A Postcard from Italy. Alex Brown

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СКАЧАТЬ hasn’t paid us? Or how about a first name for Mr Donato?’

      ‘Not yet. But I’m working on it. Please can I have a bit more time to go through and catalogue everything properly? There’s a lot of paperwork. But a week or two should do it.’

      ‘Hmm, I know I said there was no immediate rush, but we can’t afford to have units unpaid for, so we need to start getting an income for this space asap. I’ve already been a sentimental fool for far too long over this one. Perhaps we should make a start on getting it listed at auction and hopefully someone will buy the whole lot swiftly. Then we can recoup our losses and re-let the unit right away.’ He shook his head as if deep in thought as he tapped the tip of a biro on the doorframe.

      ‘I understand,’ Grace conceded, reluctantly, but then had an idea. ‘Some of these items are antiques and must be worth a fortune … much more than she owes us in missed storage payments, so we’ll easily recover our losses if we can’t find her and have to sell them. What do you reckon?’ She felt alive at the prospect of piecing together the life story of Connie Donato or, to use her gloriously glamorous full name, Mrs Constance di Donato. ‘And you did say that you have a soft spot for her …’ she added, hoping to appeal to his better nature. ‘It doesn’t feel fair to not even try to track her down.’ Grace inhaled, willing him to agree. ‘Surely, her belongings are as important as the old soldier’s medals? There’s a whole lifetime inside this unit waiting to be discovered …’

      A short silence followed as Larry creased his forehead and gazed around the unit, seeming to take it all in. Grace inwardly crossed her fingers, because if he let her have a week or two, she was quite certain she could unearth something in amongst Connie’s belongings that would give them a clue. If not to her whereabouts, then a relative, or even a friend who might be able to help. The items in the unit were unique and far too personal to be sold off at auction.

      ‘OK,’ he eventually agreed. ‘A week or so. Two tops! But only because I feel sorry for her.’

      ‘Thank you,’ she breathed out, only realising then that she had been holding her breath for too long making her feel dizzy. ‘But why do you feel sorry for her?’ she asked, blinking a few times to clear her head.

      ‘Because,’ he started and then paused. ‘I don’t really know, to be honest … I mean, it was donkey’s years ago, of course, yet feels like only yesterday, that’s how distinctive she was. But I still remember when she first came here to sign up for the unit. Mrs Donato stuck in my mind. You see, there was an aura about her.’

      ‘An aura?’ Grace felt intrigued and widened her eyes in anticipation of hearing more.

      ‘Yes. Imperious. Regal almost. But kind of sad and lonely too. She was smartly dressed, in a mink coat with leather gloves and a hat … it was still OK to wear real fur in those days,’ he quickly clarified. ‘And she was wearing this expensive scent … I don’t know what it was – not something our Betty would wear. Anyway, I remember it lingered in the office for ages afterwards. Betty and I joked about it for weeks, saying, “Mrs Donato is still here” every morning when we unlocked the office door and got a great big walloping whiff.’

      Grace immediately wondered which perfume it was, and from what she had already deduced about Connie, imagined it to be something romantic yet sophisticated, classic and expensive, like Cartier or Van Cleef and Arpels. Grace had been walking through Selfridges’ beauty hall one time on a shopping trip with Matthew, and the sales assistant had spritzed her with both of these fragrances and then given her some small sample sprays. She had treasured those tiny phials, eking them out as a way to hold on to that moment in time with her own truelove, as it was later that very day, over lunch, that Matthew had proposed.

      Perfume was such a powerful evocation of memories: one whiff and Grace was back there with Matthew by her side, oohing and aahing over the dazzling display counters in Selfridges. Then, after the shopping trip, they had found an authentic Italian café in a quiet back street with round tables covered in red gingham tablecloths and candles in wine bottles with wax trickling down the sides. They had sipped limoncello cocktails and tucked into big bowls of buttery soft ravioli stuffed with shrimp and drizzled with pesto and pecorino shavings. Creamy raspberry gelato was for pudding, followed by mugs of hot chocolate so deliciously thick they had been able to stand their teaspoons up in it and take bets to see whose spoon would topple over first.

      Matthew had joked about the leaning tower of Pisa being right there inside his mug and how they should book a holiday to Tuscany to see the tower and all the other glorious Italian sights for themselves. He had then pushed back his chair and actually performed the whole chivalrous ceremony of asking her to marry him amidst much whooping and cheering from all the other diners. ‘Of course I will marry you,’ she had laughed, ‘but only if you get up off the floor at once.’ She had never been one for showy displays of affection. The way everyone had stared and then come over to shake Matthew’s hand and tell him how marvellous he was. She remembered his smile, like he was the happiest man alive. And it had felt right. A perfect day.

      ‘But her eyes. I’ll never forget her eyes,’ Larry continued, bringing Grace back to the moment, so she tucked that particular memory away for now; it was probably for the best as it never did her any good to remember the good times with Matthew … it only made her current, lukewarm relationship with Phil feel like a consolation prize. ‘You can tell a lot about a person from their eyes.’ Larry leant against the doorframe and tilted his head upwards as he ruminated.

      ‘Here, do you want to sit down? Come and rest your knees,’ Grace offered, gesturing to the chaise.

      ‘Ah, no thank you, my dear. My orthopaedic consultant said that I have to keep active if I don’t want the old joints to cease up. Road to ruin that is … not keeping active.’ And he did a halfhearted knee bend as if to punctuate the point, making Grace wonder if she should try to encourage Cora to be more mobile. Maybe she could manage some arm stretches at least. It certainly wouldn’t hurt for her to try. She could sit up in bed and reach up for the hoist and bash her walking stick hard on the floor, so it was worth a go. Plus she was younger than Larry by over a decade. Grace made a mental note to mention it to her mother when she got home from work.

      ‘If you’re sure …’ Grace smiled at Larry. ‘So, what were they like, Connie’s eyes?’

      ‘Deep and pensive. As if she had lived a life of note, but with adversity and sorrow. Haunting, almost. That’s why she’s stuck in my memory. I’ve not ever seen eyes like that since …’

      ‘Oh, poor Connie,’ Grace said, even more determined to find her and discover her story. ‘And thank you for giving me time to find out more.’

      Larry smiled and moved into the centre of the unit.

      ‘Two weeks tops!’ He shook his head and sighed good-heartedly. ‘Come on, how about I give you a hand to sort through some of her things … let’s see what we can find. If we have no luck in finding a lead of any kind, then we can always get Betty to ask her pal, Maggie – the one from the knit-and-natter group, to look on the computer.

      ‘Maggie who works at the coroner’s office?’ Grace said, optimistically.

      ‘Yes, that’s the one. She does family trees for people too and has even managed to trace right back to pirate times for some of her clients.’

      ‘Really? I didn’t even know that was possible,’ Grace said, fascinated, and wondering if she could be related to a proper pirate. She quite fancied the idea of that. It was quirky and unusual and certainly sounded more interesting than coming from a long line of potato farmers who had lived in stone huts on the desolate, windswept fields of the remotest СКАЧАТЬ