The Secrets of Villa Rosso: Escape to Italy for a summer romance to remember
Linn B. Halton
Some places stay with you forever…When Ellie Maddison is sent on a business trip to Southern Italy, she's reminded why she loves her job – set amongst rolling vineyards and rich olive groves, the beautiful Villa Rosso is the perfect escape from her life back home. But what Ellie isn't prepared for is the instant connection she feels to the estate's director Max Jackson, or the secrets they share that are as intertwined as the rambling vines that cover Villa Rosso.It's not long before Ellie finds herself entangled in the history of the place, trying to understand the undeniable effect Max is having on her. As their relationship grows, what will Ellie discover about this idyllic villa and those who have walked through its doors?What started as a simple work trip will change Ellie's life forever.
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First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2017
Copyright © Linn B. Halton 2017
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Linn B. Halton asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Source ISBN: 9780008261283
Ebook Edition © July 2017 ISBN: 9780008261276
Version: 2018-01-29
Dedication (#ucba3ce90-be88-5110-bcbb-841344632e61)
When you have an idea that is like a tiny seed in the back of your head, you dash off some words knowing that one day the story will begin to make itself known to you. That ‘one day’ turned out to be three years later.
I have to thank my lovely husband, Lawrence, for being instrumental in helping me to find the perfect setting in which to unravel Ellie’s tale. Once I had that, the words just flowed until I found myself writing The End.
Over the years we have always found the Italian people to be so very warm and welcoming. The scenery is out of this world and I can still close my eyes and spirit myself away to some memorable evenings dining al fresco, accompanied by the sounds of the singing cicadas.
Love you always and forever.
‘Each life is unique: a series of events on a time line over which you have absolutely no control. You struggle through the low points as best you can and celebrate the highs to remind yourself how good life can be when fate is being kind.
But when I look around at everyone else, it has become clear that my life is a little different. It wasn’t always that way and the question I want to ask the universe is, why me?’
Ellie Maddison
Table of Contents
Cover (#u65b0cc9e-942d-591f-b24b-8a988080471f)
Title Page (#ua6df1e75-4942-5525-9659-794b22a7d6d3)
Copyright (#ucec369de-51a9-5451-be73-7c0a7188022f)
Dedication (#u23e5ff37-3ba6-5d1d-add8-efea8f4866cd)
Epigraph (#u2cd6809e-8070-5991-bff7-d52a811cc06d)
Our Nineteenth Wedding Anniversary (#u7bacb76b-d888-5e92-ae46-b18d3a339ae8)
Chapter 1 (#u95894026-bb19-5329-9b1a-d5181329d524)
In the Beginning (#u8625d57b-9acc-5b7a-92a5-11a26f2db7b4)
Chapter 2 (#u13a7ac23-9f13-5897-b5b4-0c5f956f49bb)
Chapter 3 (#u68bb7b04-6e81-5526-a554-22cd3ee803e8)
Rewind One Year and Five Days (#ua0224bea-baf5-5cf4-82ce-36a83828b59f)
Chapter 4 (#u7b7264d9-cd21-587e-bd3a-21edb4a7b651)
Chapter 5 (#u6c05c7f3-1e7f-5421-aaa8-5d0a2094e315)
Chapter 6 (#u5ed98ab7-8abe-5421-96c2-0e26c5f2d0ef)
Chapter 7 (#u8ad36ace-ca11-5248-941b-b996924b82ad)
Chapter 8 (#uea1eb1d6-601f-51ee-91fc-c579b56db564)
Chapter 9 (#u23b41f74-e9b7-56ea-b013-af782c66f072)
Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 22 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 23 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 24 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 25 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 26 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 27 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 28 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 29 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 30 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 31 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 32 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 33 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 34 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 35 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 36 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 37 (#litres_trial_promo)
Present Day: One Month After Our Nineteenth Wedding Anniversary (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 38 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 39 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 40 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 41 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 42 (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
Coming Soon from Linn B. Halton (#litres_trial_promo)
Also by Linn B. Halton (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Two lives. The problem? There is only me.
OUR NINETEENTH WEDDING ANNIVERSARY (#ucba3ce90-be88-5110-bcbb-841344632e61)
Chapter 1 (#ucba3ce90-be88-5110-bcbb-841344632e61)
Staring back at me from the crystal ball cradled within my hands is the mirror image of a foetus. Then I realise it isn’t one but two little beings facing each other. The picture is so unexpected that my arms begin to tremble and I almost drop the heavy sphere. Their umbilical cords are still attached and my eyes seek out every little detail, wondering why this is being shown to me. The little faces suddenly become animated and I can see their mouths moving as they talk to each other. Surreal doesn’t even begin to describe the feeling that overcomes me and I barely register that I’m no longer alone, until a familiar voice breaks the silence.
‘Oh, Ellie, you’ve found my crystal ball! It doesn’t work; no one has ever seen anything in it. I was told it belonged to a famous medium, but it’s going to end up being a very expensive ornament.’ My boss and best friend’s voice reflects amusement as our eyes meet. Stunned, I have to compose myself before I can return her casual smile and make light of the moment.
Livvie is completely unaware of the images I’m holding within my hands. As I look away from her I glance down once more. It’s only then that I notice that the two little babies are actually divided, within the globe, by a glass wall. A significant detail I nearly missed, which makes my heart race. I feel as if I’m being given a message, but I have no idea at all what it means. Or maybe I’m a desperate woman in search of peace and normality, looking for answers to a problem which has become almost too much to bear.
I replace the globe on the aged, wooden stand and a sudden chill sends a tremor through me. Livvie is already making her way back out through the house to the patio, where the party is in full swing. I follow in her footsteps, angry with myself and wondering why on earth I’d picked the damned thing up in the first place. Had it been calling out to me?
‘There you are. I’ve missed you.’ Josh wraps a comforting arm around my waist and passes me a cocktail. ‘The ice has already begun to melt; you said you’d only be a minute. You nearly missed your own toast. To us, darling!’
He holds his glass aloft and everyone steps forward to chink glasses.
‘To Josh and Ellie on their nineteenth wedding anniversary. You guys remind us all that true love really does last forever.’
Livvie’s toast is from the heart and maybe for a moment she’s wondering if she’ll ever find a Mr Right. I suspect the thought is only a fleeting one, though.
I look up at Josh, trying hard to stop my face from reflecting the rush of emotions those pale-grey eyes always stir within me. That familiar tousled, brown hair frames the face I know so well, partly obscuring the birthmark on his cheek. I call it his ‘kiss from an angel’ and that always makes him smile.
All I ever longed for was to love and be loved, and when Livvie introduced me to Josh, one tiny moment in time changed my whole life forever. He was, and is, my Prince Charming. I remember it as if it were only yesterday, wondering how nineteen years could have passed by at such a frightening speed and deposited us here. Where did all those days go? And why did my wonderful life have to be turned upside down?
IN THE BEGINNING (#ulink_9a08c251-92f8-5ab5-9db7-ddfe66226ff1)
Chapter 2 (#ulink_063ed644-664d-5e3c-9687-5494de6da001)
The first time I found myself face to face with Josh it ignited a spark that put everything else in the shade. More important, even, than the moment we first said ‘I love you’ to each other, because at that point we already knew in our hearts it was a done deal. We just hadn’t spoken the words out loud, as if it was tempting fate and something might happen to spoil our happiness. By then we were living together, but our first trip to Paris took our relationship to a whole new level.
~
‘Ellie, head for that one.’ Josh tilted his head and I followed his gaze. Then I sprinted ahead. Pulling open the taxi door I threw my bag in first and leapt in after it, sliding across the back seat to make room for Josh. He bundled in behind me, forcing the large holdall onto our laps.
We started to laugh, nervous relief taking over as the driver waited patiently to hear our destination.
‘English?’ Josh enquired, hopefully,
‘Non. A leetle, meybee.’ The driver shrugged his shoulders.
‘Désolé, j’ai l’adresse quelque part.’ It was a brave attempt on Josh’s part and I gave him an encouraging smile.
After much fumbling in pockets, Josh finally held up his hand, thrusting a piece of paper bearing the address of our hotel across to the driver, who nodded. Settling back in our seats, the car sped along avenues and over crossroads, cutting down side streets. We stared in awe at the tantalising glimpses of Parisian life, seen up close for the first time. The driver’s hand seemed to be constantly on the horn as he kept up a low mumble of complaint. When he dropped us off we had no idea how much he was asking for and Josh had bravely stuffed a note into his hand. The driver’s face broke out into a small smile and we guessed that Josh had given him a big tip. He rammed the car into gear and sped away in haste, no doubt worried Josh would change his mind.
Standing on the kerb outside that hotel, Josh pulled me into his arms and lifted me high into the air. Spinning me around until my head became dizzy, I knew I was completely safe in his grasp.
‘We’re here! I love you so much, Ellie, and we’re going to have a fabulous time.’
As I looked down at his face I could see an expression of pure joy. Nothing could dent or spoil the exhilaration of being in the city of lovers.
When we unlocked the door to our room, the acrid smell of fresh paint and new carpet was unexpected. The room had been cleansed of any memories and was like a blank page in a book that had been waiting for us to begin writing a new chapter in it. Did Paris realise that something very special was about to happen?
The ornately carved French doors opened out onto a tiny balcony. They were open to air the room and the summer breeze was playing with the curtains, wafting them gently back and forth. As the deliciously cool air circulated around the room, it carried with it the tantalising smell of freshly baked bread from the hotel kitchens below. I can clearly recall the murmur of distant traffic and voices trilling in the background. It served to remind us how decadent it was to be lying in bed making love on that warm summer’s afternoon.
Even now, all these years later, I can still close my eyes and recapture the magic of those passionate and thrilling days together in Paris. The smell of summer had been heady and the playful breeze had made my skin cool to the touch, a pleasant sensation after the warmth our bodies had created. I clearly remember looking at Josh as he lay sprawled across the bed diagonally, looking deliciously sexy. I wanted to squeal with joy, ‘You’re mine and I’m yours!’
It was the moment when I knew I had nothing to fear. I could trust Josh with everything – my heart, my innermost thoughts – the real me that I often kept hidden. In return he was prepared to lay bare his own emotions. That was when I knew beyond any shadow of a doubt that we were soul mates.
However, that was a time when I truly believed you could have only one soul mate. I was young and naive, assuming that those blessed with that one-in-a-million connection had been chosen and it was destiny. Nothing could hinder the plan that life had laid out for me and that was the first glimpse of my future. A surge of power coursed through me, as if nothing could touch us because it was meant to be. Together we were one, cocooned by the strength of our love.
~
The balcony looked out over the Cimetière de Montmartre. It sounds grim, but walking among the graves and tombstones later that day we didn’t sense death, but the perpetuity of life. A reminder that we each add something to future generations who share the same genes. It signalled a prelude to new beginnings and the knowledge that we would both have a hand in shaping our future.
Life was heady and intoxicating as each new, shared discovery served to confirm that we were made for each other. Moving in together had been a big step in the eyes of our respective families, but for us it was simply the next step.
