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“This is surprisingly therapeutic,” says Caroline, looking up at Maxim with her bluest of blue eyes.
“There’s wine somewhere,” he says, ignoring her look. “We bought a load for the celebration on Saturday. I think it’s out back.”
“I could murder a glass of wine,” Caroline exclaims, and Alessia’s not sure if she’s expressing her desperation or relief.
“I will fetch a bottle,” Shpresa says, and she disappears into the utility room.
“So, how’s the nightlife here, Alessia?” Joe asks.
She shrugs, a little embarrassed. “I don’t know. I’ve not been out at night much.” All the English turn to stare at her, and she flushes. “My parents are protective,” she explains in a rush but notices Caroline glance at Maryanne with a furrowed brow. Her mother returns, brandishing a bottle of white wine.
“I’ll open that,” Joe offers, and Shpresa hands him the bottle and a corkscrew and brings two glasses to the table.
“Two?” Joe says in consternation.
Alessia and her mother exchange a look. Then her mother’s gaze passes over the English as they stare at the Albanians and lands back on Alessia, her eyes twinkling with a devilry that Alessia’s not seen before. She grins and fetches two more glasses.
Mama!
Joe pours four glasses as Baba enters the room. He’s freshly shaved and wearing a tie and a clean shirt. He looks quite dashing. “Is everyone ready?” he asks Alessia in their tongue; his tone is buoyant.
“I think so, Babë.”
His eyes drift to his wife. “Are you drinking?” he asks, shocked.
“Yes. We have all eaten. I should be fine.” She raises the glass to him. And Maryanne, Caroline, and Alessia follow suit.
“Gëzuar, Babë,” Alessia says.
He gapes at his wife and daughter and then glances at Maxim, nodding. “Like I said, she’s your problem now.” But Maxim doesn’t understand.
“Gëzuar, Zonja,” he says to the women, then turns to Joe and Maxim. “We go.”
What!
Alessia gapes at her equally awestruck mother. It’s the first time they’ve ever heard her father speak English. She takes a quick gulp of wine and watches as the men file out of the room.
“What is it?” Maryanne asks Alessia.
“My father. He never speaks English.”
Maryanne laughs. “There’s always a first time. And this wine’s not bad.”
“It is Albanian,” Alessia says and cannot keep the pride out of her voice.
“Cheers, Alessia, Mrs. Demachi, and congratulations.” Maryanne raises her glass. Caroline follows suit, and they all take a sip. The wine is delicious, though not quite as tasty as the wine she had in the library in Cornwall. Still, Caroline and Maryanne seem to appreciate it, which, as a proud Albanian, pleases Alessia.
“That’s the last of the spinach. What shall we do now?” Caroline asks.
Alessia has placed the two large dishes of Tavë kosi in the oven to bake, and she takes a seat beside her mother as the women make byrek rolls. Shpresa rolls out the dough while Alessia, Maryanne, and Caroline fill them with the spinach, sorrel, and feta cheese mix, which Shpresa has prepared with eggs, onion, and garlic. In between rolls, they each sip their wine.
The conversation ebbs and flows, but the banter between Caroline and Maryanne is entertaining.
“I can’t believe you’ve fallen for an American,” Caroline teases Maryanne.
“Fallen?”
“Darling, you’ve had an uncharacteristic smitten look since he called you at the airport.”
“I have not!”
“Methinks she doth protest too much. When are we going to meet him?”
“I don’t know. Ethan may come to the UK at Easter. We’ll see. He’s hard to read.” Maryanne gives her a pointed look, and Caroline purses her lips in feigned contempt.
“How long have the two of you known each other?” Alessia asks. She’s feeling a little light-headed from the wine, especially as they’re on their second bottle.
“I was friends with Maxim at school,” Caroline says. “Well, more than friends. But that was a long time ago.” She frowns at the spinach mix, pats it down on the dough, then twists it efficiently into a roll.
More than friends!
“I think we met at one of Rowena’s summer parties. The annual Trevethick cricket match at the Hall,” Caroline says to Maryanne.
“Yes. Back in the day. You came down from London with Maxim. I have to say, those are still so much fun. I do love a man in cricket whites.”
“Yes.” Caroline sounds wistful. “Kit looked great in whites and was a skilled batsman too.” She stares down into her glass.
“He was,” Maryanne says, and the atmosphere among the women nosedives.
“I am sorry for your loss,” Alessia says quietly.
“Yes. Well. Thank you.” Caroline swallows and tosses her glossy hair as if shaking off a nasty thought. “It will be down to you to host the annual village cricket match next summer, Alessia, among many other events.”
Alessia stares at her. She knows nothing of cricket.
“You really don’t know what will be expected of you, do you?” Caroline states.
“Not now,” Maryanne warns Caroline.
“No,” Alessia whispers.
