The Italian Girl (4 page)

‘The Piedigrotta is one of the most ancient quarters of Naples, as I’m sure you know. Your papa was born there?’

‘All our family were.’

‘Then you are true Neapolitans. Me, I’m from Milan. I only borrow your lovely city.’

‘I think it’s much nicer up here than down there, especially with all the tourists.’

‘You work in the café?’

‘Yes, when I’m not at school.’ Rosanna pulled a face. ‘I don’t enjoy it.’

‘Well, Rosanna Menici, if you cannot enjoy it, you must learn from it. I’m sure you have many English visiting your café during the summer.’

‘Yes,’ Rosanna agreed. ‘Many.’

‘Then you must listen to them and try to learn some English. You’ll need it in the future. You also learn French at school?’

‘I’m top of my class,’ she replied proudly.

‘Some of the great operas are written in French. If you begin to speak these languages now, it will be easier for you in the future. So, what do your mamma and papa think of their daughter’s voice?’

‘I don’t know. I . . . they have no idea I’m taking lessons. Roberto Rossini told Papa I should come and see you, but Papa said we didn’t have the money.’

‘So, your brother is paying?’

‘Yes.’ Rosanna took some lire notes out of the pocket of her dress and placed them on the table. ‘Here is enough for the next three lessons. Luca wanted to pay in advance.’

Luigi took the money with a gracious nod of acceptance. ‘Now, Rosanna, I wish to know if you enjoy singing.’

Rosanna thought of how special she’d felt after she’d sung at Maria and Massimo’s party. ‘I love it very much. I’m in a different world when I sing.’

‘Well, that at least is a good start. Now, I must warn you that you are very young, too young for me to be sure whether your voice will develop in the right way. We must not strain your vocal cords – we must nurture them carefully, learn how they work and the best way to care for them. I teach a school of singing called Bel Canto. This involves a series of increasingly difficult voice exercises, each designed to learn a specific aspect of singing. When you have mastered these, you’ll have studied every possible potential vocal problem before it arises in the music. Callas herself learnt this way. She was not much older than you when she began. You’re prepared for this kind of hard work?’

‘Yes, Luigi.’

‘I must stress that there will be no singing the great arias until you are much older. We’ll first become familiar with the stories of the great operas and try to understand the characters. The finest performers are those who not only have wonderful voices, but are magnificent actors too. And don’t think that two lessons a month with me will be enough to improve your voice,’ he cautioned. ‘You must practise the exercises I give you every day, without fail.’

Luigi broke off as he looked at Rosanna’s wide eyes and chuckled suddenly. ‘And you, Rosanna, must sometimes remind me that you’re still a child. Please accept my apologies for frightening you. The beauty of your youth is that we have so much time. Now, we begin.’ Luigi stood up and walked over to the piano stool. He patted the space on the seat next to him. ‘Come, we will learn which notes are which on the piano.’

An hour later, Rosanna left the Villa Torini feeling deflated. She hadn’t sung one single note during her entire lesson.

When she arrived home, exhausted from the heat on the bus and the tension of the afternoon, she headed straight up to her bedroom. Luca, his hands covered with flour, followed her upstairs.

‘You found your way back then?’

‘I’m here, aren’t I, Luca?’ She smiled at his concerned face.

‘How was it, Rosanna?’

‘It was wonderful, Luca. Luigi is very kind.’

‘Good. I—’

‘Luca!’ Marco roared his son’s name from the kitchen below.

‘I must go. We’re very busy.’ Luca kissed Rosanna on the cheek and hurried downstairs.

Rosanna lay on her bed, reached for her diary from under her mattress, and began to write. A few seconds later, Carlotta entered the room.

‘Where have you been? Mamma wanted you to help but we couldn’t find you. I had to wait on tables all afternoon.’

‘I’ve been out . . . with a friend. I’m hungry. Is there anything to eat?’

‘I don’t know. Go ask Mamma. I’m going out.’

‘Who with?’

‘Oh, just Giulio,’ Carlotta answered, looking bored.

‘I thought you liked Giulio? I thought he was your boyfriend?’

‘He was . . . I mean, he is . . . oh, stop asking questions, Rosanna! I’m going for a bath.’

