But did it have to be like this? Wasn’t there something I could do?
‘Nonna, we can sort this out,’ I said urgently. ‘We can find out if Marco is still alive. This doesn’t have to be the end of you and Stanley.’
‘Really?’ Nonna’s dark eyes searched mine. ‘You help me?’
I nodded, looked down at the message on my phone and felt a flicker of hope. And perhaps it didn’t have to be the end of Gabe and me either …
PART THREE
Tea and Sympathy
Chapter 21
I opened the front door of my cottage and drew in a sharp breath as a gust of wind tossed a confetti of shell-pink blossom from my cherry tree over my head and into the house. Poor tree; it was little more than a bare twig after the gales that had blown through the village last night. I crossed the threshold and peered down to the village and beyond. On a clear day, at the top of my steep hill above Barnaby, I could see right across the Derbyshire Dales. The sheer beauty of their rugged peaks, sweeping green valleys and tumbling navy streams could take my breath away. But today the view was hazy, and the weather, just like today’s agenda, carried an unpredictability that made me shiver.
The morning air was cold, I noticed, as I picked up my pace downhill, colder than yesterday when Garden Warehouse had opened its door for the first time and pinched all our customers, tempting them with free drinks and copycat blueberry crumble cake. It was colder than Saturday too, the date of our Spring Fair, a day filled with sunshine and flowers, cakes and kisses (well, no kiss for me, but Nonna and Stanley had definitely kissed). When the people of Barnaby had come together as one happy community to celebrate all that was good about our village. That jollity was so far from the here and now, amongst my family at least, that it almost felt like a cruel joke.
Today the sun was missing in action. Instead, gloomy clouds lumbered across the sky, tipping a month’s worth of rain down on the hills approximately every hour, and Dales FM, the local radio station, was full of flood warnings and news about the latest road closures. The weather, however, was the least of my problems.
Funny how life can seem full of trials and tribulations one minute and then – whoosh – along comes something new to worry about and all those other niggles fade into the background.
Well, Nonna’s revelation last night was that ‘something new’.
And everything else had to wait. Because until our family got to the bottom of Nonna’s secret life, none of us had the headspace to cope with anything else.
After Doreen and Juliet had escorted a rather bewildered Stanley back home yesterday, Mum, Dad, Lia and I had closed the café and listened as Nonna confirmed what she’d blurted out to Stanley. In 1964 in Sorrento, on the picturesque Italian Amalfi coast, she’d run off from her husband, Marco Benedetto, taking her baby and nothing more than a small case of belongings and had managed to deceive everyone, including her own family, that she was the widow of Lorenzo Carloni from Naples. And after she’d confessed a few scratchy details, she dissolved into such heart-rending sobs, joined to a lesser degree by the rest of us, that Mum, ashen-faced, had insisted on leaving it there for the day, driving her home and sitting with her until she fell asleep.
Dad had phoned me last night, worried about the effect this was going to have on Mum.
‘She’s grown up thinking she’s Lorenzo’s daughter, she’s never even heard of this Marco chap. And running off from your husband like that and fleeing the country … Mum doesn’t know what to think any more.’
Lia was the least fazed by the whole affair.
‘Ancient history,’ she’d said philosophically, as I’d bundled Arlo’s pushchair into the back of her car, while she strapped him into his car seat. ‘Mum is still Mum, finding out that a different man is your father after all doesn’t alter who she is. At the end of the day, what does it really change? Does it actually matter?’
I’d pointed out that if Marco was still alive, Arlo was now in possession of a great-grandfather and Mum, quite understandably, might like to meet him. At which point it occurred to us both that tracking down Signore Benedetto should be priority numero uno.
I also privately thought that the real changes would come when we, as a family, got to the bottom of the reason for all this subterfuge. And that was the plan for this morning. Ed couldn’t make it as he was in the middle of moving his dad’s company to new premises, but Dad was bringing Mum and Nonna to the café and we’d asked both Doreen and Juliet to work the morning shift between them, while Nonna picked up her tale from where she’d left it last night.
