The Summer of Everything, page 9
Belle’s shoulders slumped with disappointment. ‘No, I don’t.’
He made a small sound which Belle couldn’t decipher, and she felt the opportunity slipping away. Finally, after agonising silence, he nodded. ‘Va bene. You don’t tell anyone you work here without a visa, eh?’
She brightened. ‘Of course.’
‘Then come back this afternoon. We will see how you go during dinner. If you can do half as good a job as Avery, you’re hired.’
Belle wasn’t expected back at Valentina’s until five. She raced across Piazza Navona, along Corsia Agonale and climbed the stairs two at a time up to Avery’s apartment. She wanted to tell Riley about her trial at Valentina’s later that night, but when she let herself into the humid flat, she found Riley out on the balcony with a tall man. As she neared the balcony doors, she realised it was Leo, the waiter from Valentina’s.
‘You’re back!’ Riley said as Belle stepped outside. ‘How did it go?’
‘I have a trial tonight,’ Belle said, squinting up at Leo. Backlit by the sunlight, she noticed dark eyes and hair, and a charismatic smile. It wasn’t lost on her that he was much younger than Riley, but by the way his eyes rarely left hers, he was clearly smitten.
‘Belle’s going to work at Valentina’s,’ Riley explained to Leo. ‘You’ll be colleagues.’
‘You will like it there,’ he said with a thick Italian accent. ‘It’s fun, like a party.’
‘So does that mean we’re staying?’ Riley asked. Her question betrayed a hint of hope as she glanced at Leo.
‘If we both get a job, I think we should,’ Belle said.
Riley beamed. It was obvious she wanted to, and that perhaps this young waiter was part of the reason. ‘Leo has the day off today. We’re heading to Naples. Want to come?’
Belle would have loved to explore colourful Naples, but it was already mid-morning, and she didn’t want to risk being late for her first shift. ‘I better not. We might not make it back in time.’
‘We’ll do something together soon, okay?’ Riley engulfed her in a hug and kissed her cheek. ‘Good luck at Valentina’s. I want to hear all about it later.’
They collected their backpacks and Riley called out, ‘Ciao, bella!’ as they left the apartment.
From her spot on the balcony, Belle listened to their footsteps echo down the stairwell, then watched as they emerged through the front door and out into the foot traffic below.
She smiled. It had been a long time since Riley had appeared interested in a man. Her interactions with the opposite sex were usually restricted to one-night stands, a self-imposed rule that saw her slinking away before dawn, never answering their calls again. But that was the beauty of Rome. She was charming and seductive, and you could be forgiven for forgetting who you once were, as she folded you in her arms and changed you.
The heat of the day was already penetrating the apartment and with hours to kill before her shift started, Belle decided to leave the stuffy flat and explore Rome. She wiped the dampness from her face and reset her braids, then changed into shorts and swapped her sandals for sneakers.
The air was heavy when she stepped back outside, but she still paused for an espresso at the bar next door to the apartment. She stood at an outdoor table to drink, watching people stroll past, mostly tourists in these parts, with the corsia’s proximity to Navona, then she headed off on foot.
She meandered the streets, gazed at the shopfronts, became happily lost in the maze of cobbled laneways, then stumbled upon the Trevi Fountain, tossing coins into the water, and wishing she could stay forever. She allowed the sights, smells and sounds of Rome to guide her and for once, it felt liberating to walk without plan or purpose. Once upon a time, she would have balked at the idea of exploring on her own. She would have waited for Ben to join her. But singledom had thrust Belle into a new world of independence, and as daunting as it had once seemed, it now felt empowering, like she was the master of her own fate.
As the afternoon drew to a close, she stopped for one last espresso near Piazza di Montecitorio, then headed back to the apartment to get ready for work.
The staff were redressing the tables for the dinner shift when she arrived back at five. New cutlery was being laid out, along with fresh napkins, salt and pepper, and dishes of parmesan. Avery bounced to the door to greet her and placed a black collared shirt in her hands with the word Valentina’s embroidered in white font on the front.
