A Funeral in Fiesole (19 page)

Secrets divulged

Nigel and Harriet said they only had about half an hour with Matilde. She was tired, they said, but so very glad to see them. I thought it was because it hadn’t been such a long time since they’d seen her that they didn’t seem so excited about the visit. They mentioned how well Anna was caring for her, how tiny the flat was, and how difficult it was to park on her street, which was about it.

Later, though, much later, Nigel came down to the back room, where I had thrown myself into Mama’s brown armchair. Grant was up in Basile’s room tapping messages into his phone and taking photos of the cornicing, or something.

‘So are we all leaving at once tomorrow?’

‘Paola’s staying on, Brod. She said she had no reason, no reason at all, to hurry away.’

‘Ah – well …’

‘Yes, Nigel. I guess she can do as she freely pleases.’

He started to sit on the arm of the chair and changed his mind, rising to his full height and moving towards the window. 'The balcony balustrade outside your window upstairs is on its way out.’

‘I remember it starting to crumble as a kid – not a surprise.’ I smiled. ‘Nothing you need worry about. It’ll get fixed eventually.’

There was a curious expression on his face, a half-scowl, which he rotated back towards the window again; so close, condensation appeared on the glass. ‘Are you fixed for bed linen? Is it warm enough up there?’

‘Linen, yes. Heating, not quite. Not a real problem – we’re not going to spend much time here, are we? We get on the plane tomorrow … late tomorrow, I think. Has Suzanna been to see Matilde?’

‘I think I heard her and Lewis in the hall a minute ago. They’ve just come back.’

‘Listen, Brod. Listen – Matilde … she told me not to tell anyone, but I’m busting to tell, and you’re the only one I can say this to. Don’t let on.’

‘Of course not – what happened?’ I could see what happened. I knew. I knew because Matilde had sent me up to the roof space of the back house, where she and Donato had lived, to seek something Mama wanted me to have. ‘What did Matilde say, Nigel?’

He shook his head and smiled. ‘Do you remember Papa’s records? His collection?’

‘Hm. I think the records used to be kept in the bottom drawer of the tall bookcase thing in the hall.’

‘There were actually heaps more. Lots of vinyl – some fabulous recordings with Tullio Serafin conducting, boxed sets of operas, complete works of Wagner, Rodrigo, Boccherini … I mean – some very amazing stuff.’

‘And …’

‘And Donato took it all down to Prato, because Mama wanted him too – but he was to use it, care for it, and keep it … for me. That, and the chess set, for Tad. Since Donato died, since Mama died, Matilde has been keeping them for me. I can’t believe it. You do not
know
how music mad we are.’

‘Both your kids are musicians, Nigel – everyone knows. Wow – all the records, eh? Good stuff.’

‘I always … well no – there were years I never gave it a thought. I did sometimes wonder where it had all gone. It’s a magnificent collection. All in expensive editions. It’s not awfully valuable now, but to me, it’s priceless.’

‘And you get to keep it. Wow.’

‘How I’m ever going to get it back to England is another matter, but … I’m so pleased. You couldn’t possibly have any idea how pleased, Brod.’

It was time I took him into my confidence too. ‘Matilde gave me a similar surprise, Nigel.’

He took his eyes away from the window for an instant, spun to face the room, and lowered his head. He nodded for a long minute, slowly, took off his glasses, cleaned them without looking, on the hem of his jumper, placed them on his nose again, and stared through them at me. ‘Mama was so darned clever. I was starting to worry about having all the records to myself, but …’

‘She … what I think is … she wanted us all to see we weren’t just one, two, three, four.’

‘One, two, three, four? Oh – I see. To feel we weren’t all the same. So she gave us special things, things she knew we’d appreciate, things we wanted.’

‘Hm. She got Matilde to get me to climb up into the roof of the little house at the back.’ I rose and paced around and back.

‘And did you? What was there?’

I sat on the arm of the brown chair. ‘Three …
three
absolutely brilliant Persian rugs. Perfectly cleaned, rolled, expertly packed … I recognized the patterns. Goodness knows we rolled about on them enough times as kids. They’re the ones that used to be down in the dining room, the library, and the big upstairs drawing room. They are immense. I’d forgotten they were so brilliant. Grant was stunned.’

