The Italian Girl (13 page)

‘Oh no, it isn’t like that at all, Abi. We both come from Naples and our parents were good friends. Anyway, he’s far too famous to be interested in me. And much older than me too,’ she added defensively.

‘Honestly, Rosanna, I’m only teasing you. Sometimes you can be so straight.’ Abi’s face broke into a wide smile as Luca joined them.

‘This is indeed a wonderful night, isn’t it, Rosanna?’

‘Yes. You must be very happy.’

‘I am. Thanks to Signor Bianchi’s donation, other guests have followed suit. Don Edoardo is still collecting cheques.’ Luca’s eyes were full of joy.

‘I think we should go on to a bar and celebrate,’ Abi suggested.

‘I’d like that very much, but unfortunately I must stay here and help Don Edoardo clear the church for Mass tomorrow morning.’

‘Never mind. Rosanna and I will go for a drink then,’ Abi replied.

‘Okay, but don’t be too late home, Rosanna.’

‘No, Luca.
Ciao
.’ Rosanna kissed her brother on the cheek.

The two girls said their farewells and left the church.

‘I know a place just around the corner where we can get a bottle of wine and something to eat. I’m starving,’ said Abi.

The bar was crowded, but they found a table and ordered some wine and two plates of pasta.

‘Cheers, as we say in England,’ said Abi, holding her glass aloft. ‘Here’s to wine, men and song,’ she laughed.

‘Cheers,’ copied Rosanna. ‘By the way, what was it that you wanted to talk to Luca and Don Eduardo about?’

‘Oh, I just thought that now the church is to be restored, it would be wonderful to reinstate a choir. Don Edoardo says they haven’t had one for years. I thought I could help, what with my contacts at the school, and they’d need someone to coach the singers, of course.’

Rosanna looked at her friend in surprise. ‘But with your schedule at the school, how will you find the time? Besides, you’ve often said you’ve no interest in religion.’

‘No, but I’ve definitely got an interest in someone who practises it,’ replied Abi artfully.

Rosanna stared at her. ‘You don’t mean Luca?’

‘As a matter of fact, I do. He looked so happy tonight,’ Abi continued. ‘He really does love that church, doesn’t he? But I do wonder what he’s going to do with the rest of his life. I mean, he can’t live through it forever.’

‘You didn’t know Luca before,’ Rosanna replied defensively. ‘He worked for Papa at our café and had no time for a life of his own. And he did it to pay for my singing lessons. If watching the church restored makes him happy, then I’m glad for him.’

‘Sorry, Rosanna, I’m not criticising him. Quite the opposite, in fact. As you might have gathered, Luca fascinates me,’ Abi confessed. ‘He’s so different from other men. I mean, most young men of his age have careers, girlfriends. Luca doesn’t seem to need those kinds of things.’

Rosanna took a sip of her wine and studied Abi carefully. ‘You really like him? In . . .
that
way?’

‘Oh yes, I’m afraid I do. Luca is so . . . mysterious. I think there are hidden depths, just waiting to be explored by the right woman. And now I’ve found a way to see more of him by organising a choir, I’ve got a better chance to find out what they are. You don’t mind, do you?’

Rosanna shook her head and chuckled. ‘Abi, you think of nothing but romance.’

‘What else is there to think about?’

‘Your future as an opera singer, for one thing.’

‘Oh, yes, there’s that, but I’m a sensible girl, Rosanna. I know I have a decent enough voice, but it’s nothing compared to yours. If I’m lucky, I might make it to the chorus, but I’m realistic enough to know that I’m never going to be the next Callas. So, unlike you, who’s wedded to her art, I have to think of men to stop me getting depressed when I hear you sing.’ Abi gave a mock smile.

‘Well, I think you have a lovely voice. You wouldn’t be at the school if you didn’t. Stop putting yourself down.’

‘Get real, Rosanna.’ Abi shook her head. ‘My aunt is a big noise on the fundraising committee. She’s married to a man who’s extremely generous to both the opera and the school. You don’t think this might just have had something to do with a place being made available to me, do you? In three years’ time, while you sweep into your rightful place in the company, it’ll be left to my aunt to pull strings and secure me a future at the back of the chorus. To be honest, I don’t know whether I want that. Charity, I mean.’ A shadow of sadness crossed Abi’s face. ‘Ah well, being here in Milan is good for my Italian and a little time abroad is what nice English girls should have before they settle down with a suitable husband.’

