‘Buonasera, signorina!’ winked a passing waiter, who was loaded up with plates of glorious looking pasta. ‘Sua madre è lì.’ He made a vague gesture towards the rear of the trattoria and kept moving.
‘I’m sorry?’ Janey shouted after him. The only Italian she knew off by heart pretty much consisted of food words and definitely no verbs or anything vaguely resembling a whole sentence.
‘She is there,’ shouted the barman as he deftly poured jewel-coloured apéritifs. ‘You mother.’ Again, the man gestured towards the rear of the restaurant.
‘My mother?’ said Janey blankly, thinking for one heart-stopping moment that she would look across the room and Lydia would be sitting there.
She blinked away the sudden tears in her eyes, finally spotting the woman from the photo waving at her excitedly from the back of the room.
Janey waved back, her astonishment growing the closer she came to her aunt’s table. It was extraordinary how alike they looked.
‘You must be Janey!’ said Celia warmly, similar astonishment gripping her very familiar features. She stood up and gave Janey a bear hug that nearly lifted her off her feet.
Janey hugged her aunt back, noting that they were almost the same height and that underneath all the polish, her aunt really did possess the same fly-away hair and freckles as her own.
It was deeply freaky how alike they looked, although Celia’s eyes were brown while Janey’s were a clear grey-blue. She decided that her aunt looked kind, capable and rather friendly, and some of her tension ebbed. Even if Celia was practically a stranger, it felt so good to have some family again. Even an unconventional kind. At that moment, she felt happier than she had been in a long while, smiling as Celia poured her a glass of water and fussed over her exactly as Lydia would have done.
They sat and stared at each other for a while. Celia was beautifully dressed in a russet-coloured sleeveless shift and discreet gold jewellery. The latest Fendi handbag in black patent leather was slung casually over the back of her chair, and a pile of papers spilled out untidily from the document wallet that lay on the table.
‘Boring stuff that shouldn’t be here,’ Celia smiled, tidying the papers away into the wallet and turning her warm gaze back on her niece.
‘I can see how the waiters made the mistake of thinking that you and I are, um . . .’ Janey hesitated.
‘It’s uncanny,’ Celia agreed. ‘They’ve all seen Freddy and I here, dozens of times, but as soon as they clapped eyes on you they just assumed I’d been hiding a secret love child somewhere!’
‘My mum did that job for you!’ Janey smiled, a little sadly.
‘She certainly did,’ Celia replied. ‘And so well that we mightn’t have met at all if you hadn’t found my lawyer’s letter! I’m so glad you’re here. You don’t know how glad. I’ve often wondered about Lydia, where she was, what she was doing, what she was like. And now here we are.’
Celia looked a little misty herself before recovering and signalling for a waiter. ‘This is a celebration!’ she said. ‘So we shall act accordingly. I’ve just told Marco to bring on the artichokes.’
At Janey’s perplexed expression, Celia chuckled and said, ‘They are a food and, trust me, you will like them.’
As the evening wore on, both Janey and Celia stuffed themselves silly with a host of amazing things – salt cod fritters, veal with anchovy sauce, fried zucchini flowers and rabbit stewed with apricots – that Janey had never in her life tried before, and in some cases had never even heard of.
‘Gabs – one of my best friends in the world, who is a foodie tragic – won’t believe the things I’ve eaten tonight,’ said Janey. She groaned as another large platter of Roman delicacies was plonked on the table in front of her, before taking a tentative bite. ‘Who knew that – I can’t believe I’m saying this – tripe could be so, uh, delicious?’
‘You can call and tell her all about it after we get home,’ Celia offered. ‘Or email her. There’s a computer in the study. My login isn’t passworded because I usually use my embassy laptop if I need to contact someone. We ’ve also got Skype, if you know what that is and how to use it.’
Janey’s answering grin said it all. Email was so yesterday. ‘If it’s okay with you, uh, Aunt Celia,’ she replied, still getting used to the word ‘aunt’, ‘I’ll definitely use it. Sometimes, actual face time is the only way.’
