Antonia caught sight of four-year-old Ella looking in distress at her mother. She called out for Luca, who appeared at the door. ‘Take Ella down to the kitchen and find her something to eat while I talk to your sister,’ she murmured. ‘God only knows what has happened.’
Luca looked at Carlotta. Her distraught face told him only one story.
Antonia took out her handkerchief and wiped her brow as she bustled her daughter into the bedroom. ‘Dear me, it’s too hot to have such problems today.’
‘I’m sorry. I won’t stay for long.’ Carlotta sank onto the bed and Antonia sat down heavily next to her. ‘Are you all right, Mamma? You look sick.’
‘Yes, I’m fine. It’s only the heat. Please, Carlotta, tell me what’s happened. You and Giulio have had a bad argument, yes?’
‘Yes.’
‘You mustn’t worry.’ Antonia embraced her daughter. ‘All husbands and wives argue. Your papa and I used to do it all the time. Now we don’t have the energy.’ She gave a tight laugh. ‘When you’ve slept a little, you’ll feel calmer. Then you can go back to Giulio and make it up.’
‘No, Mamma. I can never go back. Giulio and me, we are over. Forever.’
‘But why? What have you done?’
Carlotta turned her head away from her mother and began to sob.
Sighing, Antonia heaved herself from the bed. ‘Get some rest, Carlotta. We’ll talk later.’
Rosanna was surprised to find a small lump in her bed when she returned home from choir practice that evening. Her niece, Ella, was fast asleep in it, so she left the bedroom quietly and walked along the narrow corridor to the sitting room. The door was closed but she could hear her parents talking.
‘I don’t know what has happened, Marco. She won’t say anything. She’s downstairs now talking to Luca. Maybe he can get some sense out of her. I’ve tried calling Giulio at their apartment, but there’s no reply.’
‘She must return to her husband, of course. It’s where she belongs. I will tell her that.’ Marco sounded furious.
‘Please, leave her alone tonight. She’s distraught,’ Antonia pleaded.
Rosanna pushed the door open. ‘What’s happened?’ she asked.
‘Your sister has left her husband and she and Ella will be staying here for a few days. You, Rosanna, can sleep in here on the sofa.’ Antonia’s breath was coming in short, sharp bursts. She stood up slowly.
‘Are you all right, Mamma?’ Rosanna said, going towards her.
‘I . . . I’m fine.’ Antonia stood, staggering a little as she regained her balance. ‘I must go downstairs. I need some air.’ She fanned herself violently as she lumbered from the room.
‘Papa, why has Carlotta left Giulio? I—’
There was a sudden heavy thump from the stairs.
Marco and Rosanna rushed out of the sitting room together and into the corridor. They saw Antonia lying at the bottom of the stairs leading to the café.
‘Mamma mia! Antonia! Antonia!’ Marco hurried down the stairs to his wife’s prone body and knelt by it, Rosanna following close behind him.
‘Run for the doctor, quickly!’ her father screamed at her. ‘Get Luca and Carlotta.’
Rosanna hurried through the deserted café and into the kitchen. Luca was standing with his arms round Carlotta, comforting her as she sobbed on his shoulder.
‘Hurry! Mamma’s collapsed on the stairs! I’m going for the doctor!’ Rosanna called before she opened the door and ran off along the cobbled street.
Carlotta and Luca found Antonia lying on the stairs, her head thrown back onto the tiled floor at the bottom. There was blood seeping from a wound underneath her thick hair and her skin was grey, her eyes partially open. Carlotta knelt down next to her and searched for a pulse.
‘Is she . . . ?’ Marco, standing over his wife, could not finish the sentence. ‘Let us try to at least make her more comfortable,’ suggested Luca desperately.
Father and son managed to half-carry, half-drag Antonia off the stairs and into the café while Carlotta fetched a pillow for her head.
Rosanna returned with the doctor an agonising fifteen minutes later.
‘Please tell me she is not gone. Not my Antonia, not my wife,’ Marco moaned. ‘Please save her, doctor.’
Luca, Carlotta and Rosanna watched in silence as the doctor listened through his stethoscope to Antonia’s heart, then felt her pulse. When he looked up, they all saw the answer in his eyes.
