The Italian Girl (12 page)

Ten days later, Donatella visited Don Edoardo at Beata Vergine Maria.

‘Good news,’ she smiled at him. ‘Excellent news, in fact.’ Donatella settled herself in a pew.

‘Your husband thinks the chalice might be worth something?’

‘Yes, it is apparently extremely valuable. My husband says that, at auction, it may go for fifty thousand dollars. That’s about thirty million lire.’

‘Thirty million lire!’ Don Edoardo was stunned. ‘I hadn’t
dreamt
it would be worth so much!’

‘My husband wishes to know what you would like him to do – whether you wish to sell the chalice. If you do, he can arrange for it to go into an auction.’

‘I . . . I hadn’t considered the possibility of a sale. I will have to talk to my bishop. I’m not sure what he will want to do,’ sighed Don Edoardo. ‘The Church may well want to keep the chalice in its possession. The decision isn’t mine to make.’

‘Don Edoardo, please, come and sit down.’ Donatella patted the pew next to her. The priest consented warily. ‘Please forgive me my impertinence, but what is it your beautiful church requires at the moment?’

‘Money, of course, to restore it to its former glory,’ he admitted, feeling out of his depth in a conversation of this kind.

‘Exactly. Now, may I ask whether you have told anyone of your find?’

‘No. I didn’t think it necessary until we discovered whether we’d found something of value.’

‘I see.’ Donatella nodded. ‘Personally, I think it’s doubtful that, if you tell your bishop, you or this church will see much of the proceeds from the sale of the chalice, even assuming he wishes to sell it.’

‘I think, Signora Bianchi, that your assumption is correct,’ Don Edoardo agreed uneasily.

‘Well now, my husband and I may have come up with a solution. He is prepared to pay you the amount of money he believes the chalice will achieve at auction. The figure I mentioned was thirty million lire. He will then sell the chalice to a private collector. You will have a lot of money to help restore your church and no one need know the truth.’

Don Edoardo stared at her. ‘But, Signora Bianchi, surely my bishop will wonder where such a large amount of money came from?’

‘Of course. And you’ll tell him, and anyone else who asks, that Signor Bianchi was so shocked by the state of the building when he and his wife visited for the recital she had helped organise that he decided to make a large donation there and then.’

‘I see.’

‘Don Edoardo, I understand you don’t wish to do anything dishonest. My husband and I will act in whatever way you wish. But personally, I think that, with your beautiful church in need of so much work, and with the chalice being found here, it may be God’s will that it is used for the church’s exclusive benefit, no?’

‘You may be right, of course, Signora Bianchi. But how could you be sure that no one would ever know?’ Beads of sweat pricked Don Edoardo’s forehead. Donatella observed them and knew she had her prey firmly in her sights. She went in for the kill.

‘You have my word on that. The chalice can be sold privately abroad. My husband has a long list of wealthy private collectors who wish to be discreet. And just think how much work could be accomplished in God’s name with the proceeds.’

‘
I . . . must think.’ Don Edoardo sighed deeply. ‘I must ask for God’s guidance.’

‘Of course.’ Donatella took a card out of her handbag. ‘Why don’t you telephone me when you’ve made your decision?’

‘I will. Thank you, Signora Bianchi, for all your help.’

‘Really, it was nothing.’ She stood up to leave. ‘Oh, I almost forgot about the drawing,’ she added casually. ‘My husband doesn’t believe it’s valuable. Certainly it is finely drawn, but then the Madonna has been pictured many, many times by the world’s most illustrious artists. He doubts this little sketch would generate much interest in comparison.’

‘Of course, we assumed that would be the case,’ said the priest, with a deferential nod.

‘However,’ continued Donatella as she buttoned her immaculately tailored coat, ‘I’ve become quite attached to it, and therefore would like to make you a private offer to buy it for myself. How does three million lire sound?’

Don Edoardo looked at her in disbelief. ‘Like a generous sum of money. You’re most kind, but I must think about it. I shall be sure to speak to you as soon as I’ve made my decision.’

‘Then I look forward to hearing from you. Good afternoon.’ Donatella nodded graciously and swept out of the church.

‘Good afternoon, Signora Bianchi,’ Don Edoardo murmured to her departing back.

