Tuscan Rose (20 page)

Rosa decided to take a chance on the second plan. She washed herself in the basin and tidied herself as best she could. At least Sibilla looked smart in the dress the nuns had given her. Rosa’s plan was to head to the music shop on the Via Tornabuoni. She would ask Signor Morelli if he knew of anyone looking for a flute and piano teacher.

On the first-floor landing, Rosa found two of Signora Porretti’s children playing with a sock puppet. They looked at her with wide eyes.

‘Buon giorno,’
she said to them.

‘Buon giorno, signora,’
they replied shyly.

Rosa noticed they had red splotches on their necks. She wondered if they had allergies from the heat and dust. ‘You’d better get your mother to look at your skin,’ she told them kindly.

Via Tornabuoni was as elegant as Rosa remembered it but the fashions had changed. Padded shoulders and puffed sleeves were
everywhere, along with gossamer hats, wide belts and spectator shoes. Rosa was not as tempted this time to dally and look in the shop windows. The exception was when she passed Parigi’s Fine Furniture and Antiques. She thought of Signor Parigi that day she had seen him in his dove grey suit with the gardenia in his buttonhole. She peered in the shop window and saw a writing desk with a blue motif on display. Next to it stood a chest of drawers in cherrywood. She looked at her hand and remembered the time that Signor Parigi had given her money. She’d had no idea then what a fortune she had received. He had offered her a job too. Would he still be interested in her?

Rosa caught a glimpse of her reflection in the glass. When she had first visited the store, she had been young and carefree. Now, the fresh look in her face was gone. She was the mother of an illegitimate child and an ‘enemy of the state’. Besides, she wasn’t sure that she could see the origin of things any more. She hadn’t for a long time. All the magic had vanished from her life the day she was thrown in prison.

Rosa caught sight of a woman walking out of the backroom with some customers. She was attired in a figure-hugging dress with a scooped collar. Her hair was coiffed into an upswept style and her long nails were plum red. An enormous diamond ring sparkled on her finger. Signor Parigi must have got married, Rosa thought, her heart sinking. She shook her head at her foolish daydreams and continued on her way. A sophisticated woman like that was exactly the kind of woman the elegant Signor Parigi would marry. Rosa thought of the beautiful flamingo pink hat she had once desired on this same street and realised that she would never be glamorous like Signor Parigi’s wife. She pressed her face to Sibilla’s cheek. ‘But you could be, you beautiful girl,’ she told her baby.

To Rosa’s relief, the music shop on Via Tornabuoni was still there and Signor Morelli was standing behind the counter when she entered. He didn’t recognise her from her previous visit, which Rosa preferred. On her way she had stopped at a haberdashery
and bought a gold curtain ring to wear on her left hand. It would eventually tarnish but would have to do for now. She showed him her flute and explained the repairs it needed, and then asked if he knew of anyone who was looking for a music teacher.

‘Why, yes,’ he said. ‘I did get a request a few days ago from Signora Agarossi. She has three children. Would you like me to call her now?’

‘That would be kind of you,’ Rosa said, trying not to sound desperate.

Signor Morelli studied her over the top of his glasses. ‘They are rather naughty children. They have worn out a few teachers.’

Rosa was not put off by Signor Morelli’s warning. After all, how bad could children be? The previous evening she had heard Signora Porretti admonishing her children for various offences, none of which had sounded serious to Rosa.

‘That’s all right,’ she reassured him. ‘I’m certain we will get along.’

Signor Morelli dialled the telephone. Once he was connected to the Agarossi home and put through to the mistress, he explained there was a young woman available to give flute and piano lessons. He paused for a moment then put his hand over the receiver to talk to Rosa. ‘How much do you charge?’

Rosa had given her fee some consideration. She didn’t want to charge too much, but she didn’t want to undersell herself either. ‘Ten lire an hour,’ she replied. Signor Morelli gave nothing away in his face but Rosa wondered if that was too much. It was, after all, almost a week’s rent. Signor Morelli repeated the price to Signora Agarossi. Rosa heard the muffled voice on the line. Signor Morelli turned to Rosa again.

‘Can you teach the three children together?’ he asked.

‘However Signora Agarossi prefers,’ Rosa replied.

Signor Morelli conveyed this information to Signora Agarossi. He exchanged a few more words and then hung up the telephone.