‘I’m so sorry, Marco,’ the doctor said, shaking his head. ‘I believe Antonia has suffered a heart attack. There’s nothing more we can do for her now. We must send for don Carlo immediately.’
‘The priest!’ Marco stared at the doctor in disbelief, then knelt down and buried his face in Antonia’s lifeless shoulder. He began to cry. ‘I am nothing, nothing without her. Oh amore mio, my love, my love . . .’
The three children looked on silently, each one of them in shock, unable to move.
The doctor packed his stethoscope back into his bag and stood up. ‘Rosanna, go and fetch Don Carlo. We will stay here and make your mamma ready.’
Rosanna gave a whimper, then, clenching her fists to stop herself breaking down completely, she stood up and walked out of the café.
‘What’s happened? Why is Nonno crying?’ Ella appeared on the stairs.
‘Come with Mamma, Ella, and I will explain what has happened.’ Carlotta climbed the stairs to Ella and steered her young daughter gently back up them.
‘Luca, I think it best if you lock the front door of the café until Don Carlo arrives. I’m sure you would not wish for customers now,’ said the doctor.
‘Of course.’ Luca walked shakily towards the front door and turned the key. Marco was now holding his wife’s hand in his lap, stroking it as he sobbed uncontrollably. Luca returned and knelt down next to him, putting an arm round Marco’s hunched shoulders. Tears began to fall down his own cheeks. He reached out a hand and gently stroked his mother’s forehead.
Marco looked up at Luca, the agony visible in his eyes. ‘I have nothing without her, nothing.’
Two days later, don Carlo held a private requiem Mass for the family. Then Antonia’s body lay overnight in the church she had attended all of her life. The following morning, her friends and relatives filled the church for her funeral. Rosanna sat in the front pew between Luca and Ella, her black lace veil obscuring the coffin containing her mother’s body. Marco held Carlotta’s hand and wept inconsolably all through the service and at the burial. They made their way back to the café afterwards, where Luca and Rosanna had worked hard to put on a fitting spread for their mamma’s wake.
Hours later, when the guests had finally left, the Menici family sat in the café, still numb with shock. Marco sat silently, staring into space, until Carlotta gently helped him up from his chair.
‘You two clear up down here,’ she ordered. ‘I’ll take Papa upstairs.’
‘Do we open the café tomorrow, Papa?’ asked Luca quietly as Marco walked slowly towards the stairs.
He turned round and looked desolately at his son. ‘Do as you wish.’ Then he followed Carlotta up the stairs like an obedient child.
When Luca reopened the café a day later, Marco did not come down to help him. He remained upstairs in the sitting room, silently staring at his wife’s photograph, with Carlotta by his side.
‘Another two pizza margheritas and one “special”,’ Rosanna said as she opened the door to the kitchen and slammed the order onto the spike.
‘It’ll be at least twenty minutes, Rosanna. I have eight orders ahead of that one,’ sighed Luca.
Rosanna grabbed two pizzas and put them on a tray to carry into the café. ‘Maybe Papa will come back to work soon. And Carlotta might help us.’
‘I hope so, I really do,’ grunted Luca.
It was past midnight before Rosanna and Luca were able to sit down in the kitchen and eat their own supper.
‘Here, have some wine. We both deserve it.’ Luca poure
d some Chianti into two glasses and passed one to Rosanna.
They ate and drank silently, too exhausted to speak. When they’d finished, Luca lit a cigarette.
‘Can you open the door, Luca? Luigi says cigarette smoke is terribly bad for my voice,’ asked Rosanna.
‘Excuse me, Signorina Diva!’ Luca raised an eyebrow and went to open the back door. ‘Talking of such things, when is your soirée at Signor Vincenzi’s?’
‘It’s in two weeks’ time, but I can’t see Papa coming now. And anyway, what’s the point?’ she said, further despair washing over her. ‘With Mamma gone and Papa unable to work, I’ll be needed here in the café.’
‘If he doesn’t return tomorrow, I must advertise for some help. I doubt I can persuade Carlotta to wait on tables.’
‘Do you know what’s happened between her and Giulio?’ Rosanna asked. ‘With Mamma dead, I would have thought Giulio would have at least come to the funeral to pay his last respects. Poor Carlotta – her husband and now Mamma. She looks like a ghost,’ she sighed.