‘Does he …’

‘Of course he knows about such stuff. He was completely bowled over. They’re good silk rugs, Nigel. I couldn’t be more pleased. I feel a bit funny telling you, because Matilde said not to say a word.’

‘Well – you know about the records now, and the chess set, so it’s fair.’ He lifted his chin and thought a bit. ‘So do you think the girls …?’

‘Ah!’

‘Hah – of course. This is Mama all over.’

I wasn’t sure. ‘Is it like her? I don’t remember her like that at all. Not secretive or scheming.’

Nigel shook his head again. ‘No – no, not scheming. Just clever, and wanting to make us happy. Planning gifts. She always planned gifts.’

‘Some gift! Three precious Persian rugs. Do you know …’ I stopped short of discussing value. I did not want to bring money into it.

Neither did Nigel. He was circumspect. ‘Ha ha. Shall I tell you what I think? I think they’d be easily as valuable as a vast record collection of every bit of recorded music known to …’

I laughed. ‘I have to agree. She was so clever.’

‘Mama was something else. The girls will either tell us or they won’t, but we can safely say they received something each – something both of them would value as much as you and I value what we got.’

Grant joined us at this point, so conversation split and diverted to other things. It was nice outside. We suggested a walk down to the iron railing over the street, but Nigel stayed behind.

‘I told Nigel about the rugs.’

‘Oh, yes.’ Grant was still intent on his phone.

‘We still haven’t discussed the whole business of the inheritance with anyone, Grant.’

He looked up, and the expression in his eyes was vague. ‘What’s to discuss? Too early, I think. Let everyone get used to things. Let some time pass.’

‘But do you think everyone will sign the acceptance this evening?’

‘Oh – is it this evening?’

‘
Grant!
The notary’s coming by. He’ll need a witness to the signatures. Will you …?’

‘Hmm. Why not? Will the others be okay with it?’

We reached the wrought iron railing, which was choked with runners and weeds. It was still possible to lean over it to see the narrow street below. Yellow-painted houses with dark green shutters bounded both sides as far as one could see down, and up, to a bend where a whitewashed stone wall brimmed with foliage and flowers from what must have been another walled garden. I regarded at it all with some satisfaction. It smelled wonderful in rainy weather. If I had anything to do with it, Mama’s villa and garden would stay in the family forever. ‘We ought to talk to Paola, though. We must.’

Grant assented absentmindedly, turned his back to the railing, and lifted eyes to the sky.

‘Do you know what annoys me about my brother?’

‘Nigel?’

‘Hmm. He always assumes a monopoly over music. Like he’s the only one … like his family’s the only family in the world that appreciates and knows about music.’

‘His kids are musicians.’ Grant looked up from the little phone screen.

‘But I mean, the music at the funeral!’’

‘I thought your mother left a list. A playlist.’

‘Good thing she did. We’d have had Gounod and Mendelsohn and the entire Verdi Requiem otherwise.’

‘It wouldn’t have made a big difference to people like me, Brod. A choir’s a choir … you know. Orchestral music is orchestral music.’

I bopped him on the arm. ‘You great big Philistine.’

‘My music taste is more … enough about my music taste. I can see it makes you angry. D’you know who would make this house absolutely wonderful? Do you know who would plan a smashing renovation? Tristan Horsfield.’

‘No!’

He laughed. ‘You know he would.’

There was a moment’s silence, in which the buzz of a distant motor scooter reached us from below.

‘We’re going to be pretty busy, Grant.’

He shuffled, moved, pushed shoulders back and smiled.

I didn’t need to say a word of explanation.

He smiled again. ‘By the time we’re finished with our current plans, Brod, we’ll be so puffed out …’

‘Don’t say it.’

‘What?’

‘Don’t say you’re growing
old.
’

Grant smiled. ‘Ageing is like a neighbour erecting a three-storey house, which obliterates your perfect view of the most beautiful mountain in your country. You know it’s coming. You watch the piling of timbers, the arrival of a concrete mixer, delivery of pallets of bricks. In the same way as you watch the first few wrinkles, greying hairs, diminished agility. You know it’s coming, but the knowledge doesn’t reduce your sorrow. You mourn for the view. You grieve for your youth. You will never again see or photograph the changing colours, the screening of rain, the shafts of summer sun. It was there. You saw it. You will forever grieve its passing. You can’t bring it back.’

