Angie discovered she loved it. Especially home-made, as she learned Rosa’s was. ‘Did Mr Pirelli put you up to this?’ she asked, polishing off her second helping as she pushed wet hair she wished she’d dried out of her eyes. ‘Did he tell you I needed filling out? He thinks I’m too skinny.’
Rosa just laughed. ‘I’m Italian too, cara. To me, everyone needs filling out. And you especially must keep up your strength. You are doing a very important job. Some would say the most important job in the world.’
Angie put down her fork and thanked her, feeling deliciously full for the second time today, still thinking about that portrait and the woman who should be carrying this child. ‘I saw Carla’s…Mrs Pirelli’s…portrait on the landing. She was beautiful.’
The older woman gave a sad smile as she took Angie’s plate. ‘That was painted shortly after they were married. She was a beautiful girl. She wanted desperately for a child to give Dominic. In the end… Well, in the end it just didn’t happen.’
Angie’s hand curled over her belly. ‘It’s not fair that she’s not here for this. It’s not fair that I’ve got her baby.’
And Rosa put a reassuring hand to her shoulder. ‘It’s a miracle, that’s what it is.’ She looked down at Angie’s empty plate and smiled though Angie sensed her sadness in the moisture that glossed her eyes. ‘Truly it is a miracle.’ Then she huffed in a breath, gathering herself as she carried it to the sink. ‘Well, what would you like to do now? Do you need anything I can help you with while you settle in?’
Angie shook her head. ‘It’s been a long day. I might turn in early.’ Although, she thought as she pushed her fringe out of her eyes again, there was one thing she could tackle. ‘You don’t have some scissors I could borrow, do you? My hair is driving me crazy.’
Rosa nodded decisively as if she had the perfect solution. ‘I have a better idea. I have a niece who is a hairdresser. She works from home. I will call her, see if she can’t drop by tomorrow morning.’
‘There’s no need—’
But Rosa just held up her hand as she reached for the phone, the matter apparently decided.
That night Angie lay in an unfamilar bed, listening to unfamiliar sounds—the swoosh of waves on the rock-strewn shore below, the call of seabirds, the scamper of tiny marsupials through the tree tops. All so very different. All so very strange. She snuggled deeper into the cloud-soft bed. How would she ever sleep?
She stirred to the soft billow of curtain and a fresh sea breeze, the scent of hot tea and toast coming from the bedside table, blinking into wakefulness when she saw it was after ten. She hadn’t slept that long in for ever. She eased herself up and took a sip of tea, testing her stomach, then cautiously nibbled at some toast. A little queasy but much better than yesterday. She took her time, not rushing herself. Maybe the doctor was right. Maybe she would get past this horrid stage. She could only hope.
An hour later Rosa’s niece arrived. She was on leave now, she explained, while her bambinos were small. Right now, Rosa entertained her bambinos with cheese straws and building blocks in one corner of the kitchen while Antonia studied Angie’s face and ran her fingers through her hair. ‘You have a natural wave, you know,’ she said, nodding as she poked and prodded. ‘But the weight drags it down. I’ve got an idea what we can do. Are you game?’
An hour of snipping, a deep condition and blow-dry later, Angie looked in the mirror and couldn’t believe the transformation. This was her hair? Where once it had hung lank and lifeless around her face, or been pulled back into a tight ponytail, now her hair bounced and flicked in layers around her face.
‘I love it!’ she announced, to the delight of Antonia and Rosa. ‘How can I ever repay you?’
Rosa smiled and hugged her niece. ‘Believe me. You already have.’
She looked—different. He couldn’t quite pinpoint the change as they sat at the dining table that evening. She was still wearing what looked like the same jeans and another of those singlet tops she seemed to have an endless supply of, the same dreary cardigan pulled over the top, but her eyes looked bigger in her face, her mouth somehow wider.
And every now and then he’d catch a hint of something—her perfume? Whatever, it was fresh and fascinating, with a hint of fruit he could almost identify. Almost pin down. And then Rosa would bring in another dish and he would lose sight of it again.
‘How are you settling in?’ he asked, trying to make small talk. He was used to eating alone, usually in his office as he kept an eye on the overseas markets, but tonight he had papers for her that needed signing. Besides, he supposed he should at least be civil. She was, after all, a guest in his house. He reached for the still steaming basket of bread, only to inadvertently touch her hand as she reached for the same slice.