The Villa (43 page)

Tess hadn’t planned it; though she had been as careless as he. But once it was done, she couldn’t undo it like he wanted her to. Simple.

‘Now you know my thoughts on money … ’

Easy come, easy go, thought Tess.

‘But this is the sort of money that changes lives.’

Clearly. She snuck another look at the cheque. Where had it come from – had he robbed a bank or just won the lottery?

‘I don’t want to change your life,’ he continued. ‘But I do want to pay up what I owe you. I hope you’ll take it and I hope it’ll be useful.’

Jesus wept … Tess picked up the cheque again. It really was fifty grand and it really was for her.

But how could she accept it? Wasn’t it, well, unethical or something? And what would he want in return? Nothing, she realised. David wouldn’t want a thing – that was one of the nicest things about him.

‘I would have liked to see you, Tess,’ the letter went on. ‘I would have liked to do this face to face. I suppose I wanted to find out if you could forgive me – for not being there for
you, for not being a proper father to our kid, and all the rest of it … ’

All the rest of it
, she thought … But in a way, she would have liked to have seen him too. Not to resuscitate old feelings – they could never do that. But just to say ‘hi’ for old times’ sake.

‘I expected Ginny to be angry. To – I don’t know – hate me. But she doesn’t seem to. She seems to be OK about spending time with me. And I’m trying real hard not to say the wrong thing to her.’

Tess smiled at this.

‘And then there’s you,’ the letter continued. ‘I know you, (or I used to) and I reckon you’ll be big-hearted enough not to mind me seeing her, and not to mind me helping out. Better late than never, huh?’

Tess wasn’t too sure about that. She had minded him seeing Ginny, but from a purely selfish point of view. Now, she did a rethink. Why should she deny her daughter the right to get to know her own father? What David said was true. Better late than never. And he was no threat to her. How could he be?

So should she take the money? Probably not. She’d done all right alone up till now.

There was a
PS
. ‘You’ve done a great job with Ginny, by the way. She’s beautiful. And she has your smile.’

Tess folded the letter and replaced it with the cheque in the envelope. Had she done a great job with Ginny? She had made herself more distant than she had to be – by succumbing to
the pull of Sicily, instead of being there for her. Did Tess have any right to all this me-time? First and foremost, she was a mother. But …

She’d done what she felt was right at the time. And no one was trying to make her feel guilty for it. So. She probably shouldn’t take the money. She smiled. But then again …

It was, Flavia thought, the scents of
la cucina
that were at its heart, that kept it alive, that she had tried to replicate in her English kitchens – first at Bea Westerman’s, then in the Azzurro and finally in her own kitchen too. Cardamom, cloves, broom and honey – aromatic and heady … Sundried tomatoes, plaits of garlic bulbs, strings of waxy red chilli peppers – hot, dusty and spicy … Caramel, vanilla, apricot and peach – sweet, rich and fruity, resonant of
dolce. Cannoli
was the
dolce
most ancient and most associated with Sicily – and with weddings too as it happened.

This pastry tube filled with ricotta, honey and candied fruit was considered phallic and was originally served at weddings as a fertility symbol
. Canna,
meaning ‘cane’ also means the barrel of a gun. The
cannoli scorza (
the crunchy casing) must be deep fried for one minute in very hot oil – to seal in the sweetness. When they have drained and cooled, fill and sprinkle with icing sugar. Decorate with candied peel
.

Flavia smiled to herself. It was so rich and heady, almost too much for the palate. But she must include it here. No gaps. There were to be no gaps for Tess.

And so, for the rest of the story, thought Flavia.

* * *

The first time Peter turned up at the Azzurro was less than a year after Lenny and Flavia were married.

Flavia happened to be working at the front of house as Lenny had gone out to organise a delivery.

She couldn’t believe her eyes. She knew now exactly how he had felt that night in Exeter. He was standing at the counter. She stared at him and he stared right back at her. He looked just the same – blonde hair a little longer and wispier, angular cheekbones, those eyes … He looked hardly older although he must now be heading towards thirty. Was it possible that so much had happened since she saw him last and yet he could have changed so little?

‘How did you find me?’ she asked at last.

‘It wasn’t easy.’ Their gazes were still locked. Another time, she thought. Another time, another place. He held out his hand and she put her hand inside his palm, where his fingers curled around it like flames.