‘Signora Agarossi will see you on Friday at eleven o’clock,’ he said, scribbling down the address for Rosa. ‘You will teach the
children for two hours. I can have your flute repaired by Thursday afternoon.’

Rosa thanked Signor Morelli. Compared to trying to find a place to live, obtaining work might be easy after all. She bought sheet music suitable for children and left the store buoyant with hope. Maybe Signora Agarossi had other friends who would like music lessons for their children too and would recommend her. At ten lire an hour she could do well for herself. She would soon be able to afford better accommodation.

Happy for the first time in a long time, Rosa allowed herself to enjoy the pleasures of the senses that Via Tornabuoni offered. She couldn’t afford a dress or shoes from any of the stores, but she decided to treat Sibilla by buying a cake of carnation milk soap to bathe her with and a tiny bottle of orange blossom perfume for herself. She could have such small luxuries now, she reassured herself, especially if she was on her way to making ten lire an hour as a music teacher. She had been deprived of so much for so long that she wanted to drink it all up.

She still suffered faintness from the birth and stopped outside a café with the idea of having a cup of coffee and a sweet. She looked in the window, trying to decide which pastry to choose: a raspberry tart or a biscotto; a slice of panforte or a raisin square. A shadow passed over her. Rosa held Sibilla tighter. In the window’s reflection, she saw a black touring car with tortoiseshell side panels gliding past on the street behind her. The car became caught in the traffic. Rosa glimpsed the dark-haired passenger and bile rose in her throat. She dared not turn around. The Marchesa Scarfiotti had not changed in the years since Rosa had last seen her. She was still an apparition with ghostly make-up and a waif-like figure. She tilted her head in that haughty manner of hers, looking down her nose at the world. Rosa struggled to catch her breath. Feelings of loathing and fear coursed through her. The car came to a halt a few yards away. For a fleeting moment, Rosa saw herself rushing towards it and opening the door. She would drag out that conceited passenger and trample her to death.

Rosa gasped, shocked at her murderous impulses. She pressed her lips to Sibilla’s downy head. She could never contemplate going back to prison and leaving Sibilla alone. She was a defenceless person in the face of a powerful woman, and she could do nothing about it. Revenge would not be sweet: Sibilla would be taken from her and placed in an orphanage.

Rosa noticed that there was someone in the car with the Marchesa. She saw a flash of red hair. Clementina. Rosa remembered the forlorn face staring down at her from the schoolroom the night she was arrested. She turned to get a better look at Clementina but at that moment the traffic unfroze and the car sped away. Rosa trembled from head to foot. She turned to the café window again but her appetite had vanished.

The following Friday, Rosa prepared for her interview with Signora Agarossi. For an extra fee, Signora Porretti let Rosa use the bathroom. Once Rosa saw it, she realised that she should have charged Signora Porretti because the bath needed to be scrubbed of slime before it could be used and the floor swept of hairs, cigarette butts and toenail clippings. Rosa guessed that the cigarette butts were Signor Porretti’s. He was a stout man who worked shifts on the railways. Rosa had only seen him twice. She assumed he was also responsible for the urine spills around the floor of the courtyard lavatory. Rosa was puzzled by the strong smell of vinegar and the half-dozen empty vinegar bottles under the sink. How could Signora Porretti use all that vinegar and still have such a filthy bathroom? She piled the soiled towels in a corner, hoping Signora Porretti would wash them. After bathing, she used her chemise to dry herself and put on the dress she had bought: a tailored outfit in black rayon and a matching straw hat. It was a suitable outfit for a young widow. She had bought a wicker basket in which to carry Sibilla and stopped for a moment to admire her baby before heading out the door with her.

The Agarossi family lived in an apartment near Piazza Massimo d’Azeglio. The day was hot and Rosa caught the tram part of the
way then walked. She had used a lotion to set her fingercurls and now she regretted it. Her scalp was itching. She must have been sensitive to some ingredient in the lotion, but she had no choice but to ignore the discomfort until after her interview was over and she could wash the lotion out.

The Agarossis’ apartment occupied two floors of a Renaissance palace. When the maid showed her inside, Rosa was taken aback by the vaulted ceilings, the frescoes and the sculptured reliefs. The apartment was not as grand as the Villa Scarfiotti but it was elegant and meticulously clean. Despite the apartment’s age there were no scuffmarks on the walls or fingermarks on the mirrors, the floor and rugs were clean and the furniture was polished to a high shine. The Agarossis were obviously a houseproud family. Rosa wondered if this exactness translated into what they expected of a music teacher. She made a mental note to emphasise the importance of precision in her interview with Signora Agarossi.