‘Yes, she’s certainly been punished for making a mistake,’ he replied.
‘What mistake, Luca?’
‘Oh, nothing you need to know about.’ Luca ground out his cigarette underfoot and closed the kitchen door.
‘I wish everyone would stop treating me like a child! I’m seventeen soon. Why won’t you tell me what has happened?’
‘Well, if you wish to act as an adult, then you must think of your own future, Rosanna,’ Luca countered. ‘Mamma’s death changes nothing.’
‘It changes everything, Luca. Papa will never, ever let me go to Milan now Mamma’s gone.’
‘Rosanna, one step at a time: let’s first try to persuade him to come and hear you sing. I think it might do him good to get out and take some pride in his talented daughter.’
‘Do you think it’s right to be making plans for the future so soon after Mamma has gone?’ Rosanna queried guiltily. ‘I don’t feel like singing.’
‘Of course you don’t. But you must, Rosanna,’ Luca urged. ‘All these years you’ve been going to Luigi and this is your big chance to make your dream come true. Carlotta can manage the café for one night. I’ll ask Massimo and Maria Rossini to come and help her.’
‘You know, Luca,’ Rosanna confessed quietly, ‘I think I should feel more sad about Mamma than I do. But I just feel numb, here.’ She indicated her chest.
‘Of course you do, it’s the shock. None of us can believe she’s gone. But keeping busy helps, I think. And always remember, Rosanna, that Mamma would want the best for you. Now, I think it’s time for us to get some sleep. We have another long day tomorrow. Come, piccolina.’
Rosanna followed Luca wearily out of the kitchen.
6
‘So, you will perform the aria as if you are singing it in front of the audience.’
Rosanna nodded and walked into the middle of the music room. The soft notes of the piano drifted across to her and she began to sing. When she’d finished, she noticed Luigi staring at her thoughtfully.
‘Rosanna, have you a problem?’
‘No . . . I . . . why?’
‘Because your vocal cords sound as if they are constricted by a python. Come, sit down.’
Rosanna crossed the room and sat on the piano stool next to Luigi.
‘Is it your mamma?’ he asked her gently.
Rosanna nodded. ‘Yes, and also because . . . because . . .’
‘Because what?’
‘Luigi, it’s pointless me singing for your friend at the soirée. I can’t possibly go to Milan to study now.’ Rosanna let out a sob.
‘And why is that?’
‘Mamma’s gone and Papa will need me to fill her place. Now I’ve left school, he’ll want me to work in the café and take care of him. I can’t leave him alone, I can’t. I’m his daughter.’
‘I see.’ Luigi nodded. ‘Well then, when you sing here on Tuesday night, you have nothing to lose, do you?’
‘I suppose not.’ Rosanna found her handkerchief and blew her nose.
‘Is your papa coming to hear you?’ asked Luigi.
‘No, I don’t think he will. He hardly comes downstairs to the café anymore.’
Luigi’s wise eyes surveyed Rosanna. ‘You know, there are some things in life that are beyond our control. Sometimes, we must leave it to destiny. But all I can say is, if you sing as you usually do with me, you may be surprised at the result.’ Luigi planted a fond kiss on top of Rosanna’s head. ‘So, let the fates decide. Now, we go again.’
The following Tuesday, Rosanna took the bus up to Luigi’s villa. Ironically, given the heaviness of her heart, it was a perfect balmy evening, the setting sun casting a rosy glow over Naples as she stared listlessly out of the bus window. Carlotta had agreed to run the café for the evening and Maria and Massimo were going to lend a hand. As Rosanna walked up to the Villa Torini, she thought sadly how she was wearing the same black dress she’d worn to her mother’s funeral. She doubted she’d see her father in the audience. When Luca had told Papa he was taking him to hear Rosanna sing, he’d ignored his son, not seeming to hear what he was saying.
‘Come in, Rosanna.’ Luigi greeted her at the front door. He seemed different and very distinguished in his dinner jacket and bow tie. ‘You look beautiful,’ he said approvingly as he led her into the music room. The French windows were thrown open, held in place by two large floral decorations, and on the terrace beyond stood several rows of seats.