Some customers came in and broke the moment. Flavia served them, conscious all the time of Peter’s steady blue gaze, the question hovering around his mouth.

He sat in the corner by the window and she brought him Italian coffee and a pastry. She sat down opposite him for a moment, to drink him in. Outside, it was raining. It was February. Always the most depressing month, in England. But Peter was like sunshine, he always had been.

‘I made a terrible mistake,’ he said. ‘It was just such a shock – seeing you, I mean.’

‘No.’ She thought of his wife and child. ‘You did the right thing.’

He shook his head. ‘We were never happy,’ he said. ‘How can you be happy when you’re still in love with someone else?’

Flavia thought of Lenny. He was a good man. He would be back soon and she wouldn’t hurt him. ‘You can live a decent life,’ she said. ‘You can be content.’ But inside, she longed to reach out for Peter, to stroke his face, to touch his hair, to kiss those lips. She longed for the feel of his body, long and lean against hers. She had never really had that, and she was conscious of the bitterness of regret.

As if he’d read her body language, he put out a hand towards her and teased a dark curl around his index finger. He cupped the side of her face in his right palm and she leaned down, resting into it. Just for a second, she told herself.

‘I’ve left Molly,’ he said.

She sat up straight. ‘And your son?’ Her voice sounded ridiculously formal to her own ears.

He sighed. ‘I see him when I can. But I don’t live there. I can’t live there.’

Gently, she touched his hand. ‘I am married now,’ she said.

‘Yes.’ He nodded. He didn’t seem surprised. ‘Of course you are, my beautiful Flavia. Any chap worth his salt would want you.’

She felt something stir inside. The memory of this man when she had cared for him in Sicily swam to the surface, hot and liquid. ‘I am sorry,’ she said.

‘Do you love him?’ His blue eyes blazed into her. ‘Tell me that.’

Not like I love you, she thought. ‘Yes, I love him,’ she said.

He left soon afterwards, left with a touch on her arm and the softest of kisses on her hair. ‘Goodbye, Flavia,’ he said.

Seconds later, Lenny appeared, back from Dorchester. He gave her
a strange look, but said nothing. Perhaps he had not seen Peter; perhaps he would not remember who he was. He said nothing when Flavia wept silently into the pillow that night. But his breathing was heavy, so perhaps he was already asleep.

But when he said what he did in the ambulance, when he asked her to tell him that they had been happy – she realised that he had always known about Peter’s visit, and had always wondered. And so, she thought. And so …

As arranged, Tess went to meet Giovanni in the bar at the
baglio
. It was an airless day and the sky felt heavy as if a storm was imminent. Tess pulled her hair back from her face; she felt warm and clammy. Giovanni was late (weren’t Sicilians always?) so she bought a caffè latte and a
cannoli
and found a seat which did not have a view of Tonino’s studio. She set to brooding about David’s letter. And the money. Such a lot of money.

How could you calculate child support payments, she wondered, over eighteen years? She tasted the coffee – it was creamy, the final swirl of the espresso punctuating the froth of the milk. There were so many factors. Inflation and interest; school trips and holidays; Christmas presents and the mortgage. Not to mention food. And then there was the twenty-four-hour childcare a mother did without thinking. Still … Fifty thousand pounds. She bit into the crisp pastry shell; inside, the filling was sweet, thick and smooth on her tongue.

‘Tess.
Ciao
.’ Giovanni had breezed in without her noticing. He looked hurried and slightly flushed, which was unusual. Where had he been hurrying from, she found herself wondering.

He kissed her, ordered espresso with a dash of hot milk, and sat in the seat opposite. He was carrying a slim black leather briefcase and from this he extracted a manila folder.

All very businesslike, she thought, wiping flakes of pastry from her fingers. ‘What’s this?’ she asked.

‘A simple contract for the loan,’ he said. ‘You will be glad to know that it is all arranged.’

Tess sipped her coffee. It tasted bitter after the cloying sweetness of the cannoli. She wasn’t glad. In fact she felt a tinge of anxiety. How could she put this, so he wasn’t offended? ‘That’s great, Giovanni,’ she said. ‘And I really do appreciate everything you’ve done to help me, but—’

‘It is nothing.’ He waved his arms to indicate the amount of nothingness involved. ‘I am delighted to help.’ He hit himself on the chest for emphasis. ‘It is not so easy, always, to find the backing for these projects. And so I am overjoyed that I can do this thing for you.’

