Free Margherita's Notebook by Elisabetta Flumeri, Gabriella Giacometti Page B

kind, and between Gualtiero and Salvatore it had turned into a sort of competition. Because she didn’t want to seem rude, Giulia always accepted, although the situation was starting to get out of hand.
    â€œYou can never have enough fish,” Gualtiero insisted. “You can marinate them, fry them, and they’re delicious grilled, too.”
    Giulia rolled her eyes. It was no use insisting.
    â€œI’ll turn into an anchovy myself,” she joked, and as she did, Gualtiero couldn’t help glancing at his friend’s shapely figure.
    â€œNo, please! I don’t want to be responsible for that happening! Beauty lies in all this goodness that you carry around with you!”
    Giulia’s cheerful laughter made both of them laugh even more.
    â€œHey, what are you two chuckling about?”
    They both turned around to see Salvatore, who was coming in through the gate with a large bottle of olive oil. Gualtiero shot him a dirty look. Why was the idiot always butting in?
    Giulia pointed to the crate of sardines.
    â€œWe were just talking about fish . . .”
    â€œThat’s all you can talk about with him!” Salvatore answered back.
    â€œFish contains phosphorus, which is good for your brain, but it seems you don’t eat enough of it,” Gualtiero retorted.
    â€œWill the two of you please stop?” Giulia interrupted, but the two men kept bickering anyway.
    That was when Margherita arrived, with a package covered in red tissue paper.
    â€œI guess I caught you at a bad time,” she said, smiling.
    Giulia hugged her warmly. “What a nice surprise! Quite the contrary, you got here just when you’re needed!” she replied, as she glanced at Gualtiero and Salvatore with amusement in her eyes.
    â€œThis is for you, I hope you like it.” Margherita handed her the package. “It’s something new: Amalfitana cake with ricotta and pears.”
    â€œI’m beginning to think you’re all trying to fatten me up like poor Lolita!” Giulia remarked jokingly, as she pointed at a nice fat goose that was strutting about in the garden.
    â€œThat’s what Armando says, too,” Margherita agreed. “I’ve been cooking for days now and he’s already threatened me—he doesn’t want to ruin his playboy physique.”
    â€œAh, men! They’re so vain!” Giulia winked at her, and then added, “I guess it means we’ll both get fat. Come on in, let me make you a cup of coffee while I try this small masterpiece,” she concluded, showing her the way into the house.
    Margherita followed her and was immediately struck by how warm and welcoming it was there. Every detail seemed to say something about Giulia, from the composition of dried flowers on a table, to the colorful embroidered cushions on the sofa near the fireplace, to the horseshoesand watercolors hanging on the walls. Margherita stopped to look at one in particular, which depicted the landscape of the pampas, the yellow land in sharp contrast to the tall mountains on the horizon.
    â€œHow lovely, did you paint this?”
    Giulia nodded as she came closer. And Margy continued, “It all looks so . . . so . . . wild and uncultivated.”
    â€œIt is,” Giulia replied, looking at the painting. “I painted this from my bedroom window.”
    â€œAnd where is it?”
    â€œIn Patagonia. That mountain down there is San Valentin, the tallest peak in the Patagonian Andes,” she explained, with a hint of sadness in her voice.
    Margherita looked at her. “Do you miss your country?”
    â€œA little bit,” answered Giulia, “but I’ve turned over a new leaf, I’m here now.”
    â€œI thought you came from Buenos Aires . . .”
    â€œArmando probably told you that I moved there because I had fallen in love. I left everything, my husband, my home, my friends, to follow Camilo. It was