Margherita's Notebook (33 page)

Authors: Elisabetta Flumeri,Gabriella Giacometti

Opening day had finally arrived.

Margherita took a step back to examine the sign that had been made to look exactly like the original one:
ERICA'S
. She forced herself to smile at Armando, who was looking at her proudly.

“You've done a great job, sweetheart!” he said, embracing her affectionately.

A whole range of emotions was stirring inside her. Like the ingredients in a sweet-and-sour sauce: sugar, vinegar, tomato, soyÂ .Â .Â . She
felt like crying and laughing, she felt moved and sorry for herself, all at the same time. She returned her father's hug, letting all those different emotions merge together in that one big embrace, making it impossible to separate one from another.

Then she wriggled out of the hug.

“Let's go,” she said to him, “our guests will be here soon.”

Armando followed her inside and looked around, appreciating every detail. Nothing had changed, and yet everything seemed new. From the pieces of furniture, which Margherita had stained and waxed one by one, to the walls, which she'd painted a cheerful lavender, to the matching tablecloths, to the centerpieces of fruits and vegetables that graced each table. The kitchen had also been completely done over, but without altering its original rustic flavor. On the walls, alternating with stunning views of Roccafitta, were many photographs from the family album, in elegant briar-root frames that made them stand out. Each picture showed Erica during one of the most important moments in her and their life together: her wedding day, Margherita's birth, the opening of the restaurant, the prize she was awarded as Maremma's best chefÂ .Â .Â . Armando stopped to look at each one with a lump in his throat, while Margherita was busy toing and froing from the kitchen, arranging the buffet platters she'd prepared for the opening. She was about to ask her father for some help, but when she saw the look on his face, she left him to his memories.

When Giulia came in, the first thing she saw was Armando lost in thought before a photograph of himself with Erica and Margherita standing around a huge display of fruit. He hadn't seen Giulia come in, and with a finger he stroked the image of his wife. Giulia went up to him and,
without saying a word, took his hand and squeezed it. They stood there quietly for a few moments, until they turned around to see Margherita watching them tenderly. Giulia let go of Armando's hand as if embarrassed. But Margherita smiled fondly.

“Would
you
like to give me a hand with the buffet?” she inquired, smiling. “As usual, Armando is no help at all!”

Nothing further needed to be said. As Armando looked gratefully at his daughter, Giulia joined her right away, swift and efficient.

In no time at all, the tables were filled with seafood delicacies. For starters, raw salmon, amberjack, sea bream, tuna, and sea bass. First courses included mint tabbouleh, spaghetti
alla chitarra
with clams and shrimp, linguine with mussels and flowers,
pici
seasoned with Trapani-style pesto. And then, the second courses: stuffed eggplant, squid and potatoes, eggplant croquettes, golden
bianchetti
fritters, ginger-flavored salmon. Last, fruit and desserts: irresistible strawberries, fruit kebabs, chocolate-and-orange cake, grape tart, chocolate curls, cherry tiramisu, orange crÃ¨me brÃ»lÃ©e, wild berry log slices, raspberry tart, pineapple charlotte, and a huge bowl of mascarpone.

Soon, all four members of the local culture and tourism association arrived, dressed to the nines: Bacci, Gualtiero, Baldini, and Salvatore. And with them the forever-engaged-to-be-married Giovanni and Maria. And then of course Serafino and Italo, who for once had managed to escape from the clutches of his wife and her strict diets.

And the tourists. Lots of them.

In no time at all, the restaurant was packed. In a merry commotion, everyone crowded around the buffet tables to fill their plates.

Matteo and Claudia arrived, too. She was a natural-looking girl with an earnest air, who instantly struck a chord with Margherita.

“I'm just sorry Margherita didn't want me as a partner,” Matteo was saying. “I would have been rich, no doubt about that!”

“Let's hope the guests think the same thing,” Margherita remarked nervously, watching the people taste the food she'd prepared.

Claudia reassured her: “Just seeing everyone crowding around the tables like that is proof that Matteo's rightÂ .Â .Â . I hope you'll teach me a trick or two!”

“Whenever you want!” Margherita replied warmly.

It was now very clear that her guests loved her cooking. People were calling out her name and congratulating her.

At one point Bacci got up on a chair, and with his deep tenor voice he intoned Verdi's “
Libiamo ne' lieti calici
” (Let's drink from the joyful cups). The others gathered around him and sang along, each in their own way. Armando and Giulia demonstrated some dance steps, and in the end an enthusiastic ovation arose for the chef.

It had been a huge success.

The guests kept drinking and eating. It wasn't until hours later, when the last guest had left, that Margherita, after one final toast with her father and Giulia, was alone.

She had achieved her goal and should have been happy. So why was she feeling like a ham roll without the ham, a cannoli without the filling?

That was when that she heard a knock on the door.

“We're closed.”

Whoever it was knocked again.

Margherita opened the door, ready to repeat what she'd
just said, but the words wouldn't come. Standing in the doorway was Nicola. Carrying two shopping bags.

She felt like throwing him out. She felt like throwing herself into his arms. She felt like hitting him. She felt like kissing every single inch of his body. Centrifugal force. Centripetal force. Opposing impulses whose net effect was to paralyze her. She stared at him, she stared at the shopping bags, but she couldn't move.