And afternoon love in that wonderful little room in Paris, fresh and crisp from the refurbishment, gave an air of newness to everything. Like a dream, time seemed to slow down and each second became meaningful, rather than merely one brief moment ticking by.
Always foot-weary, we were glad to go back to the hotel to avoid the midday sun, arms full of sun-ripened fruit, croissants and French pastries. Decadent food for decadent afternoons.
Our walks took us to the artists’ quarter of Montmartre, where we watched the painters effortlessly recreating every imaginable scene. From a beautiful vista of lush meadows filled with wheat and poppies, to a drawing of a peasant enjoying a rustic meal outside a humble dwelling. The sights, sounds and smells were an experience in themselves as we walked along arm in arm.
We mocked each other as we struggled to speak the language with an air of confidence. Our poor attempts to imitate that smooth, low and amazingly sexy French drawl were met with raised eyebrows that made us laugh even more. The people we met warmed to us, as they do to all young couples who are so obviously in love.
Vivid in my memory, still, is the evening we walked from the hotel up to the Basilique du Sacré-Cœur. Churches had always fascinated me, but I wasn’t sure whether Josh would understand that. As our pace slowed and the incline started to bite on our already tired calf muscles, there was a tangible feeling of something magical around us. Whether it was the dark, velvety-blue sky with a mass of twinkling stars surrounding us like a cloak, as we climbed higher and higher, I don’t know. Or perhaps we were simply falling under the spell of Paris. The imposing building with its huge domes that rose up before us was a stark white contrast against the heavenly background. Nothing else existed that night.
When we finally reached the church I had to place my hand on the stonework to reassure myself it was real. There were very few people around; most were at home preparing dinner, or sitting in restaurants waiting to be served. As we entered the church itself a small group of people came hurrying towards us.
‘Bonsoir,’ they chorused as we passed them and continued on inside. It was deserted and serenely tranquil.
‘When a church is empty the space feels holy, truly hallowed ground. It isn’t tainted by the negativity of people, or the games they play and the lies they tell. It feels different, as if it has a life of its own; a shrine to the devotion and love of the craftsmen who toiled to bring the vision alive. Can you feel it too?’ I’d held my breath, as if it was a test I needed Josh to pass.
Embarrassed and wishing I hadn’t blurted out my thoughts, I’d turned to face him. He was looking up at the tall, vaulted ceiling, his head tipped back. He made no move to speak and we stood side by side, entranced as we took in the grandeur and magnificence of the building.
‘It has to be a church wedding. It feels right,’ he said suddenly, turning slightly to look down into my eyes.
‘A church wedding?’ I repeated, my heart pounding so loudly, the colour started to rise in my cheeks.
‘I love you and I know nothing will ever come between us. But I’d forgotten about the sense of history and tradition churches hold within their walls. That’s what I want for us on our wedding day.’
I was stunned and could not speak. We were both overwhelmed by a mystical sense of presence, endorsement and destiny. Josh amazed me. Not only did he understand, but he was prepared to open himself up, despite the very natural feeling of vulnerability I saw reflected in his eyes. We’d hugged each other so tightly it hurt, relishing what we knew was a special moment.
Touring the building in a comfortable silence, we stopped to read the inscriptions on the plaques and carved stone memorials. It seemed fitting to offer up our silence as a mark of respect to those who had gone before. We didn’t break it until we were, once more, outside under the inky blackness of the late-evening sky.
‘Food, wine and music I think!’ Josh had exclaimed, squeezing my hand lovingly. ‘The world is ours.’
I laughed, stealing a moment to glimpse back over my shoulder and grab one final glance at the Sacré-Cœur. I knew I was imprinting the moment on my mind forever.
‘It looks like a wedding cake,’ I whispered.
‘It’s a sign,’ Josh laughed, then covered my face in soft little kisses.
‘It looks unreal and yet we’re here, up close.’
‘Well, I’m glad you made me take the climb.’ He began humming an old French song we’d heard earlier in the day. He started to sway, grabbing my hand and raising it above my head to twirl me around. And then he dropped down onto one knee and, with a tremor in his voice, he said the words. ‘Marry me, Ellie.’
Paris had worked its magic and if you can’t be lovers in Paris, then you have no romance in your soul. But I also knew that Paris had taken us to her heart because she, too, recognised when fate had chosen two people to be together for eternity. But that was back when life was simpler, much simpler.
Chapter 3 (#ulink_c19e23df-4b95-5c5e-ad20-4faa4fac35e7)
Our wedding day was perfect. In between showers of warm, summer rain it was a day made for happiness. Our friends and family were overjoyed to celebrate with us and no one really wanted the party to end. As Josh and I circulated, whenever we brushed past each other we linked fingers for the briefest of moments, eyes seeking each other out with a smile that came from the heart. Discreetly mouthing ‘I love you’ to each other, before moving on to receive congratulations and hugs from those around us. How strange that on your wedding day you spend most of the time with other people, grabbing as many tantalising moments together as you can before being pulled away. But the happiness was tangible and infectious, reminding everyone that life, when it’s good, is very good.
However, the path of life isn’t smooth and tragedy was to come our way. My first pregnancy ended in miscarriage in the fifth month. The grief was overwhelming, but drew us closer together in a way that few can truly understand unless they have suffered a similar loss. It was a time of mourning and that was difficult, not least because we needed it to be private. Those close to us were not allowed inside the tight little box we created around our emotions. To the world we stayed strong, but alone we were distraught and trying desperately to mend our broken hearts.
Marrying so young I’d barely finished my internship with a large interior design company, Westings Interiors, before Josh swept me off my feet. I had taken a little time off after the miscarriage, but quickly settled back into my work routine and put all thoughts of having a baby aside. Then the unexpected news that I was pregnant again came out of the blue. It seemed that fate was smiling upon us once more and as we didn’t want to take any risks. I gave up work when I was at the twenty-week stage. I don’t think either of us relaxed until the moment we finally held Hettie in our arms.
Two years later we welcomed our youngest daughter, Rosie, into the world and she was the bonus that made our little family complete. Whilst nothing would replace the baby we had lost, our lives were rich and full because of our loving daughters. We thanked God every single day for the joy they brought us. We commiserated with each other just as regularly over the sleepless nights and the angst that comes with being a parent. But we managed to survive all of that and our love has grown because of the things we’ve been through together. We’ve weathered our little storms well and hope that it was more by judgement than sheer luck that the girls have turned out so well.
Josh hasn’t been just a husband and a lover, but a friend and confidante. I’ve always shared things with him rather than my mother, when she was alive, or girlfriends. I realised, of course, that was unusual and maybe even a little hurtful to some people, at times. But that reflected the true nature of our relationship. It has given me a growing sense of unease over the years, because it set us apart from every other couple we knew.
We became introvertly self-sufficient, each giving the other everything they needed. When those around us came to me to pour out their hearts and trust me with their biggest fears, I couldn’t do the same in return. I’ve seen a number of very good friends though a difficult divorce, close-family deaths and child-rearing woes. However, I’m conscious that there is a line I have drawn about what I’m prepared to share. Does anyone notice that I hold back and do they realise that Josh is my number-one friend, above all others? Does that make me any less of a friend to them?
I sometimes feel like a complete fraud, as if I should say, ‘You don’t know everything about me, does that matter to you?’ They think they know me, of course, but the simple truth is that they only see what I allow them to see. I find that most people are grateful to have someone who will listen to them; someone who cares enough to hear what they are saying and feel their pain. Often, all they need is a hug, or to let loose that inner turmoil by finally hearing themselves uttering the words. Once shared, it’s a form of release and they are suddenly free to move on. I’m a listener, a hugger and a shoulder to cry on.
But my shoulder to cry on is Josh, because the truth is that I don’t need anyone else. Since that fateful day … it’s not that I love him any less than I did, it’s more complicated than that. Naturally he senses, and has done for a while, that something has changed in me, but he can’t verbalise it. I’m too afraid to break my silence, partly because I’m not sure I could explain what is happening to me. I don’t really understand it myself, but I do know that I now fear I am losing my grip on reality. Or rather, what is real as opposed to what exists solely in my mind.
But I’m talking about before all of that happened; the years when life was somehow more straightforward, despite what fate had to throw at us. We knew some of the knocks we would experience in life would be hard to take, but youth gives one a feeling of invincibility. It’s only as you grow older that you begin to see things differently. Worry begins to hover around you, like a threatening rain cloud on an otherwise bright and sunny day.
For our seventh wedding anniversary we had a party and it also marked the end of the first month in our new, much bigger, home.
‘Beware the seven-year itch, my friend. It comes to us all,’ Nathan, Josh’s boss had joked, slapping him on the back. ‘It suddenly hits you that you’re in for the long haul and that mortgage begins to feel like an increasingly heavy burden. The family grows, you need more space and then you find the home of your dreams. Now you get to spend the rest of your life paying it off. You realise that freedom is something you took for granted in the dim and distant past.’
His wife, the lovely Liz, had pulled a face.
‘So kind of you to share your utterly depressing thoughts, Nathan.’ Her eyes had flashed him a look of amusement, but I noticed a worrying trace of disapproval lurking behind her smile. ‘We’re lucky we’ve survived; many don’t. Yes, it’s hard bringing up a family and it’s only natural there are times when we all long to take a break from everyday life. But if you were still single now, you’d be way out of control.’ Was there a hint of reluctant acceptance in her softly spoken words?
‘Ah, behind every successful man there is a woman,’ Josh spoke up, conscious that the silly banter was in danger of getting out of hand.
Nathan had downed the remainder of his drink in one. ‘I thought the saying was that behind every successful man is a woman, and behind her is his wife.’
Everyone had laughed at that point, because we were all unaware at the time of the cracks in what had seemed like a very solid relationship. But within a year of that conversation, their marriage was over and Nathan began the first in a string of disastrous hook-ups. As for us, Hettie was five years old by then, and Rosie had just turned three. We had joined in that conversation good-naturedly, too tired from disturbed nights and the strains of the house move to read any more into it. Rosie had way too much energy to sleep for more than a couple of hours at a stretch. She was this endless bundle of activity, stopping only when she was exhausted. Often she would fall asleep in the middle of eating a meal, or suddenly curl up on the floor, toy in hand. Who had the energy to even have an itch, we wondered? Certainly not us. I had no idea if Josh worried about it, but we continued to sail through each anniversary and our love was strong and unwavering. The only worry in my mind was what would I do if I ever lost Josh? What if one of us died prematurely? I knew it worried him too, but we chose to never voice those concerns.
Life was ruled by the usual day-to-day family highs and lows, as we negotiated our way through temper tantrums and growing pains. Rosie had just started nursery school and she loved it, blossoming in an environment of play activity and making new friends. By then Josh had been promoted and was running the entire IT section. His week was busy and he often worked long hours, but weekends were family time.
I lost touch with most of my work colleagues as the years continued to fly by, but one of the other interns, Olivia Bradley, remained my one very close friend. Our lives were, and are still, so very different, but that’s partly why my friendship with Livvie works so well. I think we can see in each other the life we didn’t choose, if that makes any sense. There, but for the grace of God, go I. It helps to reaffirm that the individual paths we chose were ultimately the right ones for us.
