I had to speak to her. I had to make sure she knew she was welcome at the house, that nothing would change. She was my aunt, we were family. I would explain that, and she would come round. I was sure of that.
Almost sure.
I’d taken a few steps along the ice-green stream, absorbed in my thoughts, when I bumped into a tall man, my head almost bouncing against his chest. “Sorry, I didn’t—”
“Hey, Rissi,” he said. It was Tommaso, in jeans, T-shirt, and with messy hair, clutching a folder just as I was.
I touched my chest. “Callie. My name is Callie.” In seeing him I’d broken into a smile, but now I was a bit annoyed he couldn’t remember my name.
He laughed. “I know. But you came with the storm. So that’s what I’m going to call you. Orissi is storm in our Piedmontese language. Rissi.”
I laughed. “I see, like in the cartoon you left for me! By the way, thanks for breakfast. And for rescuing me last night.”
“You were a damsel in distress.”
“I was in perfect and complete control of the situation, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course. You finished there?” He indicated the silver plaque of the lawyer’s office behind us.
“Yes. All done. I am the proud owner of Firefly House,” I said, my breezy tone turning more serious as the news sunk in.
“Congratulations! I am off to see those guys too. Long story. I have a bit of time, though. Coffee?”
More caffeine.
“Sure!”
“Leone’s then. They do the best cake.”
“You Italians are obsessed with food,” I joked, following him along the cobblestones.
“I will not deny it, Rissi.” Tommaso took my arm lightly and led me just off the square to a café that looked like something out of a travel magazine.
“Oh! That’s Leone’s!” I said, my nose up, looking at the elegantly painted sign.
“Yes! You’ve heard of it? I’m not surprised. They’ve been here forever. They make their own candies and chocolates, as well as having this café.”
“Yes… yes, I’ve heard of it.” I smiled to myself, remembering the mention of it in Elisa’s diary.
The place was so stylish; from the glass cases that contained cakes and candy as beautiful as little sculptures, to the green velvet seats and the antique pictures on the walls. “Established 1911,” a sign above the counter said. We chose our place on the velvet seats, and I wondered if Elisa had ever sat there.
“They have this cake here, it’s called the Century Cake, see?” He showed me a chocolatey, hazelnutty thing with “1900” written in icing sugar on its creamy top. “It’s a secret recipe. I’m serious, it has a trademark. Nobody knows how Leone makes it. Would you like to try it?”
“Yes, please!”
A young girl in a taupe apron brought us a slice of cake each and a cappuccino decorated with tiny chocolate musical notes. By the time I did go back to the States, I thought, I was going to be double my weight! But I didn’t care. It was too good.
I took a mouthful. “Oh my gosh, Tommaso. This is amazing.”
“It is.”
“I won’t fit in my clothes by the time I go home.”
Tommaso shrugged. “Come to work with me on the castle grounds and you’ll burn it all off,” he said, smiling. “I do need a hand with some fences, actually.”
“Sure. I’ll get you some Sellotape,” I retorted.
“I love your sense of humor. You make me happy,” he blurted out, and then froze for a moment, as if what he’d said was too intense for the situation. His long, dark eyelashes fluttered against his pink cheeks.
“Yeah. Well, thanks. I… I met my aunt. Flora. She was at the house… this morning,” I managed, changing the subject quickly.
“Ah… I can see from your face it wasn’t the easiest of meetings.”
“To say the least.”
“Flora is like that. She’s… thorny. A lot of people dislike her. But, well, in a way I understand her reason for being like she is.”
“What reason would that be?”
“That she’s unhappy. That’s usually the main reason why people are horrible.”
“True. Even the secretary there at Tava’s… what was her name… Sofia, I think. Even she looked at me horribly when she realized I was Flora’s niece.”
“Oh, but she would have a good reason for that. You see, Sofia’s dad, Marco, and Flora were an item. Word in the village is that Flora broke his heart badly. That would be Marco Leone, by the way. The owner of this place,” he whispered.