‘Then . . . maybe it’s me who’s odd.’ Rosanna took another sip of her wine.

‘In what way?’

‘Well, I don’t think about men – ever.’

‘Really?’ Abi raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘When I saw you talking to Roberto Rossini tonight, you didn’t look completely immune to his charms.’

‘Roberto is different.’

‘And why is that?’ Abi looked at her intently.

‘Because . . . because he is, that’s all,’ Rosanna sighed. ‘Anyway, I don’t wish to talk about it. Oh look, here’s our spaghetti,’ she said, wishing to divert Abi from further questioning.

‘Well,’ said Abi beadily, raising her fork to attack the steaming bowl in front of her, ‘have it your way, but you don’t fool me in the slightest, Rosanna Menici.’

Don Edoardo and Luca were surveying the debris that still had to be cleared away.

‘Luca, do you remember me?’ A hand slapped his shoulder, making Luca jump. He turned round and swallowed hard when he saw who it was.

‘Of course. How are you, Roberto?’

‘I’m well, very well. It’s a small world, isn’t it? You’re living in Milan too?’

‘I’m taking care of my sister here,’ he replied stiffly.

‘Yes, I spoke to her earlier. She’s grown up since I last saw her,’ Roberto said. ‘And how is your other sister, the lovely, er . . .’ Roberto scratched his head.

‘Carlotta. She’s well. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must help Don Edoardo. Goodnight.’ Luca nodded curtly and walked swiftly away.

Registering the snub, and already unsettled by the stirring he’d felt on seeing Rosanna Menici again, Roberto was in a devilish mood. He crossed to stand next to Donatella and surreptitiously laid a hand on her firm behind.

‘Take care, someone might see,’ she whispered furiously, stepping away from him as though he were carrying the plague.

‘But your husband has left, has he not? I saw him walking out of the church earlier. And besides . . .’ Roberto leant in towards her and smiled wickedly. ‘I want you. Now.’

Fifteen minutes later, Luca found Don Edoardo slumped in a chair in the vestry.

‘Go home,’ he entreated the old priest. ‘There’s little left to do here, and you’re exhausted. I’ll lock up.’

‘Thank you, Luca. I will. Could you place these in the sacrament cupboard?’ Don Edoardo handed Luca an envelope full of cheques. ‘They’ll be safer here than with me at my apartment and I shall bank them first thing tomorrow. It’s been an extraordinary evening, hasn’t it?’

‘Yes, it has,’ Luca agreed.

‘And it’s all due to you, my dear friend. When the time comes, you know I’ll be recommending you most highly,’ he smiled. ‘Goodnight, Luca.’

When Don Edoardo had left the vestry by the private back entrance, Luca unlocked the sacrament cupboard and placed the cheques inside a tin box where they kept some lire to buy tea and coffee. Relocking the cupboard, he hid the key, then genuflected and knelt down in front of the small altar Don Edoardo used for private contemplation. He thanked God for tonight, and also for helping him discover the valuable silver chalice. He’d been disappointed when Don Edoardo had told him Donatella’s husband had said the drawing was worth very little; if that was the case, it was a pity they couldn’t have kept it here in the church. But Don Edoardo had been so grateful for the money from the silver chalice, he’d felt unable to refuse Donatella Bianchi’s personal request to buy the drawing.

Luca sat for a few moments longer in quiet prayer. Eventually, he stood up and, switching the light off, closed the door behind him. Walking along the side of the church towards the front door, he heard a noise from the direction of the altar. Luca turned towards it. Thieves? Heart thumping, he crept forward to investigate.

To one side of the altar, entwined on the floor, were a man and a woman. They were both fully clothed, but what they were doing was all too evident. The man lay on top, and beneath him, the woman groaned in pleasure, her legs curling round his back. The groaning reached a pitch and the man cried out, then collapsed, spent, on top of her.

Too shocked and dumbfounded to confront them, Luca ducked behind a pillar and watched as the couple stood up, straightened their clothes and walked arm in arm down the aisle. He knew exactly who they were.

‘
Caro
, that was so very wicked! I will call you on Thursday, yes?’

‘Of course.’ The man kissed the top of the woman’s dark head and they strolled towards the door as though nothing had happened.

The two figures disappeared into the night, leaving a horrified Luca and his desecrated church behind them.

He arrived home much later, his heart in turmoil. To perform such an act
there
. . . the sight had wiped the happiness of the rest of the evening from his mind.