Oh dear, thought Tess. It was all so extravagant, so theatrical. Though he didn’t look overjoyed. And was that a smear of lipstick on his collar?
Should she, shouldn’t she?
It was just that with David’s letter coming when it did … It seemed like fate.

‘The sooner we begin, the sooner we finish.’ Giovanni took charge of her plate and his espresso – pretty much like he took charge of everything, Tess observed – moving them to one side of the table. He laid out the contents of the envelope. ‘I have spoken to the builder,’ he said. ‘He is free to start next week.’

Tess blinked at him in surprise. She hadn’t even approved the builder – in fact she’d thought his quote rather high and she’d asked Pierro to recommend another company so that she could compare estimates. The other builder was coming over to the villa tomorrow. Also … There was something she hadn’t liked about Giovanni’s builder. Something about the way he wouldn’t quite meet her eye. He was shifty.

‘I’m not sure about the builder,’ she told him.

‘What is wrong with him?’ Giovanni grabbed his coffee and took a gulp.

‘Well, I’m sure he’s a good workman,’ Tess began.

‘The best,’ said Giovanni.

‘But his quote was rather high.’ Tess dug the estimate out of her bag as evidence.

He snatched it from her and began to study it, hemming and hawing, tutting and muttering: ‘That seems more than fair … This is fine … Hmm, good, yes … That is definitely right.’

He came to his conclusion. ‘It is a very reasonable quote,’ he said.

Now why wasn’t she surprised at that?

‘Other builders may
estimate
less,’ Giovanni explained slowly, as if he were talking to a rather stupid child, ‘but they eventually charge
more
, Tess.’ He made the gesture of money in the hand. ‘We are in Sicily, now, remember.’ He let out a bark of laughter. ‘There are many different truths here. Nothing is simple.’

Tess sighed. ‘I do appreciate your help, Giovanni,’ she repeated. ‘But I want a few more estimates – for comparison.’

His face darkened.

‘And don’t forget what I said,’ she tried to sound firm, ‘about this being my project. I’m supposed to be making the decisions. Remember?’

His face fell. ‘Tess, Tess … ’ He took her hand and began playing absent-mindedly with her fingers.

She tried to extract them, but his grip only tightened. For some reason – though it was absurd – she felt a shiver of fear.

‘Do you not know,’ he said, ‘that I wish only the best for you?’ He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it.

Tess felt more uncomfortable than ever. She nodded. ‘Of course. You’ve been very—’

‘And do you not know that our two families are like this?’ He crossed the two fingers of his free hand together as he had done before. ‘Have always been like this?’

‘Yes, I know,’ she said, thinking he protested too much, wishing he’d let go, wishing she’d never let him talk her into anything in the first place. Wishing she was somewhere else.

‘So … ’ His voice was caressing. ‘Why worry your pretty head about these things, hmm? Let me take care of what I know best. I know this town, I know these builders. I can be your representative. It is no trouble.’

Yes, but why, thought Tess. Why did he want to help her so very much?

‘Do you know what it was?’ she asked abruptly. ‘
Il Tesoro
? This …
thing
that was stolen way back when? This theft that you told me about – supposedly carried out by Tonino’s grandfather? Do you know where it came from?’

For a moment, his eyes flickered, and then he let go of her hand as if it had burnt him. ‘Why?’ he demanded. ‘Why do you want to know? Why does everyone want—?’

‘
Everyone
want to know?’ Tess pounced on this. ‘Who? Who wants to know?’

‘No one.’ His mouth was a thin line. ‘No one, Tess. And no, I do not know what the artefact was; only that it was valuable.
Il Tesoro
. Nor do I know where it is now. Do
you
have any idea?’ His eyes seemed to bore into her. ‘Did your mother tell you? She must have known.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘She doesn’t.’ She was not much more than a child. Why would she?

He folded his arms. ‘We will go ahead with this builder,’ he said. ‘Or … ’

‘Or?’ Tess didn’t like to be threatened – or blackmailed, if that was what he was doing.