The Ingredients for Happiness. Lucy Knott

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ Sabrina. Her millions of Instagram followers and her band’s international success hadn’t exactly signaled lonely to Louisa, but they had talked over Christmas and her snipes and moody remarks were water under the bridge. Louisa now understood the workload behind the social media and album sales, and she couldn’t be more in awe of Sabrina.

      Louisa felt that having some space over the past month and a half in Italy had helped her understand her sisters. She had always been the one to stay home, to be there for her parents and grandparents. She had felt angry at Amanda and Sabrina for leaving the family, and her, behind. But she was realizing that finding that balance between family and pursuing your own dreams was important. Being in Italy, doing something for herself, made her feel invigorated. As though she had finally stepped out of her older sisters’ shadows and found some sunshine of her own. Though she had to admit that going after her own dreams here in Italy meant that she missed her sisters more than ever.

      There was a small part of her that truly believed she could make something of herself in the fashion industry and this was one of the things that was keeping her going. Another thing was Luca.

      Growing up, Louisa had been surrounded by love; her parents had been happily married for over thirty years and her nonni had been sweethearts for sixty. It was this love that had squashed any doubt about giving the Italian man she met in Alfonso’s pasticceria, before Christmas, a chance. Luca had been a kind stranger at a time when she had needed it most. Though it all happened quickly, Louisa had felt a certain pull of magic, like Luca was her own Prince Charming.

      Luca had spoilt her with picnics overlooking the mountainside, candlelit lunches in the cozy confines of her office and the finest tables at Orzoro’s best-kept secrets; to which Louisa had made mental notes to take Amanda to next time she visited. In addition to their extraordinary dates, Louisa had also spent time getting to know Luca’s family more, while Luca too often visited with her nanna and zias. The qualms about it being just a holiday romance were dissolving as fast as Luca’s sfogliatelle melted in her mouth.

      Louisa wished more than anything she could tell her grandpa all about Luca, his family and the pasticceria, but somehow, she thought he already knew. Taking her eyes off her new favourite design, she looked out across the peaceful night sky and smiled as the brightest star flickered as she watched.

      Suddenly her phone buzzed in her pocket. She grabbed it eagerly in hopes that it was a text from Amanda or Sabrina, but Luca’s name flashed across the screen. She smiled as she read his text wishing her a buona notte but couldn’t shift the loneliness she felt from her sisters having not responded to her for the third day in a row. She slumped down in her chair, a pout playing at her lips.

      ‘Cara mia, cosa c’è che non va?’ Nanna’s voice came out of the shadows in the kitchen doorway. Louisa sat up right away, not wanting to give cause for Nanna to worry. She was being silly. She loved her sisters and she knew they loved her too. They were simply busy, and so was she. Life in Italy was wonderful and not just because of Luca and work, but because she got to see Nanna getting to spend time with her own sisters after eighteen years apart. Unlike Grandpa, Nanna had not been able to travel back and forth from England to her home in Italy over the years. Ailments and illnesses had kept her grounded. She had become terrified of flying because of this. But last year after Grandpa passed, she had wanted to see that he got home and had inspired the girls when she agreed to come with them for his funeral. Nanna was strong and had put on a brave face. That face bore wise wrinkles, her skin a still-glowing olive tone and her eyes glistened brighter than ever before when she pottered about her childhood home. Now she shuffled along the tiled floor in her navy slipper sandals, concern making the creases around her eyes more prominent.

      ‘Nothing’s wrong Nanna, I’m fine thank you,’ Louisa said softly, getting up out of her chair to hug her. That always made her feel better.

      ‘You miss your sisters, no?’ Nanna questioned. Nothing could ever get past a nonna, Louisa mused, better luck next time.

      ‘Yes, I do. I’m so excited about the fashion show Nanna, but I can’t help thinking about how fabulous the opening of Torta per Tutti is going to be. I know she can be a stubborn pain sometimes but when it comes to cooking, Amanda knows her stuff. I was looking forward to seeing it come to life, you know, just being there for her and being a guinea pig, making sure the menu was perfect. But I know she will have everyone else,’ Louisa confessed, her arms wrapped tight around her nanna who she could have sworn had shrunk a couple more inches since arriving in Italy.

      ‘I understand cara. I know of this problem. Life is balance. What can we do?’ Nanna said, her voice an airy whisper. She, more than anyone, knew the heartache of years away from loved ones, yet she had always remained so strong and happy with what surrounded her, her sisters always sending cards and parcels.

      ‘That’s it! Grazie Nanna. Grazie,’ Louisa cried after a few moments passed. She kissed her nanna on the cheek, an idea having sprung to her mind. ‘You take a seat and you teach me,’ she added, guiding Nanna to the kitchen table but grabbing a yellow cushion to make the seat more comfortable. Just then Zia Sofia walked into the kitchen waving a torn piece of paper in the air as if she had read Louisa’s mind. Zia Sofia was the youngest of her three zias and the one always bouncing around after everyone; taking the lead in the kitchen and reminding Louisa fiercefully of Amanda.

      ‘Aspetta, aspetta,’ she said, before reaching Louisa’s side and pinching her cheeks with her paper-free hand. ‘You need this. We make it now,’ her zia announced, turning on her heel and collecting up pots and pans. Louisa gazed at the browning paper now in her palm and blinked back tears. It was Grandpa’s handwriting and read ‘Torta caprese’.

      She looked to Nanna, unable to speak. Nanna’s eyes twinkled, a spark of happiness followed by a gleam of pain. Louisa missed him every day; she couldn’t imagine how Nanna felt.

      ‘Family recipes, they are the treasure of the life,’ Nanna noted, as Zia Sofia carefully pulled the recipe out of Louisa’s hand, handing her bowls and spoons and shouting instructions in fast Italian. Louisa would do well to remind her that it was Amanda that was the chef of the family and not her, but she had been the one to want to learn, so she did as she was told, following the instructions as best she could, feeling content that her zia had read her mind and agreed that food was always the answer, especially when made with love.

      *

      Rest had not been on the cards last night, Louisa was too excitable. At 6 a.m. she crept into the kitchen, grabbed her coat from the coat rack, picked up her bag from where she’d left it next to the wicker chair, collected the brown parcel from the kitchen counter and tip-toed in her black ballet pumps out onto the balcony. The soft morning breeze cooled her warm bones.

      Louisa walked in silence down the cobbled path, past the blocks of apartments whose shutters were all closed. She almost wanted to tip-toe, scared to make even the smallest of noises and disturb the tranquility of the sleeping village. The street looked like a rainbow, as each window bore a different shade of turquoise, pink and yellow. As she made her way further down the mountain, closer to the village square, lights illuminated bakeries where Louisa could see little old nonnas preparing the doughs for the day. Louisa’s thoughts drifted again to Amanda and how she would soon be doing the same thing in her café back home and it gave her an extra pep in her step. She wanted to stop and give the nonnas a hand, knowing how tiring the process was, after years of watching Amanda beat herself up over loaf after loaf, trying to perfect them and get them exactly like Grandpa’s. But she knew this was what the Italians lived for – waking up to cook with love, to feed the world. She knew the nonnas would be just fine and kept on walking.

      Disturbing the silence up the street were the fisherman delivering their catch to the market stalls and restaurants. СКАЧАТЬ