Page 16 of Change of Heart
Unexpected praise from such an unlikely source produced the urge in Alice to jump to her feet and run across and hug him, but she restrained the impulse and just beamed back at him. She asked if anybody had any suggestions about architects but none could recommend anybody in particular so she resolved to cast her net wider that afternoon.
Chapter 12
There were no fewer than eighteen architects listed on the Internet as having offices in Parma, many claiming to have experience of historical properties, and she studied them closely, knowing how important the right choice would be. As she did so, she remembered seeing the parish church in one of the villages she had passed on her way here swathed in scaffolding, so she jumped into her Fiat and drove down there to ask if they could recommend their architect. On the way, she passed the sawmill that Alfonso had mentioned and decided to strike while the iron was hot. She pulled in through the gates and parked between two massive trucks loaded with tree trunks. A sign on the wall told her that the sawmill belonged to Rocco Emiliano and an arrow on the wall in front of her pointed the way to theUfficioso she headed for it.
The office was up a short flight of steps and occupied the end of a long building within which she could hear the unmistakable sound of an electric saw working. Inside the cramped room she found a powerfully built man with a neck tattoo and a ferocious pair of sideburns. He looked like Wolverine from the X-Men and she had a feeling this was probably deliberate, not least as he was wearing a faded T-shirt which had started life with a now barely distinguishable Superman logo on it. This particular superhero was sitting behind a desk absolutely covered in paperwork.
‘Good afternoon, how can I help?’ He sounded friendly enough, so she took heart.
‘I was wondering if you might be interested in buying some timber.’
‘How much timber?’ He sounded dismissive. ‘We’re really only interested in large quantities.’
‘And what would constitute a large quantity for you? As a rough estimate, we have four or five hundred hectares of partly coniferous, partly deciduous, woodland. Is that the sort of thing you’d be interested in?’ She had to resist the urge to laugh out loud at the expression that appeared on his face. He looked genuinely gobsmacked.
‘Did you say fivehundredhectares? Are you sure?’
She took pity on him, introduced herself and explained who she was and where she was now working. His reaction was enthusiastic. He waved her into a seat and picked up the phone with his left hand while offering her his right to shake. ‘My name’s Rocco Emiliano, I’m very pleased to meet you. Can I offer you a coffee?’ Seeing her nod, he shouted into the phone. ‘Stella, two coffees, please. We have a visitor… and see if you can find some biscuits.’
Alice spent almost half an hour talking to him, drinking black coffee liberally sprinkled with sawdust – it didn’t appear to affect the flavour – and nibbling biscuits which, while good, weren’t a patch on Ines’s home-made ones. He told her he would be delighted to buy an almost unlimited amount of timber from the Varaldo family. When he started asking technical questions about the species, age, height and other dimensions of the trees on the estate, she told him honestly that she had limited experience of forestry, and he offered to give his advice. In the first instance he said he would be happy to come up to the estate and inspect the woods and give his opinion as to which trees would be more saleable. He then went on make a fascinating proposal. If the family agreed, he would be prepared to do a deal in which he would provide all the manpower and machinery needed for felling the chosen trees, and his people would also transport the timber from the estate to the sawmill. It would then be up to Alfonso and Pietro to replant with young saplings so as to maintain the sustainable development of the woodland.
The more Alice listened to him, the more the idea took shape in her head. His proposal had considerable appeal: first of all, he and his people obviously had the expertise and the expensive machinery that she and the family lacked, and just as importantly, doing a deal with him would avoid almost any capital outlay for the family at a time when they were going to have to count their pennies very carefully. She arranged with Rocco that he would meet her on site next morning at ten and she resolved to make sure that Alfonso would also be there to meet him. She advised Rocco that the decision would then have to be taken by the baron and his family, but that if she felt it was a good deal, she would do her best to recommend it to them.
By the time she left, she and Rocco were on first name terms and he had shown her photos of his twin daughters in their First Communion dresses. She got the feeling that underneath the tough guy exterior, Rocco was really a pussycat.