Two days later, Donatella handed her husband a glass of champagne as he entered the sitting room.

‘He’s agreed?’

‘Yes. He telephoned me this afternoon.’

‘
Cara
, you’ve been wonderful,’ said Giovanni. ‘Now, I must call New York and tell my client the good news. And of course, you must have something for yourself out of the proceeds. Anything you want.’

Donatella eyed her husband, a slight smile curving the corner of her red lips.

‘I’ll think of something, Giovanni, I promise.’

12

The church was beginning to fill up as Luca helped usher the well-dressed guests to their seats. The candles flickered atmospherically in their holders along the aisle and at the altar, and the scent of the massed arrangements of lilies filled the air.

After Signor Bianchi’s offer, Luca had prayed with Don Edoardo for guidance and they had both come to similar conclusions. They had decided this offer was a gift from God. How could it be anything else? If they accepted it, restoration work could begin on the church immediately.

Don Edoardo came bustling up to him. ‘I think most of our guests have arrived and our performers are ready. Luca, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. It seems as if, from the day you walked into my church, you’ve brought nothing but blessings upon it.’

‘It’s God who brought me here, Don Edoardo,’ Luca replied gently.

‘I know, and may He bless you also.’ He patted Luca’s shoulder and made his way down the aisle. Luca followed him and caught the eye of his sister sitting in one of the front pews with the rest of the performers. She gave him a small wave and he winked back. Then Luca saw a familiar tall, dark-haired figure in a dinner jacket hurrying down the aisle. He turned away, fighting back his automatic revulsion. Nothing would spoil tonight for him. Nothing.

Don Edoardo and Paolo de Vito climbed the steps and stood in front of the altar.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ said Don Edoardo, ‘thank you for joining us here on this very special night. It is the time of year for celebration: of resurrection, of rebirth, which is what we hope to achieve also for our church. May I say a particular thank you to The Friends of the Milan Opera for making this evening possible. And now Signor Paolo de Vito, the artistic director of La Scala, is here to introduce the programme.’

‘Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.’ The audience clapped as Paolo addressed them. ‘To begin our programme, may I present the students of the
scuola di musica
, singing the sextet from
Lucia di Lammermoor
.’

Paolo left the steps and six students made their way to the front of the church. They arranged themselves before the beautifully dressed altar, and the recital began.

Roberto, however, paid no attention to the setting and hardly listened to the music. He was staring in fascination at Donatella, who was sitting on the other side of the church beside her husband. Roberto wondered if they still made love; he supposed they must do occasionally. It was amazing what money could buy, he thought, as a polite round of applause came from the audience and the first students took their bows.

Roberto found he couldn’t help himself and began to undress Donatella mentally. But as he did so, he became aware of a voice so sweet and pure it seemed to naturally belong in a place of worship. And it was a voice he had heard before. It was singing one of his favourite arias: ‘
Sempre libera
’, from
La Traviata
. Abandoning all thoughts of Donatella, Roberto cast his eyes forwards to study its owner.

She had grown several inches taller, but was still as slender as a reed. Her thick, dark hair fell in soft, shining waves below her shoulders. Her skin was pale and almost luminous by candlelight, with only a hint of colour resting on her high cheekbones. Her mesmerising brown eyes expressed every emotion of the aria she was singing. The voice was more mature now, having been trained and developed, but it was the same voice, the voice which had caused him to weep when it had sung ‘
Ave Maria
’ in Naples many years ago. The voice of a little girl who had now become a beautiful woman.

Rosanna sat down with a sigh of relief. Abi squeezed her hand. ‘You were wonderful,’ she whispered. ‘Well done.’

Paolo stood up. ‘And now, please welcome our two very special guests from La Scala, Anna Dupré and Roberto Rossini, singing “
O soave fanciulla
” from
La Bohème
.’

Rosanna stared at Roberto Rossini as he began to sing. It was six years since she’d seen him last. As she watched him, her heartbeat increased and her palms became clammy.

She had dismissed the way she’d felt about him all those years ago in Naples as a silly schoolgirl crush, but seeing him now, she knew that the feeling was real and still very much alive inside her. As Roberto’s voice joined Anna Dupré’s in a glorious crescendo, Rosanna remembered her ambition to sing with him one day, their talents united . . . it was a dream she fervently wished to fulfil.

