Gianni Salvini drew the car to a halt and glanced at his client’s face.“I think you like it already, yes?” he asked in a particularly pronounced Italian accent.
Rosy beamed at him. “I love it already.” She stared at the little detached farmhouse Gianni had brought her to see with disbelief. “Are you sure this is within my budget?” she asked, somewhat anxiously.
“Yes, Rosy, I told you. The owner is asking for 130,000 euros but I know her well and I am sure I can convince her to sell it for 120,000 euros. How much did you say your maximum budget is?”
She smiled at Gianni, “120,000 euros.”
“So…it is within your budget like I said.”
If she could have pulled her eyes away from the house, just for two seconds, she would have kissed him. However, she couldn’t pull her eyes away and Gianni was Italian so he would probably consider it an invitation to jump into bed with her. Enthusiastically, she pushed open the car door, eager to see more.
“We cross this old stone bridge, Rosy, it is the only entrance to the house.” He watched her lean over the stone wall to observe the stream running below it, she looked just like a child. He had become very fond of her over these last months while helping her to find a little house. She was clearly in love with Tuscany and this alone pleased him. Her budget was somewhat limited but she wasn’t a difficult client. She wanted somewhere quiet, with character and not so small that she couldn’t invite her family to stay with her. He knew that this house fit the bill.
The old wooden front door creaked open and led straight into a welcoming sitting room with a traditional iron heater. Straight on was a pretty archway leading through to the kitchen/dining room. Rosy headed through and opened the windows.
“Gianni,” she said, taking in the views of the hills before her and a huge breath of country air, “I love it!” Her pretty face appeared prettier than ever. “This is it! This is the one!” Then, she became giddy, “Oh, Gianni, I want this house! What else is there to see, show me more, please.”
Gianni laughed. “Through here you have a little room to do the laundry and there is also a toilet. Along here you have cupboards and here we have the stairs.”
“The wood is beautiful,” she exclaimed, “and the steps aren’t too steep.”
“Come, I will show you more.” Rosy followed him up the stairs. There was a nice sturdy bannister to hold onto on either side. “You have two bedrooms and they both overlook the hills. There is also a little terrace outside communicating between the two rooms.”
“They are both perfect,” she exclaimed. “I have some lovely chairs that can be put near the windows in each room so we can sit and enjoy the view. The wooden floors are wonderful and they’ll be warm on the feet,” she said, leaning down to feel it.
“Come, I will show you the bathroom.”
Like the rest of the house, Rosy found it perfect; even the slightly chipped tiles were delightful as were the somewhat rusty taps. She explored each room, each cupboard and each nook and cranny with enchantment.
The dwelling was not especially big but they nevertheless lingered for quite some time. Rosy was in awe and couldn’t tear herself away. Gianni was happy to stay with her and enjoy her company. She discovered the pretty little garden with a little terrace leading from the kitchen; it was sheltered and perfect for eating breakfast outside in summer. They followed the garden around and found a lovely sunny spot for eating some wonderful Italian salad lunches or enjoying an afternoon glass of Chianti. When Rosy finally managed to tear herself away, she knew that this was the house she had dreamed about. Now it would all be down to Gianni to negotiate the price.
The drive back to the little village of Camporgiano was less than 2 kilometres and there was so much to talk about. Her finances had to be organised, money would need to be transferred from her English bank account; a mortgage might need to be arranged. A mountain of paperwork would have to be done.
“How soon do you think I can move in, Gianni?” she asked, overflowing with enthusiasm.
He glanced over at her, a little more seriously now, knowing it was necessary to have a professional conversation with her. “Rosy, there is something I must warn you about; it is my job to do so.” Rosy’s complexion suddenly paled. “Rosy, you have to know that when you buy a house, many things can go wrong. There may be other people interested who can pay the full price, sales sometimes fall through and clients are left disappointed.” He saw her eyes fill with alarm. He had warned about this in the beginning but he had to remind her to safeguard her from disappointment. “Ok, so now you are warned.” He watched her swallow and then continued on a more positive note. “Now, I do everything to make sure you have this house. I try to confirm the price in the next few days.” Rosy’s eyes immediately began shining again. “Then, you sort out the banking in your country and all the documents you require and if all goes well,” he hesitated, “I don’t know, maybe four or five months.”
Rosy looked at him aghast. “Four or five months Gianni! “I can’t that long.”
He laughed but her impatience was understandable so he gave her a reassuring smile. “We will move you in as quickly as possible, I promise. I think you want this house very much?”
“I want it more than anything in the world, Gianni.”
The car halted outside ‘Rossini & Salvini Immobiliare’. As she stepped out, Rosy’s phone rang. She left Gianni to enter the agency alone while she spoke to the caller. Gianni observed her from within. Her conversation went on for quite some time. He made several phone calls and observed how her expression was changing. It was strange to see her looking so serious.
Rosy entered and Gianni immediately knew that something was wrong.
“Rosy, sit down, please, what is the matter?” She flopped into the chair and the tears began flooding down her face. He hurried to her side and kneeled down in front of her. Gently, he pushed the tears away but they kept on rolling down. “Rosy, tell me what has happened.” It took several minutes before the words finally came from her mouth.