‘See.’ Luigi guided Rosanna into the centre of the room. ‘This is where you will stand to sing. Now, come and meet your fellow performers.’
Six other singers were chatting nervously in the drawing room. They stopped talking as Luigi and Rosanna entered.
‘This is Rosanna Menici. She will be singing last. Rosanna, help yourself to refreshments.’ Luigi pointed to a table laden with large jugs of lemonade and platters of antipasti. ‘I must now go and greet my guests.’
Rosanna sat down in a leather chair in the corner. The other performers resumed chatting to each other, but she was too nervous to join in.
She heard the doorbell ring again and again and the soft murmur of voices as the guests passed the drawing room on their way to the terrace.
Luigi put his head round the door.
‘Five minutes, ladies and gentlemen,’ he announced. ‘Signora Rinaldi will come to collect you. Once you have each finished your performance, you may sit in the audience. Maybe you will learn from each other. Good luck.’
Several minutes later, Signora Rinaldi appeared to usher the first performer out of the room. Soon, the noise from the terrace ceased and Rosanna heard the grand piano begin to play. One after another, her fellow performers disappeared until, finally, Rosanna was alone in the room.
A few minutes later, Signora Rinaldi appeared at the door. ‘Come, Rosanna, it is time for you.’
Rosanna nodded and stood up, her palms clammy, her heart thumping. She followed the housekeeper along the corridor until she stood outside the door of the music room, hearing the last performer still singing.
‘Signor Vincenzi told me to tell you that your papa and your brother are in the audience.’ She smiled fondly at Rosanna. ‘You will be wonderful, I promise.’
A wave of clapping signalled the end of the previous performance. Signora Rinaldi opened the door to the music room and gently guided Rosanna inside.
‘And now to our last performer. My very special pupil, Signorina Rosanna Menici. Rosanna has been coming to me for the past five years and this is her first public performance. I hope that, once you all hear her sing, you’ll appreciate that you have been at the debut of a most remarkable talent. Signora Menici will be singing “Mi chiamano Mimi” from La Bohème.’
There was polite applause as Luigi went back to his piano stool. A jumble of conflicting thoughts crowded Rosanna’s mind as she heard Luigi play the first few bars. She couldn’t do this, she had no voice, it wouldn’t come . . .
> And then, the strangest thing happened. Amongst the blur of faces, she could see her mamma smiling at her, encouraging her, willing her to perform.
You can do it, Rosanna, you can . . .
Rosanna took a deep breath, opened her mouth and began to sing.
Luigi was finding it increasingly difficult to read the sheet music in front of him because his eyes were filled with tears. Five years of hard work, and tonight Rosanna and her beautiful voice had come of age, just as he’d always known they would.
Paolo de Vito sat in the second row, his eyes closed. Vincenzi had been right about this girl. The voice was one of the purest sopranos he’d ever heard. It had colour, tone, strength, depth; every note of the difficult aria was clear and perfectly judged. And, besides that, the girl seemed to understand what she was singing about. He could feel the raw emotion hanging invisibly in the air, paralysing the audience. Paolo felt tingles running up and down his spine. Rosanna Menici was sensational and he wanted to be the one to give her talent to the world.
Marco Menici stared disbelievingly at the slim figure standing in front of him. Was this really his Rosanna, the shy child who’d always been so easy to ignore? He’d known she had a sweet voice, but tonight . . . why, she was singing in front of all these people as if she had been born to it! If only Antonia could have been here to see her daughter. Marco wiped the tears away from his eyes.
Luca Menici surreptitiously watched Marco’s expression and thanked God for helping him persuade his father to come. He too blinked away a tear. The die was cast. He knew nothing could stop Rosanna now.
As the last notes died away, there was silence from the audience. Rosanna stood in a trance as her mamma’s face, the face she had sung to for the past few minutes, disappeared. A storm of rapturous applause broke in her ears, then Luigi appeared at her side and together they took bow after bow. The other performers joined them as the audience rose to their feet.
Luigi raised his hands and begged for quiet. ‘Thank you for joining us here tonight. I hope our humble performance has brought you pleasure. Drinks will now be served, during which there will be a chance to mingle with our artistes.’
The Italian Girl Page 5