Under a Tuscan Sky
Karen Aldous
‘A sumptuous story.’ Rachel’s Random Reads (top 500 Amazon reviewer)Escape to Tuscany this summer with Karen Aldous’s brilliantly uplifting read.A summer she’ll never forget…When Olivia Montague’s grandmother passes away, she decides it’s finally time to make some changes in her own life. So she breaks up with her ‘going nowhere’ boyfriend and embarks on a journey to her Nonna’s home in Tuscany.Until now, Olivia has always believed that she’s incapable of love, after being abandoned by her parents as a baby. But with each day spent at the gorgeous villa nestled in the rolling Italian hills, she feels her heart begin to flutter…And when handsome antiques dealer Hugh St. James arrives on the scene, she realises things might be about to change forever!Perfect for fans of Jules Wake, Erica James and Cathy Kelly.Praise for Karen Aldous:‘A sumptuous story…what I love about fiction, being able to travel from my armchair!’ Rachel’s Random Reads (top 500 Amazon reviewer)‘An uplifting story of hope, self-discovery and love, set amid the stunning Italian vineyards.’ Got Books, Babe?‘A perfect summer read…set in the beautiful Tuscan countryside.’ Rosemary Smith (NetGalley reviewer)‘Stunning… perfect for reading while on your own Mediterranean break!’ Pretty Purple Polkadots‘Gloriously escapist, wonderfully entertaining and absolutely impossible to put down! Sure to appeal to fans of Cathy Kelly and Erica James.’ Bookish Jottings‘Fascinating, heartwarming, engaging, romantic and utterly compelling.’ Sparkly Words
A summer she’ll never forget …
When Olivia Montague’s grandmother passes away, she decides it’s finally time to make some changes in her own life. So she breaks up with her ‘going nowhere’ boyfriend and embarks on a journey to her nonna’s home in Tuscany.
Until now, Olivia has always believed that she’s incapable of love, after being abandoned by her parents as a baby. But with each day spent at the gorgeous villa nestled in the rolling Italian hills, she feels her heart begin to flutter …
And when handsome antiques dealer Hugh St. James arrives on the scene, she realizes things might be about to change for ever!
Escape to Tuscany this summer with Karen Aldous’s brilliantly uplifting read. Perfect for fans of Erica James and Cathy Kelly.
Praise for Karen Aldous (#ulink_5b5d4c4d-723f-5198-9185-2efd9094e192)
‘A story of relationships, love and the importance of family, a romantic tale that leaves the reader with a glow.’
Postcard Reviews
‘I could have been lost in this book for months on end and I wouldn’t have noticed the days slipping by …’
Becca’s Books
‘Light, easy to read and entertaining, perfect for a summer holiday read.’
Portybelle
‘A perfect book for these final summer days, to indulge in with a glass of wine or two.’
Paris Baker (Amazon Reviewer)
‘Escapism with more than a touch of reality … Karen Aldous is an author that you need on “auto order”!’
Crooks on Books
‘A great holiday read – quick, easy and entertaining!’
Ginger Cat Blog
‘Gloriously escapist, wonderfully entertaining and absolutely impossible to put down! Sure to appeal to fans of Cathy Kelly and Erica James.’
Bookish Jottings
‘Fascinating, heartwarming, engaging, romantic and utterly compelling.’