Livvie thinks children and marriage are overrated. She now lives in a pristinely perfect, designer home, which is spread over three levels and clings to the side of a valley. A few times over the years she’s come to stay for the weekend, but I always feel awkward as it’s hard to keep the house quiet with a constant throng of girls parading through it. Livvie went on to have a single, but exciting, life and now runs her own interior-design company named Bradley’s Design Creative. She works very closely with a building company in which she has a part share. If a client wants their house remodelled before the interior is redesigned, then Livvie oversees the whole project. Of course, I probably flatter myself thinking that Livvie had the life I would have had if I hadn’t met Josh. Would I have been that successful? I doubt it. But when I told her I was thinking of returning to work she had immediately offered me a job.
‘You must come and work for me, Ellie,’ she’d cooed down the phone and I envied her that calm, sultry, yet professional, voice. I was used to being a drill sergeant at home and having to talk just that little bit higher and louder than two noisy girls, and a husband with a distinctly tenor voice. I’d readjusted my pitch and tone in an attempt to bolster my flagging confidence.
‘I don’t know, Livvie, it’s very kind of you but I’m going to need some time to rediscover the, um, other side of me. I’m not sure what I have to offer. I’ve probably forgotten everything I learnt. It feels like a lifetime ago.’
‘Nonsense. Your eye for a good design is instinctive; that’s not something that can be learnt. Plus, both of the girls are at school now, so how else will you fill your day? What you have is life experience and common sense. That’s in short supply at the moment, believe me. Some of the people I employ might have really good credentials, but give them a problem and it’s instantly a crisis. I’m looking for someone with a cool head, who can make decisions and think outside the box. I’ve seen the way you boss that family of yours around and keep them on track, Ellie. Those are precisely the skills I need. You would be doing me a favour.’
I realised that was exactly why Livvie had made such a success of her business, because she was a people person. She understood what made people tick and utilised their skills in the best possible way. I knew her well enough to trust that she wouldn’t put me into a situation where I would feel I was totally out of my depth. And she was right; being at work gave me a sense of completeness and I loved it from day one. I eased myself into working three days a week, as the liaison point between the designer, clients and contractors. The job itself was perfect for me and Josh and the girls were very supportive. Within two years the business suddenly took off in a new direction when Livvie started taking on hotel refurbishment projects. As the team beneath her expanded, her time was very much focused on suppliers, staff turnover and recruitment.
Then, one fateful day, a phone call neither of us expected caused Livvie to change her plans.
REWIND ONE YEAR AND FIVE DAYS (#ulink_af3a8e6f-a190-51c8-8454-66ba150921e9)
You can’t un-see what you’ve seen and you can’t un-say what you’ve said … you can only try to limit the damage.
Chapter 4 (#ulink_2975b68e-a5a4-5855-ab9c-7dc99fc42d1f)
Livvie is due to fly out to Italy to check out a new supplier she’s keen to use. They specialise in a wide range of well-designed, artisan goods and it looks like a promising proposition. They approached her recently, offering big price incentives to become one of her regular suppliers. If she likes their set-up and everything is as good up close as it is in the brochure, this could be the start of a fast-growing relationship. As she prepares to leave the office her mobile kicks into life and I can see by the look on her face that it isn’t good news.
‘My mother’s had a fall. That was her neighbour, letting me know that the ambulance is taking Mum to the accident and emergency centre. I can’t believe it. I’m not sure what to do.’
Her eyes search mine as her head tries to process the information. I’m used to dealing with family emergencies, but for Livvie this is a first. Her father died when she was quite small; too young to have any memories attached to it, whether good or bad. This was something for which she wasn’t prepared, as Livvie’s life is all about work. Domestic traumas usually come in the form of something breaking down. She has a phone full of contacts ready to sort whatever issue threatens to interrupt her working day. Okay, it’s often at a premium, but if it isn’t important to the running of her business, then it isn’t a good use of her time. It’s merely an annoying inconvenience.
‘Drop everything. Just head off to the hospital.’
She looks at me quite blankly, as if what’s happening hasn’t quite sunk in. ‘But it’s too late to cancel the trip … the flights—’
Her face tells me exactly what she’s asking me to do and we both know there simply isn’t anyone else who can do it.
‘I’ll go in your place. You can ring me later and talk me through what I need to know before the meeting. Family comes first, Livvie, and your mum needs you to show her that.’
She’s nodding her head, but it takes her a few moments to swing into action. Grabbing a pile of papers from inside her briefcase, she thrusts them into my hands. Livvie looks shell-shocked and I wonder if she’s going to have a panic attack or something. I’ve never seen her look so unsure of herself.
‘Thank you, Ellie. But what about the girls?’
Life with a thirteen and a fifteen-year-old is all about routine and making lists so no one forgets their homework, or ballet class, or gymnastics, or that must-go-to party.
‘I’ll arrange for our neighbour, Dawn, to pick the girls up from school and stay with them until Josh arrives home. It will be fine. Just go, and drive carefully.’ I try to ignore the image of Hettie having a strop and muttering under her breath that at the grand old age of fifteen it’s about time we stopped treating her like a baby. But there’s also Rosie to consider and that two-year age difference is awkward. It causes a lot of friction between them and that’s why I need Dawn to be around, even if it’s only to keep the peace.
I give Livvie a hug and I can feel the turmoil and confusion like a ball whirling around her. It’s the reason why our lives are so different; Livvie was born with a business head and I was born with the ability to cope with family emergencies. Emotion is an annoyance to Livvie, but it’s at the heart of my existence. If I had received that phone call I would already have been in the car without a moment’s hesitation.
‘I hate hospitals. I think I’m allergic to them.’
‘I know, but your mum needs you right now, Livvie. You can do this, really you can. And don’t worry about what’s happening here. Things aren’t going to fall apart overnight.’
I’m anxious on her behalf, hardly giving a thought to the offer I’ve made so easily, as if it is nothing. Once I’m on my way home it hits me with full force. Livvie is heading into a situation for which she isn’t prepared and I, too, am about to find myself exploring unknown territory, alone. Heck, I’m not even sure I have the necessary experience to handle this on my own.
~
‘Thanks, Dawn, I feel like I’m going off on a jolly,’ I admit. Inside my head, though, there’s a battle between guilt and self-doubt raging war against each other. I realise I hadn’t given any thought at all to how the girls will react when they find out I’m going away. Josh was understandably surprised when I rang him, but when I explained the situation he put me at ease. He waved away my concern about landing him with the girls and having to make arrangements at short notice. Sitting right alongside that sensation of fear lying in the pit of my stomach was a tinge of excitement and I wondered if he had heard that reflected in my voice.
‘Josh will be home by four-thirty. To say thank you, how about you and Rich coming over for dinner on Saturday evening? Tell Rich I’ll make his favourite risotto.’ The chatter is a way of calming my nerves, which are beginning to pump adrenalin around my body at an alarming rate. I have everything crossed that the travel agent has managed to sort out the change of name for the tickets. But I know that Livvie will be on the case and she always manages to make things happen. She’s not the sort to sit and hold anyone’s hand. Instead she’ll opt to wait outside and her phone won’t leave her hand.
‘You don’t have to do that, it’s not often you ask for a favour and now Will’s at university I’ve told you, I’m free any time. Besides, the girls are fun to be around. I learn a lot.’ She chuckles and I don’t even want to think about the useless bits of information and gossip she overhears from my two.
‘You’re a great neighbour! The best, have I ever mentioned that before?’ I laugh lightly, as I continue packing the suitcase in front of me.
‘Once or twice, usually when you want something,’ she banters. ‘Have a ball! How often do you get to have an experience like this?’
‘Well, it is work, Dawn,’ I reflect, soberly. ‘There wasn’t anyone else to step in at such short notice. Livvie knew it, and I knew it, too. It’s not as if I was chosen to represent her on this trip.’
‘You know, Ellie, you don’t give yourself enough credit at times. I bet you do as much working part-time as most manage to fit into a full working week. Livvie is very lucky to have someone to rely on at a time like this.’
I hadn’t looked at it like that. Livvie is simply the sister I never had and this isn’t only about work, but friendship as well. As I wave Dawn goodbye, it’s already too late to stop what has been put in motion. But my conscience is telling me that this is about doing a good deed, or maybe paying Livvie back for putting her trust in me when I returned to work. I pushed away the fleeting thought that maybe I was grasping at a chance to have an adventure, or even to prove to everyone that I too can be that consummate professional. It isn’t something I’ve ever yearned for because my life already feels complete. I work first and foremost to benefit the family and bring in a little extra money, and secondly because it keeps me busy when the girls aren’t around. Or maybe this is fate and I’m simply a pawn, being moved from one square to another – who knows?
~
‘I’m at Heathrow and about to go in search of a cup of coffee.’ I try to keep my words even and light, which is an enormous effort given that my stomach is now churning with nerves. The last few hours have been quite stressful, but the moment I arrive at the check-in desk relief washes over me, calming me down. Part one of my journey is now ticked off on Livvie’s itinerary and I haven’t fallen at the first hurdle. Livvie would have taken this in her stride, of course, but I’m not used to travelling on my own.
‘I’m just glad to hear your voice. I miss you – we miss you. The girls want to have a quick word, but don’t hang up afterwards.’ I can hear the anxiety in Josh’s voice and the reluctance with which he hands over the phone is tangible. Going away for a couple of days on a course is one thing, but flying off to another country is something else entirely. The concern is running like an undertone beneath his words.
The girls start babbling with excitement, both of them throwing questions at the phone and talking over each other. They are clearly impressed and maybe even a little shocked by my behaviour. I mean, this is their mum, the person who is always there because that’s my real job.
‘Slow down, girls. I don’t have a lot of detail other than I’m heading for a villa just outside the town of Castrovillari. It’s in southern Italy, you know, the bit that looks like a big boot. I have no idea how hot it’s going to be when I get there and, no, I don’t think there’s going to be a swimming pool.’
Then it’s on to the mundane things, as Rosie has misplaced one of her school books. Then Hettie wants to know whether I’d be back in time to ferry her to and fro for a friend’s birthday party on Friday evening. When Josh finally wrestles the phone out of their hands his voice is in sharp contrast to the girls’ bubbling enthusiasm about my adventure.
‘Mum can’t worry about Friday evening, Hettie, I’ll sort that. Listen, Ellie, I just want you to be aware of what’s going on around you. Travelling alone isn’t ideal, darling, so please take extra special care of yourself.’ He’s emotional and I feel sad that there hadn’t been time to give him a goodbye hug.
‘Yes, boss! I’ll be careful, but everything has been arranged so all I have to do is sit back and be driven around. Three days and I’ll be back home. I’m counting the hours.’
‘Me, too, darling. Have you heard anything from Livvie?’