“Maybe she had her reasons,” I said defensively.
“Yes. But some break-ups are harder than others,” he said, as a shadow of pain passed across his features, giving me the distinct impression that he might be talking about himself. I waited a moment to see if he wanted to elaborate, but he didn’t.
“So, you have fences to repair but you’re here hanging out with me?” I teased him.
“I came down to see Tava. Hopefully to sort out some stuff. Difficult stuff. I won’t bore you with the details.”
“Bore away. I’m sure you’ve had your fill of my family history!”
“Well, I’m trying to get my family business back. Vineyards mainly, but also some hazelnut trees. My father lost it all a few years ago, and… Well, I’m trying to make things right for him. We used to sell hazelnuts to Leone’s, actually.” He gazed out the window, before continuing, “My father… he was conned out of everything he owned. It was bad. Anyway. I don’t even know why I’m telling you all this. Sorry.”
“Don’t be silly. A listening ear in exchange for cake? I’ll do it any day. No, seriously, I’m here, if you need to vent.”
“Thank you. It probably won’t work… I will probably never get back what we used to own. But I need to try.” He shook his head. “You know, I can’t believe this.”
“What?”
“A lot of people know about my family losing the business, what happened to my father, and all that, but I never talk about it. It’s too raw. But then here I am discussing it with you. It’s weird. Anyway. Enough about me.”
“Well, I’ll up the dysfunctional if you want. I lost my parents in a fire when I was ten. I grew up in care. Last week I found out I had been adopted and that a woman called Malva Stella from Italy was my birth mother. And here I am now.”
“Wow! You win.”
“Totally. Do you know where Flora lives? I need to go speak to her. Glutton for punishment, I suppose.”
“Everyone knows where everyone lives here!” Tommaso laughed. “But you can find her now at the shop. I mean, she has a shop just off the square. It’s called Passiflora, and she lives just above it. I’ll show you.”
Tommaso paid for the coffee and cake and led me outside and along a cobblestone road, where a neat line of nursery children were gazing through some shop windows, looking around and pointing things out to the adults who were trying to guide them along with bright yellow rope. Like a line of ducklings, I thought with a smile. The last child that passed was a boy of about three years old, wearing denim shorts and a dinosaur T-shirt. He had an adorable wonky walk, with his head turn sideways to look at Something Very Interesting in the road. He was precious. I looked over at Tommaso, who was staring at the little boy intently, almost hypnotized. Then he caught my eye and shook himself.
“Good luck,” he said, and indicated a shop window surrounded by painted green wood, with a tin sign above that read:
Passiflora
Flora Stella, Naturopata
“And you… at the lawyer’s. Shall we… regroup later?” I asked. I felt myself blushing. Like a teenager.
“I don’t know. Things are crazy in my job, you know. Sorry, I have to go.” And he practically ran off back down the street, leaving me bewildered and a little embarrassed.
I looked up at the sign above my aunt’s shop: Naturopata. I’d never come across that word before, so I googled the translation: “Naturopath, a d
octor specialized in holistic and natural therapies.”
Hmm. That sounded interesting. I took a deep breath and opened the door. A soft chime resounded in the room, which was fragrant with the smell of herbs, flowers, and oils. I could detect lavender and daisies… oh, and rosemary as well.
I spotted Flora behind the counter, going over some papers, and was surprised when she looked up with a sort of resigned expression on her face – not exactly happy to see me, but not completely hostile like before. It was definitely an improvement.
“Ciao,” I said tentatively. At that moment, she seemed to remember who she was, and who I was, and she frowned again. Color rose in her cheeks, and for a moment she looked so young and pretty. Her hair was down, and I noticed for the first time how long it was. Her clear eyes, as blue as mine, were made cat-like by eyeliner, and her nails were painted dark blue. Surrounded by herbs and potions and mysterious jars as she was, she seemed to me like a witch. But a good one.
She frowned. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see you.”
