“She’s very pretty. She likes to wear her hair up. She has long, shiny hair. I like to wear mine up too. I look like her, I think. At least, that’s what everybody says. She used to tell me stories before I went to bed so I wouldn’t be frightened. I didn’t like it when she shouted at Papa. Papa didn’t like it either. She never shouted at me, though.”
“Of course not. Grown-ups shout at each other for the silliest reasons, especially Italians,” said Alba, working on the eyes. Cosima had wide-set eyes like Toto’s. They were the softest honey brown.
“She’s a good cook,” Cosima continued. Then she laughed. “Papa said she cooked the best mushroom risotto in Italy.” She paused a moment then added lightly, “She never bought me three dresses.”
Alba looked up from her drawing. “She’d be very impressed with those, wouldn’t she?”
“She’d brush my hair and wash my face.”
“No point wearing lovely things if your face and hair are a mess.”
“Do you have children?”
Alba smiled and shook her head. “I’m not married, Cosima.”
“You might marry Gabriele, though.” Cosima giggled mischievously.
Alba was taken aback. “Who told you about Gabriele?”
“I heard my grandfather talking to Papa.”
“I don’t really know Gabriele,” she said. “I met him in Sorrento and he brought me here in his boat.”
“Papa said you might telephone him and invite him here.”
“He did, did he?”
“Is he handsome?”
“Very.”
“Do you love him?”
Alba chuckled at her innocent questions. “No, I don’t love him.” Cosima looked disappointed. “I love a man called Fitz,” she said. “But he doesn’t love me.”
“I’d forget Fitz then. I bet Gabriele loves you.”
“Love is something that grows, Cosima. He hardly knows me.” She shaded in the hair ponderously.
“He can come on one of our picnics if you like. Then you can marry him.”
“I wish life were that simple,” said Alba with a sigh, missing Fitz.
“You know, I’ll be seven soon,” chirped Cosima, beginning to tire of sitting for the portrait.
“You’re very grown-up!”
“I’ll wear one of my new dresses,” she said happily. “And I’ll wear my hair up like Mamma.”
When Alba had finished she held the pad out in front of her to study it from a distance. It was really rather good. This surprised her, for Alba had never been good at anything—except shopping. Cosima stood behind her and breathed heavily over her shoulder. “That’s brilliant!” she exclaimed.
“It is brilliant, isn’t it?”
“You won’t throw it into the sea, will you?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Can I have it?”
Alba was reluctant to part with it. “Well, all right,” she conceded. “If you bring me a panino?”
They walked down the hill to the olive tree. “This is where my mother is buried,” she told Cosima. It was strange to think she was under her feet, the closest they had been for twenty-six years.
“She’s not in there!” Cosima exclaimed. “She’s in Heaven.”
“I like to think of her there too,” she said, but privately she thought Valentina’s spirit lingered in the house amid the candles and shrines and the memorial Immacolata had made of her room.
As Alba walked down the path toward the town, having left Cosima at the house with her animals and the portrait to show her family, she found her thoughts returning to Fitz. She considered telephoning him. Her spirits were high, having enjoyed a picnic with Cosima, of whom she was growing extraordinarily fond. The beauty of her surroundings was breathtaking. The evening light was pink and wistful and her heart yearned to love. She wished he were there to wrap his arms around her and kiss her in that intimate way of his. She didn’t think she’d feel so embarrassed by it now. Perhaps she’d telephone him that evening after all, what was the worst that could happen?
When she got to the trattoria, she was greeted by Lattarullo, who sat on his own, drinking a cup of strong coffee. His shirt was stained with grease and his hair was unkempt, sticking up in gray tufts. He invited her to join him. “Let me buy you a drink to welcome you to Incantellaria,” he said, beckoning the waiter. “What will you have?” Although Alba wanted to be on her own to wander about the town where her mother had grown up, she was left no option but to accept his offer.
“I’ll have a cup of tea,” she said, sitting down.