‘Be my guest. I hardly use it anyway. I spend half the day video conferencing at work so only Freddy gives the home headset and webcam a real workout. You’ll have to fight her for airtime though,’ Celia warned. ‘She’s a MySpace junkie.’
As she spoke, she slid a huge portion of rich goose tart onto Janey’s plate. Janey tried not to look horrified as she picked up her fork.
‘I just wanted you to try some real, seasonal, local food,’ Celia laughed, noting Janey’s expression. ‘Not the greasy, cheesy fare they serve up in the tourist traps that masquerades as Roman cuisine. Now eat up! This is a real treat for the tastebuds.’
Janey took a deep breath and dug in.
‘I’m sorry Freddy isn’t here,’ said Celia, ‘but she’s staying the night at her father’s. My ex-husband, Angelo, lives about fifteen minutes from my place. It’s part of the reason I’m now based in Rome – I wanted Freddy to spend more time with her father. He was an Italian diplomat based overseas, but now works with the interior ministry. She doesn’t seem to want to spend much time with me at the moment,’ Celia added a bit stiffly, ‘because she blames me for the split, even though splits are usually, by definition, two sides deciding to go their separate ways.’
Janey listened with interest. It would explain why Freddy looked nothing like her mum at all and resembled a junior Milanese catwalk model. She’d obviously inherited her father’s exotic looks and colouring.
‘We broke up,’ Celia continued grimly, ‘because Angelo’s expectations changed. He suddenly decided that he wanted the traditional full-time, stay-at-home wife and mother, neatly forgetting that the whole reason we’d met in the first place was because I’d been seconded to the United Nations in New York, just like he had! I’ve actually had to give up a more senior posting in Paris to give Freddy more time with both of us. It’s the kind of dilemma men don’t usually have to face, frankly.
‘But enough heavy stuff!’ Celia added, as Janey tried to disguise her still loaded plate with her napkin. ‘I’m just glad you’re here. It’s so important to me that you and Freddy get to know each other and that you get along.’ She gave Janey a searching look. ‘And you’ll be great company for Freddy during the holidays. I’m working to all sorts of impossible deadlines at the moment.’
Janey doubted Freddy needed her company at all, but it was lovely of Celia to say so.
Celia looked as though she wanted to say something important, but instead signalled to Marco to bring coffee and dessert. ‘My mum – my adoptive mother – first got me hooked on real Italian coffee, even though we were living on a military base in the Philippines in those days and luxuries were hard to come by.’
Janey listened wide-eyed as Celia detailed her childhood with her adoptive parents, who’d never been able to have kids naturally.
‘Dad was in the air force,’ Celia explained, ‘so we moved around a lot. I went to six different high schools in almost as many countries, which was the best preparation for life in the diplomatic corps! I really caught the travel bug early and I haven’t managed to shake it yet.’
‘Apart from Mum’s vanishing act with me,’ said Janey, eyeing the dessert tray that had appeared before them with slight dread, ‘we never went anywhere . . . not that I’m complaining. It’s just the way things were. I’ve known Gabs almost my whole life. And my other two best friends – Emily and Ness – I met on my first day in high school. I can’t imagine not having them in my life, if you see what I mean. I wish you could meet them.’
‘You’re lucky to have friendships like that,’ said Celia. ‘I often wonder whether Freddy would be l
ess angry with me, and with life in general, if I hadn’t moved her around the world so much.’
‘She’s fifteen, right?’ said Janey. ‘Everyone’s angry all the time when they’re fifteen. It’s just life, she ’ll get over it.’
‘She’s almost sixteen.’ Celia smiled, a touch sadly. ‘And we’ve been fighting like cats and dogs lately. I hope you’re right. Now eat up that zabaione! It’s a house special.’
Janey picked up her spoon. ‘What were they like? My, um, grandparents,’ she said, feeling like a traitor for asking. The word felt very strange in her mouth.
From zero family to having a secret history, almost overnight, Janey thought to herself. It was crazy.
‘Mum never talked about them much,’ she added. ‘They hurt her pretty badly, I think, at a time when she needed them most.’
