retained the central mound, and the damp cypresses behind him, he mumbled his words of sympathy, in Italian, with narrow eyes behind glasses sparkling in the watery sunshine. ‘ Ecco ,’ he said, to finish off, and we all thanked him at once.
For some reason of Mama’s I shall never fathom, we hosted a quick intimate reception at a church hall not far away, where three nuns in short habits and abbreviated grey wimples inclined their grey heads and smiled at us. There were – of all things – small English sandwiches and tea, which the Italian guests regarded with curiosity.
‘Who did the catering, Nigel?’ I had to ask.
He mumbled something unintelligible and moved away to talk to someone else. Finally, we all climbed into the cars again and drove up to the villa. I hoped Dottor Ugobaldi would give us enough time for me to get out of the red shoes, which were killing me. The heels had sunk into the damp grass at the cemetery, and I hoped they were not ruined.
From the passenger window of our car, Lewis and I could see Nigel, animated, talking to Harriet in a way I recognized as his angry mood. It was obvious Nigel had come to the end of his rope, and was allowing anger to drive him every which way! It was funny in certain respects. He hadn’t changed. Tempestuous Nigel, whose fiercest emotion was fury.
Brod had changed only a bit, since it was easy to see being with Grant had calmed him considerably, but it still took him ages to decide about anything. The agony and long-windedness of what would happen when it came to the division of the inheritance was going to prove painful because of Brod. He dithered and ducked and wove every time there was an alternative, a fork in his path! Dealing with Italian bureaucracy was enough in my opinion. Adding Brod to the mix would be pure murder!
What could I say about my big sister? Still tongue-tied and woefully introverted, the transparency of her thoughts was as observable as her stubbornness. Insistent in a silent way. She disapproved of everything with scarcely a word. On this occasion, though, I felt there was something pulling and pushing at her. Did she think we were all Mama’s favourites apart from her, and calculated she’d come out the worst in the will? Goodness knew. So calculating, was Paola, I sometimes wondered if she ever glimpsed the people behind the events, behind the figures.
Something was biting her, and she was not about to tell. Not to me, at least. Definitely not to Harriet. My sister Paola was not the confiding sort, and always felt better with complete strangers, which is why I thought she liked Grant better than any of us.
She had stood next to him at the reception, rather than talk to the nuns. Now, she sat quietly, nodding occasionally, listening to the notary’s long-winded legal spiel. Such an eager face! Such straight thin lips! Our old maid Matilde used to call Brod and me the greedy twins, but the greediest of us by far was Paola.
Paola
A forgotten photograph
I was surprised, but certainly not disappointed, by Mama’s will. The notary’s English was good, and I was grateful Mama chose him so well. After his initial long-winded introduction in Italian, he lapsed into formal English, so there were no language hurdles to vault. Still, the complication of what he read us was impossible to unravel; and it was plain after the time he spent explaining the complexity of Italian succession law. He said there were two kinds of succession, intestate and ‘testamentary’ succession.
‘You are all four of you very fortunate to have had such an intelligent and far-sighted mother. She has left a very detailed testament, which means a lot of time will be saved, because of the clarity and the fairness she achieved by understanding the law.’
Still, surprises filled the day. I excused myself and left the room when he was finished, making for the far field behind the house in the dark, until I walked into the railing
For some reason of Mama’s I shall never fathom, we hosted a quick intimate reception at a church hall not far away, where three nuns in short habits and abbreviated grey wimples inclined their grey heads and smiled at us. There were – of all things – small English sandwiches and tea, which the Italian guests regarded with curiosity.
‘Who did the catering, Nigel?’ I had to ask.
He mumbled something unintelligible and moved away to talk to someone else. Finally, we all climbed into the cars again and drove up to the villa. I hoped Dottor Ugobaldi would give us enough time for me to get out of the red shoes, which were killing me. The heels had sunk into the damp grass at the cemetery, and I hoped they were not ruined.
From the passenger window of our car, Lewis and I could see Nigel, animated, talking to Harriet in a way I recognized as his angry mood. It was obvious Nigel had come to the end of his rope, and was allowing anger to drive him every which way! It was funny in certain respects. He hadn’t changed. Tempestuous Nigel, whose fiercest emotion was fury.
Brod had changed only a bit, since it was easy to see being with Grant had calmed him considerably, but it still took him ages to decide about anything. The agony and long-windedness of what would happen when it came to the division of the inheritance was going to prove painful because of Brod. He dithered and ducked and wove every time there was an alternative, a fork in his path! Dealing with Italian bureaucracy was enough in my opinion. Adding Brod to the mix would be pure murder!
What could I say about my big sister? Still tongue-tied and woefully introverted, the transparency of her thoughts was as observable as her stubbornness. Insistent in a silent way. She disapproved of everything with scarcely a word. On this occasion, though, I felt there was something pulling and pushing at her. Did she think we were all Mama’s favourites apart from her, and calculated she’d come out the worst in the will? Goodness knew. So calculating, was Paola, I sometimes wondered if she ever glimpsed the people behind the events, behind the figures.
Something was biting her, and she was not about to tell. Not to me, at least. Definitely not to Harriet. My sister Paola was not the confiding sort, and always felt better with complete strangers, which is why I thought she liked Grant better than any of us.
She had stood next to him at the reception, rather than talk to the nuns. Now, she sat quietly, nodding occasionally, listening to the notary’s long-winded legal spiel. Such an eager face! Such straight thin lips! Our old maid Matilde used to call Brod and me the greedy twins, but the greediest of us by far was Paola.
Paola
A forgotten photograph
I was surprised, but certainly not disappointed, by Mama’s will. The notary’s English was good, and I was grateful Mama chose him so well. After his initial long-winded introduction in Italian, he lapsed into formal English, so there were no language hurdles to vault. Still, the complication of what he read us was impossible to unravel; and it was plain after the time he spent explaining the complexity of Italian succession law. He said there were two kinds of succession, intestate and ‘testamentary’ succession.
‘You are all four of you very fortunate to have had such an intelligent and far-sighted mother. She has left a very detailed testament, which means a lot of time will be saved, because of the clarity and the fairness she achieved by understanding the law.’
Still, surprises filled the day. I excused myself and left the room when he was finished, making for the far field behind the house in the dark, until I walked into the railing
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