I slowed as I rounded the corner past the churchyard and raised a hand to Clementine and Tyson, who were already hard at work chopping back the climbing roses.
‘Might pop into the café later,’ Clementine called, waving her secateurs at me. She was wearing mud-caked old boots, a pair of scruffy dungarees and a waxed wide-brimmed hat. But beneath the brim, her smile was unmistakable, and lovely to see.
I dithered at the iron railings which circled the church grounds, not really in the mood for small talk.
‘For our first board meeting.’ Tyson’s proud face appeared between the thorny branches.
Clementine rolled her eyes good-naturedly. ‘For cappuccinos, I was going to say. You know,’ she looked around amongst the gravestones furtively, ‘to make up for yesterday.’
‘No need,’ I said flatly.
She raised an eyebrow questioningly.
I lowered my eyes and attacked a patch of moss with the toe of my shoe. Almost impossible to believe that less than twenty-four hours had passed since I’d parked on her drive and ranted about Garden Warehouse’s invasion of her personal space and the underhand tactics of their catering team.
‘There’s every need,’ Clementine insisted, rubbing her pointy nose with a gloved hand. ‘I haven’t even thanked everyone for their help on Saturday yet. Do you know the plant sale raised over two thousand pounds? Stella Derry appeared at the crack of dawn this morning with a big tin of cash.’
‘Oh.’ I shuffled my feet, anxious to get on before she asked me any questions that I wasn’t ready to answer like: How’s your nonna? Or should that be: Who’s your nonna? ‘Good.’
‘Good?’ Tyson and Clementine retorted in unison.
‘It’s fan-bloody-tastic,’ Tyson corrected. ‘We’re going to buy one of those whopping great petrol hedge trimmers, aren’t we, partner?’ His eyes glinted.
‘Clementine. And yes.’
‘Great,’ I said weakly, forcing a smile, wondering why on earth we’d thought that airing our dirty linen at the café was a good idea when customers were likely to be in and out. ‘See you later.’
I continued on briskly, over the village green, along the main street, past the school until the houses began to thin out, making sure to avoid further conversation with my purposeful stride.
Five minutes later I was stamping my feet to keep my circulation flowing outside a bungalow, tucked away at the very edge of the village.
I glanced down at the scrap of paper which Nonna had given me to check I’d got the right place. I had. Not that there was any doubt that this was Stanley’s bungalow in amongst a cul-de-sac of similar properties. The neat little front garden with a freshly mown square of lawn edged with a narrow border of perfectly symmetrical tulips couldn’t belong to anyone but him. There was even a genuine red Royal Mail postbox on display in the garden.
I blew on my frozen fingers and gave the door one last hammering. I’d already knocked and rung the doorbell several times but Stanley hadn’t answered and I was at the point of walking away and abandoning my quest when I heard a faint scraping sound coming from the hallway.
I bent down to the letterbox, forced it open and caught a glimpse of a rough brown doormat.
‘Stanley? Please open up. It’s Rosie.’
Quick as a flash, a small face with two bright black eyes leapt up at the door from the inside and I fell backwards with a yelp.
‘Crysta
l! Bad girl!’ Stanley opened the door instantly and scooped the poodle under his arm. ‘I do apologize; my neighbour hasn’t taught his dog any manners at all. Are you all right?’
He helped me to my feet, which wasn’t easy given that Crystal was trying to corkscrew her way free from his grasp.
‘I’m fine,’ I said, giving Crystal a rub behind her ears. I eyed Stanley closely. ‘Are you?’
He wasn’t his usual dapper self – that was immediately evident. His skin had a yellowy pallor as if he hadn’t had much sleep last night. His fringe of white hair was standing to attention at the back of his head, there were crumbs in his beard and his cardigan buttons were all askew. He had a napkin tucked into his shirt collar.
Stanley took a deep breath. ‘I will be. And how … how’s Maria?’
‘Worried, exhausted and totally mortified to have caused anybody any pain.’
A blotchy blush crept from the collar of his checked shirt to the crown of his head, his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down a couple of times, but he didn’t speak.
