Amber-eyed Beauty and Blue-eyed Beast Part 2

After dawn, and leaving the house and shop in the hands of his two grandchildren, Nonno Roma trudged his way through the less than busied streets to Dr. Toscani's office. The overcast sky reflected the countless puddles that pock-marked the stone laid streets like tiny, misshapen mirrors.
Dr Toscani departed from the city the day prior to attend his eldest daughter wedding in Turin. However, the practice was well-represented by his associate, Dr. Eduard von Bock.

The seemingly anxious doctor was a recent immigrant from Estonia-which some people in other countries, those of whom not well rounded in geography, (but then again, who is?) mistook from a type of pastry or a musical term.

Nonno Roma squirmed and grimaced on the examining bench like an impatient lad in tight, itching Sunday school clothes,  while Von Bock placed the cold steel of the stethoscope piece on Nonno Roma's hairy, broad chest.  A shake of Von Bock's head and the doctor's heaving sigh stirred unease in Nonno Roma. "Well?" Roma managed to ask. Von Bock took off his glasses and rubbed his eyelids in an agitated contemplation.

"It's just what I assumed when I first saw your symptoms. It all points to asthma. "
"What?" Roma uttered in incredulity. He never imagined this sort of ailment to afflict him, he was far too ruddy and robust a man. He was not a strapping youth anymore to be sure, but he always thought himself as strong as a hearty plow horse. "Yes, it's asthma, Mr. Roma. But--"
"It had better not be fatal!" interjected Roma when the diagnosis had fully registered with his mind. "No, it's not fatal. " Von Bock held his hand up. "Not immediately, it can't.  But one attack can asphyxiate you, even to the point of death, if left untreated. Some forms of asthma are very mild, such as yours, Mr. Roma, though it's unwise to ignore it."
Scratching his elbow-a reflex of his when he was disturbed or distressed- Roma sighed followed by a plaintive grimace that etched on his face. "It can be treated, can't it? I can't just up and die from something like this? If I take treatments, it will be like I never had it? Well? Am I right?" demanded Roma in a tone more urgent than he preferred to speak in.
"There are treatments, but the expense-the expense would be a great deal, a huge sum. "

"I'll make ways to afford it, doctor, I have two grandchildren left in the family, and they depend on me. So I'll find some way to pay for the expenses." Roma insisted, he fumbled anxiously with the buttons as he slipped his arms into his shirt sleeves, but his mind was occupied with how the debts would be paid and his own expenses as well.

Roma left the office with a vial of epinephrine that Von Bock had given him of no charge, as the doctor himself had come from reduced circumstances and considered it fair not to charge an honest fellow like Roma for the initial prescription.                                                                                           As he made his way back, the sun had now shone for some time, and it was considerably warm, so Roma removed his jacket and rolled up his white shirt sleeves to his elbows. He took no notice of the balmy summer zephyrs or how the cathedrals were outlined in the dazzling sunlight, not even the jostling and often jovial traffics and banter of old friends he encountered in the streets offered the anxious man any consolation or assurance.                                                                                                                 "Nonno! You're back!" Felicia's voice jolted Roma from his vexation as he climbed up the stairs to their house. Darting to the second landing on the stairs, Felicia bounced on her grandfather with a tight embrace and a peck of a kiss to both of his stubbled cheeks. "Well, Felicia! Did you have too much coffee this morning, ragazza?"Roma chuckled fondly at his granddaughter's overzealous affections. "I've made breakfast and Romano is complaining about waiting any longer for you! Come now!" she chirped, dragging her grandfather by the hand up the stairs and into the kitchen.                                                                                                                       Breakfast was a rushed affair, for the shop would open in a matter of minutes. However, it was ambrosial, consisting of a richly brew pot of coffee, some fresh biscotti and a loaf of brioche. "Nonno?" asked Romano irritated as he pulled a frown, somewhat peeved at his grandfather's laid back manner at the table. The knit together brow and lips drawn tight like a purse string from Felicia also hinted to Nonno Roma his grandchildren that they expected to hear the doctor's report from the morning visit. Gulping down a cup of lukewarm coffee-he poured too much cream- Roma huffed but flashed a smile to conceal his concern. "Eh, it's all good! The new doctor, he told me it was just hay fever, a nasty case of it! I'm just fine! As fine"-the legs of his chair scraped against the floor tiles as he rose from the table and tapped the biscotti he held in his hand against the tabletop-"as this biscotti is hard!" he emphasized with the demonstrative gesture.  This satisfied Felicia, yet Romano seemed less than pacified with his grandfather's explanation.
"I'm very glad, Nonno, it's nothing serious! But you should take care of yourself better!" Felicia sighed in a tone of both relief and a sort of motherly berating.  A questioning quirk of Romano's brows told Roma his grandson doubted him. It was never in Roma's scruples or nature to deceive his children or grandchildren, but the truth would only burden them more, he reasoned.
"They've carried too much with this damn debt, with my son's death, their mother's, and then Vittoria's…ah damn. They'll find out later, let them have a bit of peace without this old man dragging them for now…"Roma sighed and muttered to himself when he was alone in the cloth room, while Felicia and Romano began to open the shop. Frustration felt as though it wound itself around Roma like one of the bolts of cloth on the shelves in the room.
******************************************** One month later

