Rosamanti by Noelle Clark Page B

biscuits— biscotto —for you to try.” She took the dish towel off a plate, revealing the large, golden brown cookies, glistening with the goodness of honey and oats. “They’re called Anzac biscuits.”
    His black eyes shone with anticipation as he reached out and took a biscuit. She watched as he bit into it, noticing his surprise that it was chewy rather than crunchy. Sarah waited patiently until he had eaten the whole cookie before he rewarded her with his opinion.
    “ Questo cibo e molto buono, signora ! ”The enthusiasm in his voice helped her translate.
    “So, you like it?”
    “Si, oh yes. Very good. Mm.”
    “Good, then when you go home today, you can take them with you for supper.”
    They moved into the drawing room where Sarah showed him the pages written by Nonna so long ago.
    “Can you tell me what this says please Carlo?”
    Scrunching up his eyes, he studied the tightly written script intently. She watched as his face saddened. He shook his head and, frowning, looked up at her.
    “Signora, it is a letter from Signora Elena—my friend. But written a long time ago.”
    “I know. I worked out she would have been twelve. Just a bit older than you are now.”
    He looked back at the letter, reading it.
    “What’s she saying?” Sarah’s impatience was getting the better of her.
    “Ssh. Un momento.” His eyes never left the delicate paper. He turned over the first page and read the second through. The third page held the map and the three clues. Sarah saw his face infuse with color, his eyes widening. Soon, he looked up at her, his mouth gaping.
    “ Tesoro! Treasure, signora!” He jumped up and began to head for the door.
    “Hold on! Hold on! Tell me what she says!”
    “Signora, we should go now before somebody else finds it.” Enthusiasm and excitement burst from him.
    Grabbing him gently on the arm, she put her face close to his.
    “Carlo. Signora Elena wrote this eighty-five years ago. There’s no rush.”
    His annoyance at the delay was quickly replaced by resignation. He let out a loud sigh.
    “Si.” He flopped down onto the settee and began to read the note aloud in English. When he had finished, he looked at her. “Signora, see on the map. We just follow the clues and we will find the treasure.”
    “But she doesn’t say for sure there is a treasure, Carlo. Does she give any clue as to what it might be? Maybe it’s just a secret that people would value.”
    “But signora, it must be gold—or diamonds.”
    A laugh sprang from her. “I very much doubt a twelve-year-old girl would have any gold or diamonds. But I do love your enthusiasm.” She ruffled his hair. “Come on then, let’s look at the clues.”
    Reaching over to the table, she grabbed a notebook and pen. “Read out the first one please Carlo.”
    “ Come un cane, cercate l’osso .” Scratching his head, he frowned. “It says: like a dog, you seek the bone.” He looked up at her with a blank look.
    She wrote down the words in the notebook, then looked up to meet his gaze.
    “Signora? A bone? The treasure is a bone? Mama mia!”
    “Next one?”
    Lips compressed, he turned back to the handwritten note.
    “ Bianco diventa blu, ”he paused turning the paper slightly sideways and screwing up his eyes , “ attenzione la tonalità. ” Again he looked confused. “She has scribbled over this word.” He pointed with his finger. He read it out slowly. “White becomes blue, beware the hue.” He looked up at her and licked his lips. “Signora, I think it is a body. First there is a bone, then it says to beware.”
    She frowned. “Well if you’re right, there won’t be too much left after eighty odd years.” She wrote down the translation.
    “ Prendete il vostro ultimo respiro, ora faccio la tua morte…” His face paled. “No signora. I am certain. There is no treasure.” He swallowed.
    “What does it say? Tell me!”
    He cleared his throat. “Take your last breath, you now face your death.”
    She