He quietly opened the door to Rosanna’s room to check she was safely in bed. Her light was on, the book she’d been reading still clutched in her hand, although her eyes were closed. Luca walked across the room to turn the light off.

‘Luca?’ Rosanna opened her eyes.

‘Yes,
piccolina
?’

‘Wasn’t it an incredible evening?’ she said sleepily.

‘I . . . yes, it was.’

‘What’s the matter?’ She frowned, propping herself up on her elbows. ‘You don’t look happy.’

‘I’m fine. Just tired, that’s all. Go to sleep now.’

‘Wasn’t Roberto wonderful? His voice is so beautiful and he’s so handsome.’ Rosanna stretched and yawned.

‘Rosanna, I don’t think Roberto is a good man.’

‘That’s what Abi said. She said he . . .’

‘What?’

‘Oh, nothing. Goodnight, Luca.’

‘Goodnight.’

Luca switched off the light and made his way to his bedroom.

That night sleep did not come easily. He couldn’t forget the dreamy look on Rosanna’s face as she had talked about Roberto – the man who had ruined Carlotta’s life and now could not even remember her name. Roberto, who had performed an act of sacrilege in his beloved church. Luca’s stomach turned every time he thought of it.

Although he tried to convince himself that Rosanna’s words had only been an ill-timed coincidence, his instincts told him that Roberto Rossini was not finished with his family yet.

13

‘Thank you for meeting me today, Paolo.’ Donatella smiled beguilingly as he sat down opposite her. The fashionable restaurant was already humming with well-to-do patrons. ‘
Aperitivo
? I’ll have a Bellini.’ She snapped her fingers imperiously to summon the waiter.

‘Then I’ll join you,’ agreed Paolo. ‘You are well, Signora Bianchi?’

‘Very well. And please, call me Donatella.’

‘So’ – Paolo was in no mood for small talk – ‘what was it you wanted to discuss with me?’

‘I have a suggestion to put to you.’

‘I see,’ Paolo said warily. ‘Pray tell me.’

‘Recently I have come into a little money – a generous gift from my husband. And you know how I regard the
scuola di musica
as a vital part of the arts here in Milan.’

‘It is indeed a breeding ground for new talent and the opera company would be lost without it,’ Paolo nodded, wondering where the conversation was headed.

‘Exactly. So, I’m thinking of making a generous one-off donation to provide three scholarships for talented pupils whose parents can’t afford the fees. I know at present that you provide an occasional gifted pupil with funds, but that the school’s resources are limited.’

‘This is true. Exactly how much were you thinking of?’

Donatella named the figure.

‘I . . .’ Paolo was taken aback. ‘That’s an extremely large amount.’

‘Ah, here are our Bellinis.’ Donatella lifted her glass. ‘So, will you accept my offer?’

‘It really is a most generous gesture. And what would you . . . ?’

‘What would I want in return?’ asked Donatella. ‘Obviously for the scholarship to be named “Bianchi”, and’ – she paused, fingering the side of her glass – ‘for Roberto Rossini to open the new season at La Scala in a leading role.’

Paolo groaned inwardly. He’d known there would be a price. There always was with a woman like Donatella. ‘I see.’

‘I have followed his career for a number of years now, and I really do think his ability is underused. He has the makings of a star. All my girlfriends agree with me,’ Donatella underlined, as if that settled the matter.

‘And I too believe Roberto Rossini is a very talented performer. But sometimes, Donatella’ – Paolo chose his words carefully – ‘there are . . . things that can prevent certain singers from getting the roles their talent deserves. You are right. He does indeed have the vocal and physical ability to make his mark on the opera world, but his personality . . .’ Paolo sighed. ‘Well, let’s just say he doesn’t help himself.’

‘You mean, you don’t like him?’ Donatella asked him bluntly.

‘No, I assure you that isn’t the problem. I mean that I have issues with him as a member of the company. He’s unreliable, somewhat immature and, I have to say, selfish on stage. There are a lot of his fellow artistes who find him difficult to work with.’

‘But surely all performers can be temperamental? And I know, Paolo, that Roberto Rossini is destined for great things. If not with La Scala, then with some other company. And we wouldn’t want that, would we?’ Donatella eyed him speculatively.

‘I . . .’ Paolo tussled with his conscience. He understood the deal only too well. For this one concession, he’d be able to give three young singers the opportunity to be trained. Finally, he took a deep breath. ‘It just so happens I have scheduled
Ernani
to open the next season and, in spite of my personal feelings, I have to admit the man in question is perfect for the title role.’