"How long will this depression last?" Romano asked absently. He knew the answer just the same, but he asked to vent his irk. Shoving his hands in his pants pockets, he shuffled his steps around the windows of the emptied shop. Outside, he saw a scant handful of people -some well-dressed, some not- scrambling in cars and on foot towards the Stock Exchange.  Evidently, the affluent were dashing off to learn if their investments had bounced up, and the less affluent ran to grab what decent stock they could buy before that crashed as well.
"G#d knows how long..." Nonno Roma replied in a flat, dead (like the economy) tone as he read the day's paper which read headlines of ruckus in the governmental conferences and further dips in the market. Nonno Roma huffed irritably, slipping the glasses off the bridge of his nose so he could rub the bridge of his nose. "Staring out the window won't make business run in here any sooner, Romano." Roma grumbled.
"What can I do? We've not had any business for the third straight week! Except for Signora Chevalli who came in yesterday for that new alternation to the hem of her summer gown. Nonno, if this keeps up, we might as well move!" spat Romano in reply.
"Moving? Moving?" repeated his grandfather in a rising tone. "Who said anything about moving? Why leave? Depressions happen in life, just like rain! And just like the weather, they change, and everything's back as it ought to be. Moving! Huh, ragazzo, your head gets stirred with nonsense sometimes!" Nonno Roma retorted indignantly, rising from his chair and slapping the marble top of the counter with one hand to emphasize his point. "Better to have my head stirring than stagnant like your thinking, vecchio !" Romano shot back, glaring at him over shoulder while his back remained facing Nonno Roma.  

Eight months had passed since the depression in the country progressed, progressed like some plague. On the street where Roma's shop stood, the nine other shops had closed, including the barber's. Roma and his grandchildren observed each family close their own shop, pack everything down to their cat and shop sign, and leave in their car to another city, or perhaps another country. Gradually, Roma questioned whether perhaps his hot-headed grandson had stumbled on a serendipitous idea. Perhaps they should move as well. But, Roma realized in foresight, if the depression spread to wherever they moved, they would be merely foreigners stranded without a friend or a lira. But if the depression was contained, and where they ventured to promised a steady profit, he could pay the debt, and possibly send Felicia and Romano to fine finishing schools.  As he took in the sight of the shops once bustling with business and regulars that now stood void, windows boarded up and gathered dust and crumbled newspapers off of the street, Roma found himself weighing decisions like a scale that was off balance.
A loud jangle of the bell on top of the shop's front door jolted Roma from his contemplations. All three in the shop scurried to attend to what they assumed was a customer, business had dwindled to almost nothing in those months, so any customer entering in the shop was a savior unto themselves for the business. It was not a customer in the shop, but the young, rather fetching banker who was entrusted with the shop's mortgage payments being maintained by Roma. Antonio Carriedo was the banker's name, his family was from Spain and it seemed life was very amiss in making the debonair and comely fellow a banker. With his dark wisps of hair, well-shaped face, pleasing eyes and very wiry body, he should have been a dashing actor or one of those alluring young men in the bull fighting profession that steal and break many hearts of girls who fawn over them. "Ah! Signor Roma! You're here. I need to discuss some matters we've neglected for some time."Carriedo cordially accosted Roma when he saw him approach the counter. Roma welcomed the young baker like a cat gingerly walks on wet roofing. "Good to see you, Antonio, won't you take a chair?"(Since Carriedo was barely older than Romano, Roma had the privilege of addressing the fellow by his first name) Roma offered, forcing a fake grin and nervous laugh as he knew Carriedo's visit was not for a suit or idle chat, but on the mortgage. The Spaniard smiled rather sadly and shook his head."No, signor, I 'm afraid I cannot stay very long, only to discuss some business with your finances. Ah, may we talk in a more discreet place?" He gestured to the room behind the counter when he saw Felicia and Romano standing and staring intently at him. Roma nodded and went into the room, and as Carriedo followed, he took a second to make a bow and kiss Felicia's hand in a charming manner of old Spanish class. "Flirting bastard!" hissed Romano when the door closed. "Shh! Stop it!" Felicia scolded, nudging her brother in the arm. Felicia blushed though; very few seldom paid her attention.
The bell jangled again, and a tall, lank man, in his 30's, stepped in. He had hair that jutted out and was the color like sun bleached straw and had very prominent eyebrows and underneath the brows had calm grass colored eyes. By the cut of his grey linen three piece suit, (something Roma taught this grandchildren was identifying people by the type of cloth and fashion of their clothes) it was obvious he hailed from England and when he addressed Romano and Felicia, his distinct accent ascertained he was an Englishman.
"What! But it's just like I explained to the bank, I'll have the mortgage paid in full by next summer! Please, with this depression, there has to be some allowances made!" Roma protested when Carriedo had shown him the mortgage agreement Roma signed three years ago. The payments had not been paid for the past four months, and despite Carriedo's pulling strings with the matter, he could not waive the waiting allowance any longer, except may be another month. Shaking his head, Carriedo folded his hands, perplexed how to deal with this. He had entered the banking business with a sort of quixotic ideal that he could assuage others' financial troubles with leniency and the likes. However, as life collided with his commendable ideals, he realized the complexity of working on both sides. And for a person like Roma, Carriedo found it a great deal hard to pressure him. But he realized that if Roma continued to have his finances in disarray, it would only spell out foreclosure of the shop.
The door's lock clicked open and swung half an inch. It left it cracked open enough to let the conversation trickle out. At this, the Englishman wasted no time to overhear this while Romano attended to another customer who walked in a second prior and while Felicia went to retrieve some sample swatches of some linen he asked to see for a new suit he was considering to be made.