When Carlotta had left the bedroom, Rosanna finished writing her diary and returned it to its usual hiding place. Once she’d done that, she wandered into the kitchenette and poured herself a glass of water from the fridge. She knew that if she went downstairs to find something to eat, Mamma and Papa would find her a job to do. And she was very tired. Creeping along the landing, she opened the door to the iron staircase which led from the apartment to the street below. It was a place she often went when she needed time by herself, even though it looked over the dustbins at the back. Sitting on the top step, she sipped her water and relived every moment of her lesson with Luigi. Even if the hour had been spent learning to read the black notes on the music, not singing them, Rosanna loved Luigi’s tranquil home. And the fact that she finally had a secret of her own thrilled her.

She went back into her bedroom and changed into her nightdress. Carlotta was wrapping a shawl round her shoulders, almost ready to leave.

‘Have a nice evening,’ said Rosanna.

‘Thank you.’ Carlotta gave her what seemed more of a grimace than a smile and left the room, leaving the smell of her perfume hanging in the air behind her.

Rosanna climbed into bed, pondering how she was going to escape to Luigi’s villa every other Tuesday afternoon without being missed. Eventually, she decided she’d make up an imaginary friend. She would call her Isabella and make her parents quite wealthy, as that would impress Papa. She could then visit Isabella every other Tuesday without getting into trouble. As for the practising, she’d have to try to get up an hour earlier every morning and slip into church before Mass began.

Solutions found, Rosanna fell fast asleep.

It was late September. The café had quietened down, the summer tourists had left the city and the stifling heat had mellowed to a pleasant warmth. Luca went outside into the yard and lit up a cigarette, enjoying the balmy evening. Carlotta appeared behind him at the kitchen door.

‘Luca, can you spare me a few minutes tonight before the café gets busy? I . . . have to talk to you.’

Luca looked at Carlotta’s unusually pale face.

‘What’s the matter, Carlotta? Are you ill?’

She hovered in the doorway, opened her mouth to reply, then heard Antonia’s heavy footsteps coming down the stairs.

‘Not here,’ she whispered. ‘Meet me in Renato’s on the Via Caracciolo at seven. Please, Luca. Be there.’

‘I’ll be there.’

Carlotta returned a wan smile, then left.

A few days later, Rosanna walked through the café and opened the door leading up to their apartment. As she climbed the stairs, she heard Papa shouting in the sitting room. Concerned he might have discovered her secret, Rosanna stopped at the top of the stairs and listened.

‘How could you? How could you?’ Marco was repeating over and over.

Rosanna heard Carlotta’s loud sobbing.

‘Can’t you see you’re making things worse, Marco?’ Antonia sounded near to tears too. ‘Shouting and screaming at our daughter will not help her!
Mamma mia
, we must try to calm down and think what to do for the best. I’ll go and get us all a drink.’

The sitting room door opened and Antonia appeared, her usual high colour drained from her face.

‘Mamma, what is it? Is Carlotta sick?’ Rosanna asked, following her along the corridor to the kitchenette.

‘No, she isn’t sick. Go downstairs to your brother, Rosanna. He’ll make you some supper.’ Antonia’s voice was strained and she was breathing heavily.

‘But Mamma, please, tell me what’s happened.’

Antonia took a bottle of brandy from a cupboard in the kitchen, then turned round and gave her daughter a rare kiss on the top of her head.

‘No one is sick, everyone is fine. We’ll tell you all about it a little later. Now, off you go and tell Luca that Papa will be down in a few minutes.’ Antonia forced a smile and disappeared back into the sitting room.

Rosanna walked through the empty café and into the main kitchen, where Luca was standing at the back door smoking a cigarette.

‘Luca, what’s happened? Papa’s shouting, Carlotta’s crying and Mamma looks as if she’s seen a ghost.’

Luca took a long pull on his cigarette and exhaled slowly through his nose. Then he stubbed it out with his foot and turned back into the kitchen. ‘Would you like some lasagne? There’s one just ready.’ He walked across the kitchen and opened the oven door.

‘No! I want to know what’s happened. Papa never shouts at Carlotta. She must have done something very bad.’

Luca served the lasagne in silence. He put two full plates on the kitchen table and sat down, indicating that Rosanna do the same.

‘
Piccolina
, there are some things you’re just too young to understand. Carlotta has made a bad mistake, and that’s why Papa’s so angry with her. But don’t worry. The three of them will sort it out and all will be well, I promise. Now, eat your lasagne and tell me about your lesson with Signor Vincenzi.’

Knowing she was not going to acquire any further information, Rosanna sighed and picked up a fork.

Rosanna was awoken by the sound of soft sobbing. She sat up in bed, blinking in the grey light of the approaching dawn.

