The Heavenly Italian Ice Cream Shop (13 page)

‘Why don’t you serve those customers, and if you have any last questions I’ll be here?’ Imogen said to her.

Evie looked over at the young couple coming in through the door. They walked excitedly over to the glass counter, the woman admiring the array of ice creams in front of them.

‘Hello, Evie,’ the man said. ‘How come you’re working here?’

‘I’ve had a career change, Ben,’ she said proudly. ‘It’s never too late.’

‘Nice one. Well, it’s great to see you – I was sorry to see your shop shut.’

‘Thank you,’ Evie said graciously. ‘Times change. What can I get you?’

‘Can we have two of your Super Sundaes, please?’ the woman asked.

‘Coming right up,’ Evie said confidently. ‘Take a seat and I’ll bring them over to you.’

Imogen whispered to her. ‘You remember how to make those, right?’

Evie tilted her head slightly, remembering. ‘One scoop of praline and one of mocha, with white chocolate sauce and hazelnut sprinkles – that right?’

‘Spot on,’ Imogen said. She leaned back on the counter as Evie prepared the ice creams.

That week Imogen had been getting up early to prepare the ice creams to Anna’s recipes, coaching Evie as she went, but watching Evie now – her candyfloss-pink hair swept up into a bun and her gingham apron on, deftly putting the sundaes together – she had a feeling that she’d be able to take a backseat with the ice cream shop from now on. Evie seemed to pick up the recipes effortlessly – and she also had the advantage of knowing most of the locals, none of whom minded waiting a few extra minutes while she double-checked Anna’s recipe book.

Over the course of the morning, Evie perfected the heart-shaped swirl on a flat white, and Vivien’s trademark drizzle of chocolate sauce on the sundaes, with a perfectly placed handmade wafer.

‘I don’t think you’re going to need my help much around here after all, do you?’ Imogen said.

‘Let’s see. It’s good to know that you’ll be on the end of the phone, but I think I’m getting the hang of it now.’

‘Incredibly well,’ Imogen replied. ‘You’re a natural.’

‘I’m ready to give new things a go, that’s all. I’ll never be too old for that.’

Anna had been right to trust her gut instinct, Imogen thought to herself. Everything was working out just fine.

Chapter 16

‘Dear Mum, Dad and Imogen,’ Anna wrote. ‘I know it’s a long way . . . but we couldn’t resist inviting you to the launch of our shop.

She put the card inside a silver envelope and wrote her parents’ address on it. She slipped the invitation inside:

Anna, Matteo and Bella

invite you to the opening of:

The Little Ice Cream Shop in the Square

Saturday 5th June, from midday.

Free cones until 3 p.m.

Come and enjoy some Italian gelato

with a splash of English elegance!

‘Come and taste some of this one,’ Anna said to Matteo. ‘I think I’ve struck gold. And just in time for our launch tomorrow.’

Matteo took a spoonful of the peach granita Anna had just made, and nodded in appreciation. ‘Not bad.’

Anna smiled with pride. Matteo was more than just the man in her life: he was also one of the best food critics around, and he didn’t hesitate to let her know when one of her creations needed more work.

‘Those peaches from the market are something else,’ Anna said.

‘I told you.’

Anna put the tray in the glass counter.

‘I wonder what everyone’s going to make of our flavours,’ she said.

‘Well – not long till we find out.’

‘That’ll be Carolina,’ Matteo said later that day, hearing the knock at the front door and dashing over to the window.

‘Hello!’ he called down to his sister.

‘Lina!’ Bella exclaimed, catching hold of what was happening. ‘Lina!’

‘Let’s go and see your auntie,’ Anna said, scooping her daughter up into her arms.

Matteo opened the door and Carolina’s face lit up when she saw her brother and his family. ‘
Bellissima!
’ she cried, darting over and taking Bella into her arms. ‘You’ve grown so much.’ She covered her niece in kisses.

She enveloped her brother in a loving hug.

‘So – I had a look though the window of the shop, very
chichi
,’ Carolina said, appreciatively. ‘You’ve done a really nice job.’

‘Thank you. Your hair, Caro – I love it,’ Anna said, taking in Carolina’s new bob.

Carolina touched her hair. ‘That’s kind of you. Yes, I’ve had it long for years – I felt like a change.’

‘It suits you,’ Anna said.

‘I needed something to cheer myself up to be honest. These past few months . . . well . . .’ Her voice tailed off.