Sparkly Words
Also available from Karen Aldous (#ucb1b30f7-03a4-5909-967f-08a7428419ea)
The Vineyard
The Chateau
The Riviera
One Moment at Sunrise
Under a Tuscan Sky
Karen Aldous
ONE PLACE. MANY STORIES
Copyright (#ulink_180171d3-03b3-58af-8e13-36be45e5332f)
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2017
Copyright © Karen Aldous 2017
Karen Aldous asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for 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.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
E-book Edition © June 2017 ISBN: 978-0-00-823914-5
Version: 2018-04-17
Contents
Cover (#ue1e10abb-ff79-56f1-9f76-dc0322d79be8)
Blurb (#u8d641db4-8532-5db2-b4d4-e187d727a2c3)
Praise (#ulink_408cff80-a2df-5875-b50f-1502dc2cd370)
Book List (#ub9a60886-89d4-5fef-8c1a-b9b978520036)
Title Page (#u228bc71d-c2b4-59e4-b234-25baa5f84433)
Copyright (#ulink_4458607f-9377-5b68-9c30-d6a7411ceef9)
Author Bio (#uc8c339e2-3be3-56e3-97c2-0d9d3f1c91c8)
Acknowledgements (#u3c9ad5aa-2b6e-5c7f-8281-861952872fb9)
Dedication (#u644b7f8e-c23d-5c4e-98e8-97e25569ef27)
Chapter 1 (#ulink_7985c3b8-0766-50e9-9a1a-6827c622d1cc)
Chapter 2 (#ulink_9a4437e4-f6e9-5e6d-9312-bb60ffed6870)
Chapter 3 (#ulink_7ba744f5-6633-574f-8e8f-702bb0975bcf)
Chapter 4 (#ulink_cf5ee377-ec23-5ff9-8fd9-fcaac5c651fd)
Chapter 5 (#ulink_ba4a0d7a-d5ab-5328-ab1d-5f0790ca0dd8)
Chapter 6 (#ulink_cfd648f4-5582-5b0b-a110-4fbd1fa4c8dd)
Chapter 7 (#ulink_e709b132-b72b-5d51-bd54-78bede2ce37c)
Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)
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)
Endpages (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
KAREN ALDOUS enjoys village life on the edge of the north-downs in Kent with easy access to the buzz of London. Not only does she love the passive pleasures of reading and writing but craves the more active pursuits: walking, cycling and skiing, especially when they involve family, friends, food, and … wine!
Much of Karen’s inspiration comes from her travels. The UK, France, Switzerland and USA are just some of the places you’ll be transported to in her books, but wherever she goes, new characters invite themselves into ‘Karen’s World’ screaming at her to tell their stories; strong independent women who are capable of directing their own lives – but struggle to control them … especially when temptation strikes!
As a member of the Romantic Novelists’ Association and The Write Place, Karen feels she owes so much of her success to the love and support of her fellow writers.
You can follow Karen on Twitter at @KarenAldous_
Thank you to my fantastic editor Charlotte Mursell who is a superstar.
Also to the beautifully warm Ivana at Fattoria La Loggia who inspired this book.
For Gemma & Sam
Love and happiness forever xx
Chapter 1 (#ulink_b6a734a7-0254-5c25-b078-a8dd4457b493)
It was so much more than an image. Olivia Montague’s finger stroked the ageing photograph of the elderly couple gazing, not at the camera, but intensely at one another even after all those years. And even in sepia tones, glints of love and passion sparkled in their eyes. Olivia’s skin prickled looking at them standing huddled among the vines, their chemistry radiating from the now dulled, once glossy paper almost as if it were present in her Bermondsey sitting room.
More significantly for Olivia, her Italian grandparents represented family – solid, the roots of her being, an impenetrable foundation. Nonna Elena and Nonno Angelo had such adoration for each other, just like her mother and father in those brief years before her father’s death.
She picked up the other photograph her mum had given her just before Nonna’s funeral. The one in colour, two sunburned hippies blazoning sun-bleached hair against a lapis blue sky and pink sand, eyes lost in one another. So much longing and love dazzling between them. Sadness gripped Olivia’s throat. Was it real or was she imagining it? Was it an Italian gene that had by-passed her? Why couldn’t she have that love? She and Will Parks had never looked at one another like that.
Lowering the image, she glanced up, her eyes seemingly fixed on wooden shutters encasing the bay window, but they stared vacantly, imagining the inscription on her headstone.
‘Sadly, she was never loved, nor could ever love.’