‘When you put it like …’

He didn’t say any more.

I didn’t say anything either. I saw what he was saying. There was no time for a family, least of all small babies. I could have said I’d changed my mind; that I’d thought it over properly, but there wasn’t a real need.

Something Nigel said made me realize I wanted some of what he had; two teenagers whose successes and futures were an intrinsic part of him and Harriet. I knew I couldn’t have everything. I always wanted what the others had. All my life. Tonight, though, something in Nigel’s eyes had told me he wouldn’t mind a bit of what
I had
. It was a revelation. No one had ever envied me; I knew that much. His wife surely wanted some of what I had recently inherited.

Grant pocketed his phone at last. ‘Your niece and nephew … they can come and stay whenever they like. I hope you’ll let them know they can.’

I would. I seemed to feel they just might.

Crystal dishes

I didn’t know what got into me, but the morning went differently to how I felt it should, and Lewis retreated into himself as usual. It was either Otto’s health, or something else – I didn’t know. When a dog wouldn’t touch his dinner, something had to be wrong.

Dogs sensed tension. I thought the little creature sensed I had started to think differently about the will! He wouldn’t touch the wet stuff, or the little biscuits I put into a little glass dish on the kitchen floor.

‘This,’ Harriet pointed out, without emphasis, without raising her voice, without batting either of her enviable deep eyelids with super-long eyelashes, ‘is Bavarian crystal. It’s part of Mama’s complete set.’

I looked at the dish. Otto looked at it too. He didn’t touch a single one of the biscuits. ‘I know, Harriet. We’ve been using those glass dishes since we were little. Matilde used to make us custards and things in them.’

She busied herself with putting cutlery away. ‘All right, I suppose. Okay then.’

I almost blurted out to her, there and then, that I’d noticed she was not happy about the house. I almost came out with the fact I’d been thinking about the agreement or acceptance or whatever the document was called, and wondered whether I should sign. I almost stated loudly and clearly I knew she was cut up about having to leave the house, and the grounds, and the garden, and the furnishings, and Mama’s complete set of Bavarian crystal dishes. ‘When’s the notary due?’

‘What?’ She whirled round, her mouth a pursed oval.

Surely my question was not so surprising! ‘I mean – we’re all going to start leaving, aren’t we? We all have lives to go back to. Work, and a dozen other things. I have a boat to …’ I stopped. Confusion filled my mind. Everything was in utter disorder – my mind was mush. Paying so much for a magnificent boat would not be easy at all if I didn’t sign the acceptance.

If one of us didn’t sign, it would be as if none of us signed, and the whole thing would turn into a contestation. A contestation! Something so complicated it would take years to dispute and decide and untangle. Lawyers would end up getting much more than we four could ever hope for. I swallowed hard. The house in Cornwall might be lost. All those memories of Papa coming home with the wind in his hair, talking about the tide and the way the wind died or rose or blew or turned whatever. Paola was not the only one with memories. I had my share too.

My ire bubbled up. I told myself I had to be nice to poor Harriet. ‘Lewis is so fed up of me he finally marched out for a walk on his own. He didn’t even take Otto.’

‘Oh! Fed up?’

‘I’m being beastly. Maybe… I don’t know.’

Harriet went all funny. ‘Suzanna, it’s grief. We haven’t grieved long or deeply enough. Any of us.’ She seemed close to tears.

I saw she was struggling with something too. ‘Are you all right, Harriet?’

‘Not really. Oh!’

What a sigh it was.

‘If Nigel was here he’d put the kettle on and think he could fix everything in the world – set everything right and tickety-boo – with a pot of tea.’

‘Not such a bad idea.’

She laughed. ‘You Larkins are all so different. Yet you’re all the same. You all speak with the same rhythms. Even Tad is so much like you all. As changeable as the weather. As steadfast as … as … this house.’ She filled the kettle with the silly gooseneck tap, which didn’t go with anything else in the place, and put it on the stove. ‘I think Nigel’s all right with the will. Are you all right with the will?’