A funny look flitted across Celia’s face again, but the look vanished and she shrugged. ‘Bitter, disappointed, still angry at Lydia after all that time. Angry that she left, angry that she stayed away. At first I didn’t want to meet them because I didn’t want to get involved. The whole story was too sad. But my adoptive mother – my real mum in every way that matters – gave me her blessing and said my parents, your grandparents, should be given the opportunity to say what they wanted to say, that everyone deserves the chance to clear their conscience. But it wasn’t their consciences that troubled them! What kept them awake at night was the fact they no longer had a blood heir to leave their fortune to. I was the only candidate left. Not the most desirable one, admittedly – I was practically a stranger, with a “lower-class” upbringing – but there you go. I was still “blood”.’
Janey had trouble swallowing for moment, even though the chocolate amaretti cake she was sampling was as light as air. ‘That fortune could’ve kept my mother alive for a little bit longer,’ she muttered in quiet distress. ‘There was so much she still wanted to do, but time just ran out.’ She hung her head.
Celia reached over and grasped Janey’s hands. ‘Your grandparents’ will was the most complex piece of work you could ever imagine,’ she murmured. ‘It was a headache I could’ve done without! And it came with a stately, triple-storey waterfront townhouse in Sydney, a massive country estate in the Hunter Valley, together with a vast collection of artworks, a vintage car collection and a huge cellar of wine amassed from around the globe! What’s a lowly government pen-pusher like me supposed to do with a crazy fortune like that?’ Celia gave a strained laugh, a strange look passing across her features once again.
Janey’s eyes welled at the thought of her valiant teenage mum giving up a life of enormous privilege just to have and keep her, and she suddenly missed her more than ever. Though she told herself fiercely to get it together, to her horror, a big, fat tear rolled down her cheek and splashed onto the red-and-white tablecloth in front of her. Celia had to have noticed, she thought in mortification as she grabbed at her napkin and pretended to scrub an imaginary bit of food off her face.
Celia wasn’t fooled, shooting her niece a quick, sidelong look that took in everything from Janey’s damp eyelashes to her flushed cheeks. But she acted as though she hadn’t seen a thing, ordering kindly, ‘Now stop pretending to eat your dessert and take this.’
Janey managed a soggy grin, put down her napkin and took the mobile phone that Celia was proffering over the table.
‘It’s an Italian cell phone,’ Celia explained. ‘Pre-programmed with the telephone numbers of my office at the embassy, my cell phone, Freddy’s cell phone and, for emergencies, Luca’s cell phone number.’
Janey’s face lit up at the mention of Luca, and Celia frowned. ‘Only call the last number if you’re seriously stranded and need help,’ she insisted. ‘Luca’s primarily the Ambassador’s driver, so he’s absolutely off limits during business hours if your “emergency” is too many shopping bags or a broken stiletto.’
‘Of course,’ Janey agreed, though she had to concentrate hard to stop herself breaking out into a wide smile. She had his number! And she hadn’t even had to get up the courage to ask him for it.
As Janey took a last sip of her coffee, her mind on Luca and where he could possibly be right now, Celia picked up her own mobile phone and spoke briefly into it in rapid-fire Italian.
‘I was going to arrange for Luca to come back and pick us up tonight,’ she said after she hung up, ‘but it’s such a beautiful evening that I think we ’ll walk instead. The apartment isn’t far. Maybe twenty minutes from here. I’ve just told Luca to clock off for the day.’
For a moment, Janey couldn’t hide her disappointment and Celia frowned again.
‘Don’t get too close to Luca Sarti, Jane Gordon,’ she warned gently, ‘because he’s a twenty-one-year-old smoothie who’s way out of your league, with a BlackBerry full of dates with European glamazons to prove it. I’d trust him with my life and yours, don’t get me wrong. He’s a sweetie, and an absolute gentleman. But he can’t be trusted not to break your heart. Just ask Freddy if you don’t believe me. She’s been tying herself in knots trying to get his attention for months, and so far it hasn’t worked.’
A suddenly awkward silence fell over the table as Celia and Janey gathered up their things to leave.