In her mind a sinkhole appeared, a huge void spreading fifty feet or more on a wild meadow splashed with blue crocuses and daisies. Sliding into it was Nonna, Nonno, her mum and dad, her gran, grandad, Will. Then her. She lurched violently forward then quickly grabbed a long twine, then clutching tufts of long grass and a thread of tangleweed, she scrambled on her knees to save herself.
On her knees on the bank, she twisted herself reaching out in the hope one of them would be close enough to pull her to safety. Instead she watched each slowly sink into the blackness, tumbling in different directions, not one of them reaching for her. It was a nightmare imitating life, reinforcing the abandonment she constantly felt: that hollow space she’d locked inside her that no one could or would want to fill. Even Will.
The image played repeatedly during the night and the following morning whilst she was on her run. As she was drinking cold water and black coffee in Starbucks afterwards, her phone pinged. A message from Will saying he would be back from football about seven. A sigh escaped her as she slid the screen back and stuffed the phone back in her pocket. At the tables surrounding her, young couples and family groups seemed to be looking on with pity.
‘Of course I have a life,’ she screeched under her breath, pulling out her phone again and willing it to ring and hitting Chiara’s number when it didn’t. It went straight to voicemail.
The problem was, the only people she could talk to about the photos just weren’t available. Like most Saturdays, there was no Will to hang out with until later, much later, and when he was still likely to be in his football coma. Her friend Chiara would be taxiing Sophia to some activity or other.
Olivia felt she would really value another opinion right now. But no other friends knew her as well as Chiara. It was times like these when she really wished she had someone else close, particularly family, but unless she counted a runaway hippy mother somewhere in northern Italy, she was on her own.
Their last tête-à-tête ended in tears after she’d asked for help with – and invited her mother to – her Granny Nora’s funeral. Not only did the inebriated Roz tell her to pull herself together, but she also refused to come on the grounds that she’d barely known her, and couldn’t even bring herself to send a spray of flowers. Sometimes she just wished her mum could be a proper mum and at least offer a friendly ear when she needed one. She swore the woman didn’t have a heart. Olivia’s mood was sinking.
She folded her arms, hugging them in to support herself. Maybe staying at Nonna’s villa in Tuscany without Will would give her some space, a proper chance to deal with her grief, and maybe, clearing out the villa would give her the opportunity to discover more about her nonna and her mum. It was their home, and the place where her mother grew up. An insight into a woman who could abandon a child and then thrust responsibility for both grandmothers’ funerals and property on that child could prove interesting.
Trying to muster up enthusiasm for the dreaded task of sorting through Nonna’s things, Olivia opened her phone and tapped on to the newly created schedule for ‘Trip to Italy’, on her Diary app. There was so much to fit into eleven days and if Will was adamant he couldn’t make it, she had double the workload.
Already listed was her meeting with Signor Ricci, the real-estate agent, at four o’clock on the Friday afternoon she arrived at the villa. Being the pragmatist she was, she added a scheduled stop at two-thirty at the co-op supermarket in the village on the way – just to gather supplies; although she was sure Gabriella would leave a few essentials.
She then blanked the first two days specifically for cleaning the three-storey villa, in preparation for a viewing booked in already on the Monday, possibly two. It would be hard work and it had crossed her mind to employ cleaners and house clearers even, but she figured it was better to assess what was important first.
Her thoughts were interrupted when a woman approached asking her if the chair beside her was taken.
‘No, take it,’ she said.
The woman lifted it across to the table close by and Olivia observed as the woman was joined by a younger woman carrying coffee. Probably mother and daughter, she thought with a sigh of envy. How nice to just call your mum and meet up for a coffee or shopping. Even have an adult conversation with her. Why was her mother so different, so distant and cold? Maybe when she cleared the villa she would uncover something about her. She figured there must be some remnants of her mum’s childhood within its walls.
Thinking she was sounding like a detective, hunting clues as to why her mother was so estranged, she chuckled to herself. Although she saw her two or three times a year, she was still curious about her and her elusiveness. It was possible there were personal journals she kept as a child, or diaries. Somewhere she wrote down her thoughts – schoolbooks, even.