“Mima…”she said, almost inaudibly.
“Mima? Judy, your mother?”
Judy was Rosy’s substitute mother; she had told Gianni all about her quite soon after their first meeting, mostly referring to her as ‘mima’. Her father was never mentioned so Gianni presumed he had never been present. Judy, in fact, was her great-aunt and had adopted Rosy when her niece, Rosy’s real mother, died suddenly, shortly after Rosy’s third birthday. He knew that Judy was now in her early nineties but Rosy talked about her constantly. She had told him how sprightly she was and that her brain was still as sharp as a razor and about all the places they had visited and the adventures they had shared. Rosy had just learned that her mima had died peacefully in her sleep that night. The day before, she had been for her usual short daily walk and her neighbour had said that she had seemed fine.
Gianni spent quite some time with Rosy. He took her into a quiet part of the agency, held her hand, gave her comforting hugs and took care of her as best he could. The happy pretty young woman from a little earlier that day was now totally heartbroken.
Somehow, Rosy managed to gather herself together and leave, thanking Gianni for everything he had done for her. She was abandoning all her plans for the house. She would return to England, organise the funeral and cover mima’s grave in flowers.
“How do you feel?” Lynne, her closest cousin asked.
“A little bit better. The dust is settling slowly,” she told her with a faint smile. “The funeral was the hardest. You know, Lynne, I sense she is still here with me. Some mornings I can feel her hands gently caressing my hair the way she always used to do when she woke me up. One morning, it felt so real that I spontaneously reached out to touch her hand!”
Lynne smiled, “Yes, I can believe that. Are you coping financially?”
“Sure, I had money put aside for my little house in Tuscany. I was able to use what I needed for the funeral.”
“And your little Tuscany house?”
Her face saddened. “There isn’t enough left for that anymore. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. It seems it wasn’t meant to be.”
“Judy was so excited about you buying a house out there. She was always telling me that she would be going to visit you as often as she could.”
“I was planning to take her out there to live with me, if she wanted to do that; we had talked about it lots of times.”
“She would have wanted to, I know she would. Listen, let’s get these boxes sorted out, it has to be done. There’s still more than a dozen of them to get through.”
“Lynne, if you don’t mind, let’s just put them all in the loft. I haven’t got the strength to go through them.”
Her cousin hesitated. “I understand but I think we should do it now, Rosy, that’s one of the reasons that I’ve come and it has to be done. You will only be leaving a difficult task sitting there waiting for you to do it if we don’t do it today.”
Half-heartedly, one by one, the girls emptied the boxes, organising the contents as seemed fit; important stuff to the right, useless clutter to the left.
For a while they didn’t speak much, each engrossed with the task at hand. Rosy found little notebooks, account books and various small pads of etchings that Judy had kept. She looked briefly at the pages and then put them on the pile to the right.
It was quite sometime later before they were nearing the end of their chore.
“Another one!” Lynne exclaimed.
“Another what?” Rosy asked.
“Of these little account books.”
“Oh yes. I’ve found some too, I’ve put them all in the right-hand pile.”
Lynne leaned to one side. “Look, me too!” she said, showing her a nice neat pile of more than a dozen little booklets. Impulsively, but keeping nice and calm, Lynne decided to look at them more closely. “Rosy, can you pass me a pen and some paper please,” she asked casually. Rosy passed them to her and continued with the boxes while her cousin scribbled away.
“Rosy,” Lynne enquired, “how many of these little grey booklets have you found?”
“Quite a few.”
“Ok, so take them and go to the last written page on each book and give me the number, please, the very last one.”
“This one says 15,200,” she flicked through another, “8,130,” then another, “1,845.” Lynne glanced up at her just very briefly as Rosy continued. A thirteenth, fourteenth and finally a fifteenth number was given.
Lynne placed the pen on the floor, trying to contain her jubilation. “Do you know how much this adds up to?” Rosy shook her head, not sure that she knew what this was all about. Her cousin smiled at her, “Rosy, this adds up to a bit more than 123,000,” she paused, then added, “pounds.” She watched the confusion appear in Rosy’s eyes. “Judy must have been saving for years and had never told you.”
Rosy sat stunned. Lynne came and sat down next to her, her face beaming. She opened all the booklets that had appeared at first glance to be no more than weekly accounts that Judy had kept.
“Browse through them Rosy, I’ll go and open the best bottle of wine that I can find in your cupboards.”
The girls drank while they studied the little account books, marvelling at the dates and the amounts. Some had a little, some had a lot. They laughed, they cried and they danced. Then suddenly, Lynne got a glint in her eye.
“Rosy, I have an idea. You know Judy wanted so much for you to buy your little house in Tuscany.”
“Yes, I know she did,” she said softly.”
“Why don’t we ring Gianni.”
The first real smile, since she had lost Judy, appeared on Rosy’s face. Lynne began pushing the digits to call the number and as she did, Rosy softly whispered…“Thank you, mima.”
End
“Tuscany” painting by Pauline Rouvier can be found on ‘Pauline’s Painting Corner’
Great post.
I do not even know how I ended up here, but I thought this post was great.
I don’t know who you are but definitely you are going to
a famous blogger if you are not already 😉 Cheers!