Last Voyage of the Valentina(117)

“Can’t I come with you?”

Alba drew her into her arms and kissed the top of her head. “I’m afraid not. What would your papa do without you? And nonna? Not to mention nonnina. They’d all be very sad without you.”

“But I’ll be sad without you,” she said.

“I’ll come back and visit you.”

“Don’t you love me anymore?” she asked in a small voice and Alba heard the tearing of those seams again, this time louder and more viciously split.

“Oh, Cosima. Of course I do. I love you so much it hurts. I don’t want to leave you. I want to marry Fitz and live here. But his work is in London. He’s not Italian like I am. It’s hard enough leaving the family, but leaving you will be the hardest part of all. But let’s try to look on the bright side. I’ll write to you and telephone you and send you dresses from London. They’re much prettier than the dresses I bought you today. Much, much prettier. And I’ll come back and visit you. One day, when you’re bigger, you can come and visit me.” They sat in silence, their arms tightly wrapped around each other, as the day slowly seeped away.

Alba remained another ten days with the Fiorellis. While she was still among them Cosima forgot about her impending departure. Children live in the moment and with Alba there, the moment was a happy one. She put on her fashion show and the applause was louder than it had been before, but she didn’t know the grown-ups were overcompensating. Alba showed Fitz all the places that were now dear to her: the old lookout point, the lemon grove, and the stream. She showed him her paintings, all hung up in her room and around the house, where Immacolata had put the best of her great-granddaughter on display. Fitz was impressed. He picked them up, studied them carefully, complimenting her over and over again.

Immacolata sulked. Although she no longer wore the clothes of mourning, she wore the face: long and gray and fixed into a permanent scowl. Only at the harbor, when Alba was on the point of leaving, did it break its mold. “I’m only cross because I love you,” she said, taking Alba’s face in her hands and kissing her forehead.

“I’ll telephone you and write and visit. I promise I’ll come back soon,” Alba explained in a sudden attack of panic.

“I know you will. Go with God, my child, and may He protect you.” She crossed herself vigorously, then let her go. Alba embraced Beata and Toto but reserved her biggest hug for Falco. They held each other for a long moment before pulling away.

Cosima allowed herself to be swept into Alba’s fierce embrace. They both wept. Fitz took Alba’s hand and helped her into the boat. The small group stood forlornly on the quay. It was a sad parting. As the boat motored out of the harbor Cosima lifted her small hand and waved.





29




C ook had scones and homemade jams for tea. Scones were delicious any time but never more so than in winter, when the damp and cold demanded to be compensated with something warm and sweet. Verity Forthright popped one into her mouth, which had begun to water long before she had arrived at Cook’s cottage on the Arbuckle estate. The scones were small, bite-sized, and they melted on the tongue. She picked up the linen napkin, part of a set of six that old Mrs. Arbuckle had given Cook one Christmas, and dabbed the corners of her mouth. “Edith, my dear, you really are unsurpassed in the kitchen. These scones are so tasty.” Cook buttered one for herself.

“I think I’ll make scones for Alba’s homecoming tea,” she replied thoughtfully. “Of course, I’ll roast potatoes with the lunch. I recall Fitzroy liked my roast potatoes.” Verity’s mouth watered again.

“It’s all rather sudden, isn’t it?” she said, narrowing her eyes and dropping a large dollop of jam onto her second scone.

“Alba’s never been conventional. That’s not her way. Apparently, Mrs. Arbuckle tells me, Fitzroy went all the way out to Italy to ask her to marry him.” She smiled at the romance of it.

“Fortunate for him, she accepted. Would have been a wasted journey otherwise,” she said. Cook poured them both cups of tea.

“She telephoned from Italy with the good news. I think they make a lovely couple. Lovely,” she said. “He’s calm and kind and she’s fiery and volatile. They complement each other.”

“That’s not what you thought six months ago,” Verity reminded her.

“It’s a woman’s prerogative to change her mind.”

“Maybe he’s managed to calm her down a bit. She needed calming down. She needs to wear longer skirts too. He’s a sensible man; perhaps he’ll make her more respectable. I know Mrs. Arbuckle would like that.”