In her teenage years, she had discovered quite a collection of her father’s schoolwork when she had helped her gran clear out the loft. In fact, growing up in his home in Bermondsey had given her some comfort at least. Her grandma Nora had everything neatly boxed and took great pleasure in talking about her son. Unlike Nonna Elena in Italy who seemed to close down when she asked questions and treated Olivia’s mum with contempt.
As a little girl, Olivia remembered crying on occasions when she visited her nonna’s Tuscan villa, because her mum could only stay a day or two. Each time she said she had to get back to work. It made sense as an adult, but as a child, Olivia resented it and now she was more curious as to why her mother was like she was and why they never spent much time together. She could only hope there would be something to give her more of an insight into the woman; maybe she could even find out where her mother lived now.
As they had always stayed at Nonna’s to see one another, Olivia was now eager to discover where her mother currently called home. Was she living in some hippy commune or moving from one to another? It was never discussed, although she was sure she had enquired on a few occasions but was told only that she lived north of Tuscany. Regardless, once the villa and farm were sold, she would still want to visit her mother and needed to know her address. Yes, this could be her raison d’être.
She opened another heading on her app, the one with her ‘To do’ and ‘Lists’. She added a new heading: ‘Mum’s history’. There were several she used constantly, the ‘House’, the ‘Work’, the ‘Italy’ the ‘favs’, the ‘wish’ list, all the daily functional stuff, then there was the ‘Wilting Will’ list she’d begun in the early hours this morning when she had woken up, the images from the photos stamped on her mind. The list of cons on this far outweighed the pros. The top one being no great love or passion.
Why was she still with him? she had asked herself. He didn’t exactly cut the mustard. The only two things on her list in his favour were his pretty face and barbecuing skills. Like those before him, any spark that she may have once imagined had undoubtedly failed to ignite. Love just didn’t seem to feature in her genetic make-up. And to add insult to injury, Will – knowing how necessary it was for her to go to Italy next week – was as ever too wrapped up in his all-consuming football and job to accompany and support her.
Should she blame herself for buying him the season ticket? Probably. The mortgage on his London flat was extortionate; but then, the choice was his, and he could at least be there when she needed him. He clearly didn’t give a damn and, if she was totally honest with herself, neither did she.
Life could be far more exciting as a forty-year-old singleton. She needed to widen her circle of friends perhaps. At least she would get out of the habit of sitting around weekends waiting for Will to turn up in his football-induced drunken stupor, only to watch him splayed across the sofa, snoring it off.
‘Best to speak to Chiara and get her opinion, then go with it,’ she muttered to herself. ‘Bloody well set myself free.’ In a determined frame of mind, she ordered another coffee and, seeing some people leave, curled her feet up on the comfy two-seater sofa, which was still warm. At least if she stayed here she would be among company rather than home alone.
She unlocked her phone and began a ‘New Olivia’ list. The possibilities were endless, she thought, entering ideas of places she wanted to travel and the goal of learning to salsa. She was sure she was doing the right thing. If only Chiara would ring back. It was always comforting when her friend approved; besides, she knew that if she didn’t act soon, she would talk herself out of it. She needed Will out of her life.
At seven-thirty, Chiara still hadn’t rung back, and after looking at the photos again and adding to her ‘Wilting Will’ list, Olivia was convinced the time to ring him was now, before doubts crept back again. Taking a deep breath, she punched her finger on Will’s avatar, straightening her back, ready to jump up when he answered. There would be no more wasted weekends or listening to him and his pathetic mates drivel over every second of a game she had no interest in.
How grateful she was to her mother for once, as it was Roz who had insisted she squeeze those few photos into her cabin-sized baggage. It felt like the wake-up call she needed. She just hoped she wouldn’t live to regret it. Her hand hovered over the call-end button.
