One Summer in Italy. Sue Moorcroft
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lungs. Sofia swallowed hard and forced her voice not to tremble. ‘Thank you. He’d be glad I’m here.’
Aurora switched her smile back on. ‘It is a large cemetery. Did your grandparents die long ago?’
‘In 1994. They were together in a car accident between here and Turin.’
‘Many people from the villages around this town also rest there. It will be necessary to find exactly where are your grandparents.’
Sofia sighed. She’d hoped the cemetery would be of a size she could stroll around and chance across the names of Agnello and Maria Bianchi. ‘Dad said I should ask at Santa Lucia church, but I wonder if the records are available to the public online?’
Aurora nodded. ‘Of their passing, yes, but I agree with your papà. It will be better to ask Ernesto Milani at Santa Lucia. He is the one who writes down every funeral. He will find it for you.’
Sofia’s stomach did a loop-the-loop at Aurora’s matter-of-factness. It made the prospect of making this connection to her unknown family excitingly real. ‘Is Ernesto the parish clerk?’
‘Si, è il responsabile del registro.’ Aurora was already reaching for the telephone, her plait swishing with her movements. She looked up something on the computer on the reception desk, dialled a number and began speaking into the phone in rapid Italian.
Sofia listened, noting unfamiliar vocabulary relating to the function of record keeping and registries. By the time Aurora put down the phone she didn’t need much additional information. ‘Ernesto has agreed to meet me? Today?’ It was that easy?
‘Yes, at the church. There is no service until evening so you can find him now in the rooms at the back.’ She marked the church on the map, although Sofia already knew it was on Piazza Santa Lucia, one of the two major squares in town, because Aldo had taken her on imaginary walks through Montelibertà so many times. On a sheet of paper, Aurora wrote Ernesto’s name and drew a diagram of where Sofia would find the rear door.
‘Thank you.’ Gratefully, Sofia folded up the map, smooth and flimsy beneath her fingers. ‘Ciao.’
As she turned away, she caught sight of the guest she’d mentally christened Biker Man across reception. He’d adopted a more orthodox approach to holiday wear now, black cargo shorts and a T-shirt that stretched across his chest. He was starting to tan even after a couple of days, she noticed.
Then, realising the reason he was staring at her was probably because she was staring at him, she smiled briefly and set off towards the door. She shouldn’t ‘notice’ a male guest, even one with ruffled hair and bright blue eyes, even one who’d asked when she got off shift. Because he’d asked the question where she could be easily overheard, she hadn’t confided that one of Benedetta’s rules – printed in bold – was that staff should not have relationships with guests. Shame, as one of her promises to Aldo had been that she’d do all the things she hadn’t been able to do in the years of caring for him, and that, she’d promised herself, would include men.
Boyfriends had been few. The last had been Jamie, whose financial situation had made him happy that ‘dates’ had consisted mainly of staying home with Aldo. Jamie had been good at hugs, and sometimes she’d needed them, but she was pretty sure the sex could have been better, even allowing for the fact that she’d never felt at ease up in her room with Jamie while Aldo slept on the ground floor.
Though she had every intention of steering clear of actual boyfriends for a good long while, Biker Man, a tourist, was unlikely to stick around long enough to qualify. She was single. She’d never had a one-night stand and had placed it high on her list as something a single woman might do.
She braked to a sudden halt as Biker Man, as if divining her thoughts, stepped into her path.
‘Hi.’ He flashed her an easy smile.
‘Hi.’ She produced what she hoped was a suitably staff-to-guest smile back.
‘I didn’t get your name last time we spoke.’ He lifted an encouraging eyebrow.
‘Sofia.’ She imagined Aurora’s ears coming out of her head on stalks in an effort to listen across the reception area.
‘I’m Levi. I was just wondering …’ He hesitated.
Sofia held her breath, trying to decide how to side-step any further interest in her off-duty time. She was going to meet someone – which was true: Ernesto Milani. It was just such a waste! Biker Man Levi’s eyes were mesmeric and he looked to have a hell of a bod beneath his T-shirt.
‘… if Amy’s all right,’ he finished.
Sofia snapped back to reality. ‘You wondered whether Amy’s all right?’ she repeated, feeling slightly foolish for suspecting him of angling for a date.
He flushed at the surprise in her voice. ‘I haven’t seen her for a couple of days and, with what happened, I wondered if she’d lost her job after all. I hope you don’t mind me asking, but you’re obviously friendly.’
Sofia summoned a smile. ‘She’s fine. It was just her turn for time off. Enjoy your day.’ She made a show of checking her watch, then stepped around him and out through the door, trying not to feel ruffled. But, really? Did Levi think a teenage girl like Amy would be interested in him? Levi looked well over thirty, and Sofia had thought Davide, in his late twenties, too old for Amy!
Resolutely, she put Biker Man and his smile out of her mind. She had to get into town and locate the church of Santa Lucia.
Via Virgilio was busy with cars, vans, the occasional lorry and a swarm of motorbikes and scooters. Sofia didn’t rush down the hill towards the centre. Apart from the sun already being a significant presence at just turned eleven o’clock there were enough pedestrians occupying the pavements to make hurrying an effort and she enjoyed gazing around at the buildings, stone or rendered and painted. She’d seen a little of the town in whatever part of each day she wasn’t on shift but it was surprising how much of the past two weeks had been taken up with settling in. Her first couple of days had passed in a whirl of unpacking, orientation, getting sorted with uniform and a hunt for toiletries at a nearby kiosk that seemed to sell everything. Sofia had also found herself helping Amy through orientation and uniform. Sofia had missed out on siblings and was enjoying the novelty of the big-sister role in which Amy seemed to have cast her.
But, right now, with two joyous days of freedom to enjoy in Montelibertà, she was seized by a ridiculous urge to jig around singing, ‘I’m here, I’m here, I’m really here!’
Instead, she strolled decorously past shops that sold shiny ceramics decorated with splashy yellow sunflowers and succulent purple grapes. In between the shops came pavement cafés, their parasols the same shade of ivory as those at Il Giardino. On this upper part of the hill the commercial ventures were interspersed with houses and apartments, lavishly ornamented with window boxes in full flower and lavender tumbling from the tops of garden walls. She thought the scent of lavender would ever-onwards remind her of her feeling of euphoria.
Nearer the town centre the residences petered out and the road became lined with shops and eating places, until Via Virgilio widened into Piazza Roma. Here the buildings were three or even four storeys, painted in earthy tones from ivory to apricot and umber, creating shade for the people passing by or sitting on benches along the way. A giant cartwheel sat in the centre with an old water pump and a profusion of flowers. The cobbles were laid in fan shapes, old and uneven enough to bear witness to a million treading feet.
One building of honey-coloured stone had a sweeping ornamental arch built into it and when Sofia stopped gazing up at cornices, wrought iron and shutters long enough to walk through, she found herself in Piazza Santa Lucia, faced with the gracefully imposing building that was Santa Lucia church.
The Palladian front was rendered and painted palest lemon with white raised plasterwork surrounding the circular windows and forming mock columns and niches. Both of the huge carved wooden doors were closed but the door-within-a-door in the one on