‘It’s not good news. Her mother has broken her arm and fractured a bone at the top of her leg. They are going to operate on her arm, but the other fracture will have to heal over time. Livvie is panicking. I don’t quite know what she’s going to do, as she’s freaking out just having to make hospital visits. It’s all very worrying, as she’s no nurse, that’s for sure. And her house is so impractical for an invalid.’
‘She’s a capable and successful business woman, Ellie. I’m sure she’ll figure out a solution. In the meantime, you’ve done everything you can and I might add that I’m feeling I’ve been relegated to second place.’ I can hear the concern creeping into his words, even though he’s trying to disguise it with humour.
‘It all happened so quickly. I’m sorry there wasn’t any other solution, darling. A lot hangs on this deal and it could take away a few problems. So much is mass produced these days and looks like what it is, rather bland and cheaply turned out. This is quality stuff at very affordable prices. Unique pieces that could elevate the finished look of any design, because they can’t be found anywhere else. Anyway, we won’t know for sure until I’ve seen it all first-hand. It’s going to be very late when I reach Lamezia airport and finally arrive at the villa. I’ll text you when I’m there – promise.’
‘I appreciate that it’s going to be tiring. Travel always is. But I won’t go to sleep until I know you are safe, Ellie, no matter how late it is. And don’t forget to lock your bedroom door before you go to bed.’
I stifle a laugh. I’m going to be staying in a beautiful and elegant villa in the middle of rolling Italian countryside. If Josh and the girls were by my side the thought of that would be heaven. Instead I bid him goodnight, wondering what exactly lies ahead of me. As strange and vulnerable as I’m feeling about this trip, there’s an undercurrent of excitement and anticipation bubbling up inside of me. This is a taste of the other life, the road I chose not to travel because my heart is happiest when my family are close. But, like the forbidden fruit, a taste is tantalising and I feel a sense of both apprehension and adventure. What harm can it do to step into someone else’s shoes if it’s only for a few days?
Chapter 5 (#ulink_cef52d35-8c7e-504e-85a6-15b523d0428b)
The Città di Lamezia Terme airport is bewildering, not least because I already feel completely drained. And that’s before joining the long queue for passport control. Although the flight left Heathrow at just before five this evening, there was a stopover at Rome Fiumicino airport with an hour-and-twenty-minute wait. Now, at least, I’m about to begin the last leg of the journey. By the time I locate the driver holding up a card with Livvie’s name on it, it’s nearly midnight. There’s little point in trying to explain I’m her representative, so I just point to the card and nod by way of acknowledgement.
I settle back into the rear seat, grateful to be starting the last leg of the journey. Livvie’s schedule confirms it’s going to be an hour and a half’s drive. Having established the fact that the driver doesn’t speak any English, there is little chance of striking up a conversation. My Italian consists of three words, ciao, per favore and grazie, but in my defence I’ve had no time at all to prepare for this trip. Tiredness is now making my eyes blurry and my head is throbbing, so I swallow two painkillers with a mouthful of water, hoping relief will kick in quickly.
A business trip is nothing at all like going on a family holiday, where the main concern is ensuring no one wanders off. All I usually do is rely upon Josh’s direction and focus on keeping everyone happy. Here, alone, looking out into the gloomy darkness I feel totally disorientated.
Once we’re away from the terminal the car speeds along a little too fast for comfort. We seem to be on a motorway, as there are several lanes, by the look of it. However, it’s dark and everything is flashing by so quickly that my brain is refusing to take in any of the detail. What if we have an accident? How would I cope, with no grasp of the language and no real idea of where I am? Even the air smells different, a perfume of tantalising scents that leave me feeling uncomfortably vulnerable. I gulp down a lump that rises up in my throat. Already I’m feeling homesick and I know that I have to get a grip on my emotions. This is business and Livvie obviously thinks I’m capable of being her eyes and ears. So I have to work on my self-belief and stop undermining my ability to cope with the unknown. I shift around in the seat, hoping I’m out of view of the driver’s rear mirror. I close my eyes to concentrate on my breathing.
Gradually my short, shallow breaths became longer and deeper, slowing my racing heartbeat. I focus on the dashboard clock and then, quite suddenly, my head jolts forward. I realise I’ve been asleep and the driver has turned in his seat to look at me. The car is at a standstill.
‘Villa Rosso,’ he nods.
‘Ah, grazie. Grazie.’ As I speak it raises a tired smile. I even manage a sense of intonation and he looks back at me, eyebrows slightly raised in surprise. Then he rolls off an entire sentence which means absolutely nothing to me and I wish I’d just said the anticipated ‘thank you’ in English.
To my relief the passenger door opens and an older man offers his hand to help me out.
Standing, I see that the driver has already unloaded my luggage and given it to another member of the hotel staff. I pull out the ten-euro note I stuffed into my jacket pocket earlier and give it to the driver, who looks surprised, but pleased. He says something I don’t catch and I nod my appreciation to him, then turn and follow my new companion.
The old building looms up in the darkness. The lights from several ground-floor windows flood out, illuminating only one small corner of what seems to be quite a vast terrace. I’m bewildered by the strangest sensation that comes over me without warning. I’ve never seen this place before, how could I? But I feel that same sense of well-being that I have when I arrive home after a difficult day. Cosy, familiar and safe.
Suspecting that the other guests have been asleep for quite a while, all I want to do now is to drop into bed. I’m conscious of several staff hovering, but am quickly whisked away and handed a key that looks like it would unlock a castle.
As the door to my room on the first floor swings open, once more I utter ‘grazie’ and will my legs to carry me inside. Grabbing my phone I text Josh, telling him I’ve arrived safely but am totally exhausted. Within minutes my weary head is touching the pillow and I sink into a deep, untroubled sleep.
~
When my ear begins to buzz it takes me a moment or two to realise where I am and what’s happening. I must have pushed my phone up under the pillow during the night. Reaching for it, I see it’s the alarm I set on the flight over. I had visions of waking up to find it was late morning and I’d totally messed up before I’d even begun.
I sit up, leaning back against the old, carved wooden headboard and take in my surroundings for the first time. The room is spacious and surprisingly modern. Whitewashed walls, dark-stained floors and furnished in a distinctly minimalist way. This is no dusty old villa that time forgot, that’s for sure. The style of the room is in keeping with the reception area I briefly visited in the early hours of this morning. It’s like something out of a glossy magazine and that’s the last thing I expected. However, it bodes well for this visit, as clearly whoever is running the business has their feet firmly planted in today’s marketplace.
The exposed chestnut beams overhead are commanding, so high above the bed. Two beautifully upholstered chairs, a small coffee table and a large wooden armoire seem almost lost in the vast space. Similarly styled bedside tables with oversized lamps complete the decor without making it feel fussy.
The bedding is crisp and white, only the drapes at the large window add a splash of colour, with rich purple, mauve and a thread of silver running through them. It was so dark when I arrived that I didn’t think to close them and now the early morning sun is beginning to filter in through the window.
The overtly contemporary styling is rather sophisticated and that’s a real surprise. I really was expecting to be transported back in time, but even the ensuite is of the same standard. There are no in-room facilities, so all I have is bottled water. But I’m content to wander over and sit in one of the armchairs while I read Livvie’s itinerary again and her hand-written notes, to bring me up to speed.
Max Jackson manages Villa Rosso and aside from being a hotel, the main business of the estate is the olive groves and oil refinery plant. In recent years it has also been involved in a new cooperative exporting textiles, metalwork, carved wooden items and ceramics, in celebration of the local artisan craftsmanship. And that’s why Livvie was coming here, to meet Max in person. Being escorted on a tour of some of the individual workshops, which are a part of the new business set-up would allow her to gauge if this operation was really viable as a new source. The worst-case scenario is that we’ll struggle to find enough items to fill a container to ship over to the UK. Or that they won’t be organised well enough to guarantee they could meet deadlines, which would be a total disaster. We want variety and for some items we will also need quantity. When we are refurbishing a hotel with a hundred rooms they all have to reflect the same style. My phone pings and then pings again and the first is a message from Josh.
Love you, honey. Miss you. No pressure, but if you get time to ring me for a quick chat this morning it would be lovely to hear your voice. Everything is fine here. Jx
The other ping is an email from Livvie.
Morning
Hope you slept well. Sorry it was such a late arrival time, it wouldn’t have bothered me but I realise it was really throwing you in at the deep end.
Mum is having an operation to pin the bone in her arm later today. Did I tell you I’m squeamish? Even the thought of it makes my stomach heave!
Right – work. Max is easy to deal with, he doesn’t play games and there’s no issue over getting a good price if we buy a container load at a time. I’m guessing he’s probably the only English-speaking person you will come into contact with on your trip. He will escort you everywhere, so don’t worry about that. Your job is to suss out whether what’s on offer will fit into our new hotel refurbishment schemes. If it’s a big hotel we are kitting out, but it’s clear they couldn’t scale up to meet our order, then we know we can only look at them as a supplier for our bespoke service. But if there aren’t enough items that jump out at you as being what we’re looking for, then it will make it too costly; even if, as Max has suggested, we could share part of a container with another client. Sorry I’m waffling but I’m so tired my brain feels like cotton wool.
If you send me photos of what you think is right for us and it starts to look promising, then this trip will have been worthwhile. What I also need is your view on whether the operation is robust enough. The last thing we want is to place large orders and then suffer constant delays because there are weak links in their chain. I really appreciate the sacrifice on your part, my lovely friend. I know you – bet you are already homesick!
Anyway, enjoy the sun. It’s pouring with rain here and I’m off to the hospital. Shudder. Even the smell as I enter the building makes me want to turn and run away. And have some fun!
Hugs,
Livvie
PS Don’t forget to send me pics of the villa. I’m really gutted not to be experiencing it first-hand.
Poor Livvie, or maybe I should be reserving my sympathy for her mother. As I begin typing a reply there’s a tap on the door. With no further hesitation a smiling young woman steps inside, a breakfast tray balanced on one upturned hand.
‘Good morning, Mrs Maddison, I hope you slept well.’
My jaw drops, as the last thing I expected was to be greeted by a young Englishwoman. She’s probably in her early twenties; her dark hair has vivid blue streaks running through it, clearly visible even though it’s neatly tied back in a ponytail.
‘You’re English, this is a surprise.’ The words are out of my mouth before I engage my brain. She turns to smile at me, one eyebrow raised. I feel the need to explain myself.
‘Sorry, my boss just emailed me to say the manager here is probably going to be the only English-speaking person I’m likely to meet.’
She laughs.
‘I’m Bella and your boss is almost correct. Some of our hotel staff can speak a few words of English, but I gather you’re here to tour some of the outworkers’ locations. Mr Johnson will be escorting you, so there’s no need to worry. Everyone calls him Max, by the way.’
‘Thank goodness. I had to switch places with my boss at the last minute and so I had no time to prepare. It feels wrong, and a bit rude, not being able to speak at least a little of the language. Ironically I can speak French quite well and a little German, but this is my first trip to Italy. Have you lived here a long time?’
As we talk, Bella’s hands busily uncover several plates with a range of fruits, cheeses and pastries. The aroma from the coffee pot makes my mouth salivate.