She could be so direct. It was the most annoying thing about her. I peeked inside Nigel’s tin for biscuits. ‘I think both the boys will sign. Paola is a bit of a closed box.’

‘A bit of an unknown quantity. Hm. You?’

I looked out of the kitchen window. ‘Whether I think it’s fair or not, Harriet, signing is definitely the only way to get me my boat, without me having to go into all sorts of financial wrangles. My accountant will cheerfully wring my neck if I ask him anything else this year.’

‘But you sold a big franchise or something. It was the very first thing you said when you arrived.’

I bit into a biscuit and noted the way she made the observation. ‘Yes, we did. It doesn’t mean we’ll see the money before three months are up. The way Mama devised the inheritance means I can do everything so comfortably. It’s pretty close to unbelievable.’

‘And yet …?’

I sat in the spot – my old spot at our table – which gave me a view over the roof of the little house at the back and the line of trees out by the road. It made me feel all of twelve years old, and just as confused. ‘And yet, I hardly feel it’s fair.’

‘I thought you might be happy with your division.’

Ah. I saw what it was. It was a bit of envy, and resentment. She and Nigel were struggling, and here I was, planning the purchase of a very expensive boat. To her it must have seemed like an impossible luxury. ‘My division? It’s perfect. Mama knew it was perfect. You know it’s perfect. Still, I can’t help thinking it’s not fair.’

‘How can it be perfect and not fair?’

‘It’s considerably more …’

She started. ‘Oh! You think it’s unbalanced … in your favour.’

She came around the table, lowered her head to gaze straight into my face, and put her hand on mine. A very unusual thing. Behind her, the kettle was boiling its head off.

‘The kettle.’

‘Never mind the kettle. I’m not Nigel. Listen, Suzanna – it’s dead straight. Fairer than anything in the world. Mama had it absolutely right. Don’t feel she didn’t. I’m satisfied she did.’ Harriet pulled away, twisted the stove knob and poured hot water into the pot. ‘Do you like it strong?’

She made what she felt was strong tea, but it seemed pale to me. It didn’t matter. What did matter was her reassurance we were all getting what we wanted in the end. I wished Paola would say something similar! And Brod.

I couldn’t wait for them to say something without a prompt from me. It would take ages, and Lewis was even now piling things into the car, if I knew anything about him. He liked to be ready ahead of time; organized, organized! He might not be a people person, but he was undoubtedly a
things
person.

Paola and Brod had the most to discuss about the contents of the will, and neither of them had said a word so far. I thought it was Paola’s place, as the eldest, to gather us all for a final discussion before the notary arrived to witness us sign the precious piece of paper, which would make it all happen.

I think it’s what she had tried to do the previous evening, before we all trooped down to the
osteria
. We all kept talking over what she said, and Nigel came out and said it wasn’t the time. What could he mean? What other time was there? We had no idea when all four of us would be in one place again. He was as maddening as his wife!

Perhaps it was up to me. Why was it always up to me? Lewis was right. Everyone else had come to expect it of me over the years.

And what I had to do first, Lewis or no Lewis, siblings or no siblings, was change my shoes and walk down over the uneven paving to the little house at the back. I could leave Otto to his dry kibble in the fancy old bowl for a while. He might work up an appetite on his own. Poor Otto!

One did not bring one’s gardening shoes to such a reunion, definitely not to a funeral. I had to put on the oldest pair I brought, with the lowest heels. The little house at the back was only a courtyard’s length away. There were slippery patches, because of the recent rain, and a weedy sort of flowering bush erupting in various places through cracks. No doubt Brod would see prettiness in the image. Paola would be distressed and want it all to return to the condition the whole place was in when Mama cared for it. Nigel would consult me, and ask what I thought!

And I would tell him. I’d say this place was not a patch on any house he cared to mention in Newquay, where the boats were visible from the house, and where surfers carried their boards right into the pubs.

Memories of this small servants’ house helped, when the paving stopped suddenly at a wall with a tall window in it. Unlike the vast majority of windows in the area, the woodwork here was not the special signature dark green, but a vapid shade of blue. It was evidently sky blue once, but was flaking and faded now. I knew to turn right there and seek the front door down the side. When we were children it was sheltered by an arch covered in white climbing roses. All I saw now was an untidy mass of twigs and thorns, which came close to choking the entire doorway. Someone had cleared an opening very recently, so I could try the handle. The door was locked, but memory served me well, and I reached up as high as I could to the top of the doorway, under the metal lantern, and walked fingers on the narrow architrave ledge, beneath a lethal tangle of thorny twigs.