I gave him a sad smile. ‘Part of her is relieved to be getting things out in the open and the other is terrified that she’s alienated everyone she loves. I’ve told her not to worry about that.’ I met his gaze. ‘We’ll love her whatever she has to say. Won’t we?’
The question hovered in the air between us like a raincloud. I covered his hand with mine and I was pleased when he didn’t pull away. He tightened his grip on the dog and she panted in my face, resting her front paws on my arm so that we were all connected in an odd trinity.
‘I’ve only asked one woman to marry me before yesterday,’ said Stanley in a considered voice. ‘So I wouldn’t claim to be the most experienced in these matters, but finding out that the lady you’ve been courting was already married must go down as one of the more unsuccessful proposals of all time. And because of my desire to make a public declaration of my intentions towards her, I’ve caused untold damage to your family.’
He hadn’t said that he loved her; I thought my heart would break. Once again it struck me how fickle love is; our emotions can waver even within a day.
‘None of that is your doing,’ I said sadly. ‘None at all.’
Stanley shot me a look that implied that he begged to differ. A sudden icy blast of wind whipped round us, making my eyes water and Crystal’s ears flap.
‘Come on in,’ he mumbled and turned back to the house.
I followed and closed the door behind us.
The hallway was small and square with a worn wooden floor and cream painted walls. A neat collection of jackets hung from pegs on the wall, below which was a shoe rack filled with a row of perfectly buffed brogues and a slightly muddier pair of walking boots. A side table held an avocado-green telephone with a tangled cable, a photograph of an unsmiling couple in their early forties with two dark-haired, freckly children and a brass vase filled with silk flowers that had seen better days. The air in the bungalow smelled musty and stale and Stanley’s loneliness touched me like a physical presence.
Crystal trotted over and sat on my feet and Stanley clasped his hands in front of him and waited. This new stilted Stanley was so unlike the man I was so fond of that my heart ached for him.
‘Nonna is still the same woman,’ I said gently. ‘And she cares about you very much.’
He tilted his chin and aimed his gaze at a point somewhere above my head.
‘One of the answers in my crossword this morning was “hoodwinked”.’
‘Oh Stanley,’ I murmured.
He blinked rapidly and smoothed a hand down the front of his cardigan. ‘And that’s just how I feel. Hoodwinked. She led me to believe that she was a free agent.’
‘And she is,’ I said. ‘She is. Almost certainly.’
While Ed had taken Arlo up for his bath and bedtime story last night, Lia and I had sat on their sofa with her laptop and spent a couple of hours doing a bit of digging on the internet and although we couldn’t be absolutely one hundred per cent certain, we had found details of a man called Marco Benedetto born in 1939, who died in 1997 and was buried in a Sorrento cemetery.
Stanley’s eyebrows twitched. ‘Maria seemed very unsure about that last night.’
‘I know, I know,’ I soothed, ‘and we are going to get to the bottom of everything today. Right now, in fact. And she’d very much like you to be there. You’re part of this family now. Whether you like it or not.’
I smiled, hoping he’d smile back, but he simply dropped his gaze to his slippers.
Actually, Nonna hadn’t said she’d like Stanley there – she’d just asked me to check on him – but I felt sure she would. Besides, I wanted to include him. Nonna had her family supporting her (although it had to be said Mum was being a bit restrained with her affection) and we all had each other. But Stanley had no one to turn to and he deserved to hear the truth as much as we did.
Crystal yawned and swapped allegiance to Stanley’s feet, leaning up against his shins.
‘You can bring her too?’ I said.
‘I don’t think so,’ Stanley said gruffly, bending down to scoop the dog up into his arms. ‘I’d rather steer clear of the café today. I’d thought that this was a new start for me. It took me a long time to pluck up the courage to ask Maria to become more than just friends. It’s no fun getting old, you know, half your friends are dead, and the other half are mostly doolally. But not Maria, she has a spark in her that has made me feel young again. Now I realize I didn’t really know her at all. Has anything she’s ever said to me been the truth, I wonder?’
‘I don’t have all the details yet myself. But I know my grandmother and she doesn’t have a bad bone in her body. I think that if she felt the need to hide the truth from her family, she did so for a good reason.’