‘I came here for my gap year, mainly to please my mother. She’s Italian and my father is a Londoner. We’ve always spoken mainly English at home, so I thought what better way to brush up on my Italian than to come and live here for a year? It put me in her good books for a while; we don’t always see eye to eye.’
We exchange sympathetic glances.
‘For a while?’
She gives me a broad smile, accompanied by a hearty laugh. ‘When the year was up the family asked me to stay and so here I am. My mother wasn’t impressed as she had high hopes for me. She says I’m not ambitious enough, but in an ironic twist of fate I’ve fallen under the spell of the Italian way of life. Anyway, Max thought you’d want to have a quiet breakfast and says he’ll be at your disposal any time after ten this morning. Just let reception know when you are ready.’
‘Thank you, I will. I’m hoping I’ll pick up a few Italian words over the next couple of days.’
‘Dove c’è una volontà, c’è un modo.’
I look at Bella blankly and she immediately interprets it for me.
‘Where there’s a will, there’s a way – more, or less. But doesn’t it sound better in Italian?’
‘You’re right. It’s just hard not being able to pick up any clues. You could have been saying anything to me.’
We exchange friendly smiles.
‘Max will do everything to make your visit pleasant and enjoyable. He’s a lovely man and very personable. I don’t know what the locals would do without him. If there’s anything you need, you only have to ask.’
‘Thank you, but right now that coffee is calling to me.’
‘I’ll leave you to enjoy it, then. Have a good day.’ As the door is about to close Bella says, ‘That’s buona giornata.’
‘Grazie, Bella.’ I think I just said thank you, beautiful!
Right, coffee first and the next task is to ring Josh, tell him how much I’m missing him and say good morning to my girls before my big adventure begins.
Chapter 6 (#ulink_e936564b-4fc8-5287-9f8c-1988211f5e80)
I dress with care, knowing that first impressions are everything when it comes to appearing confident and professional. Slipping into my favourite little black dress, teamed with a lightweight white linen cropped-sleeve jacket, I’m not unhappy with the image staring back at me. A little makeup, a quick brush of my shoulder-length dark-blonde hair and I’m done. Oh, I nearly forgot about earrings. I dive into my bag to rescue my jewellery pouch and settle on the single pearls. They were an anniversary present from Josh and as I slip them on it adds a little sparkle to my eyes. He says I’m beautiful; it’s not true, of course, and what I see is a face that looks rather plain, with dark-blue eyes that aren’t of the piercing variety. Just, well, ordinary.
One last check that I have everything I need, before I slip on my flat leather pumps and my work persona is ready to go. It allows me to push those nagging little domestic worries to one side and remember that there’s a big wide world out there. I can rise to any challenge and I know that. But this is a first for me and everything has happened so quickly. I haven’t had time to transition between the two worlds; that leap from the domestic to the business world is a big one. And yet the moment I stepped out of the car last night it was almost like a home-coming. Perhaps one of my internal wires isn’t working and is giving me a false reading. That thought is a worrying one, as everyone I meet will be expecting an experienced business woman who knows exactly what she’s doing.
I grab the large, gate-keeper-style key and lock the door, then walk across to the ornate metal balustrade and peer down over the reception area. The white-washed walls and dark wooden beams throughout add a sense of space and height to the vaulted ceiling. The central light is an art form, with a cascade of cleverly intertwined metal leaves highlighted with enamelling in shades of white, silver and grey. As I slowly descend the elegant staircase I reflect that it’s the sort of piece Livvie would love to get her hands on at almost any price.
There’s no one around and the clock on the wall confirms it’s only just after nine-thirty. It’s quite cool inside. I’m longing to feel the morning sunshine on my skin, so I head straight for the door.
Stepping over the threshold all of my senses start reacting at the same time. But it’s the commanding view that forces my feet forward, traversing the aged sandstone paving of the exterior terrace. The closer I get to the edge of the flat expanse, the more the vista in front of me seems to open up. As I glimpse beyond the small islands of tall trees that flank the edge of the paved area, there is nothing to restrict the eye. Only the mountains, way in the distance, stand as a backdrop, like a curtain. Camera in hand I snap away, knowing how hard it will be to get a perspective on this seemingly never-ending scene. Directly ahead the land slopes away to infinity, ending in a mere shimmer before it slips over the distant horizon. The fertile plain is studded with vast swathes of olive trees. Further away the dotted landscape is interspersed with neat rows of planting that are tiny by comparison, but could well be fruit trees rather than bushes.
It isn’t just the sunshine and the electric-blue sky, but the musical calls of the countryside that reach out to me. A chorus of low-level sounds play like a soft melody in the background. It’s breathtakingly beautiful and I feel like I’m watching a re-run of a favourite film. I could stand here for a long time simply taking in the detail and with each sweep of my eyes noticing something new.
Spinning around I look back at the villa, taking in the rustic beauty of the stonework and the pale orange-red hue of the sun-bleached roof tiles. This is, quite simply, unreal. It’s a little piece of heaven and so far removed from my daily life that it’s hard to believe this is on the same planet. The sheer scale of the landscape literally steals your breath away. I’m a mere speck, small and insignificant in the grand scheme nature is presenting to me. But rather bizarrely, it doesn’t feel alien in anyway at all. The vastness isn’t overwhelming, but strangely comforting.
I walk back to a cluster of wooden tables surrounding a small fountain and take a seat. As I dive into my bag to extract some sunglasses, I hear a polite cough and look up at the face staring down at me.
‘Mrs Maddison? I’m Max, Max Johnson. Welcome to Villa Rosso.’
I stand, automatically plastering a pleasant smile on my surprised face as recognition kicks in. I know this man. I mean, I’ve met him before. At least I think I have, but there’s nothing similar reflected back at me, only a warm smile. The sort of smile that radiates from mysteriously deep, hazel eyes. We shake hands. He’s younger than I expected, probably in his early forties and tall. Six-foot something, that’s for sure, because I feel he’s towering over me.
‘I’m sorry to disturb you. I just wanted you to know that I’m here at your disposal whenever you are ready to begin. Would you like me to fetch you a coffee so you can sit for a while and enjoy the view?’
Although I knew he was British, his tan and elegant demeanour lend an air of cosmopolitan sophistication. I would not have been at all surprised if he had been Italian. He’s hovering politely and I still haven’t answered him.
‘No, really, I was just killing time and trying to absorb the stunning scenery. It’s heady stuff.’
Those serious eyes search my face and he nods, approvingly. Is it approval of my appreciation or, as his eyes settle on me, is he—
‘What is that constant sound, like a chirping?’
‘Tree crickets, la cicada. You’ll gradually get used to it until it becomes almost unnoticeable. I trust that the last-minute change of plans hasn’t inconvenienced you too much? It was quite a surprise when Olivia Bradley called to say something had cropped up and you would be taking her place. Anyway, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs Maddison.’
‘It’s Ellie, you can call me Ellie.’ Why did I just repeat my own name? That wasn’t cool, and you shouldn’t have shortened it. You should have taken a lead from Olivia.
‘Which is short for—?’
‘Elouise. My mother was the only person who ever called me that, but she died a few years ago.’ Too much information, Ellie. Concentrate. I swallow hard, mentally berating myself, and take a deep breath to clear my head as I stand. ‘Let’s make a start, then.’
Max holds open the car door as I settle myself into the passenger seat of what looks like an almost brand-new Alfa Romeo in a tasteful charcoal metallic finish. He insists on taking my small satchel and places it in the back, then clicks the door shut. While he’s walking around to the driver’s side my brain is working overtime, trying to establish why I’m so convinced I’ve met him before. Is this business famous enough for him to have been featured on TV, or maybe I’ve seen his face in a cookery magazine talking about the benefits of olive oil. Or maybe he just has one of those handsome, beguiling faces that sort of looks like someone famous and inspires a sense of instant recognition.
As Max slips into the driver’s seat a waft of something with a hint of bergamot tickles my nose. It’s fresh and citrusy, immediately masking that slightly overpowering smell of new leather. Instinctively, I reach out to touch his arm and make a comment, when I abruptly pull myself back, rather sharply. How totally embarrassing! I hope I succeeded in making the gesture look as if I was simply putting my hand up to smoothe down my hair.
What is going on with me? Why does this man whom, it seems, really is just a stranger to me, feel so familiar?
‘Our first stop is a small family business whose land abuts our own. Olivia said she was very interested in ceramics and I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised by the quality and designs on offer.’
His eyes check out my seat belt before he starts the engine and, with a warm smile, he turns his gaze back towards the road ahead.
We are both content to travel in silence. As my eyes scan the open countryside, the car purrs along, heading towards the sloping planes of that wonderful vista. Up close some of that unidentifiable greenery turns out to be swathes of grape vines and citrus trees, divided into neat little plots. Every now and again I catch a glimpse of farm workers, mostly elderly men and women, with skin the colour of tanned leather. We pass a group of younger workers with baskets full of lemons, the women wearing colourful scarves and shouting back and forth to each other. Most wave to Max as we pass by.
‘Villa Rosso’s land extends to the east. The processing plant is on the other side of trees that you can see at the foot of the mountains. Castrovillari is situated at the base of the Monte Pollino, the Parco Nazionale. From here almost as far as you can see it’s mostly small parcels of land owned by families who have worked the soil for generations.’
‘Do they manage to make a living? It must be hard to sustain a family if this is their only income.’
Max nods, his face quite sombre.
‘It’s never been easy for them. But everyone is still suffering from what we call the black year, the harvest of 2014. Unusual weather patterns, lack of water and a proliferation of insects and bacterial blight saw the average yield cut by half. We’ve also been battling with unusually large flocks of starlings destroying the fruits, although mercifully that hasn’t affected everyone.’
‘But doesn’t that simply mean that the cost of olive oil rises?’
‘I wish it worked like that, but not all countries were affected in the same way, so some gained while we suffered. And as for any price increases, very little filters down to the poor farmers. That’s why we’re trying so hard to grow this artisan crafts cooperative. The local market is small, as the vast majority of the workers here lead very simple lives. You can see for yourself how rustic their farm dwellings are. When they’re not working the old women are found gossiping in doorways, complaining about the menfolk. It falls on deaf ears and the old men relax nearby in the shade, playing cards.’ He turns to look at me, giving a wry smile. ‘But the daily fight against poverty and the need to feed their families is a worry that never goes away. The wealthier families, like the Ormannis, employ as many local people as they can but they, too, are affected by a bad harvest and the vagaries of nature. That’s why diversification is essential at every level, although olive production will always be at the heart and soul of the business. But the real problem is the exodus of the younger generation to the cities, where they can usually earn a lot more money and enjoy all the benefits of modern living. As any farmer will tell you, working the land is, at times, heart-breaking.’
Max looks resigned, but the deep lines between his eyebrows are furrowed. The tension he feels for a situation that must seem like an endless battle against a nameless enemy, is etched on his face. His profile shows a firm jaw line, rigidly set. I wonder what is going through his mind at this precise moment.
‘And here we are.’
The track we’re on is bumpy and for the last hundred yards, or so, the car has been literally crawling along.