‘Everything all right?’ Anna asked.

‘Yes, it’s fine. Maybe later.’ She forced a smile. ‘Right now I want to be happy and play with little Bella,’ she said, tickling her. Bella emitted a peal of easy laughter.

‘OK, sure,’ Anna said, gently.

A fresh coastal breeze drifted in through the doorway, reminding Anna that she was far from home. ‘Shall we go out into the square?’ she said.

Matteo and his sister led the way and they sat on the edge of the fountain while Bella played nearby.

‘This coast is spectacular, isn’t it?’ Carolina said. ‘What do you think, Anna? Worth the trip?’

Anna shook her head. ‘Absolutely. Every view is like a postcard.’

‘I love it out here,’ Carolina said. There was a distance in her gaze, though, as if her mind were elsewhere. ‘The people, they’re so much more relaxed than where we’re from. You’ll have to come down to the summer house, you get a fantastic view over the sea, and out to the villages, those pretty colourful houses.’

‘Sounds beautiful. We will. Where’s Filippo today?’ Anna asked.

Carolina shook her head and her eyes took on a sheen of tears. ‘That’s a long story.’

Her brother put his arm around her shoulders, and hugged her. ‘What’s he done?’

‘Another time.’ There was pain in her eyes. ‘Tell me about the shop. When are you opening?’

‘This Saturday,’ Anna said.

‘A few things still to organise,’ Matteo said. ‘But we’re nearly there, aren’t we, Anna?’

‘Yes. Almost. You’ll come to the opening, won’t you?’

‘Of course! I wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ Carolina said.

‘Thanks for finding this place for us,’ Anna said.

‘My pleasure.’

‘I think it’s going to be a good summer,’ Matteo said. He held his sister close. ‘We’ll make it a good summer.’

On Saturday, Anna and Matteo stood behind the counter of the ice-cream shop, watching the crowd of eager customers build. They’d spent the week putting up posters around town, announcing the opening, and talking to as many locals and tourists as they could. Anna had wondered if they might encounter resistance to the change – she knew that the old gelateria had been popular – but it turned out people were really curious and ready for a new place. A queue snaked out into the square. At the front of it was Luigi, the owner of the restaurant opposite.

‘What would you recommend?’ he asked.

‘You know what I love – this mojito ice lolly,’ Anna said, mischievously. ‘It hasn’t got
that
much alcohol in it.’

‘A lol-ly?’ Luigi said, stumbling with the word. ‘I do not know what that is – but mojitos I am certainly familiar with. I’d like one of those, please.’

He tasted it and raised an eyebrow appreciatively. ‘I like it.’

A young woman came to the counter and rattled off her order in Italian. Anna struggled to catch hold of her meaning.

Luigi translated for her. ‘She would like the fruits of the forest, two scoops.’

‘Thanks,’ she said quietly to Luigi, serving up the ice cream and passing it to her new customer.

‘If you’re going to be staying here for a while, I think there is someone you might like to meet. Maria!’ he called out to a woman seated in the corner.

The woman joined them, and greeted Anna. Anna recognised her from the grocery shop, had seen her picking up eggs and milk in the morning, chatting to the staff with an easy familiarity. She was in her late forties or early fifties, with dark hair that had gone grey in strands around her face, lending a certain grace to her features.

‘Maria is the best Italian teacher you’ll find around here, and her rates are very reasonable,’ he said.

‘He’s flattering me,’ she said. ‘But it’s true that I do give classes. I live in the house over the square, the one with the blue door. Just give me a knock if you’re interested.’

‘I will,’ Anna said, smiling. It would do her good to immerse herself a little more in the language, and it had never really worked out having Matteo teach her. ‘That would be nice.’

That afternoon, Anna and Matteo served up old favourites and new flavours to one person after another, sending a steady stream of satisfied customers out into the square. Carolina had helped them put out wooden furniture painted pistachio, pale pink and a pastel blue in the square, and was serving the tables. People crowded around the fountain, perching on the edge, dipping their little plastic spoons into friends’ sorbets and ice creams for a taste.

Matteo whispered in Anna’s ear, ‘I don’t want to speak too soon . . .’

‘But it seems to be going quite well, doesn’t it?’ she finished for him. ‘So much for the slow start and adjustment period we were expecting. It looks like we’ve managed to hit the ground running here.’

