Chapter 6

Chapter 6 - The Wedding

When Bruno next spotted Angela it was at the Grimaldi grape harvesting celebration. It was a beautiful September morning. The sun was high in the pale blue sky and it radiated light and heat. It shimmered above Monte Amiato and rested its rays over Girotondo and Palazzo Grimaldi.

The huge wooden grape crushing caskets were full of women dancing and screaming. Their skirts were hitched up to their thighs and there legs were covered in red juice and grape skins. This would be a good harvest.

It took a while before Bruno spotted Angela. She was so different to the awkward girl he knew from school. She was now a woman. And what a woman. She moved gracefully, her long brown hair flowing around her as she spun. Her smile lit up the afternoon spectacle. She seemed so full of life and vibrant energy. Her curves were exactly as an Italian woman’s should be in her prime. And Angela was in her prime. He thought about how easy this would be for him. How pleasurable this task would be. He never even noticed that far behind him Giacomo was watching Angela too. But how could he, Angela had Bruno transfixed.

It did not take long for Bruno to woo Angela. He made sure to focus exclusively on the courtship until he had won her. And while he courted he even allowed her to distract him from any one of his numerous bad habits. He was particularly surprised at how he refrained from making love to the young servant girls while winning Angela over. But win her he did. And to ensure victory he even developed a side of him that no one else imagined. Not even Bruno. He was charming, considerate and attentive. Very attentive. But then he had to be, for she was an important catch. He would not lose this one to Giacomo. Not this one. But then, taking her away from Giacomo was not hard. Giacomo and Angela were little more than friends. Giacomo had not succeeded in progressing things further before Bruno struck. So Angela never imagined that Giacomo had affections for her.

Six months after Bruno had returned from the navy he proposed to Angela. She nervously accepted. He was, after all, a Grimaldi. And her parents so obviously wanted her to accept. When she described to her mother and father how Bruno proposed, her mother wept torrential tears of joy while her father opened his finest bottle of champagne. And he had never before opened a bottle of champagne just to celebrate something. As Angela took herself slowly to bed that night, before she prayed to God to give her strength, she watched as her parents slow danced in front of the fireplace. She could not remember when she had last seen them dance.

Bruno and Angela agreed to be married that June at Palazzo Grimaldi. Anyone who was anyone in Tuscany was invited. Angela was not born of nobility like Bruno, but her father was highly respected and more importantly Virgilio needed his money. Virgilio’s father, the old Conte, had since past away and could thus provide no opposition. So, this was a good marriage, Virgilio persuaded himself, and they would spare no expense. In any case, he would ensure that Angela’s father paid for it. The bank manager had more than enough money.

The time between Bruno’s proposal and the wedding flew by. Angela hardly ever saw Bruno, other than when they were choosing furnishings and interiors for their new house, owned by the Grimaldi family, given to them for their life. It was the largest and most handsome house in Piazza Rimazza. And Angela loved her new home. She threw herself at the project to refurbish it with a vengeance. It helped her to ignore her reservations and the anxiety that constantly rumbled inside her stomach.

And for those handful of months Angela was the centre of attention for everyone in Girotondo. After all, she was soon to become a Grimaldi. And they all treated the Grimaldi’s with great care and attention.

And Angela perpetually excused Bruno’s absence from her side. After all he was young and he needed to take care of a great deal before they got married. Plus, as he reminded her so often, he needed to start a career now that he had left the navy and was getting married. Everyone was a little surprised, though, when Bruno announced that he would become a writer and a poet. It seemed so unlike him. He had never cared much for reading. They all assumed he must have discovered literature when in the navy. No one would have imagined that he had chosen such a career because a great friend of his was the son of a leading Italian publisher and so he knew he would get published. After all, he was a Grimaldi.

But, Bruno never found the time to write before they got married. He did though find the time for the servant girls. One, in particular, he made a great deal of time for. After all, she was far too attractive not to.

Two nights before Bruno and Angela got married their parents threw a joint banquet for the about-to-be weds. A select forty were invited and they all sat around the grand dining room table in the banqueting hall at Palazzo Grimaldi. This summer Tuscan feast was extraordinary. Even Angela’s now advanced culinary skills marveled at the spread. The starter was the best Parma ham layered over the juiciest yellow melons. The pastas were laced with evocative sauces from throughout the region. And the fish served proudly by the new Conte Grimaldi, Bruno’s father, had to be seen. All the fish had been caught that day. The Spigola, Dentice and Orate held the aroma’s of the Mediterranean, sprinkled with limes and olive oil, and surrounded by crisp roasted potatoes.