Max parks up in front of a series of large sheds, similar to outbuildings seen on farms in the UK. But whereas we’d use them for cattle feed and machinery, I realise that for the owner this is a huge investment in a business venture that’s a considerable gamble. It isn’t just the locals who carry a heaven burden on their shoulders. Max, as their representative, knows exactly what these proud people stand to lose.
There’s no ceremony – in fact Max escorts me inside the first shed as if it were in the grounds of Villa Rosso. He waves to two men wheeling large wooden trolleys with a collection of clay pots ready for the kiln. This appears to be a holding area and along the far wall five women of varying ages are busy packing boxes. From a young girl of indeterminate age, to a grandmother who must be in her nineties, they chatter as they work. The elderly woman looks up and smiles at Max, her toothless grin a happy one and the other women giggle, shyly.
Max steers me through a doorway into another shed, where seven or eight people are hand-painting designs onto a wide range of different pots.
We’re attracting some curious glances, but no one approaches and I simply follow in Max’s footsteps until he opens another door and ushers me inside. I suppose this is more like an office, although it’s still only a wooden structure with a tin roof. But the floor-to-ceiling shelves hold an array of colourful and well-crafted ceramics that would grace any European showroom.
‘I wasn’t expecting such a departure from the old traditional styles,’ I admit. ‘Max, these wall tiles are amazing and the table lamps are exactly what we’re looking for!’
For the first time since we set off, Max’s forehead relaxes a little and he nods in appreciation.
‘It’s a big step for us to depart from the traditional designs people have come to associate with Italian majolica. We are focusing on a different clientele and market, hoping to give interior designers the quality and statement pieces they are looking for, at a very competitive price.’
‘Can I take some photos to send to Olivia?’
‘Of course. Take your time. I’ll go and do the rounds as they’re all holding their breath, wondering what the English lady will think.’
The pressure isn’t just one-sided, but I suspect they have nothing to worry about. This is exactly what Livvie was hoping to find. I snap away quite happily until Max returns, stealing a glance at his watch.
‘We should go shortly, as I want to show you around our next stop before we head back for lunch.’
‘Can I purchase a few things to take back as presents?’
‘Of course.’ I follow Max through to the packing area and select a couple of items for the girls and something for Dawn. At first the elderly Italian woman refuses to take the notes I offer, but I insist and she nods her head in gratitude.
I make an effort to smile at everyone I pass who looks our way, as we retrace our steps.
‘The tension is palpable. Can one order make that much of a difference?’
‘More than you probably realise. This is a fairly new venture still and we have a long way to go to get a full order book. A deal with your company could kick-start this initiative and give us the cash injection we need to expand. A lot is riding on your visit and there’s no point in pretending otherwise.’
‘Can’t you use a middleman? Someone with contacts already in place?’
Max shakes his head.
‘Not all of the operations are as large, or advanced, as this one. In order to offer people like Olivia the deal they are looking for we need to keep non-production costs to the minimum. It’s one less link in the chain taking a cut out of the profits and this is diversity for survival of the whole. Besides, I seriously doubt we’d consistently be able to meet the sort of production levels required to fill global orders, because of the investment levels required. So we are going for the niche, interior design market. If you want two hundred table lamps, that’s not a problem. But if you wanted five thousand—’
‘Ah, now I understand. Where are we going next?’
I try to sound upbeat, despite feeling the pressure beginning to mount.
‘Our biggest producer of textiles. I think you’ll be impressed by the set-up. It’s actually attached to one of the local churches.’
Max opens the car door as I slide into the seat. A young woman calls out to him, holding something up and Max strides across, placing his hand on her shoulder and taking the item with his other hand.
When he returns he hands me a chilled bottle. ‘Here, this is for you.’
‘What is Gassossa Neri, exactly?’ I ask, wondering if it’s some sort of locally distilled alcohol that will take off the top of my head.
‘It’s good to drink, just carbonated sugar water, really. It’s old school, hard to find these days, so treasured amongst the older people as it was the soft drink of their childhood. Notice that I wasn’t offered one.’ He drops the corners of his mouth in an exaggerated fashion.
‘What a nice gesture.’
Max holds out his hand, pulling a bottle opener from the side pocket of the door.
‘Enjoy. It seems you are making quite an impression.’ Flipping the lid, he hands it back to me and I can’t resist taking a long sip and letting out an appreciative sigh of satisfaction.
As he kicks the engine into life he starts laughing and it’s a heart-warming sound.
Chapter 7 (#ulink_09217006-8eff-5066-8ef8-e47af51bd2bc)
‘You sound different.’ Josh’s words are tinged with sadness, or maybe it’s simply loneliness. Suddenly finding ourselves apart, and in different countries, is something neither of us would ever have expected.
‘It’s the distance and I’m, you know, wearing my business head.’
He yawns.
‘Sorry, I didn’t get much sleep last night. Rosie woke up in the early hours and had a little cry when she remembered you weren’t here.’
Guilt washes over me as, suddenly, what I need more than anything is a hug from my girls.
‘Did she settle back down?’
‘She jumped into our bed and was soon snoring her head off. I really didn’t mean to tell you about that. Everything is good this end, honestly. Dawn is being a star and brought over a homemade chicken pie.’ I can feel he’s annoyed with himself for mentioning Rosie and now he’s trying to make light of it. But it’s unlike Josh to sound so … insecure and I wonder if something has happened that he feels he can’t tell me. Or maybe it’s just my imagination working overtime. He’s tired and the girls can be a handful at times, especially if they aren’t in the best of moods.
I’m lazing on a bed in an Italian villa. The breeze wafting in through the window carries the scent of oleander blossom and a hint of thyme from the tubs on the terrace. A conversation doesn’t get any more surreal and I’m sure I’m worrying for the sake of it. The resulting smile on my face lifts my voice, even though my heart aches to think of the distance between us all.
‘I know you are in safe hands. And tomorrow will fly by, then I’ll be up early the next morning and on a plane home before you know it. It will be as if this never happened.’
‘Funny you should say that, because it doesn’t feel real. I keep expecting you to walk through the door, fling your coat on the chair and moan about the drizzly rain making your hair frizzy.’
He’s joking with me and I appreciate the effort he’s making.
‘Did the girls do their homework?’
‘Yes, all done. Rosie has a geography test tomorrow. Hettie had to write about a new skill she has acquired, recently. We spent the best part of an hour throwing suggestions around, including some quite inspiring ones, and then she ended up writing half a page about the time she helped you paint her bedroom walls.’
Aww, a sudden flashback makes my chest constrict.
‘That’s nice, but if my memory serves me right it was at least two years ago and she spent most of the time painting shapes and graffiti, while I followed behind her with the roller. Kids, eh?’
‘I know. It’s not the same when you aren’t here and knowing that you’re so far away is a little unsettling. You are the glue that holds us together, Ellie, and this has reminded us not to take you for granted. Anyway, enough about life in the Maddison household, how’s Italy?’
‘I can’t even begin to describe it, Josh. It’s so beautiful; and yet there’s also a feeling of sadness, when you see how hard life is for the people who depend on the land to earn their living. Today I toured a ceramics workshop and then a textile business which was set up in a sprawling church annex. Everyone was nervous about my visit because they need buyers, or the money they’ve invested will be wasted. I think the owner of the villa has probably extended loans to some of the farmers who wanted to branch out and get involved with the cooperative. When you walk among the workers it’s not just about appreciation of their skilled craftsmanship, but you get caught up in the emotional investment; their hopes and dreams.’
‘Ellie, you are Livvie’s eyes and ears out there but the ultimate business decision will be hers. It’s out of your hands and you can’t shoulder that responsibility. It’s beginning to worry you already, isn’t it? You need to develop a thicker skin, darling, or you’ll never survive in the business world.’
Josh knows me better than I know myself.
‘I hear what you are saying. I love you for understanding and not simply criticising me for being unduly sensitive. Livvie emailed early this morning but hasn’t been in touch since. I’ve sent her about two dozen photos, but I guess it’s unfair of me to expect her to respond quickly. I suspect her mum is back in the ward by now recovering from her op, so maybe I’ll hear something after dinner. I would just feel much better being able to give Max an idea of Livvie’s reaction, in case I’m getting it all wrong.’
‘Well, you’ve done all you can for today and I’m proud of you. It’s quite a thing to step into Livvie’s expert shoes at such short notice. You are bound to feel a little intimidated. I know you will also be feeling a little out of your comfort zone. So try to relax, enjoy your meal and get a good night’s sleep, honey. And don’t stress about things. Love you and miss you. See you later, alligator.’
I smile at his parting words. That’s our code – a pact we made after Josh’s grandmother died. When the day arrives and we find ourselves facing the inevitable; we want to know for sure that love survives even death. We use that old, childhood saying, so we will never forget the only words that will leave us in no doubt whatsoever. ‘In a while, crocodile.’
I’m left listening to static and a feeling of emptiness makes my stomach drop to the floor. The world has never felt quite as enormous as it does to me right now and I really wish Josh was here to wrap his arms around me. I know it’s only tiredness so I lie back, throwing the phone onto the bed cover beside me. It’s time for a nap before I shower and dress for dinner.
~
When I make my way into the dining room I’m surprised to see virtually all of the tables are full. Max immediately gives me a little wave and hurries over to escort me to a table. The dress code seems to be quite casual and I’m glad I kept it simple, as all of the tables are occupied by families.
‘We’re busy tonight,’ Max explains. ‘Once a month we have a dinner that honours the matriarch of the family. It’s a tradition now, and our chef puts together a very special menu. But if it’s not quite to your liking, then I can bring over the à la carte menu.’
A waiter hovers, pulling out a chair for me. I sit, feeling rather self-conscious as heads turn in our direction. Max is fussing with the table, moving a bowl of fresh flowers and giving one of the tall wine glasses a light polish, as if I’m someone of importance.
‘I’m sure the special menu will be fine.’ I glance at the list of dishes, not sure whether they are separate courses, or a selection from which you choose. Of course, everything is in Italian. ‘I’m in your hands, Max.’ I pass the printed menu back to him, smiling gratefully.
‘It won’t disappoint, I promise.’ And with a broad smile he disappears in what I assume is the direction of the kitchen.
There are half a dozen staff members, including Bella, ferrying meals and taking away empty plates. Thankfully, there is quite a buzz in the room and now that I’m seated I’m no longer a source of distraction. Or perhaps the interest was more about Max than an Englishwoman travelling alone.
I can smell rich, sweet tomatoes and something tantalisingly spicy. A young waiter approaches the table bearing a bottle of wine. He holds up the label for me to inspect it and I nod my head, no idea at all if it’s the finest wine I’m ever likely to drink, or a celebrated local vintage. Either way, when I’m invited to taste the rich, dark-red liquid it slips down easily. Dry and intensely fruity, my mouth is left with a zing of flavours and an aftertaste of cherries.
