Page 23 of The Tuscan Child
She nodded approval. “You look like an English girl. Always tall and elegant. You are a student of Italian?”
“No, I’m here on a visit. I’m looking into places my father visited when he was in Italy.”
“Really? And he came to San Salvatore once?”
“I think so,” I said, not wanting to broach this matter now.
At that moment there was a loud and piercing cry and I remembered that we were not alone in the room. There had been a conversation going on as I walked down the hall. On a chair in the corner, a young woman sat. Her dark hair spilled over her shoulders, and she was watching me with curiosity. On her lap was a tiny new baby.
“My daughter, Angelina,” Signora Rossini said proudly. “And now my granddaughter, Marcella. She is just three weeks old. She was born early, and for a while we were worried we might lose her, but with good care and her mother’s good milk she is now doing well, eh, Angelina?”
The girl in the corner nodded, smiling shyly at me. “Angelina’s husband is a steward on a ship,” Signora Rossini said. “He is away at sea and has not seen his baby daughter yet. So she comes to her old mother and knows she will be well taken care of.”
I couldn’t take my eyes off that tiny, perfect human being, nor could I stop my brain from going to places I did not want it to visit.Three months from now ... Stop!I commanded myself.
“My congratulations on your daughter,” I said, this being one of the phrases we had learned in the Italian course.
Angelina beamed. “You are married?” she asked. “You have children?”
I tried to keep on smiling. “Not yet,” I said. “I am studying to be a lawyer.”
“Oh, studying to be a lawyer.” They looked at each other and nodded, impressed.
Paola sniffed and realised she had left what she had been cooking on the stove.“Un momento,”she said and rushed back to it, giving it a hearty stir.
“What are you cooking?” I asked. “It smells wonderful.”
She turned back to me, shrugging modestly. “It is nothing special. Just a simple lunch that we Tuscans like to eat. We call itpappa al pomodoro. You are welcome to join us. There is plenty.”
“I would love to, if you are sure it’s all right.”
“Of course.” She turned back to her daughter. “Put the baby down for her sleep, Angelina, and give this another stir while I show the young English lady to her room. I am sure she would like to wash before her meal.”
Angelina got up and placed the tiny bundle in a cradle by the wall. The baby let out a complaining wail.
“Let her cry,” Paola said. “It is good for the lungs.” She turned back to me. “Come. I will show you.”
I picked up the bag I had put down on the floor and followed her out of the back door. Bruno the dog trotted beside me, having decided if his mistress liked me then I must be all right. A flagstone path led down the hill through a garden that was a riot of flowers and vegetables. Roses grew between beanpoles and tomatoes. There were bushes of lavender and rosemary that smelled heavenly as I brushed against them. Amid the plants were various ancient fruit trees, cherries and apricots looking almost ready to pick and apples still small green buds. The path ended in an old stone outbuilding with bars at the window. Not exactly prepossessing. Paola went around to the side, took a large key, and opened the door.
“Pass, please,” she said, standing back for me to go in first. The room was simple in the extreme: an iron bedstead, a white chest of drawers, a row of hooks on the wall for clothes, and a little table under the window. The floor was made of the same red tiles as the kitchen and passage. There were fresh white net curtains at the window, and the bed was made up with white linens topped with a homemade quilt.
“Va bene?”she asked. “It’s all right?”
“Si.”I nodded enthusiastically. “And to wash?”
“Ah,” she said, and opened an ancient door into a tiny bathroom. “You have your own water. It’s from the well outside, so it’s not a good idea to drink this. But there is a heater for the shower. See, it turns on like this. One must make sure the handle is lifted so.” And she demonstrated. “Be careful. It can make the water very hot.”
I noted the rather alarming-looking contraption on the wall and decided to heed the warning. The bathroom had a sink, a toilet, and a very small shower. But again it was spotlessly clean. If cows had once been housed here, there was no lingering odour. In fact, the bathroom window was open and the scent of honeysuckle wafted in from the ancient wall outside. I felt instantly that this was a place where I could feel at home.
“Thank you. It’s good,” I said. “How much money will it cost?”
She named a price. I did a rapid calculation from thousands of lira into pounds and pence. It was very reasonable.
“And you will eat breakfast with us in the big house,” she said. “Also if you want to have an evening meal with us, then it will just be a little more. You tell me in the morning, and I will make something special for our dinner.”
“Thank you. I would certainly like to join you for dinner if that is all right.” Suddenly I felt rather overwhelmed, as if this kindness was all too much after several months of feeling so alone.
“So I will leave you to settle in,” she said. “And I will prepare the meal. Come up when you are ready.”