Belle beamed, clutched the shirt to her chest and disappeared into the female washroom to change. When she returned to the dining room minutes later wearing her new uniform, Avery directed her to the head waiter, Angelo, for training.
The doors opened promptly at six, and service trickled to life as diners meandered their way to tables. They placed drink orders, followed by entrees and mains, and the food began to flow from the kitchen pass.
Belle was slow to begin with, uncoordinated in the art of carrying larger plates than she was used to, and deciphering the menu, which was worded solely in Italian but may as well have been written in Egyptian hieroglyphs for all she could understand. But she was competent with the coffee machine whenever Andre needed help and, to her immense relief, she didn’t drop a single plate or glass during the shift.
By the middle of the evening, she found her rhythm enough to speed up a little and could begin to pronounce certain dishes on the menu. She rarely saw Uncle Benito except at the kitchen pass where he barked orders, a permanent sheen of sweat on his brow as he worked furiously to keep up, despite the trattoria only filling half its capacity. It wasn’t busy, but it was enough to test a solitary chef.
When the last customer had left and the doors closed, Belle collapsed into a chair. She was tired, her feet aching, and her mouth parched.
‘Signorina,’ Andre said, appearing next to her, flicking a dish towel over his shoulder. ‘You did well tonight.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, looking up into warm eyes.
‘In Italiano, we say grazie,’ he said.
‘Grazie.’ She smiled at him, then blushed when a deep yawn escaped her. ‘Oh, pardon me.’
He chuckled, amused. ‘Is it your first time doing a long shift like this?’
‘Sort of. I’ve never worked until midnight before. I used to work day shifts. And I was stationed at the coffee machine mostly.’ She realised he was watching her face intently and she blushed. She must have looked a mess—shabby braids, tired eyes, a pink nose from the sun that day. ‘Avery’s meeting up with friends after work, but I think I’ll head straight home.’ She climbed to her feet and pushed the chair in.
‘Head home? Now? But you haven’t had dinner yet.’
‘Dinner?’ She scrunched up her nose. ‘It’s midnight.’
‘This is dinner time for us,’ he said with a grin.
She turned and noticed the staff were stripping away dirty tablecloths. Old cutlery and dishes were being whisked away too. The male waiters pushed together several of the tables to form one long line, then they were wiped clean and redressed. The head waiter, Angelo, collected bottles of red wine and sambuca from behind the bar, placing them with glasses up and down the tables.
‘See, you can’t go home yet, signorina,’ Andre said, beckoning her to join him, ‘because now it’s our turn to eat.’
Valentina’s staff gathered along the line of tables. Avery was across from her, deep in conversation with a Russian waitress called Natalya, and someone had turned on the radio, filling the air with loud music. Belle had been so busy during service she hadn’t realised how hungry she was, and she took the seat proffered by Andre, aware of her empty stomach.
A few people passed by to congratulate her on her first successful service. Someone poured her a wine and shoved it into her hand. Two staff members retreated to the kitchen pass and returned moments later with trays of pizza, pasta and bread, which they spread out along the tables, the aroma of garlic, basil, and cheese wafting through the air.
Uncle Benito emerged from the kitchen, hanging his sauce-splattered apron on a hook by the swinging doors, and the room stood and clapped for him. Andre handed his father a glass of sambuca, and Uncle Benito held it high in the air, shouting, ‘Saluti!’ before knocking it back in one swift motion.
‘Saluti!’ the table responded with a loud fervent cheer, signalling the beginning of the meal. Everyone dove in, platters of food, glasses and wine bottles being passed this way and that in what could only be described as joyful chaos.
‘Is this a special occasion or do you do this every night after service?’ Belle asked Andre.
‘We do this every night, seven days a week. We’re a family. And families eat together.’
As she looked around the table at everyone, she understood what he meant, for they looked and felt exactly like a family, with all the love and togetherness that made families whole. They drank wine, broke bread, ate food, and laughed at each other’s jokes.
It made Belle question if she’d ever truly been part of a family. She’d always been aware of it, her father’s conditional love and Ben’s unwillingness to commit. She’d never fit their mould and so they’d punished her by restricting love and acceptance, never quite letting her in.