Each course is beautifully presented in small and appealing portion sizes. Every dish is a first for me, bearing little or no resemblance at all to food I’ve eaten over the years in Italian restaurants back home. From the aperitivo, with Aperol Spritz, olives and crackers, to a mushroom dish with peppers and then, what Bella informs me is black pig fillet with strawberries. Each course is truly delicious.
Towards the end of the meal Max reappears as a willowy, older woman in a simple, yet elegant, silver-grey dress is clearing away the plate in front of me. He speaks to her in rapid Italian and she smiles, then nods, placing the plate back down on the table and extending her hand towards me.
‘Trista Ormanni. You enjoy your visit ’ere, yes?’
The words are stilted and her cheeks colour slightly as she speaks.
‘Yes, it’s truly wonderful. And dinner was heavenly.’
I’m not sure she can understand what I’m saying, but my broad smile reflects the sentiments. She hurries away quickly, leaving us to chat.
‘Trista is my fiancée’s mother. All of the staff here are family members except Bella, whose mother was born just a few kilometres away. Now things have calmed down a little I wondered if you would like to join me for coffee out on the terrace? Unless you are tired and prefer to retire for the night.’
‘No, that would be lovely, thank you.’
Max extends his hand to help me out of my seat. For a brief moment, as our hands touch, everything seems to stand still. I falter slightly and his grasp tightens.
‘The wine seems to have gone to my head.’ A laugh that ends up sounding more like a giggle doesn’t really cover a moment of embarrassment. As he withdraws his hand and extends his arm in the direction of the door, he walks alongside me. His other arm is curled behind me at waist height, but without actually touching me. For some inexplicable reason I feel this is a walk I’ve done before. How ludicrous is that?
Outside, the balmy evening air is sweet, but there is an undercurrent of a rich woodland scent and a slightly musty, earthy smell. It’s comforting, in a familiar way; like a smell from one’s childhood. Except that I’ve never been to Italy before, or anywhere quite like this.
Max notices my reaction. ‘Tonight the breeze carries with it the scent of the forests from the mountain slopes. Here, let me get your chair.’
One of the small tables on the terrace has been covered with a white linen table cloth and in the centre the glow from a large candle lantern sheds a soft flickering light.
‘To the north we have the Pollino mountain range and to the south, La Sila. It’s a difficult mix of terrain, but we are well served by the Calabrian ports of Reggio and Gioia Tauro.’
‘How long has this been your home?’
Max shifts in his chair, his body language signalling hesitation. We aren’t friends, just business acquaintances and I realise with dismay that I might have overstepped the mark when he was simply making polite conversation. Thankfully, the silence is interrupted by the arrival of coffee and a jovial-looking man who greets Max with a babble of Italian. Max replies and to my ear his mastery of the language makes him sound like a native inhabitant, a true son of Italy.
‘Grazie, Gianni. Sono il tuo stato introdotto per la signora Maddison?’
A moth is attracted by the light from the candle and Max absentmindedly brushes it away, before it’s drawn too close to the flame.
‘No, ho passato la giornata sopra presso la raffineria. Ci sono stati alcuni problemi, ma ora è fisso.’
‘Bene, grazie. My apologies, Ellie, this is Gianni, my fiancée’s uncle. Gianni, this is Mrs Maddison. Gianni has been at the plant today, sorting out a problem that occurred during my absence.’
We shake hands and exchange polite smiles, before Gianni disappears back into the shadows of the villa. The light from the windows flood out onto the terrace, but everything beyond that is simply a series of dark shapes, lit only by a crescent moon and a heaven full of stars.
‘Four years. I’m not even sure I could slot back into my old life if ever the opportunity arises.’
His reply to my previous question catches me by surprise. Clearly, his work is important to him. While I’m sure he misses his own family, it’s plain that he’s now a key member in the Ormanni family’s business. Everyone seems to look towards him for direction, as if he’s in sole charge.
He adds a little sugar to the coffee cup in front of him and then sinks back onto his chair. There’s a sense of resignation in the movement.
‘It’s a complicated story and I don’t want to bore you. I also don’t want to spoil your relaxation time and I should be doing a much better job of being a host. I think you can tell that I don’t often get the chance to sit down and have a conversation in my own language. It has become a novelty, as most of our guests at the villa are Italians enjoying a weekend retreat away from city life.’
Is he asking my permission to continue, or warning me off? There is a deep sadness in him, which I’d assumed was to do with his love for the people here and their plight. My instincts tell me not to pull back.
‘I’m a good listener. And it’s always easier talking to a stranger, isn’t it? Is your fiancée bi-lingual?’
‘Yes, Aletta speaks perfect English.’ He pauses, and then glances across at me rather nervously. ‘She went missing two years, three months ago.’
My coffee cup is halfway to my lips when Max speaks and immediately I set it back down.
‘Oh, I’m so sorry, what a terrible thing to happen. I didn’t mean to pry.’
Max looks apologetic and very uncomfortable.
‘As I said, it’s complicated.’
Whatever thoughts are running through his head, he’s clearly unable to continue speaking and I finish drinking my coffee in silence. Standing, I gently bid him goodnight, but he doesn’t raise his head. As I’m about to walk through the door into the villa he calls out to me.
‘Buona notte, Ellie. Sleep well.’
The first thing I do when I return to my room is to check my phone for emails and messages, but there’s nothing at all from Livvie. I text Josh to say a brief goodnight and prepare for bed.
Lying there I keep going over and over Max’s words, searching for clues. I know people do sometimes disappear. I read the headlines in the papers and have skimmed stories that sound rather dubious, to say the least. But Max is just an ordinary guy and this old and established Italian family is so very traditional. How could their daughter simply disappear without trace? This is such a tight community in many ways, despite the size of the area. With so little going on, anything unusual is bound to become common knowledge. If this was a city, or even one of the larger towns, then it would be easier to understand.
Eventually I drift off, but my dreams are jumbled and I’m glad when dawn begins to break.
Chapter 8 (#ulink_39ce0e7b-ab04-5730-acb8-c0b3773a3c97)
As the rays of the early morning sunshine start to slant across the floor, a succession of pings has me scrabbling for my phone. Livvie is online and looking at the photos. I long to get up and swing open the window to let in the fresh air, but I’m anxious for information and can’t wait.
Love these tiles; can you bring a sample back with you?
Looks great, just what I was hoping for – could you send me the dimensions?
Great defoot widesigns. Is that a church you’re in???
I send her a quick email telling her that I’m very impressed by what I’ve seen so far and that Max is the perfect coordinator. I have no doubt that there is scope here for them to expand the operation once the orders come in. Labour isn’t a problem, it’s cash flow at the moment. I think that’s more or less what she was expecting to hear, anyway. Max’s professionalism and vision have already impressed her in the short time she’s been talking to him.
Livvie’s return email confirms as much. Then she goes on to tell me that her mum is doing well and is expected to be in hospital for at least a few days. Enough time, Livvie hopes, for her to sort out a nurse to do the day-to-day care and physio when she comes home. She sounds like she has switched back into organisational mode and is coping with the situation much better. But it is with relief that I read her final comment.
Looks like you’ve had a worthwhile trip, Ellie, and I’m so grateful to you. I know Josh and the kids will probably hate me for dragging you away from them, but secretly I think it might do you a little good. Nothing builds the confidence quicker than reminding yourself you can do anything, if you put your mind to it. Or, if you care enough about a friend to be there for her.
I’d be grateful if you could pass my thanks onto Max. Tell him that from what you’ve already shown me we should have no problem at all filling an order for our first container. I’m looking forward to developing a strong business relationship with Artigianato.
Hugs, Ellie, and please do try to find time to soak up some of that Italian sunshine. Enjoy a little relaxation time. You deserve it, lady!
Livvie xx
I mouth a silent thank you, sure that there must be some patron saint linked to Castrovillari who is smiling down on us all. My biggest fear was that I hadn’t done justice to the beautiful things I’ve seen and Livvie wouldn’t feel as enthused, being unable to witness them in person. I know what Josh said, but isn’t life better when what you do benefits not just one person, but many? Business is all about profit, I understand that, but this is news I know will make a lot of people smile today. And I can’t wait to see the look on Max’s face. After last night I might not understand what’s going on in his personal life, but if anyone is in need of good news, it’s him.
But Max doesn’t put in an appearance at breakfast and Bella informs me that he’s been called to the refinery.
‘Max sends his apologies, but the matter required his urgent attention. He set off at five this morning and left a message to say that he hopes to be back by eleven. He suggested that after breakfast I give you a tour of the villa, as we showcase many of the local crafts here. He thinks there may be a few more things you’d like to photograph.’
‘That’s very kind, thank you, Bella. I haven’t taken any photos inside the villa in case it wasn’t allowed. But I know my boss will love the chandelier above the staircase, in particular. I wasn’t sure whether or not it was a local piece.’
Trista Ormanni approaches, looking wonderful in a simple cream linen skirt and top. She’s a woman who catches your eye, her refined air reflecting her position and that of her family.
‘Max ’eez away. Back soon. Egli manda le sue scuse—’ She shrugs her shoulders and glances at Bella for help.
‘He sends his apologies,’ Bella translates. Trista seems satisfied and gives a smile of thanks, then nods in my direction before turning away.
‘I should imagine Max appreciates having you around to translate when he’s not here.’
Bella is brushing crumbs from the table.
‘We don’t get many British people here. Mostly Italians and a few Germans. Trista tries, but she struggles. She lost her husband, Stefano, a couple of years ago. To lose a soulmate must tear you apart and whenever I look at her I remember what she was like, you know, before he passed away. But it restores my faith in the existence of true love and the fact that it can last forever if you are lucky.’ Bella grins.
‘Oh, do I take that as implying your own path to true love hasn’t been particularly smooth?’
‘Let’s just say I’m still looking. I’m off to cover the reception desk until ten, but after that we can do the tour, if that’s convenient?’
‘Perfect, see you in a little while.’
I finish my coffee and rise from the table, nodding to my fellow guests. Making my way out onto the terrace through the enormous glass-panelled doors, I feel happy and relaxed.
Already the bees are buzzing and the chirping of the tree crickets is like a backing track, low and incessant. Two butterflies are flitting in and out of the tubs, which are mainly filled with fragrant herbs. But it’s the smell of the white, pink and red oleanders, with their lance-shaped, dark-green leaves that grab my attention. As I lean in to smell the white swirls it reminds me of apricots, but the pink and red ones give off more of a sweet, bubble gum scent. I walk across the terrace and a beautiful climbing rose dripping off some trellis work adds a distinctly floral boost to the air. You can literally close your eyes and still savour the southern Italian experience, as the gentle warmth of the morning sun accentuates the heady smells.
I head away from the terrace, descending a flight of stone steps leading down to a lower level and the first of the olive trees. These are very old trees with wide trunks and gnarled branches, from which the leaves and growing fruit hang like curtains. Mostly the sun is obscured, but here and there the foliage thins. Little shafts of sunlight appear to shimmer, as the breeze catches the leaves.
It’s time to ring Josh, but I just wish he were here with me to enjoy this moment. The girls would be captivated by the ambience, but probably more eager to laze in the sun. But Josh would appreciate the sheer beauty of the scene in front of me. This is the very essence of southern Italy and something I feel privileged to enjoy.