“Well, I told you. You need to go back home. I can’t help you.”
“Mmmm.” I browsed the jars lining the shelves, plotting. “These are so pretty. And the smell in here is beautiful.”
She huffed. “Thanks. They’re not just pretty. They’re useful. They’re medicinal herbs.”
“That one with the little flowers…”
“This one? Chamomile,” she said, and handed me the jar.
“Oh. I’ve only ever seen it in teabags.”
“I pick it fresh from the field near the graveyard.”
“So, you are a witch,” I whispered under my breath.
“What?”
“Nothing. Joking.”
She shrugged. “The women in my family have always been healers of some sort. I’m a naturopath.”
“In our family, you mean…” I said. I knew I was almost pleading. But I couldn’t help myself. It was my family too. Flora didn’t reply; instead, she armed herself with a cloth and began moving some tin boxes around and dusting the shelves they sat on.
I took a deep breath. Let’s start again. “Did you call the shop Passiflora after your name?”
“Passiflora is my name. Flora for short.”
“That’s lovely,” I said, and I meant it. How beautiful. “Malva and Passiflora. Both herbs, right?”
“Mmmm.”
I paused, summoning the courage to take the plunge. “I went to Tava’s today. I have the deeds to the house now. Everything is signed.”
“Good.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Good?”
“Yes. Well. It was our family home. I can’t live there. Now you have it.”
“But… Well, it’s not exactly fair that I just sweep in, and take the house, and you—”
“It doesn’t matter to me.”
“But it must matter to you! You’ve kept it so well. It even smells nice. A bit like this place. You can come up whenever you want, and…” Words failed me. There was silence while I struggled to find a way to say what I meant. “I understand it’s a lot to take in, with me turning up this way, but I had no idea I’d been adopted, and maybe if we could just sit down and chat—”
“Have they been good to you?” Flora interrupted without turning around.
“Who? The lawyers?”
“Your adoptive parents.”
“Oh. Yes. Very.”
“So… What do they think about you being here?” Still she wouldn’t turn around. Now she was crouching in front of a low shelf, dusting. Her wavy mass of hair was shiny and so long it seemed to have a life of its own.
I said the line I’d repeated so much lately. “They died when I was ten.”
Her arm stopped in mid-air. A moment of silence. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah.”
“What happened to you after that?” Her voice was a little gentler now.
“I went to foster families. No horror stories, thankfully. It was okay. I live alone now, in my own place.”
“I see.” She began cleaning again, this time even more energetically.
I was at a loss. The words that were nestled in my heart – why did you not look for me? – were too raw, too difficult to drag out. This person was all that remained of my family, and at the same time, she was a stranger. The combination was disconcerting, to say the least. How much could I push? How far could I go?
“I’m sure you understand, Flora… I have quite a few questions.”
“I can’t answer them.”
I snapped. “Why? None of this is my fault. I didn’t ask to be abandoned, and adopted, and then to have my life turned upside down again. Why on earth are you being so horrible to me?”
“Because I’m simply not a nice person.”
“That is such a cop-out!” I was exasperated and about to explode, when the bell chimed, and a customer came in.
“How can I help you?” Flora said brightly, though I could sense a brittleness in her voice.
Our conversation was over.
“We just wanted to leave these. Will you be there?” The woman, who was tiny and thin, was wearing a light shirt tucked into skinny jeans, and had a wad of brightly colored brochures in her hands.
“No,” Flora simply said, without missing a beat.
Her tone was harsh, but the woman didn’t seem bothered. She just ignored Flora, laid her brochures on the counter and turned toward me. She had jet-black hair and expressive dark eyes, her sunglasses acting like a headband. “You’re the American girl, aren’t you?” she said with a smile.
“I am, yes. I’m Callie.” I smiled back.
Flora rolled her eyes. “Montevino grapevine,” she grumbled, but the woman ignored her.