She marvelled at how easily these people had allowed her into their lives. She was a stranger, yet they had opened their hearts, their homes, and their trattoria to her, all without strings attached. She was waiting for the penny to drop, for someone to say, wait a minute, you need to be an achiever to win our love.
She popped a chunk of bread into her mouth and looked up to find Uncle Benito peering down at her.
‘Bella,’ he said, nodding his approval. ‘Ben fatto.’
She looked to Andre for translation, and he smiled at her. ‘He said, “well done”.’
Belle swallowed the bread and smiled too. ‘Thank you.’
‘Would you like to come back tomorrow?’ Uncle Benito asked.
‘That depends. Are you offering me a job?’
He blinked and grinned, his eyes crinkling.
‘You can take that as a yes,’ Andre said with a laugh.
Belle squealed as Uncle Benito patted her shoulder and shuffled back to his seat at the head of the table. She couldn’t believe it. She’d found herself a job, and while the hours would be long and the pay meagre, she wouldn’t have turned it down for all the world. She’d discovered a place to plant her feet, somewhere to call home and rest her weary soul, to forget about Ben and her broken heart. The feeling of belonging to this beautiful and vibrant family … well, that was just the icing on the cake.
Twelve
Days soon became weeks and between Riley’s new job at the National Gallery of Modern and Contemporary Art—where she worked three days a week as an exhibit designer—and Belle’s long shifts at Valentina’s, they rarely saw each other. Whatever free time Riley had, she usually spent with Leo and, as Belle worked most days and nights, the weeks began to pass with little more than a hurried hello and goodbye as they departed in different directions.
But Riley was happy, and that made Belle happy, so she didn’t feel guilty about throwing herself into her new life in Rome. And Avery was delightful company. They often walked through the piazza together to work, then laughed through shifts, balancing plates of food and drinks until midnight. Between shifts, Avery showed Belle the locals’ Rome, licking gelati as they abandoned the beaten path to find small, fairy-tale-like neighbourhoods that were free of tourists, like the utterly enchanting Quartiere Coppedè, with its whimsical architecture and chandeliered archways.
‘Avery’s like the little sister I never had,’ Belle told Riley one morning as they set out early to visit the fresh produce markets in Piazza Campo de’ Fiori. It was less than a ten-minute walk from the apartment and they passed through Navona on their way, the early heat cloying.
Belle had a rare Saturday off and she had told Riley in no uncertain terms that she wanted to spend it with her.
‘Did you hear her get in at four this morning?’ Riley asked as she linked her arm through Belle’s.
Belle adjusted her burlap tote to avoid it knocking against Riley. ‘Was that what time it was? I knew it was late. Or early.’
‘I don’t know how she does it—parties all night after Valentina’s, sleeps a few hours, then works until midnight again.’
‘It’s called youth.’ Belle chuckled.
‘Yes, but you shouldn’t be walking home late at night on your own.’
‘I don’t walk home alone. Andre walks me whenever Avery goes out.’
Riley’s eyebrow lifted. ‘I see.’
Belle nudged her with her elbow. ‘It’s not like that. He sees me safely to the door, we talk for a bit, then he leaves.’
‘Okay.’ Riley was smiling now.
‘Believe me, there’s nothing exciting about my love life to tell. On the other hand.’ She threw Riley an expectant look, hoping she would take the bait, but she glanced the other way, finding convenient interest in a gypsy selling a necklace to an elderly tourist.
‘I’ve hardly seen you,’ Belle persisted when Riley wasn’t forthcoming. She didn’t want to badger her, since she’d been equally as busy. She just missed Riley, especially when they lived together under the same roof but rarely saw each other.
‘I know and I’m sorry,’ Riley said, giving up on watching the gypsy and turning her attention back to Belle. ‘I’ve been occupied.’
‘You don’t have to apologise,’ Belle said. ‘I have been too. Double shifts every day for the past three weeks.’ She sighed with mock irritation. Truthfully, she was enjoying her work at Valentina’s even if it was exhausting. ‘Things seem to be going well with Leo.’