Josh’s voice is comforting, but when I hear how much he misses me, and then the sounds of the girls squabbling in the background, I have to gulp down the lump rising in my throat. The spell that has been cast over me is temporarily broken and all I want is to be back at home again. He touches briefly on a problem he has at work and it’s clear he’s under pressure, but there is nothing I can do to help. So instead I encourage him to talk about happier things, until he at least sounds brighter.
‘I have to go, Josh, Bella is giving me a tour of the villa and I need to take some more photos to send to Livvie. Max is going to get that first order and it’s looking promising for the future.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He isn’t here at the moment, as there was a problem up at the processing plant, but he’ll be back later this morning.’
Josh is suddenly very quiet, then mumbles, ‘It won’t delay your return, will it?’
‘Of course not. The tickets are booked and I leave at four in the morning. The stopover is in Milan and it’s a nine-hour wait unfortunately, but I’ll land at Heathrow just after six in the evening.’
‘That’s later than I thought. The girls were hoping to see you before they went to bed.’ It isn’t only the girls who will be disappointed, he sounds totally deflated again.
‘Sorry, I should have mentioned it before. Livvie was due to meet up with another supplier in Milan, so the delay wasn’t a problem for her.’
‘I’m being selfish, honey. I’ll get over it. As they say, absence makes the heart grow fonder. I’ve never missed you so much, but then we’ve never been so far apart. Just concentrate on what you have to do; I can imagine how stressful it must be and how alien it must feel.’
I wish I could explain how comfortable I feel here, not alien at all, but I’m not sure Josh would understand in his present state of mind. ‘See you later, alligator.’
He responds. ‘In a while, crocodile.’
I don’t feel strange here at all. What I feel is a weird sort of recognition. A sense of being at peace. I miss my family, naturally, but a part of me will be sad to leave this behind. As I retrace my steps I find that admission shocking. It’s only when Bella appears in front of me that I snap out of my reverie.
Chapter 9 (#ulink_6fb808c5-4712-5f2c-961d-9e3d2395f627)
The tour of the villa is eye-opening as it’s much bigger than I had realised. When you approach it from the terrace you see a cluster of three interlinking stone buildings, whose roofs are at differing heights. My room is more or less directly above the reception area and my window looks out across the front, southern elevation. The large building off to the side mostly comprises guests’ rooms, but being at a ninety-degree angle to the main building the views look west, in the direction of the mountains. Between the two buildings is a smaller building, nestled into the corner and Bella informs me it’s Trista’s suite.
‘Ooh, there’s a wonderful chest in here you might like to see. I’m sure Trista won’t mind if we go in.’
This part of the villa is very different to the rest, where everything has been carefully designed. Trista’s room is a mix of the old and new. An ornate wooden table is covered with silver-framed photos and for the first time I get a glimpse of Trista’s husband. Several are of their wedding day and they are young, happy and smiling fit to burst. I have no idea from the other photos if any of them include Aletta, as there are so many group photos taken over the years.
‘Do you have children? Bella asks, noticing my interest.
‘Yes, two. Hettie and Rosie. They’re both teenagers. It’s always chaotic in our house. Lots of noise.’
She smiles. ‘I bet they’re missing you. Where’s home?’
‘The Forest of Dean. It’s on the Welsh border. It’s a beautiful spot and we love exploring the nature trails.’
‘Oh, I’ve never been, but I’ve heard of it.’
‘I’ll give you my number and if you go back home for a holiday and fancy a weekend away, give me a call. We have a spare bedroom and don’t get many guests.’
‘Thank you, I just might take you up on that. I’m overdue a return visit and that could be just the incentive I need to make it bearable!’
Bella stands in front of a wooden chest inlaid with panels of intricate metalwork.
‘Lovely, isn’t it? And it looks old.’
‘Wow, that’s gorgeous. I’m sure Olivia will love this. It’s perfect for storing linen, or to use as a coffee table. Thank you, Bella.’
‘That’s Aletta,’ Bella points to a photo of a beautiful young woman. Tall, slim and elegantly dressed. A young Audrey Hepburn springs to mind. I don’t know quite what to say, so I point to the photo next to it.
‘Is that Stefano Ormanni?’
She nods. ‘Yes, it’s all very sad, isn’t it? To lose your daughter and your husband in such a short space of time is unimaginable. Life doesn’t get much crueller than that. But Trista has Max to rely on and he’s been her saviour. The son she never had.’
I flounder for something safe to say as a response, not wanting to pry.
‘Only time can lessen the pain. You never really get over a loss like that, do you?’
Arrgghh, I shouldn’t have made it a question.
‘Trista will never get over it. She told me once that she feels her life is now about existing, rather than living. I didn’t know what to say to her so I gave her a hug. There aren’t many things that leave me speechless. But that was shortly after I arrived here and feelings were still running high. People were suspicious about Aletta’s disappearance and it wasn’t a good time.’
I make a show of taking a few snaps to avoid having to reply and then, thankfully, we move on to some of the rooms towards the rear of the main building. Bella has no idea how uncomfortable I feel and I’m glad the conversation about the family ends there. Is it wrong to be curious about someone else’s tragedy?
The magnificent views of the mountains and the forest areas on the slopes looking north, which is the backdrop to the village of Castrovillari, soon have me clicking away once more. Too far away to see in any great detail, it’s mostly the shapes and colours that dominate the horizon as far as the eye can see.
I continue snapping a few photos to show the girls on my return, in between shots of wall hangings, rugs, rustic metal-and-wood coffee tables, and various decorative items.
‘This is such a good idea, Bella. What better setting in which to display what the cooperative has to offer than a stunning villa like this one?’
‘That’s Max, for you. He’s constantly trying to think of ways to give the locals some return. The Ormannis weren’t keen at first, treasuring some of the more old-fashioned family heirlooms that were a part of their heritage. He convinced them that updating the villa was essential and a part of that should be to make it a celebration of the way forward. When I arrived here the work was in full swing and tempers were a little frayed at times. But in the end everyone could see it was the right thing to do and now I do believe Trista genuinely loves it. In a way, I think it makes the past a little less painful, as so much of what is here now is new.’
I pretend to be occupied with taking some snaps of a rather large rug, but my head is trying to formulate a question. Bella smooths the cover on the bed, taking out a wrinkle.
‘Is it possible to move on in such a situation?’ It’s an honest remark. How can any mother bear not knowing what happened to her only child?
I’m not sure what exactly Bella knows about Trista’s daughter, maybe nothing, and I’m cross with myself for letting my curiosity get the better of me. But I’m going to spend several hours with Max again today and it would help to understand him a little more.
‘Trista has had no choice but to accept what seems inevitable now, that she may never know for sure what happened. With every month that passes even clinging onto a slim hope now seems pointless. I feel so sorry for Max, too. Since Stefano’s funeral Aletta’s name is rarely mentioned and never by Trista or Max. Anyway, I think it’s time we headed back downstairs, as he’s probably waiting for you.’
I don’t think Bella meant to cut off the conversation as such, but glancing at her wrist watch she’s conscious of the time. However, I hate to take advantage of her willingness to chat to me about this, so in a way it’s probably for the best.
‘Thank you for the tour, Bella. I really appreciate it and I had no idea just how sprawling this place is; I’ve toured French chateaux that aren’t as interesting, or commanding.’
‘I feel lucky to be working here. My mother, however, will never forgive me.’ The smile on her face says more than words could ever tell me. Here she feels free to be herself.
And I know that when I leave tomorrow a part of me will be very sorry to be saying goodbye.
~
‘I must apologise for my absence, Ellie, but the matter was pressing. I’m sure we can make up some of the lost time and get you back here in time to rest up before dinner. I’m conscious that you have an early departure tomorrow and will want to retire promptly. I … um—’
As Max holds the car door open I slip inside, then wait a few seconds as he walks around to the driver’s door.
‘I was wondering if you’d join me for dinner this evening?’
He seems hesitant, as if he’s not sure it’s the right thing to do.
‘Well, as we have something to celebrate I think that would be very appropriate and a lovely way to end my visit.’
His head turns sharply and his brow lifts, taking in my words.
‘You’ve spoken to Olivia?’
‘Yes. She said to tell you that based on the photos I’ve sent her she will have absolutely no problem in filling the first container. And she said “first” container too, implying there will be others.’
Max slams his hands on the steering wheel as his body rocks back into the seat, the smile on his face quite possibly the biggest one I’ve seen so far. His eyes twinkle as he looks at me and grins.
‘Aiutati che Dio t’aiuta.’
‘Which means?’
‘Quite literally, help yourself and God will help you. But I’m not forgetting the part you have played in this, Ellie. Sometimes He sends us a little help.’
‘You seem relieved and yet, surely, this was only ever about seeking out the right clients? You already know the products are of a good quality.’
Max kicks the engine into life.
‘I’ve come to learn that only a fool takes anything in this life for granted. Besides, it’s slow-going, Ellie. The website isn’t up and running yet, and how many buyers will take up the offer to come here in person? You are the first. But it’s about much more than that, as the family are still not sure I’m taking things in the right direction. Some of the loans I’ve convinced them to make may never be repaid if we fail. If I fail.’
Today we head away from the plains, turning onto the main highway and I see that we are heading towards Castrovillari itself. But the view flying past my window goes unnoticed as my head is trying to unravel a puzzle. I realise that the pressure on Max is probably a little isolating. To whom can he turn? But the biggest question on my mind is why does he stay?
~
Our first stop is very different to the places we visited yesterday. This is an ironworker’s compound and it’s on the edge of town. Large, wrought-iron gates lead us into a large parking area, surrounded on three sides by a one-storey stone outbuilding. This is an established business and immediately we pull up two men walk towards the car.
Max helps me out and one of the men steps forward, hand outstretched. They shake hands and then all eyes are on me.
‘Questa è la signora Maddison. Ellie, this is Eduardo Camillucci and his son, Piero.’
Eduardo and I shake hands as he begins talking to me in rapid Italian. I then shake Piero’s hand as Max says something to Eduardo, who nods vigorously. Unfortunately, the discovery that I can’t speak Italian doesn’t stop him talking to me and I give a sideways glance at Max, who simply smiles as if to say, ‘Don’t worry.’
It’s the first time I’ve ever toured a workshop like this. Eduardo talks almost non-stop and Max patiently translates as I learn all about the Camillucci family. Eduardo has three sons, but two of them have already been lost to him. Max explains that moving to a city in the north is almost as devastating as losing a child to Eduardo and his wife. He follows in the tradition of his father and grandfather, but has to face up to the reality that the next generation are prepared to go in search of bigger things. Eduardo now has to ensure that the business makes enough money to keep their remaining son at home. But as I look around I realise that this isn’t just where they conduct business. A part of the u-shaped stone building has smaller windows with shutters and is, in fact, their home. It’s possibly big enough for three, but must have been very cramped when all of Eduardo’s sons lived at home. And what of the one remaining son when it’s time for him to settle down and have a family of his own?
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