‘Of course. How could I forget?’
Stefano jumped up, wrapping his arms around Dario’s legs. ‘Can’t you stay and watch the football here?’
‘Not tonight,cucciolo.’ Dario ruffled Stefano’s hair then lifted him high in the air. ‘But I will take you to the match on Sunday, if that’s okay with Mamma.’
The disappointment in the little boy’s face suddenly reminded Lucy of her brother’s sadness after her own parents’ divorce, when Jamie must have been around Stefano’s age. Dario must be Elena’s ex.
She could remember clearly the day their dad decamped to be with his young, pregnant secretary. In the space of a few hours, their lives had been turned upside down and inside out. Not long after, their father took up a new post in Vancouver, and they had had no communication with him since. But they had survived and, eventually, thrived. Their mother married an old family friend whose wife had died from multiple sclerosis. Bill Anderson adopted Lucy and Jamie, shrouding them and their mother in love and support, and they were proud to carry his name and his family tartan.
‘Mamma?’ Stefano turned to Elena with huge, pleading eyes. ‘Can I go to the match on Sunday?’
‘Hmm. What do you think, Lucy?’ teased Elena, with a twinkly smile.
‘I think…’ Lucy reached up and high-fived him. ‘I think Stefanomustgo to the match on Sunday.’
‘Okay. Now, go and wash your hands please,’ said Elena, returning to the stove.
‘Ciao,Elena.’ Dario kissed her on both cheeks, then plonking Stefano back down, he pretended to chase him calling, ‘Vai! Go!’
On his way out, Dario bowed his head, boldly took Lucy’s hand and lightly kissed it, holding her gaze with his dark, penetratingeyes.‘Arrivederci.’He then ran his hand through his hair, collected his car keys from the table and strode towards the door, just as his phone started to ring.‘Sì,Francesca, Come stai?’
Lucy took a huge gulp of wine.
‘Can I do anything to help, Elena?’
She was handed a colander of scarlet-red beef tomatoes. ‘You can wash these and slice them for thetricoloresalad. Thank you. The knife is in the drawer under the sink and you’ll find the chopping board on the dish rack.’
As Lucy stood at the open window washing tomatoes, looking down at the bay in the dusky light, listening to the rhythmic lapping of the waves, cooled by the light breeze, smelling the wholesome aroma of Elena’s cooking, the taste of velvety wine and sea salt on her lips, a feeling of peace and contentment swept over her.
That night before bed, Elena sat at her dressing table staring into the darkness.
Was it her imagination, or was the tangled mass of doubt and uncertainty she’d had in the run-up to Lucy’s arrival, loosening its grip?
She lit a candle and picked up her framed wedding picture.
‘You’d like her, Giancarlo. I think, pray we made the right choice. Stefano was very shy at first, but by bedtime he was his usual, cheeky self. She gave him a Harry Potter book – in English. She read him the first chapter before he went to sleep. And Dario… well, I think he has a secret crush. I’ve never seen him behave in this way – he didn’t think I saw, but he kissed her hand and saidarrivederciin a deep, sexy voice I’ve never heard before. It was sweet, but you wouldhave found it hilarious and teased him about it. Tomorrow I will show Lucy the town and, of course, the school. I tried to tell her about you, but I couldn’t. I was afraid I’d cry and I wouldn’t be able to stop. I miss you every day, my darling, and I will love you forever.’ Blowing out the candle she whispered,‘Sogni d’oro, amore mio.Golden dreams, my love.’
Meanwhile, a few steps along the corridor, Lucy was opening the shutters and the screen door of her bedroom. She stepped barefoot onto the balcony, leaned against the railing, tilted her head back and breathed in the night air. The darkness was broken by the full moon, which cast a glittering silver path from the horizon to the shore, and the tiny lights from the night fishing boats dotted around the black sea.
It was hard to believe that barely twenty-four hours ago, she’d been looking at the same moon from her bedroom window in Scotland, beaming down like a spotlight on her dad’s garden shed.
She took her phone out of her pyjama pocket and dialled home.
‘Hi, Dad. I just wanted to let you know I arrived safely.’
‘Hello, darlin’. Is everything okay?’
‘It’s beautiful, Dad. I’m standing on my balcony looking at the moon on the water. The family are lovely, and the food and, of course, the wine. Oh, and Elena was delighted with the Anderson tartan scarf. Is Mum okay?’
‘Aye. She had a wee cry after you left, but she’s fine. I’ve to pick her up in half an hour from bridge. Now listen, don’t you be worrying about us. Give us a ring now and again to let us know you’re all right, but remember, this isyourtime, and you must make the most of it.’
‘Night, night Dad – orsogni d’oro,as they say over here. Golden dreams.’
‘Golden dreams, darlin’.’
Looking up at the stars, Lucy’s thoughts then turned to Elena and Dario. There seemed to be no bad feeling between them.
Maybe they had ‘consciously uncoupled’, à la Gwyneth and Chris. How civilised, how free-spirited – unlike her and Stewart. But then Elena and Dario had the responsibility of their child to consider.