Circus Maximus
When Janey rolled out of bed late on Saturday morning in her tatty Mr Happy shortie PJs, she was astonished to find Freddy in the kitchen, wearing a blinged-up Victoria’s Secret pink hoodie and matching sweatpants, preparing a mouthwatering hot brunch.
Freddy looked her up and down, but not in an unfriendly way. ‘Sorry I haven’t been around. Mum’s out – as usual – so I thought I’d make us something to eat.’
Janey looked down at the plate that Freddy was sliding across the table at her. ‘Poached eggs, smoked salmon, spinach and rosti,’ Freddy smiled. ‘A girl’s gotta eat! Knives and forks are over there. Help yourself to coffee.’
She’s just trying to be friends, Janey told herself as she found some cutlery and a mug, even though part of her was unsure why. Janey’s first impressions of people were usually spot on, and her first impression of Freddy hadn’t screamed potential bestie. More like: here’s a super style queen who probably wouldn’t be caught dead being seen with me, even in a parallel universe.
The two girls dug into their meals, silently eyeing each other over the marble benchtop with curiosity.
‘You know, your hair’s such a great colour. You could do so much more with it,’ Freddy commented finally. Her own hair, of course, was rippling in perfectly styled waves down her back even though she’d just gotten out of bed.
Janey wrinkled her nose. ‘Tell that to my straightener.’
‘You’ve got to show it who’s boss,’ Freddy laughed. ‘You should’ve seen me when I got my first one! A good dose of anti-frizz serum and styling solution helps as well. I’ll show you after we eat.’
After the two girls finished up in the kitchen, with Freddy doing the washing and Janey drying, Freddy was as good as her word. She took Janey down the hall to her over-the-top double bedroom, which looked like something out of a Versace homewares catalogue, and ordered Janey to sit down at the huge 1930s dressing table covered in designer-label cosmetics and shopping bags.
‘Clean hair is a must,’ said Freddy knowledgeably, ‘and it goes without saying that you need the best thermal protection spray and anti-frizz serum you can find, like these ones.’ Freddy smeared solution out of some brightly coloured bottles all over Janey’s hair and then sectioned it into workable chunks, using ibis clips to keep each bit separate. ‘And a ghd styler is the only way to go, in my opinion,’ Freddy added. ‘Anything else just won’t give you the same results.’
Janey listened politely as Freddy twisted her hair into neat sections. As Freddy was doing her best to be friendly, Janey didn’t bother telling her that a ghd styler was something her pocket money had never stretched to, let alone the name brand serums Freddy was lavishly working into her hair from root to tip.
‘For slee
k and straight, really concentrate on the front sections,’ Freddy continued, pulling her styling iron through one section of Janey’s hair at a time. ‘It’s all about initial impact. For BIG hair you need to work in volumiser and hairspray as well before you start styling each section away from your scalp. Finish with shine serum and there you have it.’ Freddy’s eyes met Janey’s in the mirror. ‘International hair like mine.’
She stared at Janey’s reflection. ‘Well, not exactly like mine. You’re right, your hair really is impossible.’
‘It won’t do what it’s told,’ Janey responded, smiling. ‘But it looks heaps better than it does usually. Thanks.’ She gave her hair a little shake and watched as it rippled about her shoulders. It would probably frizz up in about five seconds, but for a moment, she looked kind of hot.
‘It’s as bad as Mum’s hair,’ Freddy grinned in agreement. ‘I’m so happy I missed out on that unfortunate bit of the Gordon gene pool.’
Janey stiffened at the comment, trying not to appear hurt. Freddy could use a serious crash course at charm school, she thought, but she means well.
She refocused on her glossy new hairdo and found Freddy staring at her again in the mirror. ‘There’s a rave party tonight at the Circo Massimo,’ said Freddy. ‘The Circus Maximus to non-Italians. Everyone I know is going to be there and it kicks off at ten. Wanna come? It’ll be a blast. It’s probably not your bag . . .’
Janey tried not to look startled. ‘Uh,’ she replied. She’d never been to a dance party. None of her friends were into that scene back home, and even if they’d wanted to, their parents wouldn’t have let them anywhere near it! Sleepovers and pool parties were more their thing.