hands to the sides of her head as though to keep it in one piece. She suddenly realised her two grandchildren were staring at her in surprise.
“Sorry I shouted. I’m a bit tired.”
“How’s the headache?” asked Teo.
“Bearable, just. I thought I’d make an effort and come down to dinner.”
“Good.”
“Will your wife be joining us?”
“I’ll find out,” said Teo evasively. “Come on, girls. Let’s go and get you something to eat. I bet Marta’s got something nice for you in the kitchen.”
He hurried them out, and left alone again, Ursula closed her eyes, while she did some deep breathing exercises to calm herself. She only opened them when she heard Lapo come in. She felt the customary thrill of pain that she always experienced when she looked at him. He was so beautiful and so ugly. It wrenched her heart. He was the only one of her children that she felt anything for now. After Marianna’s little problem, she had found herself unable to look the girl in the eye and had distanced herself from her. She knew it was probably because of her own feelings of guilt that this should have happened under her own roof, but she couldn’t do anything about it and she didn’t want to think about it.
As for Teo, well, when he had been a drivelling, snivelling, weak little drug addict she had despised him so much that not even his apparent redemption had changed her feelings. She still felt he was weak and that his determined respectability was very fragile.
“All alone, Mamma?”
“As you see, Lapo.”
“Where is… everyone?”
“Around. They’ll be down for dinner, except Isabella whoseems to have succumbed to migraine.”
“What about you?”
“Marta gave me an injection. I can bear it now if I keep fairly still.”
“Want to talk?”
“No, I’m too tired, and I need to think things through.”
“What things?”
“None of your business. Where have you been?”
“Out with a friend.” He grinned at her.
“Whose name I shouldn’t ask.”
“Oh, you can ask, but I won’t answer.”
“Be careful Lapo. You go too far. I don’t want any more trouble.”
“I’ll be very, very careful.”
He moved away swiftly and she closed her eyes again, listening to his uneven steps on the stairs.
Jacopo Dragonetti left work and collected his car, but this evening he turned it towards the station where he was about to pick up Vanessa. They were going up into the hills to the north of Lucca where, after what he hoped would be an excellent meal, they were going to a concert. He had phoned her after lunch to suggest they go, and had then booked the restaurant. The train was due in at 17.29 but it was twenty minutes late, as he more or less expected it would be. It finally arrived, an elderly, graffiti covered train with all windows open as the air con had failed to work. Vanessa practically fell off it. “Remind me never to take the train again. I was nearly cooked in it.”
He laughed, “Sorry, but the car is cool, I turned the air con on ten minutes ago. It will be cooler up in the hills.”
“What’s the name of this place again?”
“Barga.” He handed her the leaflet and she read it.
“Oh, right, of course they have the opera festival there. I’d forgotten. I went there quite a few years ago, they were doing a Vivaldi Oratorio, Juditha Triumphans, in the Duomo. It was pretty amazing.”
“Well, tonight the concert is outside, in the cloisters of the convent.”
“I love concerts in the open air and it’s Beethoven string quartets. Great.”
“We’re eating in the historic centre of the town. I’ve booked us in for seven thirty at the Scacciaguai restaurant. It was recommended by a friend.”
They had reached the car and Vanessa got in and sighed, “Oh, this is lovely, so cool. Look at me, I must look like a tomato.”
She was a little flushed. Jacopo said, “I like tomatoes.”
They took the road that ran through the Serchio river valley, often right beside
“Sorry I shouted. I’m a bit tired.”
“How’s the headache?” asked Teo.
“Bearable, just. I thought I’d make an effort and come down to dinner.”
“Good.”
“Will your wife be joining us?”
“I’ll find out,” said Teo evasively. “Come on, girls. Let’s go and get you something to eat. I bet Marta’s got something nice for you in the kitchen.”
He hurried them out, and left alone again, Ursula closed her eyes, while she did some deep breathing exercises to calm herself. She only opened them when she heard Lapo come in. She felt the customary thrill of pain that she always experienced when she looked at him. He was so beautiful and so ugly. It wrenched her heart. He was the only one of her children that she felt anything for now. After Marianna’s little problem, she had found herself unable to look the girl in the eye and had distanced herself from her. She knew it was probably because of her own feelings of guilt that this should have happened under her own roof, but she couldn’t do anything about it and she didn’t want to think about it.
As for Teo, well, when he had been a drivelling, snivelling, weak little drug addict she had despised him so much that not even his apparent redemption had changed her feelings. She still felt he was weak and that his determined respectability was very fragile.
“All alone, Mamma?”
“As you see, Lapo.”
“Where is… everyone?”
“Around. They’ll be down for dinner, except Isabella whoseems to have succumbed to migraine.”
“What about you?”
“Marta gave me an injection. I can bear it now if I keep fairly still.”
“Want to talk?”
“No, I’m too tired, and I need to think things through.”
“What things?”
“None of your business. Where have you been?”
“Out with a friend.” He grinned at her.
“Whose name I shouldn’t ask.”
“Oh, you can ask, but I won’t answer.”
“Be careful Lapo. You go too far. I don’t want any more trouble.”
“I’ll be very, very careful.”
He moved away swiftly and she closed her eyes again, listening to his uneven steps on the stairs.
Jacopo Dragonetti left work and collected his car, but this evening he turned it towards the station where he was about to pick up Vanessa. They were going up into the hills to the north of Lucca where, after what he hoped would be an excellent meal, they were going to a concert. He had phoned her after lunch to suggest they go, and had then booked the restaurant. The train was due in at 17.29 but it was twenty minutes late, as he more or less expected it would be. It finally arrived, an elderly, graffiti covered train with all windows open as the air con had failed to work. Vanessa practically fell off it. “Remind me never to take the train again. I was nearly cooked in it.”
He laughed, “Sorry, but the car is cool, I turned the air con on ten minutes ago. It will be cooler up in the hills.”
“What’s the name of this place again?”
“Barga.” He handed her the leaflet and she read it.
“Oh, right, of course they have the opera festival there. I’d forgotten. I went there quite a few years ago, they were doing a Vivaldi Oratorio, Juditha Triumphans, in the Duomo. It was pretty amazing.”
“Well, tonight the concert is outside, in the cloisters of the convent.”
“I love concerts in the open air and it’s Beethoven string quartets. Great.”
“We’re eating in the historic centre of the town. I’ve booked us in for seven thirty at the Scacciaguai restaurant. It was recommended by a friend.”
They had reached the car and Vanessa got in and sighed, “Oh, this is lovely, so cool. Look at me, I must look like a tomato.”
She was a little flushed. Jacopo said, “I like tomatoes.”
They took the road that ran through the Serchio river valley, often right beside
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