Dolci di Love by Sarah-Kate Lynch

take it,’ she told Violetta. ‘For a few nights at least. Is that OK?’
    â€˜ Sí, sí , OK, OK,’ the old woman said, patting the cover on the bed.
    Lily’s body ached to lie down on it. If she could just catch a few hours sleep, a few minutes even, she would be able to think more clearly.
    She took 500 euro out of her wallet and was surprised when Violetta grabbed it all but was too worn out to attempt further conversation. Instead, she held a finger to her lips in what she hoped was the international language of ‘let’s keep this whole thing our little secret’ and waited until the old woman reciprocated, which she did, following this up with another long string of something undecipherable and a dismissive wave goodbye.
    As soon as she was gone, Lily slipped off her kitten heels, peeled off her sodden clothes, lay back on the bed, and almost immediately drifted off into blissful oblivion.

Chapter 13
    T he widows were not a happy bunch when Violetta hobbled down to meet them in the basement.
    â€˜You are wrong,’ one group was shouting at another.
    â€˜No, you are wrong,’ the other group was shouting back.
    â€˜You’re both wrong,’ a third splinter was joining in the fray.
    Thinking they were arguing about Lily and Alessandro, Violetta bit her lip and scuttled over to her sister, who was standing beneath the ginger supper knocking back a glass of vin santo .
    â€˜What’s going on?’ Violetta whispered.
    â€˜Fiorella brought a torta della nonna ,’ explained Luciana, pointing to the table where there was nothing but a few crumbs left on a crumpled paper plate.
    â€˜She did what?’
    â€˜She brought a torta della nonna and it was extremely delicious, but it’s started something of a debate,’ Luciana said.
    â€˜You use whole eggs in the pastry,’ an angry voice cried.
    â€˜No, you just use the yolks!’
    â€˜You use orange zest.’
    â€˜No, vanilla.’
    â€˜No, a tablespoon of olive oil.’
    â€˜It’s not the pastry that makes a good torta della nonna anyway, it’s the filling!’
    â€˜Ricotta,’ went up one chorus.
    â€˜ No ricotta,’ went up another.
    Violetta walked into the middle of this heated battle and silenced the lot of them with just one look, which ended on Fiorella sitting happily on a chair with pastry crumbs cascading down her cleavage.
    â€˜We do not have torta della nonna at meetings of the Secret League of Widowed Darners,’ Violetta said coldly. ‘We have cantucci .’
    â€˜Oh, really,’ Fiorella scoffed. ‘Says who?’
    â€˜Says me,’ Violetta answered.
    The widow Mazzetti held the rule book up and shook it, although it had nearly killed her not to have a slice or two of such a good-looking torta .
    â€˜Says the rules,’ Violetta confirmed.
    Fiorella was not a woman used to female company, or company of any kind for that matter, and was getting the distinct impression that she wasn’t very good at it. ‘Right. Fine. Whatever you say.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s only dolci . I just thought some of us could do with a bit of sweetening up.’
    â€˜Never mind that, are we really going to help out that stuck-up American ice princess?’ the widow Ercolani asked, cutting to the chase. She was suffering from indigestion so hadn’t had any torta , although she definitely could have done with some sweetening. ‘We’re asking for trouble involving an “outsider,” if you ask me,’ she added. ‘And who’s to say she won’t whisk Alessandro away once we’ve done our bit.’
    The widow Benedicti hadn’t thought of this and turned, panicked, to Violetta for assurance.
    The League was officially a democracy, so decisions were meant to be made based on a majority rule, but really, Violetta was theleader and always had been; it was a divine situation, a bit like the Dalai