‘But if you let secrets fester,’ he said, shaking his head, ‘it can only bring you unhappiness.’
I felt a pang of sorrow at his words.
‘Believe me, I know. I know that more than anyone.’ I shrugged helplessly and hoped he didn’t notice the tear that had sprung to my own eye. ‘So what shall I tell her?’
I held my breath while he scratched his beard.
‘Tell her …’ His eyes softened. ‘Tell her that there are no hard feelings. Life is too short to harbour those. Anyway,’ he laughed softly, ‘these past few weeks have been the happiest time I’ve had for years and I will always be grateful for that. When the air has cleared, if she still wants someone to keep her company, then I’ll be waiting. And I promise never to propose to her again.’
It was the best I could hope for under the circumstances. I darted towards him for a quick hug, half expecting him to leap back and shut the door in my face. But instead he leaned against me, patted me on the back and gave a shuddering sigh before releasing me and smiling bravely as I waved and told him I’d be back to visit him soon.
Nonna had been super-cautious about letting a man into her life and now it was obvious why. But after more than fifty years of being alone, she had chosen Stanley to open her heart to. That had to mean something; it had to mean their gentle love was worth saving.
And that was exactly what I intended to do.
Chapter 22
By the time I reached the door to the café it had started to rain heavily but before I had the chance to escape the downpour, I heard a voice call my name. It was Gina. The sight of her made my heart pound as I recalled the shock of seeing her with Gabe yesterday at Garden Warehouse.
She was coming out of Ken’s Mini Mart in full-on child-minding mode, pushing a double buggy containing a snoozing baby and a little girl under a plastic rain cover. Two sturdy boys clung on to the sides. All of them were wearing wellies and enormous raincoats, including Gina. She steered her little party towards me as the two bigger boys did their utmost to stamp in every drop of water and I stepped back to escape their splashes, plastering on a smile.
‘Disaster!’ she said cheerily, from underneath a bright yellow hood. ‘Ken sa
ys he’s fresh out of stale bread.’
‘Quack, quack,’ cried the little girl from the pushchair. ‘Quack, quack, quack.’
The boys joined in with her, getting louder and louder and more and more splashy with their feet.
Gina gave me a helpless look and we both laughed.
‘Let me guess, you’re going to feed the ducks.’
‘Correct.’ She took off her glasses and tried to dry the lenses on a damp tissue.
‘And paddle in puddles!’ added one of the boys gleefully.
‘Still bonkers, then,’ I said with a pointed look at the charcoal sky.
Gina rolled her eyes heavenwards. ‘I’d be even more bonkers after a day shut inside with this lot. Believe it or not they find the water calming.’
I had a sudden flashback to mine and Gabe’s night stargazing, the only sounds coming from the gentle lapping of the river against the hull of the boat and the distant cooing of a wood pigeon. That had been calming. Until Noah had thrust his cheeky face between us. I felt a rush of affection towards the pair of them and grinned at Gina’s two charges.
‘I can believe that. Actually,’ I said, remembering all the bread we hadn’t sold yesterday, ‘we can probably help you out. Come in.’
‘With this?’ She waggled the double buggy to demonstrate its girth. ‘Easier not to.’
I left them outside singing a lively version of ‘Five Little Ducks Went Swimming One Day’, which didn’t sound in the least calm to me, while I fetched them some bread.
‘This is tough stuff,’ I said, handing over a bag of rolls to each of the boys. ‘Hit a duck on the head with one of these bad boys and you’ll knock it out.’
Gina groaned. ‘Don’t give them any ideas. Thank you for that, though, you’re a lifesaver.’
‘Good luck with the calming.’ I smiled and turned to go but hesitated. I had to mention it … ‘You and Gabe looked like you were having fun yesterday?’
She smiled. ‘He came over to talk about some child-minding, but I’m swamped at the moment, felt really bad about it. Nice guy.’ She cocked an eyebrow under her soggy hood. ‘Even offered to come and buy plants with me. It’s a nightmare trying to get big stuff home without a car.’
The Lemon Tree Café Page 21