The key fell to the paving with a single clang. Brown, rusty, it did show scratches where it had not long ago been inserted and twisted.

I was in. The massive chimney breast over the fireplace in the front room was as I remembered it, only there were no Faenza plates hanging off the three hooks any longer. Two armchairs, a small table and a threadbare rug were grouped beside the hearth, and to one side stood an
armadio;
the same white-painted
armadio
I remembered, whose top I could hardly reach as a child. A dull mirror and a bald clothes brush hung on the far wall.

The door to the passage stood open, but the one down the end was closed. Oh! It was as Matilde described. Yes. There it was. Thick curtains at the windows and rush matting on the floor meant it was insulated to a certain extent. Yes! My beautiful bookcase, my Chippendale break-front authentic bookcase was in pristine original condition. It was mine. Mine, mine! So Matilde said. Mama had left her secret instructions, and I was to tell no one.

It was much more beautiful – and larger – than I remembered. The bottom drawer would indeed accommodate a hide-and-seeking child! Brilliant. For some reason it made me very happy. So very content. How could Mama guess I adored it so? It would fit perfectly in our drawing room at home, or the hall, and Lewis would see it stood on level flooring, filled with some of our books. Oh, perfect!

Footsteps in the front room made me turn.

‘Is this what Matilde was talking about, when your face lit up earlier?’

‘Yes, Lewis. Isn’t it beautiful?’

He put an arm around my shoulders and squeezed. ‘It will look fabulous in our house. You were right. It’s quite a piece. What’s such an amazing piece of English furniture doing in an old holiday home in Fiesole?’

‘Mama brought all sorts of things from Cornwall. She’d have them crated and sent. She felt nothing in interior décor beat an Italian house furnished the English way.’

‘But you preferred it in England.’

‘Of course. It’s where Papa … no one even
mentions
him anymore! It’s like he’s completely out of the picture.’

He pulled me round and embraced me. ‘This is grieving time for Mama, sweetheart. It’s … they’re …’

I snuggled into his broad chest, in the way I’d burrow into Papa’s. It stopped the tears, the angry tears, which threatened to come.

‘It’ll soon be time to get on our way. We’ll have the bookcase packed and shipped by someone professional, Suzanna – and it will be with us before long. The notary will be here at about noon, and after that, darling, we ought to drive off. For sure.’ He paused. ‘Are you going to sign?’

‘Yes, of course I am.’

‘Good. There’s all the stuff with the boat to think of. And Otto.’

‘Poor Otto.’

‘He’s getting on, Suzanna.’

‘We all are. I thought all us four siblings would be just the same…’

‘The same as ever? No one ever is. Everyone changes with age. Relationships change people. You said it yourself. You’ve changed – I’ve never seen you so sentimental … my hard-as-nails wife.’

‘Nigel’s morphed into another Harriet! Brod still wears awful clothes, and needs a good barber – but he’s calmed so dramatically … if you know what I mean. He’s not so envious any more. Then Paola …’

‘She’s still in shock, I think.’

‘But she’s recovering. The will has meant a lot to her.’

‘What do you think she’ll do?’

‘Something tells me she’ll never go back to Australia. I mean – she might go back to finish off her life there … tie up all her ends. I don’t know much about writing – but can’t authors live anywhere, in fact?’

‘I think so. Suzanna – you’re freezing. Let’s go up to the big house and get Nigel to turn up the heating another notch.’

I laughed. ‘Nigel and his notches.’

‘I found out what’s eating him, as you might put it.’

We locked the door behind us. I knew Lewis would continue.

‘He lost his job.’

‘Ah. That’s it. Harriet kept talking about a struggle. She made a face whenever I mentioned the boat.’

‘They’re in a pretty cruel financial situation, with two kids in their most expensive life stage, all this travelling … caring for Mama, organizing the funeral. He’s had a lot on his mind, and is unquestionably frantic about finding a job.’