‘Carlotta? Carlotta, what’s wrong?’ she whispered.

There was no reply. Rosanna climbed out of bed and went across to her sister. Carlotta had a pillow over her head in an attempt to drown out the sound of her crying. Rosanna put a tentative arm on her shoulder and an agonised face appeared from under the pillow.

‘Please don’t cry. It can’t be all that bad,’ Rosanna soothed.

‘Oh . . . it
is
, it
is
. I . . .’ Carlotta wiped her streaming nose on the back of her hand. ‘I have to marry . . . I have to marry Giulio!’

‘But why?’

‘Because of something I’ve done. But . . . oh Rosanna, I don’t love him, I don’t love him!’

‘Then why must you marry him?’

‘Papa says I must and it’s all I can do. I’ve lied to him about the . . . oh . . .’ Carlotta sobbed again and Rosanna put her arms round her sister’s shoulders.

‘Don’t cry, please. Giulio is a nice man. I like him. He’s rich and you’ll have a big apartment and you won’t have to work in the café anymore.’

Carlotta looked up at her sister and smiled weakly through her tears. ‘You have a kind heart, Rosanna. Maybe when I’m married, Mamma and Papa will notice you more.’

‘I don’t mind. We can’t all be beautiful – I understand that,’ Rosanna answered quietly.

‘Well, just look where my beauty has got me! Maybe you’re better off without it. Oh Rosanna, I shall miss you when I leave.’

‘And I you. Will you be getting married soon?’

‘Yes. Papa will go to see Giulio’s father tomorrow. I think we’ll be married within a month. Everyone will guess, of course.’

‘Guess what?’ asked Rosanna.

Carlotta stroked her sister’s hair. ‘There really are some things you can’t understand until you’re older. Stay young for as long as possible, little sister. Growing up isn’t as much fun as it looks. Now, go back to your bed and sleep.’

‘Okay.’

‘And Rosanna?’

‘Yes?’

‘Thank you. You’re a good sister and I hope we’ll always be friends.’

Rosanna climbed back into bed with a sigh, still understanding nothing.

Four weeks later, Rosanna stood behind Carlotta in a blue satin bridesmaid’s dress as her sister made her marriage vows to Giulio.

There was a party afterwards at the café. Although Rosanna knew that this should be the happiest day of Carlotta’s life, her sister looked pale and tense, and Antonia not much happier. Marco seemed cheerful enough, breaking open bottle after bottle of sparkling wine and telling his guests of the lovely apartment with two bedrooms that the young couple would live in.

A few weeks after the wedding, Rosanna went to visit Carlotta in her new apartment near the Via Roma. Rosanna stared in awe at the television set in the corner of the sitting room.

‘Giulio must have lots of money to have one of those,’ Rosanna exclaimed as Carlotta brought in some coffee and they sat together on the sofa.

‘Yes, he has money,’ Carlotta agreed.

Rosanna sipped her coffee, wondering why her sister seemed so subdued.

‘How is Giulio?’

‘I hardly see him. He leaves at eight to go to his office and doesn’t arrive home until after half past seven.’

‘He must have an important position,’ Rosanna encouraged.

Carlotta ignored her sister’s comment. ‘I make supper and then I go to bed. I feel so tired at the moment.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I’m having a baby,’ Carlotta replied wearily. ‘You will soon be a
zia
– Auntie Rosanna.’

‘Oh, congratulations!’ Rosanna leant over and kissed her sister on the cheek. ‘Are you happy?’

‘Yes, of course I’m happy,’ Carlotta replied morosely.

‘Giulio must be very pleased that he’s to be a papa.’

‘Yes, of course he is. So, how are things at home?’

Rosanna shrugged. ‘Papa’s drinking a lot of brandy and being bad-tempered and always shouting at me and Luca. Mamma is tired all the time and keeps having to lie down.’

‘So not much is different then, Rosanna.’ Carlotta managed a smile.

‘Except I think Mamma and Papa miss you.’

‘And I miss them, I . . .’ Tears came into Carlotta’s eyes. ‘Sorry, it’s being pregnant. It makes me emotional. Luca still has no girlfriend then?’

‘No. But he has no time to have one. He’s in the kitchen at eight in the morning and he doesn’t finish until very late.’

‘I don’t understand why he puts up with it. Papa’s so rude to him and pays him so little. If I were Luca, I’d go away and start a new life somewhere else.’