Her visit to the church in the little village of Santa Margherita produced mixed results. When she got there she discovered that although the scaffolding was still standing, there was nobody at work. There was a large white sign attached to the scaffolding with the name of the builders, permit numbers, and details of the architects responsible for the work. This was one of the firms she recognised from her search on the Internet. She made a note of it and tried the church door in the hope of being able to speak to the priest himself and see if he would be prepared to give an unbiased opinion of the architect and, indeed, the builders. Alas, the door was locked and there was no sign of anybody to ask. In fact there was no sign of life anywhere except for a café on the opposite side of the piazza which looked open, so Alice went over to see if anybody could provide any information.
There were only four people inside the café: three elderly gentlemen playing cards in one corner and an equally elderly man behind the bar. He greeted Alice and asked if she would like anything. She was still picking pieces of sawdust out of her teeth after her coffee at the sawmill, but nothing else immediately came to mind, so she asked for an espresso. She stood at the bar to drink it and gradually got into a conversation with the barman. It rapidly emerged that this barista appeared to know all there was to know about the village of Santa Margherita including the work on the church – or the lack of it.
‘The scaffolding’s been up for almost six months now, but nothing much seems to get done. I’ve spoken to the men who turn up from time to time to work on the roof, but they sound pretty clueless if you ask me.’
‘Isn’t there an architect’s firm supervising the work?’
‘If there is, I haven’t seen them. I don’t know what the problem is. Some people say it’s because the bishop hasn’t given Father Ignazio the money to pay for the repairs, but others say it’s because the builders are incompetent or because the architect drew the plans all wrong. Whatever the reason, nothing’s been done for ages.’
Alice finished her drink and thanked the man for the information, mentally removing that particular architect from her list of possibles.
As she drove out of the village she noticed a fine old stone house set in a large garden, just off the road. What caught her eye wasn’t the garden, however, but scaffolding at the side of the house. She spotted a figure in the garden so, on impulse, she pulled in and stopped. A mature lady came over to the hedge and greeted her.
‘Hello, are you lost?’
‘No, I’m fine, thanks. It’s just that I’m looking for a good architect and I couldn’t help noticing that you’ve got some building work going on. I don’t suppose you can recommend a firm familiar with old, historical properties, like your lovely house?’
The woman smiled at her. ‘We certainly can. My husband’s an architect and he knows everything about all the architects in the area. He’s inside now if you’d like to talk to him.
‘That’s very kind, but I wouldn’t want to disturb you or him.’
‘Not at all. I’ve just been doing a bit of gardening and he’s reading his book. Do come in and I’ll make some coffee. My name’s Margherita, like the village.’
Alice introduced herself and followed Margherita to the house where she stopped to admire the sculpted stonework around the entrance. ‘I could see from the road that your house was old, but I hadn’t realised your house was soveryold. This looks like Renaissance or even medieval stonework.’
‘Fourteen ninety-two, the year Columbus set off looking for the spice islands and ended up in the Caribbean.’ The voice came from a tall, white-haired gentleman who emerged on the doorstep. ‘The date’s sculpted on the inside of the lintel. It’s good to meet somebody who knows their architecture.’ He extended his hand towards her. ‘Virgilio Bolognese at your service.’ His language was very formal but there was a twinkle in his eye.
His wife followed Alice inside. ‘Virgilio, this young lady’s asking about architects and I told her I was married to one. Why don’t you take her into the lounge while I make some coffee?’
Alice was soon seated opposite Signor Bolognese in a charming room with a vaulted ceiling. After introducing herself to him, she explained who she was and what she was doing, and he immediately looked most interested.
‘Well, well, well, so Varaldo castle’s going to be open to the public. Do let me know when that happens and I’ll definitely come along for a look. I don’t know anybody who’s been in there, but I’m sure it must have some wonderful features. I’m retired now, have been for seven years, and I have quite a bit of experience of medieval and Renaissance buildings, but I’ve never had the chance to visit Varaldo. It sounds like an enviable job you have. My congratulations.’
