2008 - Recipes for Cherubs (30 page)

Catrin read through all the reports and snippets of information, but nothing struck her as being of great importance.

She put down the scrapbook, took her penknife from her pocket, knelt down in front of one of the crosses and began to scrape away the thick moss from the stone until she had uncovered the roughly engraved name hidden beneath: Orazio Russo. She set doggedly to work on the next cross until she could read another name: Agatina Marino. How sad that they had lost their lives so far from home and their families.

She was sweating by the time she had uncovered four names, but she kept going. The next grave was the one with the posy of weeds and wild flowers. It was strange that someone should still lay flowers after all this time. There couldn’t be anyone left living who remembered the passengers on the
Flino
.

She didn’t know what she expected to find; the name she uncovered made her heart lurch painfully.

It was unbearably sad to see his name inscribed on a forgotten cross in a village graveyard hundreds of miles from Santa Rosa. How tragic to think that such a young boy should have lost his life when the
Flino
went down.

She traced the name with her finger, closed her eyes and tried to bring his face into her mind; a handsome boy sitting beneath a pomegranate tree, in the garden of the Villa Rosso, smiling as if everything was right with the world.

A shiver made its way up her backbone, a frisson of fear growing stronger until her whole body began to tremble.

She glanced across at Alice Grieve’s grave. Although she’d never met Aunt Alice, they had something in common: a fascination with an old Italian book and a belief that within its pages there was a hidden message. Alice might have been childlike, even simple, but she’d seen something in that book which had made her think and set her on a trail she’d been unable to finish. Though Catrin had no idea what it was she was looking for, she knew there was something, and it might be connected with this little Italian boy buried here, a boy with a handsome face and a small scar on his cheek. Luca Roselli.

As she made her way dejectedly out of the graveyard, a rook perched on a tree yattered at her ill-temperedly. She stared back defiantly, imagined her mother’s face in place of the rook’s. She screwed up her own face and waved her arms at it.

“Sod off!”

I
n the cool of the kitchen Maria Paparella counted out the eggs from the basket. Twelve brown eggs bought fresh from one of the old women at the early-morning market. She cracked them expertly, one by one, on the side of the large earthenware bowl, then beat them vigorously with an old spoon. Then she lifted the cloth off the earthenware jug of cream and tipped the cream into the bowl
.

Luca came in, carrying a large metal pot
.

“
Did you manage to get it, Luca?
”

“
Yes. I went to see the batty old nun at the convent and did a swap for three of your walnut cakes. She says that’s the last of the ice until the snows come again. Have you made up the mixture according to the instructions I read out to you?
”

“
Yes, and it’s almost ready. We must hurry, though, or it will gooff in this heat
.”

“
Okay. I’ll read out what we have to do next
.”

He picked up the recipe Maria had got from her uncle from Naples
.

Maria pointed to two metal jugs on the table. “These are what he gave me to use
.”

“
Yes, it says here that we must pour the mixture into the smaller jug
.”

“
Just one moment, I need to add the chocolate powder
.”

“
When you’ve filled it you must put it inside the larger one
.”

Maria deftly poured the mixture into the smaller jug and put it inside the other one. “Then what?
”

“
Then we pack the ice in between the two jugs. We must be quick, because the ice is already melting
.”

Luca packed a handful of ice round the small jug, glancing down at the recipe as he did so. “Now we put block salt on the top, then more ice, and so on
.”

“
What next?
”

“
Then you start to stir with the paddle spoon
.”

“
You start doing that, Luca. I need to check that Signor Bisotti has gone out. I don’t want him bumping into Bindo when he arrives
.”

“
I think he’s already done that
.”

“Gesu bambino!
How do you mean?
”

“
He caught him in the piazza not half an hour ago and accused him of stealing the cat’s teeth
.”

“
He should be thanking him. The old brute’s far happier without them. They gave him pain these past few years. Since they’ve gone he’s a different animal, purring and rubbing up against your legs instead of biting and spitting
.”