“My name is Paola. I’m from the Pro Loco,” she said, and offered me her hand. “Do come tonight. It’s the Montevino chocolate fair, see?” She showed me one of the brochures Flora had ignored.
Oooh. Chocolate. “Sounds right up my street!”
“Great! The whole village will be there. Well, nearly the whole village,” she said, giving Flora a dark look.
“What’s the Pro Loco?” I asked. The only word I could think about was loco, which meant crazy in Spanish.
“Pro Loco,” Flora explained, “means gossips and meddlers.” There was a mischievous light in her eyes. She was teasing Paola, who once again ignored her. I could tell that this dynamic between them went back a long time. They seemed to have familiarity with each other, and despite Flora’s negative attitude, a sort of labored friendship.
“Pro Loco is like a citizens’ association,” Paola explained. “We organize events, make sure we keep traditions, plan all the village festivals and fairs and saints’ days, you know.”
“Food and church, to sum it up,” Flora intervened.
“We just had the Day of the Dead,” Paola said, undeterred. “You missed that.”
“It must have been a riot,” I said, trying to remain straight faced, and out of the corner of my eye I saw Flora hide a smile.
Paola continued, “Yes. But we have lots more. The chocolate fair is tonight, like I said, then we have a cheese and wine market in the summer, then it’s mushrooms and game and berries in the autumn, then it’s Christmas, then we have the salami festival.”
“A salami festival?” I had to laugh.
“Oh, yes! These things have been held for centuries, you know. People used to slaughter the family pig, gather to make sausages and salami, and use up every little bit of the animal, then have a party. These things marked the agricultural year. Everybody enjoyed it; it was one of the few occasions to stop work and have fun.”
“The pig was especially happy,” Flora said dryly.
“She’s a vegetarian,” Paola explained.
“Vegan. Basically, around here, I’m a Martian,” Flora added pointedly.
“And these traditions have been carried out for centuries?” I asked.
Paola tilted her head. “Well, mayb
e not for centuries, but for a few generations anyway. There’s always Mass, a market, a lunch or a dinner with insane amounts of food, and music. We love a party in Montevino.”
My fondness for this place grew even stronger. “I’ll be there tonight for sure,” I said. “And I can assure you I will not miss the cheese and wine market either… if I’m still here.”
Paola nodded. “I heard you’re up at the Stella house. Will you be staying here long?”
“To be completely honest, I don’t know. I’m liking it here so far, though,” I said, throwing a sideways glance toward Flora.
Paola grinned. “I’m glad to hear that. We always need helping hands, so if you want to help at the next event let us know. You’ll get an apron and free food.”
“Wow, an apron,” Flora said sarcastically and met Paola’s eyes. “You know I love you,” she added and winked.
“Cranky old witch,” Paola replied, somehow fondly. “See you tonight, then, in the community hall. Details are on the brochure. Bye, Flora. I just don’t know why I bother trying to involve you.”
“Because you love me too? By the way, I kept this for you. It’s the last one of this batch. I have to make some more, so I thought you might want it,” she said, and handed Paola a small dark bottle.
“Oh, thanks. You’re still a cranky old witch, though.”
“I know.”
Paola smiled and left, with a last wave to me. I turned to Flora. “Was that a spell?”
“Almost. Arnica oil. She has a bad back.”
“Ah… So, I won’t see you tonight?”
“No way.”
“You don’t go to village things?”
“Over my dead body.”
“I’ll come and get you at eight then,” I said, and stepped out without giving her time to reply.
Before I went back to Firefly House to do some more exploring, I had one last thing to do in the village. I wanted to apologize in person to the Aquila Nera ladies, and say hello to Nonna Tina. The place was empty – the lunch wave hadn’t begun yet, then.
“Buongiorno!”
“Oh, here you are!” Adriana said. She was wearing her flowery apron once again and cleaning windows with newspaper. Nonna Tina was sitting behind the counter, her homemade pasta laid out in the deli-style display.
The Italian Villa: An emotional and absolutely gripping WW2 historical romance Page 8