Chapter 2 (#ulink_bbfa41f7-1030-5bec-bbcc-3afa600a603e)
After she closed the front door with a triumphantly smug sigh, Olivia’s vision immediately rested on the back of a large autumn-burned maple leaf that had settled on the apex of the stone-capped post. It was soaking in morning sunlight, its veins stretching prominently into the rich-orange glow of the flesh and burnishing in glory. Her lips curled up at the sight as it reflected her own turn of events and the inner radiance that occupied her. Will was now out of her life.
She pulled the black iron gate to, buttoned the top of her coat to block out the fresh October breeze from her chest, and marched rhythmically through the Bermondsey streets and towards the square that housed her business: Square One Osteopathic Clinic. After unlocking the Georgian front door, she collected the post and headed directly through reception towards the kitchen, enwrapped by the warm air from the newly fitted – and so much more efficient – heating system.
As she carried her coffee back through the hall she hit the switch on the retro-style radio. At once the music streamed directly to her feet.
‘Yes!’ She placed her coffee and banded post on the reception counter and allowed the music to take her. Her hips swinging as Michael Jackson was singing Man in the Mirror.
She heard the front door bounce from its latch and a familiar figure strode towards her.
‘Wow, look at you dancing first thing in the morning,’ Chiara chimed, as she watched Olivia twirl around the reception desk, clicking her fingers. ‘Cold?’
Olivia raised her arms, still clicking her fingers to the beat and waving them in the air whilst wriggling her hips. ‘No, just happy. Happy, happy, happy.’
‘Well I’ll have some of that. Come on, what is it?’
‘Happy that I made the biggest decision ever,’ she said, stretching a smile and amused at Chiara’s mouth suspended in torment. She scooped up the front of her walnut-coloured hair and declared, ‘I’ve dumped Will.’
‘No! Oh, God, I didn’t ring you back.’
Olivia bent her knees as she wriggled in front of Chiara. ‘It’s fine. I finally admitted to myself Will is a waste of space, that I’m not love material, I’m never going to fall in love, nor do I think I’m capable, so I told him and now I’m single.’
Her friend since their first day at school, Chiara stared at her horrified, her large brown eyes wide. ‘Will. You’ve dumped Will? Oh my God, Liv. I thought you two were sound, and wasn’t there talk of marriage, babies?’
Olivia gave a shudder. ‘Yes, I know but realistically, it would never have worked. Chiara, I don’t love him. We’ll never have what you and Liam have.’ She clapped her hands as she watched her friend’s eyes widen further.
‘But I don’t believe it; you’ve never done anything so impulsive. I can’t believe you finished with Will. Are you sure?’
Olivia clenched her teeth, gazing at her friend. ‘Oh, Chiara, I’ve gone mad haven’t I?’
‘No, not at all. I’m surprised, just totally surprised.’
‘Oh, I don’t know now. I’ve had a somewhat strange but liberating weekend, that’s all. And I didn’t want to disturb you and Liam. If you really want to know, it started on Friday night when I got out my passport and stuff to organize my next trip. I was going to phone Will for the hundredth time to try and get an answer about our flight to Italy, but I found some photos my mum gave me of Nonna and Nonno, and her and dad. God, it now seems so … what’s the word, fatalistic, something along those lines. I’m not sure what affected me exactly but their photo captivated me.’
Olivia bit her lip, looking serious. ‘Their eyes always seemed to lock together rather than at the person taking the picture or the camera, which is sweet and so suggestive of their own little world entwined in love. It made me think of the story you told me when you and Liam went to stay at Nonna’s farm in May, you know, when she told you they used to hide under the vines to make out. Seriously, it’s haunting.’
‘Oh, you sound as though you have given this lots of thought.’
‘You could say that. I did lots of mulling over at the weekend. Well, I’ve naturally been doing lots since Nonna’s death, but seeing those photos made me take a good look at myself, a bit of soul-searching if you like, and …’ Clicking her fingers and lifting her chin, Olivia burst into a loud song, ‘I’m “gonna make dat change.”’
