The Villa (51 page)

Not all the authorities in Sicily were corrupt. By letting the right people know what they had found, Tess and Tonino were pretty sure that
Il Tesoro
wouldn’t fall into wrong hands. That it would go to a museum that celebrated its heritage, not into some greedy, grubby, corrupt organisation.

Millie had gone very quiet.

Tess reached into her bag and withdrew the ring, wrapped in tissue. ‘And you can give this to Giovanni as well,’ she said.

After a moment’s hesitation, Millie unwrapped it. She turned it over in her fingers. Tonino had made a good job of cleaning it up and the engraved initials ELS shone out from the gold. ‘Who …?’ she began.

‘We think it belonged to his grandfather,’ Tess said. ‘Ettore Sciarra. You know, the man who was supposed to have been
murdered by Tonino’s grandfather?’ She paused. ‘I know Giovanni has a similar ring engraved with his initials. It’s a family tradition, I suppose.’

Millie nodded.

‘It was in the cave,’ Tess said. ‘Alongside
Il Tesoro
. And a skeleton.’

‘A skeleton?’ Millie flinched.

Tess got out of her chair. ‘Giovanni might want to think about what it was doing there,’ she said.

When Tess had returned to the
baglio
, she told Tonino about Millie and Giovanni – why should she bother to protect Millie’s reputation?

‘I guessed already,’ he said.

Tess stared at him. ‘How?’

‘Millie Zambito chases after every man.’

Tess considered this. ‘You as well?’

‘For some months,’ he admitted. ‘The woman – she does not give up so easily.’

Tess remembered what Millie had said about him. How she had looked. ‘Were you tempted?’ she asked. She realised it must have been Millie too who had told Tonino that she was Flavia Farro’s daughter the night he turned up late and drunk, the night she’d expected to make love with him and ended up breaking up with him.

He shrugged. ‘I am a man,’ he said.

She’d noticed.

‘But no. Millie is too brash. A man-eater.’

‘And what about Pierro?’ Tess felt sad about Pierro. He was a lovely man. He didn’t deserve what Millie was doing to him.

Tonino made a sign. The cuckold. ‘Maybe he knows. Maybe not. Maybe he too has someone. Maybe not. Millie Zambito is a very unhappy woman, Tess.’

Tess knew that he was right. She thought of the brittle brightness Millie seemed to exude. And she was sad because she had hoped Millie could be a friend. Could she stay in Cetaria when it also housed Millie and Giovanni? Yes. She had the feeling they might leave her alone from now on.

In the restaurant they raised their glasses in a toast. ‘To
Il Tesoro
,’ said Ginny. ‘The famous treasure returned to Sicily by my mother!’ They all laughed.

‘They say the
Grotta Azzurra
is very beautiful,’ Flavia murmured.

‘Oh, it is.’ Tess stopped abruptly. Had she told them the name of the cave? Definitely not. ‘Muma …?’ She caught her mother’s eye. ‘You didn’t know about the treasure and where it was hidden – did you?’

Flavia clicked her tongue. ‘Do you think those men would have told me?’ she asked.

No … But Santina had told her how Flavia liked to listen … And as Tess looked into those wise old eyes, there was an unmistakable twinkle … ‘Muma,’ she breathed.

Flavia smiled and shrugged. ‘It was your pathway, my darling,’ she said.

‘To Edward Westerman.’ Tess looked around at them all, her family, here with her in Cetaria, where – for Muma, at least – it had all begun. She thought she was beginning to comprehend at last – why Edward Westerman had left her the mermaid’s villa. There was a lot to lose, when you lost sight of your roots. She had come to Sicily in order to understand her mother, but in coming, she had learnt to understand her daughter too. Mothers and daughters … It had been quite a journey.

‘To Edward,’ echoed Flavia. She glanced across at Lenny and smiled. ‘And to his sister Bea.’

So when are you going to tell us what this is, Nonna?’ Ginny pointed to the red book. ‘I’ve seen you writing in it, you know.’

‘It is my story.’ Looking suitably modest, Flavia handed it to Tess. ‘It may fill in some of the gaps, my darling.’

Tess took it from her. She opened it. Her mother’s handwriting filled the pages – neat and sloping. She felt a lump in her throat. ‘Muma … ’ How brave she was. Tess put a hand on hers.

‘And at the back … ’

Tess looked. There were pages of recipes, all in her mother’s handwriting. She started reading one.
A pinch of this, a handful of that, a few of the other
… She flicked through.
Antipasto and meat and fish and dolce
… All Sicilian; all the recipes that she had grown up with.