“Forgive me.”

She looked at him, unable to answer.

“It was Carla. I should've figured it out. I should've known it couldn't have been you,” he said in a tone of voice she'd never heard him use before. Sad. Bitter. Filled with remorse and with sweetness. “Forgive me,” Nicola repeated. He raised his hand and slowly stroked her face.

Margherita held her breath, but then she seemed to gain control of herself. She pulled back from the touch of his hand.

“Why did you come here?”

Nicola pointed to the bags. “If you let me in, you'll find out.”

She knew she should send him away, make him pay for his accusations, his lack of trustÂ .Â .Â . but those wordsâ
Forgive me
âsimply wouldn't allow her to. She let him in.

He stepped inside and looked around. Then his gaze rested on the pictures, stopping at a snapshot of Margherita as a child busying herself with a rolling pin and some dough, her face serious and focused, and next to her, Erica smiling proudly. Nicola's gaze moved from that image to Margherita's face. She felt pain and was moved at the same time. She felt foolishly happy that he was thereÂ .Â .Â . even though she knew she shouldn't.

Nicola headed for the kitchen, carrying his bags with him. She went after him, surprised. He set them down and emptied them. Margherita watched him with her eyes wide as he arranged a packet of spaghetti, a chile pepper, a head of garlic, parsley, oil, lemon, a container of shrimp, eggs, flour, sugar, and dark chocolate on the counter.

“Why?” was all she could ask.

Nicola smiled. “A great chef once said that there was nothing more intimate than cooking for the woman you love.”

Cooking.

The woman you love.

She felt giddy, but those five words kept buzzing in her head, while heâ
unbelievable!
âgot to work at the stove. He began by bringing a pot of water to a boil. Then he sautÃ©ed the garlic in oil in a small saucepan.

When that was ready, Nicola added the chile pepper that he'd chopped up in the meantime. Then he plunged the spaghetti into the boiling water. After that he whipped the sugar and eggs together in a bowl, added the flour, and heated the chocolate in a double boiler.

It was at that moment that Margherita realized she hadn't had a bite to eat all evening. She kept watching Nicola, fascinated, disbelieving. He noticed the way she was looking at him and smiled.

“I've been practicingÂ .Â .Â . at first the results were very poor.”

The thought of him grappling with the rudiments of the art of cooking made her smile in spite of herself, and when he approached her and took her by the hand, she let him guide her without resisting. Nicola led her to one of the tables, pulled out a chair, and sat her down. Then he
set the table quickly and skillfully, before going back to his spaghetti. In no time at all, he'd drained the pasta and served her a fragrant, piping-hot dish, garnished with parsley.

“
Et voilÃ .
Spaghetti with garlic, oil, and chile pepper. Simple but exciting, just like youÂ .Â .Â .” Nicola picked up her fork, twisted the strands of spaghetti around it, and brought it to her mouth. Margherita hesitated an instant, then she let him feed her.

He did the same when it came time to eat the shrimpâ“because I'll never forget the first time I loved youÂ .Â .Â . wild and sensuous, the way you areÂ .Â .Â .” And, last, a cake with a dark chocolate center that, he told her, “when you take a bite of it you're surprised and you only wish it would never endÂ .Â .Â .”

Taken care of. Desired. Loved.

In the end, he made her get up and led her to the kitchen.

“Close your eyes,” he ordered.

She looked at him inquisitively. Nicola smiled and Margherita obeyed.

“Now taste this.”

Something rough and sweet touched her lips. She tasted it slowly, recognizing it.

“I had to buy this because I haven't learned to make
castagnaccio
yet.” Nicola's voice was a caress, his breath touched her ear, her neckÂ .Â .Â . “Legend has it that those who eat it will forever be bound together thanks to the magical power of the rosemary leaves.” He placed another piece between her lips. “So I think we should eat this one together.”

A second later, Margherita felt his mouth take the place of the soft texture of the sweet cake. Their tongues met. Desire exploded inside her with the force of a tornado that overwhelms everything in its path. Resentment, uncertainty,
fear were swept away. All she could feel was Nicola's mouth, his hands, his strong, firm body up against hers, and how desperately she needed him. They searched for and found each other, there, against the wall, like two people dying of thirst who had finally found an oasis. Like two ravenous people before a table filled with their favorite foods. They undressed feverishly and gave themselves over to the harmony of their embrace and the climax of pleasure.

Afterward, he held her close to him.

It's what I've always wanted but didn't realize. Intoxicating food that I can't do without anymore, now that I've tasted it.

Nicola looked at her intensely. “Get two glasses, we need to make a toast.”

Margherita released herself with difficulty from their embrace. Meanwhile, he took a bottle out of a small freezer bag. He uncorked it and, before pouring the wine, he handed it to Margherita. She looked at him puzzled, then her eyes fell on the label:
ANTICHE CANTINE GIOVANALE
. Nicola answered all the questions in her eyes with a smile.

“Next time, the label will say
ANTICHE CANTINE GIOVANALE E RAVELLI
.”

He poured the wine and lifted his glass toward Margherita. They clinked glasses lightly. Their eyes locked. Margherita knew there was no reason to speak, for all the ingredients of love were right there in their passionate kiss.

MARGHERITA'S NOTEBOOK