At the end of their first week of trading, Anna lowered the shutters on the shop with a deep sense of pride. She and Matteo had slipped naturally into the same way of working together that they’d honed in Vivien’s, and the number of repeat customers to the shop was building. Faces were becoming familiar to her, and that helped her to feel at home – and, what was more, they seemed to be particularly enjoying the more experimental recipes that she and Matteo had brought to the menu.

‘It’s all going well, isn’t it?’ she said to Matteo.

He nodded and gave her a hug. ‘It’s great.’

‘I’m glad we came,’ she said.

‘Yes, and I can’t wait to show it off to Mamma,’ he said, proudly.

‘When is she coming to visit, again?’ Anna asked. She had a flash of the message she’d seen on Matteo’s iPad, but forced herself to put it aside. She didn’t want to cause friction by raising it.

‘Next week.’

‘Great,’ Anna said. It would be fine, she told herself. It was only for a few days.

Chapter 17

While the guesthouse was quiet, Imogen sorted through some old files on Vivien’s shelves. In one, she found some photos of Vivien and Evie – from the early days of starting their two shops, back in the 1960s. Then there was one of the two of them, arm in arm, with what must have been the island of Capri in the background. Tucked in behind it was a map of the Amalfi coast, similar to the one she’d framed, but this one had crosses marked on it in pen – places she and Evie had visited together, presumably. Vivien had never forgotten that holiday, Imogen thought. A few days in the sun had stayed with her till the end. Imogen tacked the photo up by the reception desk.

‘Imogen, have you got a moment?’

She looked up at her uncle Martin, standing by the desk, glancing around uncomfortably.

‘Sure, what is it?’

‘It’s . . .’ He lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘It’s Clarissa.’

‘Oh, yes?’ Imogen said. ‘I noticed she was still here. What’s up?’

‘I thought she’d just be staying a couple of days. She said at first that she had things to get back to. She’s got her home in London, and she mentioned a job . . .’

‘But so long as she’s paying, that’s not a bad thing, surely?’

‘No, of course not. She’s paying on time, and she’s very welcome. It just seemed surprising.’

‘Well, people change their minds. It’s nice that she likes this place enough to want to stay. I can’t really see the problem.’

‘It’s not a problem as such. Just seems strange – she rarely goes out, Imogen. She’s been in the room, or wandering around the guesthouse, almost the whole time she’s been here.’

‘Right.’

‘And it’s the nighttimes.’

‘What happens then?’

‘I’ve had a couple of comments from other guests. Not complaints, exactly – everyone seems to like her – but people have noticed that she walks around a lot during the night. I even found her in the kitchen the other day, at about three a.m. She seemed dazed.’

‘That does sound a bit odd. How does she seem, in herself?’

‘That’s the thing. The reason I’m concerned, really. She seems very low, and sad. I’ve tried to ask her how she is, once or twice, and it’s like she looks right through me.’

Imogen reached a sympathetic hand out to her uncle. ‘Let me have a word with her.’

Imogen knocked at the door of the Gatsby Suite gently, and waited for a reply, not really knowing quite what to expect.

Clarissa opened the door wearing a floor-length silk kimono, her auburn hair tied up loosely. She had a natural elegance that seemed to transcend age, but that same melancholy air hung over her. ‘Hello, Imogen,’ she said, politely. ‘How nice to have a visitor. Come in.’

Imogen stepped inside the room. Clarissa motioned for her to sit down, and she took a seat by the window. ‘I’m sorry to bother you. But I just wanted to check everything was OK.’

Her cheeks coloured. ‘Your uncle said something . . . about the other night.’

‘He didn’t send me . . .’ Imogen said.

Clarissa bit her lip. ‘You don’t need to explain. He must think I’m awfully strange. I’m so embarrassed that he saw me walking around the other night. I shouldn’t have gone into those rooms.’

‘He’s just concerned, that’s all.’

‘I’m not surprised. He must be wondering why I’m still here, and, for that matter, why I’m still staying in a B&B, barely going out, when I could be living in a house of my own.’

‘I suppose so,’ Imogen said. ‘A bit.’

‘I have a house, up in London, like I told Martin. But I don’t want to be there now. My stepfather died a month ago, you see, and he was all I had.’

‘I’m so sorry to hear that.’

Clarissa looked down, her eyes filling with tears. ‘I knew it was coming. Mum died when I was young, so he and his parents were the ones who brought me up.’