She waited for Chiara’s response, but her friend didn’t speak. ‘Do you think I’ve lost it? I’ve been dreaming, no I’ve been deluding myself I was in love with Will. But it’s not love. There was never any magic. And, if I’m honest, I don’t think he really loved me.’
Chiara stared, hands on hips. ‘Whoa! Sounds deep and … so sudden. Liv, you haven’t lost it. But, what have you done? Poor Will, I expect he’s hurt? And, well …’
Olivia scrunched her face and shook her head as she impulsively continued to dance. Chiara was probably as confused as Will had been. This change of heart had come out of the blue. She had never acted so impulsively before and she knew why Chiara found it difficult to comprehend.
‘His pride maybe hurt, but he didn’t seem too bothered when I told him. Although he may have been half asleep when I rang. I think he was tanked up with alcohol. He’ll get over it. I’m being true to myself for once in my life, and what’s more I’m going to Italy on my own.’
‘Look, I’m with your decision – I’m just not sure where my friend, the overly cautious Olivia is and, well, the other factor. I don’t know, perhaps grief has the answer. You must be upset, stressed.’
Raising her nose in the air, Olivia tittered. ‘Maybe, but it’s actually quite refreshing as well as liberating. But really, do I need need a man in tow?’ Olivia picked up her coffee and boogied into her office, proud of her commitment to herself.
Darling Chiara, her pseudo-sister, her rock as always. Since school from four years old, their relationship was solid since they’d both discovered they had Italian families. Olivia heard their younger voices chattering inside her head. Chiara had started the friendship. ‘My daddy is in a country called Italy. He’s staying with his mummy and daddy because he’s there for work. He is going for …’ Chiara counted with four fingers ‘… four days. He comes home on a aeroplane on the Friday.’
‘So is my daddy. He lives in the Italy but I don’t think he wants to come home … ever or ever. Mummy had to go to find him and then …’
‘No you can’t have both your daddy and mummy in Italy – you’ll be all on your own.’
‘Well I do,’ four-year-old Olivia told her matter-of-factly.
‘So, I’ll have to look after you then.’ Chiara was like a lioness to her cub, and so generously had made time for her ever since those early days. They had become like sisters.
As she strolled into her office, her mind leapt back to the present, and she squinted as the sun glistened brightly on her desk. She still felt proud of her practice, five years on.
Chiara raced behind her, taking off her jacket and placing it on the coat stand by the door before following her. ‘Just be careful. Surely with everything you’ve been through with your nonna’s death, the funeral, and everything to sort out, you aren’t feeling yourself? Think about it, Liv, it’s been a terrible few weeks. And, I’m sure Will probably thinks you need some space after all the stress. I think you’ll miss him, and what’s more …’ Chiara licked her lips ‘… remember, you’re now forty, and the biological clock is ticking. You’ll have to meet someone and …’
Olivia shut her eyelids for several seconds. Those words. Chiara knew she detested them. ‘That can’t influence it. I’ve thought it through. I’ve already come to terms with the fact that I’ll never be a mother. It’s not the be-all and end-all. Clearly, I’m like my mum: I don’t think I have maternal bone in my body. And, like her, I could find myself wanting to abandon my child.’
It was shameful to think it had been another reason for staying with Will for the last three years, especially when there were so many doubts in her mind about motherhood. If she couldn’t have that someone special to help her bring up children, what would be the point? It was better to make a clean break, make different life choices.
And Will would have the freedom to find a richer relationship for himself. Besides, there could be a reason he spent weekends and evenings at work and football. Chiara may fight her over it, but that much was true. He didn’t want to be with her.
