Elena had been cast as the tour guide, and Lucy was in charge of the teashop, which was to constitute the last five minutes of the documentary, and feature a brief, informal chat with Franco and the story of the Torta al Limoncello.
Elena peered at the clock through the darkness. She wished she could sleep, but every time she felt herself surrendering, she was jolted awake by Giancarlo’s blood-spattered face haunting her semi-consciousness.
What was it her father always said? ‘We will not live in fear.’
Neither war nor arson had destroyed his pizzeria. It had been rebuilt and reopened, bigger and better than before. He believed that unless businesses had the courage to stand up to these gangsters, they would continue to hold hard-working, innocent folk to ransom.
But Elena had a responsibility not only to Stefano, but to Lucy too. Should she warn her of the potential danger? The last thing she wanted to do was to frighten her, so what would be the point?
Besides, surely the Carabinieri’s increased presence at the factory since Giancarlo’s car crash would send out a strong signal to the Mafia?
Elena decided to put her faith in the law and the universe to protect them, to face her fear, and to sign with the others on the dotted line.
Nopizzo– protection money – would ever be paid by Mozzarella Moretti.
Chapter Thirteen
An air of excitement hovered over the factory as a steady stream of outside broadcast trucks flowed into the car park.
Elena, Alfonso and Valentina stood by the entrance to welcome Nick Cooper, the director, and his crew from the buffalo farm, where they had been filming for the last two days. The documentary was to be sixty minutes long, and with fifteen minutes of film already in the can, this meant closing the factory to visitors for five days. Despite the immediate loss of revenue, the location hire fee would be paid the day after the shoot. And Alfonso was in no doubt that the publicity the programme would generate would reap its rewards in the long run.
Mozzarella production was to continue as normal, as the process would form the bulk of the film.
The reception area had been transformed into the performers’ waiting area, or ‘the green room’, and the staffroom had been taken over by hair and make-up.
As Lucy wasn’t called until the last afternoon of filming, she made herself useful by providing refreshments for everyone and running lines with the students, ensuring they were ready on time and in position as soon as the director called them.
There was a lot of hanging around in between takes while lights were repositioned, sound checks carried out and camera angles altered. In the midst of it all, themastri casaricarried on making mozzarella as usual, without batting an eye.
Matteo proved himself to be a natural in front of the camera, confidently answering questions in English from ‘the visitors’ and demonstrating how mozzarella was made, ensuring his fellow cheesemakers had their moment in the spotlight, while translating into English whenever necessary.
He went off-script several times and delighted his captive audience with a quick-fire collection of jokes and anecdotes, including that hackneyed tale about the clumsy British woman and the flying mozzarella, which had now been exaggerated out of all proportion.
He had taken the time to get to know the crew by their first names, creating a relaxed and fun atmosphere off-camera. Filming had been unusually smooth, and by the end of the week, it was announced that they were ahead of schedule.
‘Aaand cut!’ The lighting designer dashed over to join Nick at the monitor. Huddled together, they studied the screen, talking in lowered tones, nodding and gesticulating.
‘Right, let’s set up in the teashop for the final shoot.’ Nick lifted his head and checked his watch. ‘The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can all have a cup of tea and sample some of those delicious cakes.’
‘Well done, team,’ said Lucy, high-fiving the students. ‘You all did brilliantly. I’m so proud of you.’
Elena clasped her hands excitedly. ‘Everyone get changed. We’ll call you when we’re done, and then let the wrap party begin.’
Lucy gave her a bemused look. ‘The what party?’
‘Wrap party.’ Elena shrugged. ‘It’s the name actors give to the end-of-filming celebration, didn’t you know?’
Lucy giggled. ‘Oh,rarely, daahling?’
The assistant director then appeared, clutching a clipboard. ‘Elena, we’ll need the cakes now.’
While the camera crew, lighting designer and sound engineers assembled their equipment, Nick’s trained eye scanned the beamed ceiling, whitewashed stone walls and tiled floor.
‘Listen up, guys. It’s imperative we maintain the airy and bright feel of…’ His voice trailed off, his attention drawn to the black and white photograph of Giancarlo astride his Vespa. He moved in for a closer look. ‘This looks like a still from a classic Italian movie.’
Elena set down a plate of scones on the counter and smiled. ‘This is… my late husband.’
Nick paused for a moment. ‘I… Oh. I’m so sorry.’