Rosa was led to a drawing room with a grand piano by the window. She allowed herself to absorb the luxury of sitting in the rose-scented room with its orderly arranged paintings and cushions. Her scalp was still itching. She quickly scratched it then smoothed down her hair again. A few minutes later a blonde woman wearing a royal blue satin dress entered. She was everything Rosa might have expected of Signora Agarossi from seeing her apartment: tall, with a dancer’s figure and flawless skin. Her pale eyes fell on Rosa, who stood to greet her.

‘Buon giorno,
Signora Agarossi,’ Rosa said. She felt like she was back at the convent and almost curtseyed to the woman.

Signora Agarossi glanced at Sibilla who was awake but quiet in her basket. ‘Your baby?’

Rosa nodded and discreetly flashed the curtain ring on her finger. She lowered her eyes. ‘My husband…he was…’

‘Oh, I see,’ said Signora Agarossi, indicating for Rosa to sit down again. ‘She can stay with the nursemaid during the lessons.’

‘Thank you.’

Signora Agarossi glanced at Sibilla. Her face twitched. ‘Your baby, she is…disease free?’

‘Yes, Signora Agarossi,’ Rosa answered. She resented the question but under the circumstances she had no choice but to answer it.

‘Oh, that’s good,’ said Signora Agarossi. ‘You see, my children are very sensitive. I don’t let them play with other children. I don’t like dirt brought into the house.’

Rosa wondered what sort of childhood the Agarossi offspring were experiencing if they were not allowed to play with other children. Signora Agarossi did have the appearance of a perfectionist. Her nails were scrubbed and buffed, her teeth were pearly-white and her eyebrows were groomed into arches with not a stray hair in sight.

Signora Agarossi rang a bell. Rosa wondered if she was ordering tea but a few moments later a nursemaid appeared with three children, two boys and one girl, aged from seven to twelve. The boys’ shirts were starched, and the little girl wore a yellow pleated dress with a matching ribbon in her hair. All of them had inherited their mother’s colouring. Signora Agarossi introduced them by their names and ages: Sebastiano was twelve, Fiorella was ten, and Marco was seven.

‘What beautiful children,’ Rosa exclaimed. ‘They look like angels.’

Signora Agarossi instructed the nursemaid to take Sibilla to a quiet room in the apartment. Then she rose to leave herself.

‘Wouldn’t you like to stay for the lesson, Signora Agarossi?’ Rosa asked. ‘To make sure all goes to your satisfaction.’

Signora Agarossi seemed surprised by the suggestion. ‘But the children will be the best judges of that,’ she replied. ‘Besides I will be in my sewing room. I shall hear you.’

The children bowed and curtseyed when their mother left. But once she was out of sight their decorum collapsed. Sebastiano headed for the sofa and flung himself on it. Marco pulled Fiorella’s ribbon out and tugged her hair. She wailed.

‘Come here, children,’ Rosa said patiently. ‘Which one of you would like to play first?’

‘The flute is a sissy instrument,’ Sebastiano sneered. ‘I want to play the trombone.’

‘Flutes are for girls,’ Marco agreed, picking his nose.

Fiorella unpacked her flute from its case and blew on it. Her attempt was unmusical but at least she seemed willing to learn.

‘Here, let me show you the correct technique,’ Rosa said. She assembled her own flute and demonstrated to the girl how to hold her instrument properly.

Fiorella ignored her and continued to play random rasping notes.

Rosa sighed. Teaching one of the children would have been a challenge, but all three of them at once was a nightmare. She had no choice but to press on. She needed the money.

‘If the flute is of no interest to you,’ she said to Sebastiano, ‘show me what you can do at the piano.’

Sebastiano stood up and strode to the piano. Rosa was glad that he was finally showing some enthusiasm for the lesson. He sat down at the keyboard and played a few elementary scales then commenced the
Moonlight Sonata
in an average way. Yet he seemed satisfied with himself when he had finished.

Rosa could see now that he was an arrogant and spoilt child who would not be corrected. So she flattered him regarding his interpretation, then played the first movement as it should be played, discreetly suggesting he might like to try improving his hand technique. To her surprise, he played the movement again and attempted to include her corrections while his brother and sister wrestled each other on the floor: a fight that ended with Marco biting Fiorella’s arm and bringing her to tears.