‘Don’t be ridiculous. You’re making excuses. It was probably circumstance rather than something from your mum’s genes. You love my Sophia and I’m sure you’ll love this one,’ Chiara said rubbing her rounded tummy with her hand. ‘Just because she left you in England with your dad’s parents doesn’t mean you would do the same. That’s absurd. She was young and must have had her reasons. Liv, surely you don’t want to be on your own for the rest of your life. Perhaps the romance just got a bit lost, like it did with me and Liam for a few years. Perhaps a break to Italy is what you both need right now to rekindle that romance.’
Olivia smiled affectionately at her friend’s persistence and at the memory of Chiara and Liam’s trip to her nonna’s farm in the spring whilst she looked after eight-year-old Sophia, their daughter. The excitement they both exuded on their return had been palpable. It had definitely reignited the romance in their relationship. In fact, it had prompted both a wedding date and plans for another baby. The latter had emerged sooner, but the order was of little consequence to them – the difference being that Chiara was deeply in love with Liam, as he was with her. Italy had certainly worked its magic for them.
Olivia took out her phone from her handbag, punched in her PIN, and tapped something on her ‘Wedding’ list for her future chief bridesmaid speech at Chiara and Liam’s wedding. ‘Chiara, it’s done. Will and I are finished. I may regret it but I don’t want to think in that way. He did ask to see me yesterday but I refused. I don’t want him to persuade me. I know you care, but I’ve dug deep and taken a big leap of faith in myself.’
Olivia placed her coffee mug on a coaster on her desk. It had a picture of a skier in a bikini, and underneath it read, “At your age, people expect you to be mature, wise, and sensible – Disillusion them.” She smirked as she lifted her head and looked at the clock. ‘Who knows, maybe I’ll have some fun.’
She looked at the clock. ‘I need to get ready for Mrs Getts.’ Olivia opened her cupboard and took out a hanger containing a clean uniform: a pair of white trousers and a white tunic with navy piping. She headed for the cloakroom door inside the spacious office, but – like a dog with a bone – Chiara needed to scrape out the marrow, and as Olivia washed her hands in the modern square washbasin, her friend persisted.
‘Please, Liv. Take some time to think. You deserve to be happy, of course you do, but give Will a chance to put things right. You’d be stupid to let him go and him, you. I do feel sure you can make it work. I’m the same age and having a child.’
With wet hands, Olivia grabbed a paper towel and peered around the door. Chiara was finding all this hard to accept. ‘Don’t feel responsible. A decision is made and I will manage. It’s not going to work with Will – ever. Accept it. What is the point of having a child anyway if our relationship isn’t sound now? He’ll take a few weeks off football and go back to it; I know he will. That’s what he did before.’
Chiara stood gazing at her with her cheeks puffing out. ‘Really? I still can’t believe it. In just a few days, you seem so resolved.’
Gazing at her reflection in the mirror, Olivia pinched her cheeks. She didn’t look or feel forty – a few lines, but barely any signs of grey in her hair. She kept herself fit by running every day and according to Will, she was still attractive. She smoothed her chin, running her hands up to her ears. Doubt nibbled. Was she capable of looking after herself? Was she really prepared? Was Chiara right? Should she just settle for Will and try for a family?
‘I am resolved, really. Trust me. I was probably only in love with the idea of being in love.’
‘Liv, one photo and you’re being dramatic. You barely knew your Italian grandparents compared to Nora and Ronnie, here. I can’t understand how they are influencing you so much. And Will … I just hope you don’t live to regret it. Jesus, you’re no spring chicken.’
Turning to face her friend, Olivia took a deep breath before the sting hurt. ‘Thanks for that, dearest friend. The least you can do is respect my wishes.’ She marched over to a fitted wall cupboard.
Chiara skipped close behind and stepped in front of her. ‘I’m sorry. That came out wrong. I love you, I like to tell you straight, and I care.’ Chiara then opened her arms, leaning forward to give her business partner and close friend a hug. ‘Oh God, I hope you haven’t gone mad, Liv? I’m sorry.’