A hint of a smile tugged at Riley’s lips. ‘They are. It’s been a whirlwind, actually. I wasn’t prepared for it. But he’s fun and sweet. He makes me laugh.’
‘How old is he?’ Belle wasn’t oblivious to the age difference.
‘Old enough,’ Riley said with a wink.
Belle laughed. They left the southern end of Piazza Navona and crossed over the busy Corsia Vittorio Emanuele II, the sun beating down on their bare shoulders.
‘You know me,’ Riley said. ‘I’m not the relationship kind. I’m not the girl that men take home to meet their mothers. And that’s fine. But it’s different with Leo.’ She dropped her head briefly, not before Belle caught the look of vulnerability on her face. ‘He talks constantly about marriage and children and buying a vineyard just outside Rome. He’s intense and emotional; he wears his heart on his sleeve. He makes me talk about things I would never normally talk about.’
‘Have you met his family?’
‘Not yet. But I sense that he wants me to. He’s close to them, especially his mother. It scares me a bit, but in a good way.’ Riley had little contact with her parents, her mother living in Seattle with her new husband and children, and her father retreating to Western Australia decades ago to live out his life in the mines. It hadn’t occurred to Belle that she might crave the comfort of a big family, for Riley had always seemed content on her own.
‘Have you slept with him?’ she asked.
Riley cast her an earnest look. ‘No. We’ve just kissed. We both want the first time to be special.’
Belle tried not to look gobsmacked as a niggle of envy worked its way into her conscience. She’d spent twenty years trying to make Ben wear his heart on his sleeve, to commit to children and a life together. Riley had never wanted any of those things and there they were, dropping uninvited into her lap. Then, in the next breath, Belle berated herself for being petty. Riley deserved happiness just as much as anyone, the chance at love, at finding a soul mate. Leo had made her smile again, had grounded her in a way that few people had ever been able to do. Belle couldn’t resent that.
They reached the bustling marketplace in Piazza Campo de’ Fiori, and a ripple of excitement shot through her. Restaurants and espresso bars lined the square, and the monument of Giordano Bruno stood boldly in the centre. Stalls were clustered around him, large umbrellas erect, and crates overflowed with nuts, fruits, and vegetables. There were bowls laden with crusty bread, jars of pickles and sauces, tubs of dried pasta, and buckets brimming with flowers.
She grabbed Riley’s arm and tugged her forward, stopping at a stand filled with every type of cheese known to Italy. She grabbed a wedge of pecorino and raised it to her nose, breathing in its nutty aroma. Pleased with her first selection of the day, she moved on to a tub of ricotta.
‘You really love it here, don’t you?’ Riley said, watching her relish in the cheeses like a child in a candy store.
Belle smiled with the same fondness she’d grown to associate with Rome. ‘I loved it from the moment I stepped off the plane. I can’t explain why; it just feels like the right place for me.’
‘Because of the food?’
‘Not just because of the food. I belong here, like I have purpose. That probably sounds silly.’
Riley was quick. ‘No, it doesn’t. I feel it too.’
Belle studied the ricotta in the tub, inspecting its dimply surface, before ordering a kilo of it, along with the pecorino wedge. She handed the attendant some coins, glad that she’d taken the time to convert larger euro bills into spicci—small change—before coming, for it was the preferred transaction at outdoor marketplaces. Andre had forewarned her that large bills would be frowned upon.
‘You know Andre likes you,’ Riley said unexpectedly.
Belle blinked in surprise. ‘How could you possibly know that?’
‘Leo told me.’
‘And how would he know? I can’t see Andre pouring his heart out to Leo.’
Riley snorted. ‘He doesn’t need to pour his heart out. Apparently, it’s written all over his face every time you walk into that trattoria.’
Belle ignored her, but her heart hummed a strangely pleasant beat as they moved to the next stall, where rows of wicker baskets were filled with nuts and seeds. ‘We should go on a day trip soon. The five of us. Maybe the Vatican or Cinque Terre if we can all get the same day off.’ She tipped a scoopful of marrone del Mugello—a sweet vanilla-flavoured chestnut—into a brown paper bag and paid the lady.
