Claire Gulliver #03 - Intrigue in Italics (11 page)

“I yelled a warning, but you couldn’t hear me. I hope you’re not hurt.” Millie’s voice trembled.

Chef Martin looked at her, then at the forklift caught in the assembly line, then at where he was standing. He got the picture.

He walked over and collapsed in the other chair. His face had a grayish hue as he took his hanky out of his pocket and wiped the beads of moisture from his brow. Then he leaned close to her face. “Ms. Gulliver, you are either very foolish or very brave. Did it occur to you that you might have been crushed with me somewhere in the middle of that mess?”

She nodded, clasping her hands tightly to hide the trembling.

Ruth’s expression would have been comical if Millie had felt like laughing. “Millie, what were you thinking? My God, you could have been killed.” Then her expression changed to real horror, “Millie..., and I would have had to explain it to Claire!”

Her fear making her sound cross, she scolded, “Millie, you’re a sixty-three year old woman. You have no business acting like a superhero.”

Now Millie had started to shake. She looked at Chef Martin and then at Ruth. “I didn’t even think about that. I just saw the forklift coming and the next thing I knew I was knocking him over.”

Three winery employees were now over by the damaged assembly line, shouting aggressively in each other’s faces, and more were coming.

Millie turned to Antonio who was still standing next to her. “Do you understand them, Antonio? What are they saying? What happened?”

He shrugged, the way some Italian men do, and explained in heavily accented English, his hands gesturing wildly in accompaniment with his words. “They’re arguing. The man who climbed up and turned off the machine says he knows it was turned off and the brake was set when he parked over there before he went out for his cigarette break. That one,” he nodded at the man with the beet red face, “says it’s impossible. If the motor wasn’t idling how could it have slipped into gear to run into the conveyor?” Antonio shook his head.

“The machine operator was at fault.” His voice was certain. “He’ll most likely be fired and he’ll be lucky if he’s not held liable for the cost of the damage.”

“Oh, dear, how dreadful!” Millie felt sorry for the man, a small mistake and look what happened. She shuddered as she thought about what had almost happened.

“Millie, Ruth, we have room here.” LiAnn gestured graciously to the two seats next to her.

Millie had taken a long nap during their free time after the winery excursion and slept right through cocktails. Ruth, of course, hadn’t. But she had more stamina and more practice in holding her spirits, Millie thought.

Antonio smiled at her across the table. “And how are you this evening? No pains from your tumble this afternoon?”

Millie grimaced, and shook her head. She wasn’t going to mention the huge bruise she found on her hip when she showered before dinner. It was a small price to pay for saving Chef Martin.

“Tumble? Did you hurt yourself today, Millie?” LiAnn’s face was solicitous, but her eyes gleamed with curiosity. Her husband craned forward to look around his wife, his face also interested.

“No, nothing much.”

“Nothing much?” Antonio shook his head, waving his arms. “She was the heroine, was she not, George?”

George sitting next to Antonio and across from Ruth turned his attention to their conversation. “What, oh, yes. Millie’s quick action probably saved our Retreat, as well as Chef Martin,” he added.

“Oh, Millie, tell us what happened. When did this happen? Why didn’t we notice? Tell us!”

Her imperial tone worked, so Millie found herself dutifully explaining what happened.

“And I missed it all.” LiAnn was obviously disappointed. “I went to use the facilities and when I came out everyone was heading for the bus. I didn’t see any of it.” She looked at Sam with disapproval. “You didn’t tell me any of this.”

He shrugged. “I didn’t see it. I only saw the problem on the assembly line. It didn’t occur to me to tell you about it. It was a management problem. Not our concern.”

LiAnn reached over and patted Millie’s hand. “You are a brave woman and obviously very capable. Your family must treasure you,” she pronounced solemnly.

Millie was uncomfortable with the attention and was glad when the conversation turned back to a discussion of the wineries they had visited.

“A treasure, huh?” Ruth muttered in her ear. “But truthfully, Millie, I can’t believe you did that. Didn’t you think you might not have succeeded in moving him; that you might have both been run over?”

Millie looked at her as she thought about what Ruth had just said. “You know, I didn’t think. I just acted. And it was probably just as well. If I thought about it, I never would have been able to move fast enough to save him.” She shuddered. “And Ruth, I think he would have been skewered by the prongs on that forklift.”

“Well, I guess I can’t complain about you being so timid any more, can I?” And Ruth turned to talk to Jacques, the teenager who sat on the far side of her.

Dinner was over and it was the time Chef Martin usually started the discussion of the items they had eaten. But tonight, after a discussion with Marie, who seemed somewhat agitated, he stood up and held up his hands.

“Please, everyone, can I have your attention? Marie Verde has just brought us some sad news.” He nodded. “A bomb exploded in Florence today.”

People gasped, looking at each other. Sal forgot his role as a translator as he rose to his feet; he had family in Florence. Helga and Frederick looked at the others with confusion until finally Zoe explained.

Chef Martin continued. “It is very sad. And of course people were hurt, some dead. Innocent people.” He shook his head sadly. “These are bad times we live in.

“So we have a change of plans for tomorrow. Market day will not be in the village we have scheduled, which is very close to Florence, and so will most likely be impacted by the tragedy there. Instead, we will be heading in a different direction. Unfortunately this alternative market is not as big or diverse as the one we planned to attend, but we will make do. Those of you in Group A will be ready in the Lobby at eight o’clock, huh?”

“Now I think for tonight we will dispense with our critique. Marie says the Villa has set up some televisions in the bar for any of you who want the news. I’m sure there will be some that can translate. Good night and please offer your prayers for the victims.”

Millie looked at Ruth with a white face. “Claire. Claire is in Florence.”