The ancient Palazzo came to life again that evening. For Italians know how to make noise. The thick stone walls that had guarded this Palazzo for so long and carried it’s quiet and quirky owners through multiple generations now reverberated with laughter and delight. Voices rippled down walls and corridors. Some conversations meant to carry, some not.

The guests were the select few. After all, there would be over five hundred at the wedding. This was for close family and friends, plus of course special dignitaries. Tuscany’s two most powerful senators were there with their pristine wives. The vast majority were Grimaldi guests. And it would be the same for the wedding. Angela’s parents didn’t mind. They had few friends or family members that they felt comfortable inviting.

Everyone was dressed to the nines. Florence’s best stores and tailors had been bombarded. Angela looked a marvel. It had taken her and her mother weeks to find her evening gown. The cream colored silk creation was a dream. It hugged her tight and fell straight as an arrow. The back was low. Her hair shimmered against the silk and her face shone with beauty and nerves. Her mother insisted on making her up and she did it perfectly. Every beautiful curve on her face was imaginatively and subtly accentuated. All the men at the banquet were taken by Angela. And she finally felt like the princess in her dreams. This night she could not have been happier.

Angela sat on the right side of the Conte, while Bruno was at the opposite end of the table, next to Angela’s mother. No-one except for Angela saw his look. And Bruno revealed the exact same lewd, revolting, crazed gaze that the old Conte shared with Angela when she was twelve, before he pounced on her. She stared at him in disbelief. Her mouth wide open. She froze. Her stomach instantly ached. And Bruno was not looking at her. He was looking at a pretty young servant girl.

It was a while before Angela could move, but as the guests wandered from the dining table to pursue the ritual of coffee and cigarettes, she grabbed her startled mother and ran. She pushed open the massive double doors and went out to the garden terraces beyond. The ones that looked out over the vineyards and ultimately to Monte Amiato. The same terraces that basked in the sunlight during the day now shone in the moonlight. The terraced gardens were a fairytale. Carefully nurtured and recently restored thanks to Giacomo and his mother.

“What is wrong my darling?”

Angela’s mother spoke first. She was concerned and confused. She always spoke first when she was nervous.

“Mama. Mama, I think, I think…I’m nervous. I’m not sure this will work. I am so afraid.” Angela fretted.

“Oh, Darling, it‘s just nerves. This is quite normal, believe me. This happens to very woman. It even happened to me.”

“No, Mama, this is different. I swear. This is different. I’m not sure we love each other. And maybe everything has happened too fast.” Angela pleaded for her life.

“But, my love, you have always been a little impulsive. It’s ok. You’re only young. This is normal.”

“That’s the point Mama. Maybe were too young. Please Mama. I’m afraid. I’m afraid we have made a terrible mistake.”

Angela’s mother fell silent. She was suddenly frozen by the look in her daughters eyes. She had only seen this look a few times before, after Angela awoke from terrifying nightmares. Maria Liguria did not know what to say.

“Maria, Angela, what’s going on? What are you two doing out here?” Angela’s father asked as he approached the two of them.

“Oh amore, it’s ok, Angela’s just a little upset.”

“Why?” Armando Liguria was instantly concerned.

“I think we’re making a terrible mistake Papa. I don’t think we love each other. I’m not sure we are ready to get married.”

Angela pleaded again. Her mother could feel herself weakening.

Angela’s father stared at Angela. His entire body stiffened. Angela gasped as she saw the same look in her father that she saw when she ran into him after being accosted by Il Conte.

Armando Grimaldi grabbed his daughter by the arm and led her back to the banquet. Her mother followed obediently. He spoke firmly to Angela as he marched her inside. Once they re-entered the Palazzo they were greeted by la Contessa. Angela looked back as her father closed the big oak doors behind them. They clanged shut, wood on metal, closing her off from the outside world as if for good. She imagined Monte Amiato sitting there, the other side of those grand old doors, in the open moonlight. Angela fell silent as her mind whisked her away, whisked her away to another place as it would learn to, so regularly, from that moment on.

copyright ©Philip L Letts 2007