“
The Signor caught Bindo a crack around the back of the legs with his stick that lifted the poor little fellow right off his feet. If it hadn’t been for Piero coming on the scene, Bindo would have been beaten senseless
.”

“
What did Piero do?” Maria asked with interest, her face colouring
.

“
He got between them and told Bindo to run. And he was off like a shot
.”

“
I don’t expect Signor Bisotti took too kindly to that?
”

“
The funny thing is, they just stood staring at each other
.”

“
Neither of them spoke?
”

“
No, but Piero looked at Signor Bisotti as if he was seeing him for the very first time, and Signor Bisotti looked paralysed with fear
.”

“
Then what happened?
”

“
They just nodded at each other and walked away in opposite directions. Then Signor Bisotti went into one of the houses in the piazza
.”

“
The widow Zanelli’s?
”

Luca nodded and blushed
.

“
Well, at least he won’t surface for the next few hours. She’s got her claws firmly into the old fool. Now, there’s an old cat that could do with having her teeth pulled. Tell you what, Luca, you go and find Bindo and I’ll finish this. Be quick, though. We don’t want it melting on us
.”

Maria refilled the jug with ice and then salt and turned the paddle. Soon the mixture started to freeze and stick to the sides –  it was like magic
.

She stuck her finger into the mixture and tasted it. It was delicious
.

She busied herself chopping lemon and orange peel into the thinnest strips, washed the wild strawberries, cut the tops off four ripe pomegranates and dug out the fleshy pips
.

Ismelda’s
gelato
was almost ready, and very good it looked, too
.

Today they would have a wonderful feast. If Signor Bisotti did marry the blasted widow it would be the last one for a long time. Soon all that would belong to the past. They would dine on beans and thin soup for the rest of their days. She sighed, for she knew she wouldn’t be able to stomach being under the same roof as that woman and her hideous offspring. But if she left, where would she go? Her parents were both dead. And what of Ismelda? She could never leave the child behind. She loved her and would lay down her life for her. This evening she would go to mass and light many candles to the Holy Virgin to beg deliverance from that horriblefate
.

I
n the cool of the kitchen Catrin laid out all the
gelato
ingredients that Tony had brought with him. She propped
Recipes for Cherubs
up on the table and occasionally turned the page to look at the painting of Luca Roselli. Every time she looked at that sweet face a lump grew in her throat. He was sitting on the grass, leaning against the trunk of the pomegranate tree. His eyes were closed and he was smiling contentedly as if he knew a secret that no one else did. She noticed for the first time what he had round his throat: a horn-shaped
corno
like the one Nonna had shown her. It hadn’t protected Luca from bad luck.

She cracked the eggs one by one and beat them with a fork until her arms ached, folded in the cream and began to whip the mixture again, as she imagined Maria Paparella had done years ago.

It was hard work and soon her forehead was damp with exertion. She painstakingly cut the lemon and orange rind into the thinnest of slivers, removed the leaves from the strawberries, washed and drained them and sliced them.

She wanted to serve the
gelato
in pomegranates like the one Ismelda Bisotti was holding in the painting but Tony told her that they weren’t yet in season, so instead she cut the tops off four large lemons and scoured out all the flesh.

Tony had also brought the ice-cream maker he’d unearthed, and he spent five minutes explaining how to use it. Under his watchful eye Catrin packed the ice and salt between the outer and inner containers, then he put the lid on and showed her how to turn the handle.

“You carry on with that,” he said, “while I go to fetch the cake I’ve made. Just keep turning and then we’ll add more ice and salt and then hey presto! we shall have the best ice cream ever.”

“How will I know when it’s ready?”

“Take the lid off and you should see when it’s started to stick to the sides.”

“Okay. When it’s ready I’m going to fill the lemons with it and put the top of the lemon on like a little lid, and a mint leaf for decoration.”

“They’ll look and taste wonderful, I’m sure.”

A table had been laid in the Italian garden and the pink gingham cloth fluttered in the warm breeze. The garden was alive with birdsong, the hypnotic droning of bees amongst the roses, and the sound of water splashing into the fountain.

