel thought very dashing.
‘Will you come and sit up front with me, Miss Clara?’ Federico asked. ‘Plenty of room for two!’
She agreed that she would and he helped her up, then, sitting beside her, took the reins whilst Lorenzo assisted Jewel into the buggy, giving her a smile which made her feel very warm inside. She knew that she wouldn’t want to take her leave of him and go back to England. Whatever am I thi
nking of? How can I have such ideas? Papa and Mama would be devastated if I didn’t go home.
Federico drove them back down into the heart of the city, turned towards the bay and then climbed once again to show them the view from the topmost height possible.
‘What a sight, eh?’ he said. ‘There’s nowhere to beat it. Just take a look at those ships. They come in from all over the world.’
‘We live in a port town,’ Clara ventured and suddenly felt homesick. ‘Not as large as this by any means, of course, and we don’t have hills like these, or such a view, but—’
Federico turned and flashed a smile. ‘You’ll never want to go home, Miss Clara, not after being here in this wonderful city.’
‘Oh, but I will,’ she remonstrated. ‘Of course I will! There’s nowhere quite like home.’
She turned, expecting Jewel to back her up, but Jewel was not even looking at the view. Her eyes were cast down and her hand was being clasped in Lorenzo’s.
Goodness, Clara thought. Is Jewel falling in love? Whatever will we do?
They got out on a grassy area to gaze at the view and Federico, with one hand holding the reins, put the other on Clara’s shoulder. ‘See that clipper out there?’ he murmured in her ear.
‘Yes indeed,’ she said. ‘The three-masted. It’s a fine ship.’ She put her hand to her forehead, both to shade her eyes and to edge away from such close proximity. ‘Built for speed and originally to transport tea from Asia.’
‘Oh!’ he said. ‘You know about ships, do you?’
‘As I said,’ she was now convinced that he hadn’t listened to her, ‘we live in a port town. My home overlooks the Old Harbour which leads into the biggest dock in England.’ Then she took pity on his crestfallen expression and added, ‘The ships there are not so numerous as here, and are mostly fishing vessels, trawlers, barges, schooners and the like. But the transport ships come in from all over the world. And we export our wool and import cotton. It’s a very busy commercial port, but for passenger ships we mainly travel to Liverpool or London.’