“Now Millie, keep calm. There are thousands of people in Florence. It would be unlikely that Claire would be anywhere near the explosion.” Then, seeing her friend’s anxiety, she gave up. “Why don’t you call the hotel? Maybe you can reach her.”

When Millie joined her friends in the bar later she shook her head at Ruth’s silent inquiry. “I couldn’t get through. The lines are totally jammed.”

Ruth nodded. “That’s what Sal said. He called a friend who will go into the city to check on Sal’s family for him.”

Millie sat down with the others, watching the pictures on the screen. The pictures were enough; they didn’t really need words to explain what they were seeing. Millie worried and fretted, but there wasn’t anything she could do. Since her husband had been taken from her so cruelly and senselessly, she had always been overprotective of Claire. She knew it. She tried to be calm, to hide her fear that somehow Claire would be stolen from her, too. But despite her efforts she still became irrational at any thought Claire might be in danger. Claire was now in her forties and she was a sensible, capable woman. She told herself her baby was fine. She would be safe.

And when she finally went up to her room to retire for the night the blinking red light on the phone beckoned to her. She collapsed on the side of the bed as she listened to Claire’s reassuring words.

“Hey, Mom, I hope you’re having fun. I’m sure you heard about the bombing here. Don’t worry, I’m safe. But it’s very chaotic and sad. Many of the museums and tourist attractions are closed now, so I’ve decided to go out of town for the weekend. I’m not sure where I’ll end up, so I’ll call you when I get settled. I’m going to try to explore some of the hill towns Marianne Peabody recommended. I’ll be back in Florence in plenty of time to travel to Venice as we planned.

“Since I don’t know how long I’ll be away, I’ve decided to keep my room here so I can come back when I want. Have a great time at your retreat.

“Love ya’. Bye.”

“Millie, you’re going to be late,” Ruth warned her as she headed for the kitchen.

Millie checked her watch and saw she was right. “I’ve got to go now, Antonio, but have a good day. I’ll look forward to hearing about your shopping trip at lunch. I can’t wait to see what your group prepares for dinner. It’s always hard to be the first, isn’t it?” She waved as she headed for the room which had been assigned to Group C for the morning session.

She was a little stiff this morning and the bruise was tender, but she was determined not to show it. Ruth had already launched into another tirade when she saw the bruise while they were dressing. This morning it was a deep purple, almost black and there were a few more which appeared in places Ruth couldn’t see. She admitted it had been foolish on her part to play the hero, but it had worked. So she didn’t regret it.

But this morning listening to Ruth scold her, it had reminded her of how she was always worrying about and scolding Claire for putting herself at risk. And now that the shoe was on the other foot, so to speak, she wasn’t liking it at all. She promised herself she would remember this the next time her worry erupted on Claire.

“Ah there you are Millie, we thought we lost you.” George Binns smiled his greeting. “And did you contact your daughter last night?”

Millie nodded. “Kind of. She left a message on the phone in my room. She knew I’d hear about the bomb and assume the worse. She said everything in Florence was closed, so she decided to visit one of the hill towns. She’ll call today to let me know where she is.”

“Good morning,” Sal Salenesso said hearing Millie’s news as he entered the room. “So, Millie, you have heard from your daughter, and I have heard that my family is safe also. So we can concentrate on our cooking, yes?”

“Yes,” they responded moving to the front of the room to better see what he was doing.

Sal Salenesso was a local. Ordinarily he worked in a restaurant in one of the large Florence hotels but had agreed to assist Chef Martin at the Italian Culinary Association’s request. His specialty was desserts, so naturally he was working with each group assigned to desserts.

He was an attractive man, not too tall and slightly rotund, a testimonial to his skill in the kitchen. He had a very pleasant personality and had made himself popular with the Retreat members.

“Sal, how will Frederick and Helga survive without you today?” Renee asked. “Aren’t you their interpreter?”

“Ah, yes but Helga is in the group with Zoe and Antonio. Both have assured me they would see that she doesn’t miss anything. And Jacques speaks many languages like a native and he agreed to see Frederick understands everything.” Sal beamed. “So I am only talking desserts today.”

“I have reviewed your work from the planning session on Thursday and I see you plan to provide a cake, a pudding and a ricotta and cookies for your desserts. So I have assembled several recipes for you to choose from. Then we will do the prep work. This afternoon our session starts at three and we have two hours to complete our desserts.” He smiled at their dismayed looks. “Don’t worry, we’ll make it. You’ll see.

“Now, we are selecting three recipes, four including the cookies, and each of you will make a set of each. That will be more than enough for dinner, but I’m sure the Villa’s kitchen staff will be glad to help us dispose of any leftovers.”

Sal opened his portfolio and removed a stack of papers. “Here are some suggestions for you to look at. I would caution you that you will need to have agreed on your selections by break time in order to finish the prep work before lunch.”

A hush fell as they each busied themselves with a stack of recipes.

“Here, Millie, look at this. Doesn’t it look good?

Millie took the sheet of paper from George and read the recipe.

Budino di Chocolate, it sounded marvelous. She handed it to Randy. “Check this for the pudding. George and I think it might be a winner. It sounds different.”

“This is the cake!” LiAnn’s tone left no room to dispute. George looked at it with raised eyebrows and then passed it to Renee.

Renee nodded. “Looks fine to me. Let me see the pudding choice you have, Randy.”

“Here’s a torte cake that looks interesting,” George offered.

LiAnn looked at him sternly then retorted haughtily, “We’re doing the Torta Soffice di Mele. We don’t need another cake choice.”

George shrugged, shuffled his torte recipe to the bottom of the stack and started looking for cookies.

LiAnn having gotten her way with the cake choice was agreeable on the pudding, but then suggested, “I don’t mind the ricotto, but let’s do a better one than Chef Martin’s.”