Ella was sitting next to Norma, who was wearing a black lace shawl to keep the sun off her face. When Catrin came out with the ice creams, Norma threw back the shawl and cried, “
Bellissimo
!”

Flushed with pride, Catrin watched in delight as they each took one. She thought they looked like a scene out of
Recipes for Cherubs
, sitting together in the Italian garden eating home-made ice cream and enjoying each other’s company.

“This is delicious,” Tony said, spooning ice cream into his mouth.

“Nothing taste quite like ice cream made the old-fashioned way,” Nonna said, smacking her lips noisily.

Catrin picked up her spoon and took a little ice cream on it. She couldn’t eat much of it because of all the cream and eggs; it was so fattening.

She closed her eyes and put the spoon gingerly to her lips. The coolness was welcome after all her efforts, and the taste was divine. Just one little spoonful, that’s all she was going to allow herself; a taste was quite sufficient, but she took another mouthful and relished the tang of lemon and orange on her tastebuds.

“This is wonderful!” Norma said, waving her spoon in the air. “You got any more of this?”

Catrin nodded happily and slipped another spoonful of ice cream into her own mouth without thinking. Soon she was digging down into the lemon, searching out the last of the ice cream.

“Now that is ice cream fit for cherubs,” Ella said, wiping a smear of it from her chin.

“It’s an Ismelda special.”

“I never hear of this Ismelda ice cream,” Norma said, wrinkling her forehead.

“Ismelda’s a girl, not an ice cream.”

“She’s a friend of yours?”

“No, she’s a girl I wish I’d known, someone who lived a long time ago.”

Ella looked enquiringly at her.

“Ismelda Bisotti,” Catrin said dreamily.

“You wants to stay clear of them Bisottis,” Norma warned.

“Why?” Catrin pricked her ears up.

“They not good people. They involve with American Mafia and very bad people,” Norma said, admonishing the air with a gnarled old finger.

“The Ismelda Bisotti I’m talking about was Italian.”

“These Bisottis came from Italia, too. They start with ice-cream shops and restaurants in Naples, then they buy hotels and they emigrate to America and become very rich.”

“I’ve heard of the Bisottis,” Ella said. “I remember years ago reading about one of the Bisotti daughters marrying into the English aristocracy. Let me see, I think an Alessandra Bisotti married the duke of somewhere or other.”

Catrin sat quite still. Alessandra was the name of one of the girls in her book, but their last name was Zanelli so the widow must be their mother. Widows were women whose husbands had died, so maybe Signor Bisotti had married her. Catrin pulled a face; she didn’t like the look of Signor Bisotti or that snooty widow and her goody-two-shoes daughters. Poor Ismelda, if they’d become her stepsisters.

Catrin walked over to the fountain, pondering what she’d learnt. It seemed as if everyone had deserted Santa Rosa, but why? Piero di Bardi had disappeared, the Bisottis had gone to America, and Luca Roselli had lost his life in Kilvenny.

She looked across at Aunt Ella, Norma and Tony and smiled. A few weeks ago she hadn’t known they’d existed, and now she couldn’t imagine life without them.

“Dear God, Norma, that’s your third helping,” Tony said with a whoop of disbelief. “You weren’t standing behind the door when God handed out appetites.”

“Ah, and that’s why I nearly as big as the
elefante
.” Norma laughed and prodded him playfully on the arm with her spoon. “Is good to be a big woman, I think. Nobody mess with big women. All this fashions for stick-skinny models come to no good. The young girls, they all want to be so thin they almost see through. They weak with eating so little, and then they got no fire, and when they got no fire they let the men push them around.”

“No man ever pushed you around,” Ella said with a laugh.

“No, because me, I never no skinny jinny. I like my food too much.”

Catrin turned away hastily; she was uncomfortable when people talked about fatness and appetite.

“Antonio, you going to cut that walnut cake or we just got to look at it, eh?”

Catrin declined the cake politely and sat quietly on the edge of the fountain while Norma and Ella ate cake as if food was soon to be on ration.