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La
Regina dei Folletti – my grandmother and Queen of the Trolls!’
     
    As we followed
the dusty little lane that led to Nonna’s house, Sergio explained to me that
her home had once been a small water-mill, and parts of the old wheel were
carefully embedded in the pink soil amongst Thyme andRosemary
bushes. I knew I had been here as a little girl, and seeing the house again
stirred memories of crouching in a dusty yard with new-born chicks running
between my feet. Nonna was obviously a keen gardener. I admired a handsome
Jacaranda, waves of heavy blue-purple blossom cascading from its branches and
clashing gloriously with the red stems and yellow flowers of a Nerium Oleander.
A shout, cracked at the edges but clear as a bell, burst from inside the house
and shook me out of my horticultural reverie.
    ‘Sergio! Sergio! Entra !’
    ‘ Vengo! ’ Sergio shouted back, smiling and pulling me towards the
house. The sun was directly behind us and sent a great square beam of light
into the little kitchen ahead. It lit up the shiny back of what looked like a
Macbook, propped up on the table amongst a pile of onion skins. A small
dark-scarved head looked up from behind the screen, showing a pair of twinkling
black eyes peeking through deep brown wrinkles. She studied me carefully.
    ‘Sergio! My favourite boy!’ she said in almost accent-less English, ‘ Vieni
qui ! I have just been talking to your poor aunt Karina in LA. She has had
her hip operation. The silly woman never ate enough, no wonder her bones are
like bread sticks.’
    ‘ Buon Giorno Nonna !’ He went over and gave her a hug. She held him
tightly, burying her wizened face in his neck. He was clearly a favourite. He
disengaged himself. ‘Nonna, this is Maddie, you remember Maddie?’
    She came over
and took my hand. She barely came up to my chest and my overwhelming impression
was of some kind of Mediterranean Beatrice Potter character - a mole or
hedgehog in rough dark cotton. She held my hand tightly and gave me a shrewd
look.
    'It is good to see you again Maddie Armstron g.
Do you remember me?'
    ‘Yes, I think so. You were a little different
then though.’
    ‘You are being very diplomatic. I am old now,
and you have grown tall e bella !’ She
let my hand go at last and went over to her fridge. It was one of those huge
American affairs with double doors and a drinks dispenser and it dominated the
small rustic kitchen. She caught me looking at it. 'I am an anacronismo my dear. As you get to know me better you will find out why. Now I know it’s
not quite lunchtime but you will join me in a little spritzer si ?  My
neice, she brought me some Aperol last time she visit from the North.’  Taking
our silence for acquiescence she poured a little Sonnetto into three tall
glasses, added a little sparkling water and a shot of the bitter red Italian
aperitif – which turned the drinks into liquid sunsets.
     
    Nonna, or Edera
as she was called, was a singular woman; half Gypsy Rose Lee and half Anita
Roddick. Her talk switched seamlessly from the movement of the planets to how
her shares were performing on the stock market. Not prepared to be left behind
by technology, she had gone off to Rome to do an intensive IT course, and was
now so good that she did many of the accounts for the Amarena estate and had
even developed her own programme for the automated on-line ordering of
essential materials like fining agents and preservatives. She was also a
wonderful cook, and after a lunch of thyme-marinated chicken, and a couple more
spritzers, we sat, sated and contemplative, on her quarry-tiled veranda
listening to the singing of the crickets. I felt myself nodding off so shook
myself and started to stack the plates.
    ‘No, no.’ Sergio jumped up and took the dishes from me. ‘You rest. I’ll
clear up.’ He went off into the house and we heard the tap start running. Edera
leant across the table very suddenly and took my hand.
    ‘I know you must leave him. It is