The door swung open, and Carriedo stepped out before he turned to Roma. "I will try to waive this off another month, but if you don't have the payment, I'll have to-"
"It will be paid, Antonio, it will be paid." Roma persisted, though he wore a resigned grimace, and his shoulders drooped somewhat. "Good Luck, Signor Roma." Carriedo sighed before he opened the shop door and walked out.

It was then the Englishman approached Roma with a civil nod and tip of the hat. "Pardon me," he began, taking on a diplomat's mien, walking up to Roma and shaking his hand," but I couldn't help but overhear your conversation with the gentleman who just left. Sir, are you in financial straits?"
Roma nodded, but gave a defiant huff. He did not approve of such an intrusive question.  "Yes. Why do you ask?" He peered distrustfully over the brim of his glasses at the Englishman. "If you would be so considerate and pardon any offense my inquiry gave, perhaps you could meet me at the ------ Hotel tomorrow at noon, sir? I have a proposition that could be an advantage to your finances. Very profitable, I might add." That said, the Englishman withdrew his hand into his waistcoat pocket and flicked out a business card, to which he handed to Roma. Reluctantly, Roma took the card and squinted through his glasses to read the small font. "Signor?" Felicia stood by the counter with sample swatches. "Ah! Well, perhaps tomorrow, miss. As of now, I just realized-"he pulled his left sleeve back to glace at his wrist-watch "-I'm late for a business matter. Good day to you all." The Englishman hurriedly took Felicia's hand and kissed it, nodded to Roma, then left in a terse hurry.
Having witnessed his sister being kissed on the hand twice in one day, Romano spat in indignation of this, he loathed anyone flirting with Felicia; it was indecent in his opinion. "First Carriedo, then that Englishman! Nonno, men are so crass!"
"You must be crass as well, brother. I saw you kissing your sweetheart last week at the back door." Felicia taunted assertively.  She grew annoyed with Romano's hawkish suspicion of anyone flirting with her. If he could date and do whatever it is couples do on such dates, so could she.

"What's that, Nonno?" Felicia tilted her head over her grandfather's shoulder to read the card in his hand. "Hmm, just a card that English fellow left." Roma replied.
The card read, "Arthur Kirkland, International Broker,
Assoc. British Forwarding Trade Corp."
Roma pondered a moment, and assumed that at least listening to Kirkland's offer would be harmless. And perhaps he could be of some help.

"Romano? Do you think you and Felicia can run the shop tomorrow while I pay a visit to this Kirkland fellow?"