The recital came to an end and there was loud applause as the artistes took their bows. Don Edoardo stood up and addressed the audience.

‘Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, for your presence here tonight, to listen to what has been a most magnificent recital. And now, Sonia Moretti, chairman of the committee, would like to say a few words.’

Sonia joined Don Edoardo at the front of the church.

‘Ladies and gentlemen. Thanks to your generosity and that of the artistes of La Scala and students of the
scuola di musica
, this evening has raised almost ten million lire.’ Sonia waited until the applause had lessened. ‘But there is more. Here I have a cheque for Don Edoardo from Giovanni and Donatella Bianchi. They’ve been so moved by the sight of this beautiful church that they have decided to make their own personal contribution. Their modesty does not allow me to reveal how much they have Donated, but it will go a long way towards restoring Beata Vergine Maria to its former glory. Don Edoardo, please accept the cheque.’

Don Edoardo did so with a humble bow, then turned to the congregation. ‘I cannot express my gratitude to Signor and Signora Bianchi. I’m overwhelmed by their generosity. God bless them. Thank you also to each and every one of you for supporting our recital. I hope you will all return after the restoration work is completed, to see what a difference your patronage has made. Wine will now be served at the back of the church for anyone who wishes it.’

As the audience began to rise from the pews, Abi smiled at Rosanna as they walked down the aisle together. ‘This evening’s been a roaring success. I should think your brother will be over the moon.’

‘Yes.’ Rosanna’s eyes were shining with happiness. ‘It’s wonderful. Luca will be thrilled.’

‘Would you mind if I leave you to go and speak to him and Don Edoardo? I have an idea I want to discuss with him.’

‘Of course not. I’ll see you later.’ Suddenly, a hand touched her shoulder lightly from behind.

‘Excuse me for intruding.’

Rosanna turned and looked up into a pair of achingly familiar deep-blue eyes. Her heart began to race against her chest.

‘Rosanna Menici?’

‘Yes?’

‘Do you remember me?’

‘Of course I do, Roberto,’ she said shyly.

‘It’s many years since we last met in person, though my mother wrote to tell me of your move to Milan and of your mamma’s death. I was very sorry to hear the sad news. How is your papa?’

‘As well as can be expected. He misses Mamma very much. Tomorrow, Luca and I are going home to Naples for a week.’

‘Then do give him my condolences and best wishes.’

‘I will, thank you.’ Their eyes locked for a moment, the colour rising in Rosanna’s pale cheeks as they stared at each other. Roberto broke the silence.

‘So, as I knew he would, Luigi Vincenzi helped you?’ he said.

‘Yes. He was wonderful. He even arranged for Paolo de Vito to come and hear me sing at a recital in his villa last summer. Paolo offered me a scholarship and so here I am in Milan. And it’s all thanks to you, Roberto,’ she added softly.

‘I did nothing, Rosanna. It’s Luigi Vincenzi who should take the credit. And from hearing you tonight, I think he’s done an excellent job. I’m sure it won’t be long before you’re performing on the stage of La Scala.’ Roberto smiled down at her, his eyes filled with warmth.

‘You sang beautifully too.’

‘I’m glad you think so.’

There was another awkward pause between them.

‘Well,’ said Roberto eventually, ‘I’d better do my duty and mingle with the guests. It was so good to see you again, Rosanna. If you ever need any help or advice, you can always find me at La Scala.’

‘Thank you, Roberto.’

‘Goodbye, little one. Work hard.’

He waved as he walked up the aisle towards the crowd at the back of the church. Rosanna’s eyes followed him avidly, until one of the guests, eager to congratulate her, claimed her attention.

A few minutes later, Abi was back at her side. ‘I didn’t know you knew the bad boy of La Scala.’

‘What do you mean?’ Rosanna frowned.

‘Oh, my Aunt Sonia says that Roberto Rossini has the most terrible reputation with women. He’s been through most of the chorus and the soloists. Mind you, I’m not surprised.’ Abi shrugged. ‘He’s completely divine, don’t you think?’

‘I suppose he is.’ Rosanna was still watching Roberto.

‘And, by the way he was looking at you, I think you could be his next victim,’ Abi teased her.