Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
I smile. “I have nothing planned. I can take her out today.”
“Diva will like that. Come on in,” she says, going down the hallway. “Come sit in the kitchen while I write the cheque. You can walk Diva to the pharmacy and back. It’s a walk she knows well, and she likes to sniff the lampposts on the way.”
She leads me to a small kitchen with pink cupboards and a small table with a pink cherry motive tablecloth. Diva follows on our heels, her nails clacking on the wooden floors.
“Would you like a cup of tea while you wait?” she asks. “I can do with one. It’ll drive this nasty chill from my bones.”
“Why don’t I make the tea while you write the cheque?”
“Are you sure?” She clutches the ends of her robe together. “I don’t want to inconvenience you.”
“Not at all. Just show me where everything is.”
“All right then.” She sniffs. “If you insist.”
She opens a cupboard filled with pink crockery and takes down a hot-pink tea pot. “The cups are here.” She points at a pantry door. “The tea is in there. Sugar too.” She shuffles toward the door. “Or honey if you prefer.” Her voice drifts down the hallway as she disappears through the doorframe. “I’ll be back in a sec.”
While she gets her cheque book, I wash my hands with the rose-perfumed soap at the sink and dry them on the baby-pink towel that hangs on a hook on the wall. After filling a pink vintage kettle with water, I switch it on for the water to boil. I’m not surprised that the tea in the pink tin decorated with ballerinas is a pink hibiscus and raspberry mixture. Even the drawer from which I take a teaspoon is lined with pink polka dot kitchen paper.
When Mrs. Paoli returns and sits down at the table, I pour two cups of the fragrant infusion. I take the chair opposite her and frame the paper-thin porcelain teacup with the roses painted around the rim between my palms, enjoying the warmth that seeps into my skin.
“You said you live in the house on the hill,” she says, stealing a glance at me as she signs her name on the cheque.
“That’s right.” I blow on the tea before taking a sip. “This brew is divine.”
“Thank you,” she says with a lift of her chin. “It’s not available in the store. I order it online from an organic producer.” She puts the pen down. “Are you family of the Russos?”
“No.” I clear my throat. “I mean yes. I suppose so.” Flustered, I add, “I’m Mr. Russo’s wife. I’m not used to the new surname yet.”
Placing a hand over her heart, she says with round eyes, “You don’t say.”
I take the medicine from the bag and shake a vitamin from the bottle, which I leave in her saucer. “Mrs. Campana said this will help for your cold.”
She leans across the table and asks in a hushed voice, “Is it true that the house is a pigsty?”
I flinch. “I can’t deny that it was in a less than desirable state when I moved in, but you don’t have to worry. It’s been cleaned since.”
“Oh.” Red blotches taint her cheeks. “I didn’t mean that you’re dirty. I can see you’re perfectly clean. I was just wondering. Word goes around. Toma mentioned something to a friend of a friend’s cousin.” Leaning closer still, she whispers, “Does he live there now? Your husband?” She crosses herself. “I suppose after what happened with the accident it must be difficult to live in the big house.”
Sighing, I give her the same answer I gave Mrs. Campana. “It’s complicated.”
“Ah.” She nods. “Arranged marriages always are. That family never believed in marrying for love. But to be married to the likes of Angelo Russo on top of that?” She pats my hand. “It can’t be easy.”
Diva barks, saving me from having to reply.
“I think she’s impatient to go out,” Mrs. Paoli says. “She hasn’t done her business yet.” She gets up and takes a plate covered with a napkin from the cupboard that she puts on the table before sitting down again. She removes the napkin to reveal pink finger biscuits. “Have a boudoir before you go.” Taking one from the plate, she breaks off the end and offers it to Diva who snatches the treat from her fingers. “They’re rose flavored.”
“Thanks,” I say, taking one of the cookies.
“Here.” She tears the cheque from the book. “This is for Mrs. Campana.”
Swallowing the stale cookie down with the last of my tea, I get up and carry our cups to the sink. “Thank you for the tea. It was delicious.”
“Don’t worry to rinse that,” she says when I open the tap. “The cups are dishwasher safe.” She pushes to her feet. “Let me get you Diva’s leash. She’s very obedient. You won’t have any problems with her.”