Samuel watched Matteo close the kitchen door behind him, his face reddened from the cold outside; it was barely four degrees out there. Beside him, Gilberta hummed, her hips swaying, as she nursed along a bubbling pot of passata. Matteo balanced the logs in his arms and headed to the fireplace at the back of the kitchen. Henrik was there, stirring white bean soup over the open flame. Matteo dropped the wood into the box near Henrik’s feet, then straightened and caught Samuel’s eye.
They were both nervous.
Samuel walked slowly to the dining room, reading a text message from Giovanna, who assured him they were on their way, just a little later than they’d hoped. He tugged at his collar, unable to tell if the tightness in his chest was from nerves or excitement.
In the library, Mario sang while aligning tables. The long space had been cleared of the green wingback chairs, and Henrik and Matteo had brought in long tables from the dairy, along with bench seats. More than thirty people were coming to their early Christmas feast. All those people! The thought made Samuel have to sit down for a moment on the sofa near the piano.
‘She’s a clever woman, my Gilberta,’ Mario said to the room at large, though Samuel was the only one nearby.
‘Yes, she is,’ he agreed. Gilberta and Matteo had organised all this, and Samuel couldn’t fathom how they’d managed to get all the family to commit. The pair of them would make good politicians.
Gilberta had dressed the tables with red cloths. Squares of honeycomb sat atop round slices of pine logs, along with nuts and dried fruits. Terracotta pots held tall slices of crostini. She wanted people to start grazing the second they got here. Other pots held living thyme and oregano plants. Candles flickered, their bases wrapped in olive leaves.
So much effort, and it was all for him. Samuel had agreed to Matteo and Gilberta’s plan and deep down he really did want this. But as the evening drew closer, more and more he found himself longing for a grappa to steady his hands.
Matteo carried in his last load of wood, dropping it beside the big fireplace in the library just in time for a gust of cold air from the front door and a babble of voices announcing the arrival of one of Matteo’s brothers and his family. Matteo shot Samuel a quick look. The boy looked like he needed a grappa too. Samuel nodded at him almost imperceptibly, encouraging. We can do this.
Matteo met his oldest brother, Enzo, in a suit as always, and his wife Carlotta in sparkly jewels alongside their daughters.
My word, how the girls had grown! Samuel could barely recognise them with their shiny hair and their grown-up clothes. They’d only been toddlers when he’d seen them last. He pulled himself to his feet to greet them all, as the head of the household should do.
‘Zio!’ Enzo called, his arms held wide, and Samuel was pierced with gratitude, realising that a part of him had feared they might all come only to unleash fury on him. But Enzo kissed his cheeks and Carlotta did the same, her natural warmth smoothing over any stiffness. He’d missed her. The girls followed suit, shyly but affectionately.
More family arrived then, the villa echoing with cries of greeting and laughter. Matteo’s other brothers, Sergio and Salvatore, came with their families. Then Gilberta and Mario’s friend Costantino, and his granddaughter Teresa, came bearing wine and silver-wrapped gifts, which Teresa raced to place at the foot of the Christmas tree. Next was Gaetano and Sarah, and Samuel’s granddaughter Aimee, all the way from London.
‘Thank you for coming,’ Samuel said into Gaetano’s shoulder as they hugged.
‘I’m only sorry it’s been so long,’ his son murmured. ‘I’m deeply ashamed to have left my father alone here all these years. Please, forgive me.’
Samuel couldn’t speak. He merely clapped Gaetano on the back and nodded, his throat tight. Aimee introduced herself to Henrik and they shook hands.
Each time the door opened to admit a new arrival, Matteo craned his neck to see who it was. So did Samuel.
Giovanna arrived, along with Marco and Lily. Giovanna burst into tears when she saw her father, wrapping his thin frame in her voluptuous one. ‘You must come to London!’ she wailed. ‘Look how small you are! I need to feed you!’
Samuel raised his eyes to Matteo across the room with an I told you so face, but relaxed into his daughter’s arms.
Lily, long beads around her neck, her long hair falling to her waist, called, ‘Nonno!’ and rushed to kiss him. A lump rose to his throat.
‘Will you play for us?’ he asked, nodding in the direction of the piano.
‘Of course,’ she said, and led Samuel by the hand to the lounge room. She sat him on the three-seater and then positioned herself at the black Steinway.
Samuel kept his eyes glued on her as she played Scarlatti, but felt his mind drift away, back to a time when Assunta was there in that seat, or maybe even his own Lily. He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped at his eyes.
Then he looked around his house, marvelling at all the people in it.
The young ones had gathered on the bench seats at the long tables in the library, their backs to the fireplace, sharing photos and games on their phones and catching up with their cousins.
Mario opened wine and filled glasses while Gilberta heated chocolate on the stove. Her handmade pasta—magnificent yellow knots of tagliatelle—waited in a pyramid on the kitchen bench near bunches of fragrant basil.
Henrik and Aimee stood in a tight twosome in the doorway to the dining room, each with a glass of wine, their cheeks rosy as they laughed at whatever the other said; Henrik popped back to the kitchen occasionally to check on the bean soup.
And then Lucia arrived, in a black trench coat, her eyelids heavy with smoky colour, the white streak in her hair dramatic. She paused in the doorway and pulled her scarf through her hands, a gesture that may have betrayed her nervousness. Her head was high, searching for Matteo, Samuel assumed, but her eyes met Samuel’s first. She flinched at the sight of him.
Samuel, automatically assuming the role of the host, pulled himself to the edge of the lounge in order to rise and greet her.
But she held out her hand and frowned. ‘No, please, don’t get up.’ It wasn’t unkind, more concerned for his physical dexterity, and he could see she was shocked by his body’s decline since they’d last met. In her mind, he had remained the capable man who should have fixed the roof, and seeing him here was forcing her to reassess.
They held each other’s gaze, awkwardly, suspended in time and space, until Matteo entered, breaking the moment.
‘Mamma,’ he said, kissing her and taking her bag. He gave Samuel a supportive smile, then led Lucia towards the kitchen where she could relax in Gilberta’s presence.
Lucia would take time to warm to him again, but at least she was here.
Samuel eased himself back on the sofa once more. They were all still waiting for Carlo to arrive.
And there was another guest he and Matteo were particularly eager to see.