The Correttis (Books 1-8). Кейт Хьюит
straight through, Santo calling out to announce he was here.
‘Santo!’ There was a crow of surprise as Teresa heard them and they were in the large lounge before she was even standing. There was a flurry of kisses and introductions. Teresa was dressed from head to toe in black, and from the candle burning by a bible on a table, it was clear she was deep in mourning. But there was absolute pleasure on the old woman’s face as she greeted her grandson. There was no denying the bond was a genuine one and that Teresa was so pleased to see him.
‘It is lovely to meet you,’ Teresa said to Ella. ‘Such a nice surprise—you will forgive me if my English is not very good.’ She smiled. ‘And you are to correct me if I forget and speak in Italian,’ she added to Santo. ‘My mind is everywhere at the moment.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Santo said. ‘Anyway, Ella’s mother is from here, so she speaks a little Italian.’ He smiled and so, too, did Ella.
‘He is teasing you, yes?’ Teresa checked and then answered her own question. ‘Of course he is.’
Santo brought such a smile to her weary face. He was incredibly good with women—all women—because he didn’t mind a bit when she cried a little when they spoke of Salvatore. ‘The house, it is too quiet,’ she said, ‘but then I tell myself at least he is not dealing with all this, at least he died thinking that the families would unite.’
‘It will sort,’ Santo said, but Teresa shook her head.
‘I am not so sure that it will. Have you heard from Alessandro?’
‘He is okay.’ Santo was so gentle with her. ‘I saw him the morning after and he has texted me a couple of times. He just needs time.’
‘And the rest of the family? Have you seen Luca?’
‘I am staying out of it as much as I can for now.’ Santo was firm. He certainly didn’t want to discuss the scandals that were going on with his nonna. ‘The better we do with this film, the better it will be for the family, for everyone. The locals are watching the filming. The docklands are busy, for the first time in a long time. This is what I need to give my attention to now.’
‘But even that is having problems!’ Teresa kept her eyes on everything, Ella realised. ‘That actress…’ Teresa screwed up her nose. ‘I saw the photos—she should be ashamed.’
‘It does take two.’ Santo grinned.
‘So, how is she doing?’ Teresa asked and the smile wavered on Santo’s face.
‘Taylor’s a very good actress,’ Ella spoke then. ‘Well, she’s got a lot of potential, if she had the right person directing to bring it out.’
‘Ella thinks she should be directing.’ Santo’s voice was wry, but he was glad for the change in conversation, because it was clear Teresa was getting more and more upset. The challenges the family faced were not going to be easily fixed and he hated that she was sitting alone and fretting.
‘You have a problem with a female director?’ Teresa teased.
‘Oh, I have no issues with Ella being a woman.’ Santo grinned but then his phone went. ‘Excuse me, I have to take this.’
As he went outside to take the call, Teresa poured them two small glasses of limoncello. It was tart and lovely and tasted just like her mother made and she told Teresa the same.
‘There are many recipes, but this is the local one. Your mother would make it the same way. Have you been to visit where she lived yet?’
‘Santo took me there on the way here,’ Ella said. ‘I am going to visit my aunts when we finish shooting.’
‘And your mother, does she love Australia? I have heard so many good things about it.’
And Ella sat quiet for a moment, sipped on her limoncello and answered carefully. ‘It’s a beautiful country,’ Ella said, ‘but my mother misses home an awful lot.’
‘Of course,’ Teresa said. ‘But she is happy with her choice?’
And she looked at Ella for a very long time. There was a moment, a long one, and one Ella decided where it would be prudent to play by very old rules. It was, Ella told herself, a practice run for her aunties. ‘Very happy,’ Ella said and returned Teresa’s smile, looking up in relief when Santo came in.
‘Take Ella and show her the winery,’ Teresa said. ‘Choose something nice for dinner tonight.’
‘You have to get back, don’t you?’ Santo said to Ella. It was nice that he offered the choice as to whether they stay longer, but Ella knew it would be rude to leave now, knew from her mother what was silently expected.
‘No.’ Ella smiled. ‘I’ve got everything done. Dinner would be lovely.’
‘She seems to like you.’ They were walking in the grounds, through the vines and out to the winery. She’d have loved to take a photo, to tell her mum she was here, but she wasn’t sure that that suggestion would be particularly welcomed.
‘You’re quiet,’ she commented, because Santo rarely was.
‘It feels different to be here and know he isn’t.’
‘Sorry…’ Ella could have kicked herself for her own insensitivity. ‘I didn’t think.’
‘No!’ Santo shook his head. ‘I am not upset.’
‘I do understand that whatever has gone on, still he was your grandparent.’
‘It’s not fond memories I’m having, Ella.’ Santo said no more than that. They walked into the cool dark winery and she wondered if here he might try something, but instead Santo spent an awful long time choosing the wine.
‘This one,’ he said. ‘This was from the year you were born.’
‘I didn’t know you knew the year I was born.’
‘I read your résumé.’ He gave her a smile and walked over, lifted his hand to her hair, just wondered about her, really. ‘You know I always wanted to have sex in here.’
He was just so direct.
‘With your grandmother waiting in the house?’
‘That doesn’t come into my fantasy.’
‘Well, it’s a bit off-putting in mine,’ Ella said. She was terribly wary of him, trying to keep things light when she felt anything but, trying to keep her head on during a most difficult of days.
‘I miss you.’ He watched her frown.
‘You don’t know me.’
‘That’s what I miss.’
He didn’t even try to kiss her, did nothing other than take her hand and walk back to the house. She just couldn’t read his mood.
The food was heavenly—fennel salad dripping in the best olive oil Ella had tasted, and a huge lasagne, but the Sicilian way, stuffed with Italian sausage and cheeses.
Santo sat at the table, chatted and spoke and smiled in all the right places, and she tried to fathom him, but couldn’t. He looked up and caught her staring, and smiled till she blushed as he stared back and he pressed his foot to her leg just once, but it wasn’t Santo.
It was like watching an actor play his part.
‘Do you remember my birthday?’ Teresa smiled and recounted tales of supposed happier times, but Ella watched a muscle flicker in Santo’s cheek as Teresa mentioned Benito’s children and asked after Luca and Gio, though she was wise enough perhaps to not mention Matteo. ‘And that time Lia hid and we could not find her for hours. You were so young then. Grace was still alive.’
‘Grace?’
‘Lia’s mum,’ Santo explained. ‘Benito was married before Simona.’ He was so much more