The Italian Girl Read Online Free PDF

below. It was a place she often went when she needed time by herself, even though it looked over the dustbins at the back. Sitting on the top step, she sipped her water and relived every moment of her lesson with Luigi. Even if the hour had been spent learning to read the black notes on the music, not singing them, Rosanna loved Luigi’s tranquil home. And the fact that she finally had a secret of her own thrilled her.
    She went back into her bedroom and changed into her nightdress. Carlotta was wrapping a shawl round her shoulders, almost ready to leave.
    ‘Have a nice evening,’ said Rosanna.
    ‘Thank you.’ Carlotta gave her what seemed more of a grimace than a smile and left the room, leaving the smell of her perfume hanging in the air behind her.
    Rosanna climbed into bed, pondering how she was going to escape to Luigi’s villa every other Tuesday afternoon without being missed. Eventually, she decided she’d make up an imaginary friend. She would call her Isabella and make her parents quite wealthy, as that would impress Papa. She could then visit Isabella every other Tuesday without getting into trouble. As for the practising, she’d have to try to get up an hour earlier every morning and slip into church before Mass began.
    Solutions found, Rosanna fell fast asleep.
    It was late September. The café had quietened down, the summer tourists had left the city and the stifling heat had mellowed to a pleasant warmth. Luca went outside into the yard and lit up a cigarette, enjoying the balmy evening. Carlotta appeared behind him at the kitchen door.
    ‘Luca, can you spare me a few minutes tonight before the café gets busy? I . . . have to talk to you.’
    Luca looked at Carlotta’s unusually pale face.
    ‘What’s the matter, Carlotta? Are you ill?’
    She hovered in the doorway, opened her mouth to reply, then heard Antonia’s heavy footsteps coming down the stairs.
    ‘Not here,’ she whispered. ‘Meet me in Renato’s on the Via Caracciolo at seven. Please, Luca. Be there.’
    ‘I’ll be there.’
    Carlotta returned a wan smile, then left.
    A few days later, Rosanna walked through the café and opened the door leading up to their apartment. As she climbed the stairs, she heard Papa shouting in the sitting room. Concerned he might have discovered her secret, Rosanna stopped at the top of the stairs and listened.
    ‘How could you? How could you?’ Marco was repeating over and over.
    Rosanna heard Carlotta’s loud sobbing.
    ‘Can’t you see you’re making things worse, Marco?’ Antonia sounded near to tears too. ‘Shouting and screaming at our daughter will not help her! Mamma mia , we must try to calm down and think what to do for the best. I’ll go and get us all a drink.’
    The sitting room door opened and Antonia appeared, her usual high colour drained from her face.
    ‘Mamma, what is it? Is Carlotta sick?’ Rosanna asked, following her along the corridor to the kitchenette.
    ‘No, she isn’t sick. Go downstairs to your brother, Rosanna. He’ll make you some supper.’ Antonia’s voice was strained and she was breathing heavily.
    ‘But Mamma, please, tell me what’s happened.’
    Antonia took a bottle of brandy from a cupboard in the kitchen, then turned round and gave her daughter a rare kiss on the top of her head.
    ‘No one is sick, everyone is fine. We’ll tell you all about it a little later. Now, off you go and tell Luca that Papa will be down in a few minutes.’ Antonia forced a smile and disappeared back into the sitting room.
    Rosanna walked through the empty café and into the main kitchen, where Luca was standing at the back door smoking a cigarette.
    ‘Luca, what’s happened? Papa’s shouting, Carlotta’s crying and Mamma looks as if she’s seen a ghost.’
    Luca took a long pull on his cigarette and exhaled slowly through his nose. Then he stubbed it out with his foot and turned back into the kitchen. ‘Would you like some lasagne? There’s one just ready.’ He