‘I started writing it for you, my dear,’ said Flavia. ‘But I ended up writing it for myself too.’

‘Thank you, Muma … ’ Tess said.
Food is your identity … Food is where you have come from. The place you call home
… This was it, she realised. This was the real mother and daughter stuff. This was the real treasure.

In bed that night, Lenny turned to Flavia. ‘What do you think of our girl?’ he said.

‘She has done well.’ Flavia smiled at him.

‘D’you reckon she’ll be happy here?’

‘As a rabbit in clover.’ Flavia had seen Tess talking to the man who made the mosaics in the
baglio
. He was Alberto Amato’s grandson. A fine man. She would trust that one.

‘And you, my love?’ He opened his arms and she crept inside, resting her head on his shoulder. ‘Are you happy to be back here – even if it is just for a holiday?’

‘I was going to talk to you about that,’ said Flavia.

‘Which part of that?’

‘The holiday part.’

‘Ah.’

They were quiet. Flavia felt his familiar warmth and she was content. This afternoon she had visited Santina and they had both wept copiously.

‘I thought you would never return,’ Santina said, over and over, hugging Flavia close and then propelling them apart. ‘So that I can look at you, my friend.’

My friend … Santina had shown her the sampler they had embroidered together too. It was funny – Flavia had almost
forgotten about it, but when she saw that piece of faded linen, well, it brought everything back.

Sometimes home is about forgiveness. And sometimes you have to search for home. Over the years England had become home to Flavia. But … As she‘d told that young man down in the
baglio
, Flavia had come back because it was time to put the past to rest. Time to end the journey. Time to forgive her family. And Sicily too. She had finally let it go.

When they were all in bed, Tess made her way down to the
baglio
. It was midnight and Tonino was in the bay waiting for her. He had lit a wood fire and was grilling fish and prawns. The fragrance of the burning wood filled the night air, mingling with the sweetness of the seafood, salt and wet stone.

She sat on the wall by the jetty. He had brought a couple of oil lamps down to the bay and these were propped against the stones, letting off a yellow-blue light from the flames, which combined with the glow from the fire and the full moon, to illuminate the scene. He had laid a rug down on the pebbles and set out white wine, ice, glasses and bread in a basket.

‘Have you finished it yet?’ she asked. She knew that the mosaic he was designing was special, but he hadn’t revealed what it was or why. He was waiting, he kept saying, for the missing piece.

‘Yes, it is complete,’ he said. He squeezed some lemon juice over the fish.

‘Really?’ And then she noticed that he had propped something – a large flat object – up by the jetty, covered in tarpaulin. ‘Is that it? Is there going to be an unveiling?’ she teased.

‘Of course.’

He made her wait until they had eaten the last of the fish and prawns with hunks of Sicilian bread and drunk the last glass of white wine, until the fire was dying and they lay back against the rocks, looking out towards
il faraglione
, the shadowy cliffs and the moon gleaming on to the waves in the bay.

He got up, positioned it until it was directly in the moonlight, and moved the oil lamps closer. He pulled back the tarpaulin.

Tess sat up, stared at the mosaic. It was beautiful. She was beautiful. For it was a mermaid, designed in profile, holding a mirror in one hand, a comb in the other, her long seaweed-coloured hair hanging down her bare back, her gorgeous tail curved and pointing behind her. She reminded Tess of the motif on the villa; the mermaid she thought of as her mermaid. Though her face was tranquil rather than sad; she looked as if she had discovered a secret; it was as if she knew much more than she would say.

‘She is all seaglass,’ Tonino said.

‘Because that’s where she came from.’ Tess could make out the shades of the glass now; the turquoise and sea-greens of the body, the lilac sheen to the hands, arms and face, the yellows and browns of her hair.

‘And the missing piece?’ she asked him.

He pointed to the perfect almond-shaped, blue-violet eye.

‘So you found it!’

‘It wasn’t easy.’ He grinned. ‘But it is worth the wait, do
you not think? It is a special piece. I found it right over by the far rocks.’

‘Well, yes, it’s lovely.’ Tess had the feeling she was being teased. ‘So what does the mermaid signify? When are you going to tell me her story?’

He rested on his haunches, seemed to deliberate for a moment. ‘The mermaid was sighted out on
il faraglione
by a fisherman from Cetaria,’ he said. ‘She was looking in the mirror and combing her long brown and yellow hair.’ He pointed and smiled. ‘It seems she only appeared when the moon was full.’

