that, as long as Sofia and Amy both worked in Il Giardino, their time off together would be limited. They’d bonded right from their first evening when Sofia, thinking Amy looked a bit lost, had suggested eating together. Over pasta, Amy had been wide-eyed to hear about the string of waitressing jobs Sofia had fitted around caring for her dad. In turn, Sofia had been green with envy over Amy’s tales of living in Germany with her expat British family.
The evening had ended in giggles as they pored over the list of rules that had awaited them in their rooms, Benedetta’s name printed in capitals at the foot. ‘Wow,’ Sofia had commented. ‘Staff are required not to go here, wear that, do the other. We’ll be sacked for sure.’
They’d each managed not to transgress so far.
Benedetta had given Amy the weekend off as Amy was used to handling euros, but her Italian was sketchy so she needed to concentrate hard when serving the locals. Also, she was visibly exhausted by long shifts on her feet in the bright sun or late into the evening.
Sofia hadn’t minded waiting until training was over and she was established on the staff rota for her precious two days off – and now they were here. She could catch up on laundry in the staff kitchen-cum-utility-room this evening but this morning, after a couple of extra hours in bed, she meant to embark on the fulfilment of another promise to Aldo, one that had felt too important to be squeezed into the few off-duty hours she’d enjoyed so far.
It meant flouting Benedetta’s rule that staff should avoid any area of the hotel where their duties did not take them, especially when not in uniform. However, Sofia risked entering the coolness of the reception area when she saw Aurora on duty because she was thought Aurora would be less wedded to the rules than Benedetta. Sofia had learned to like Aurora as readily as she’d learned to dislike her brother Davide, who seemed to go through every day resenting working for his mum and serving food to pink-faced tourists.
In contrast, Aurora obviously loved working in Casa Felice and had the happy knack of getting on with everyone. Like many Italian women, she had an air of effortless glamour. Her nails were immaculately crimson, her makeup pristine and her not-a-hair-out-of-place plait hung dead centre down the back of her smart black jacket. She beamed when she saw Sofia. ‘Now you have some time to explore Montelibertà?’
‘I can’t wait,’ Sofia returned frankly. ‘Is there somewhere in town I can buy a map?’
Aurora opened a drawer. ‘Of Montelibertà? Informazioni turistiche gives to us their maps.’ She brought out a neatly folded rectangle and shook it out to display a colourful street plan. ‘See, here is Casa Felice.’ She tapped with a perfect fingernail. ‘Follow Via Virgilio down the hill and into the town and you see the church, many restaurants and museums. Here for good Italian ice-cream.’ She tapped a different point on the map. ‘Gelateria Fernando – my favourite.’
‘I’d like to find the cemetery.’ Sofia tried to sound as if this destination was on the ‘must see’ list of every seasonal worker.
Aurora’s wide eyes and flipped-up eyebrows suggested interest. ‘Your family name, Bianchi, it is unusual for Umbria. But there are others in Montelibertà.’ Her expectant pause invited Sofia to fill in any blanks.
Sofia saw no reason to be secretive. ‘My father was from Montelibertà. I promised I’d put flowers on his parents’ graves. He was ill for a long time before he died so hadn’t been able to return to Italy.’
The corners of Aurora’s mouth turned down. ‘I’m sorry you have lost your papà.’
Sofia tried to smile but it didn’t quite come off, though the memory of Aldo’s breathlessly cajoling ‘Non frignare, Sofia,’ reverberated in her mind. It was hard not to mope when, as now, grief gripped her like a fist around her lungs. Sofia swallowed hard and forced her voice not to tremble. ‘Thank you. He’d be glad I’m here.’
Aurora switched her smile back on. ‘It is a large cemetery. Did your grandparents die long ago?’
‘In 1994. They were together in a car accident between here and Turin.’
‘Many people from the villages around this town also rest there. It will be necessary to find exactly where are your grandparents.’
Sofia sighed. She’d hoped the cemetery would be of a size she could stroll around and chance across the names of Agnello and Maria Bianchi. ‘Dad said I should ask at Santa Lucia church, but I wonder if the records are available to the public online?’
Aurora nodded. ‘Of their passing, yes, but I agree with your papà. It will be better to ask Ernesto Milani at Santa Lucia. He is the one who writes down every funeral. He will find it for you.’
Sofia’s stomach did a loop-the-loop at Aurora’s matter-of-factness. It made the prospect of making this connection to her unknown family excitingly real. ‘Is Ernesto the parish clerk?’
‘Si, è il responsabile del registro.’ Aurora was already reaching for the telephone, her plait swishing with her movements. She looked up something on the computer on the reception desk, dialled a number and began speaking into the phone in rapid Italian.
Sofia listened, noting unfamiliar vocabulary relating to the function of record keeping and registries. By the time Aurora put down the phone she didn’t need much additional information. ‘Ernesto has agreed to meet me? Today?’ It was that easy?
‘Yes, at the church. There is no service until evening so you can find him now in the rooms at the back.’ She marked the church on the map, although Sofia already knew it was on Piazza Santa Lucia, one of the two major squares in town, because Aldo had taken her on imaginary walks through Montelibertà so many times. On a sheet of paper, Aurora wrote Ernesto’s name and drew a diagram of where Sofia would find the rear door.
‘Thank you.’ Gratefully, Sofia folded up the map, smooth and flimsy beneath her fingers. ‘Ciao.’
As she turned away, she caught sight of the guest she’d mentally christened Biker Man across reception. He’d adopted a more orthodox approach to holiday wear now, black cargo shorts and a T-shirt that stretched across his chest. He was starting to tan even after a couple of days, she noticed.
Then, realising the reason he was staring at her was probably because she was staring at him, she smiled briefly and set off towards the door. She shouldn’t ‘notice’ a male guest, even one with ruffled hair and bright blue eyes, even one who’d asked when she got off shift. Because he’d asked the question where she could be easily overheard, she hadn’t confided that one of Benedetta’s rules – printed in bold – was that staff should not have relationships with guests. Shame, as one of her promises to Aldo had been that she’d do all the things she hadn’t been able to do in the years of caring for him, and that, she’d promised herself, would include men.
Boyfriends had been few. The last had been Jamie, whose financial situation had made him happy that ‘dates’ had consisted mainly of staying home with Aldo. Jamie had been good at hugs, and sometimes she’d needed them, but she was pretty sure the sex could have been better, even allowing for the fact that she’d never felt at ease up in her room with Jamie while Aldo slept on the ground floor.
Though she had every intention of steering clear of actual boyfriends for a good long while, Biker Man, a tourist, was unlikely to stick around long enough to qualify. She was single. She’d never had a one-night stand and had placed it high on her list as something a single woman might do.
She braked
