Bitter Greens by Kate Forsyth

harbour. On one ship, a party of people in gorgeous robes of blue and crimson and orange was sitting down to a feast of fruit and roast fowl and wine in strangely shaped jugs; another ship was being loaded with barrels and boxes; yet another was setting off to sea, its unfurled sails billowing with wind. Margherita had always loved this tapestry and liked to imagine that she too would one day set sail to faraway lands, where she would see extraordinary things and have marvellous adventures.
    Rich customers would sit here in the
portego
and drink wine while Alessandro showed them fabric and feathers and jewels, and a display of masks he had made. As his customers described the mask of their dreams, Alessandro would sketch it in charcoal, the mask bursting into life on the parchment, sometimes beautiful, sometimes grotesque.
    Margherita’s father always said a person only truly revealed themselves when in disguise.
    Margherita was not allowed to play in the
portego
, for one never knew when a customer would come, and the room must always be clean and tidy and respectable. It was only ever used by the family on special occasions, and so Margherita’s eyes widened when she saw that her mother had spread the table with a spotless white cloth and the best pewter bowls and mugs. A small bunch of
margherita
daisies was in a fat blue jug, and three sweet oranges sat in an earthenware bowl. Coarse brown bread stood ready on a wooden board, next to a bowl of soft white cheese floating in golden oil and thyme sprigs. Soup made with fish and clams and fennel and scattered with sprigs of fresh parsley steamed in a big clay pot.
    ‘Come and eat,
topolina
.’ Alessandro lifted Margherita up to sit in the only chair, a heavy throne made of dark carved wood with a back and armrests, and softened with cushions. If this had happened three hours ago, Margherita would have been thrilled. She always thought the chair belonged to a princess in a story, and loved the way it had claws for feet and griffin faces on the armrests. Now, though, she felt only miserable and uneasy. She did not understand why her parents were so upset.
    As her parents began to serve the food, Margherita picked up the golden pendant in her hand and examined it for the first time. It was a delicate golden sprig of parsley, hanging on a fine gold chain. It was so realistic, it looked as if someone had plucked a parsley leaf from the garden and dipped it in gold. Margherita thought the pendant one of the prettiest things she had ever seen.
    Her mother looked up and saw what Margherita was doing. ‘Take it off.’ She dropped the soup ladle with a clatter, spraying brown droplets all over the white tablecloth. She dragged the necklace over Margherita’s head and hurled it out the open window. A few seconds later, Margherita heard the faint sound of a splash as it fell into the canal below.
    ‘My necklace!’
    ‘Pascalina, that was stupid. What if she asks us for her gift back?’
    ‘I won’t have my Margherita wearing anything from that woman.’
    ‘Pascalina, it looked expensive …’
    ‘I don’t care.’
    ‘My necklace! You threw it out the window.’
    ‘I’m sorry,
mia cara
. I’ll get you another necklace, a much prettier one, I promise. You didn’t want that awful thing, did you?’
    ‘It wasn’t awful. I liked it. I want my necklace back.’ Margherita began to cry and pushed her mother away when she dropped on her knees beside her. Pascalina began to cry too, gasping sobs that frightened Margherita and silenced her. She put out a tentative hand and stroked her mother’s face, and Pascalina flung her arms about her and cried into her hair. For a moment, mother and daughter clung together, then Pascalina wiped her face with the corner of her apron and stood up. ‘I’m sorry, my daisy, butyou don’t want anything that woman gave you. It’s true what your father says. She’s a sorceress. Her gifts always have strings attached. Your father and I will