‘Like tonight,’ murmured Tess, looking out to the rocks at sea.

‘Like tonight,’ he agreed. ‘Her mirror reflected the surface of the sea. He was drawn to her irresistibly. He sat on the rocks and listened to her song. It was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.’

He paused and Tess strained to listen. But all she could hear was the lap of the water on the rocks and the soft splash and hiss as the waves broke and drew back from the shore.

‘But he was not satisfied to listen to her only once a month,’ Tonino went on. ‘He wanted to listen to her every night. He wanted more.’

Tess nodded. Didn’t they all? ‘So what did he do?’

‘He tried to keep her. “You must stay out of the water,” he told the mermaid.’ Tonino’s voice changed. He seemed to become the fisherman as he took on his words. ‘“You must come and live with me and let me love you.”’

Tess waited.

‘“If I stay out of the water”, she said, “my song will die.”’

Tonino got up and approached the mosaic, continuing the story, ‘The fisherman did not believe her. “I can only catch fish when I hear your song,” he said. “The rest of the time the water is barren. Come to me and there will be fish aplenty and we shall feast and love and be merry.” ’

‘What did she say to that?’ asked Tess.

He glanced across at her. ‘Still she held back,’ he said softly. ‘ “If I leave the sea,” she said, “the fish will leave too and you will be hungry.” ’ Tonino paused. ‘For the third month the fisherman threw himself on the rocks at her feet. “When you are with me,” he said, “I am safe in the water. My raft will not fail me, my harpoon will stay straight. Without you, the sea is my enemy.”’

Tess looked up towards Villa Sirena. From here she could not see the mermaid motif. But she could see that she had been faced with a difficult decision.

‘The mermaid could not bear to think of the fisherman drowning,’ Tonino said. ‘So she put away her comb and her mirror and she came to live up there on the land.’ Tonino too looked up towards the villa. ‘He named his cottage after her.
Sirena
. But she was trapped. She was not free. The tides changed and winter came and there were no longer fish in the sea. The mermaid – she lacked the strength to sit out on the rock. Slowly her song faded to silence.’

His voice was hypnotic, as before. It seemed that when he told these legends, he slipped so easily into that other
world. ‘No wonder she looks so sad,’ Tess murmured.

‘At last the fisherman saw what he had done. One night when the moon was full he took his raft, he placed her on it and he took it out to sea. “Be free!” he cried, and she slid from the raft and into the waves, her tail flashing like liquid silver.’

Tess could almost see her. She looked at the mosaic he had made with so much care. Yes, she could see her.

Tonino bent his head. ‘The fisherman, he was heartbroken,’ he said. ‘It did not matter that fish returned to the sea or that he heard her song when the moon was full. “I should not have expected her to live in my world,” he told himself. And the next time the moon was full he went out to the water’s edge and waded into the sea.’

Tess gazed at him. ‘And …? ’

‘He saw her by the rocks in the moonlight,’ he said. ‘He looked into the blue-violet eyes. He listened to her sing the same beautiful song that he had heard before. And when at dawn she slipped once again into the sea, he followed her.’

Tonino crossed his arms in front of him. ‘
Finito
,’ he said.

Finito
? Tess wondered if Edward Westerman had ever heard that story. ‘What does it tell us?’ she wondered aloud. ‘To give up everything for love? Or that we all need to be free?’

Tonino ran a caressing hand over his mosaic. ‘Perhaps it tells us something about relationships,’ he suggested.

But what about us, she wanted to shout. Had he created
this midnight moonlit picnic simply in order to show her his latest design and talk about mermaids?

‘The mermaid, Tess,
La Sirena
, she is for you,’ he said.

‘For me?’ She was so beautiful. Tess didn’t know what to say.

‘And I have spoken with your mother.’

‘My mother?’

‘Like me, she thinks that it is time,’ he said.

‘Time?’ Tess hoped that she wasn’t turning into one of those people who just constantly repeated what other people said.

Tonino came to stand beside her. Very close. She was conscious now of the scent of him – glue, dust, stone and Sicilian lemons. It was a heady mixture. He put out his hand and helped her to her feet. His eyes were so dark but unlike before, they seemed to be trying to tell her something. The old scar on his face, the curve of his cheek, his jaw … Yes, it did remind her of someone – or something. For some strange reason it seemed to remind her of home. Wherever or whoever that might be …