Liv squeezed Chiara’s shoulders. ‘I’m only letting you off because you’re hormonal. I’ve woken up, that’s all. Will was forever making excuses and pulling delay tactics. It needed addressing and now I need to move on. I’m making a fresh start and going to Italy without him. It will do me good, I’m sure. Besides, clearing out Nonna’s house could be therapeutic. It might take me longer on my own but I have to do it – the agent emailed this morning. He has people waiting to see it.’
‘Oh, Liv. I wish I could be more use but with two of us away, the business doesn’t work. I suppose I sort of understand. If your heart isn’t in it. And poor you having all that crap to deal with; you haven’t even been over there long enough to be fluent in the everyday language, let alone the legal jargon.’
‘Stop worrying about me. You have your own expanding family to think of now, soon-to-be Mrs Watts.’ Olivia gently pressed her hand on her friend’s baby bump before picking up and pulling her trousers off their hanger. ‘Mrs Chiara Watts, sexy wife to Liam, marvellous mother to Sophia and bump, and unarguably the most amazing domesticated goddess that ever lived.’
‘Of course. And still pseudo-sis to the amazing Olivia Montague. Just be sure to call me if you need help in Italy.’
‘I will, silly.’
‘And I want to know everything. The lawyer will know; grill him. It still strikes me as odd that your mother doesn’t take responsibility for the estate or want her inheritance. I mean, at least you lived with Nora and Ronnie – you knew much more about their affairs.’
‘Yes, well we both know my mum has always been odd. That will never change.’
‘Yes, but then dragging you away from the funeral like that, and me. She’s totally gaga.’
‘Well, like we said before, maybe she has remarried and doesn’t want her new husband to know about me. I don’t know. Maybe she is ashamed to let any of her friends or Nonna’s friends know she has a daughter. Who knows? She flits around so much I don’t suppose she had anyone long-term in her life. None of what she does makes sense to me. Never has.’
Chapter 3 (#ulink_b8e07b54-cb92-506c-8c24-2b2b4bdc3ff3)
The next few days flew by and Olivia was beginning to feel and act like she was more in control, like a bird inching out of the nest. She had taken the first step and, somehow, she would manage clearing Nonna’s possessions and property, even drive without relying on Will or Chiara’s input.
Emptying and tidying her desk late Thursday afternoon, before her flight early Friday morning, she realized fate or instinct had intervened – just like it had when setting up the business with Chiara five years ago. Back then she’d received the inheritance from her London grandparents who had virtually raised her.
Olivia had insisted they go equal partners in the business when Chiara wasn’t able to equal the funding she had put in. But to her, the guiding principle was she wished to share the good fortune with her friend, after all Chiara had shared with her. She’d told her that sharing the skills and burden of a new business was equally important. Eventually Chiara was convinced, and so their Osteopathic Clinic was born. It was a fifty-fifty commitment.
Like that obligation, there was no doubt sometimes she would get it wrong and find herself struggling, particularly – she imagined – when driving in Italy. Chiara had aired concerns again during the week, Olivia recalled.
‘Naturally, I worry you’ve been stressed and you’re still grieving. I wouldn’t want you to go into one of your panics,’ Chiara had said.
‘It’s very kind of you, but honestly, I’ll have a satnav in the car and I need to work at it,’ she’d told her. ‘I’ll take it slowly.’
She loved Chiara, but wondered if she was becoming overprotective, or whether it had become such a habit she couldn’t shake it. Nonetheless, she was beginning to feel like a child. Unless, of course, something in her had changed.
‘I’m sure clearing Nonna’s things will help. It’ll be therapeutic, certainly less emotionally draining than Gran and Grandad’s. At least I wasn’t so attached to Nonna.’ Olivia had hugged her friend. ‘OK. Appointments reshuffled where necessary. I should be a couple of weeks max.’
Chiara had stepped back and leaned against Olivia’s desk. ‘We’ll miss you. Skype or DM me if anything changes,’ she’d said folding her arms, ‘and don’t do anything outrageous. My heart and hormones won’t take it.’
‘I’ll try not to. Let me grow up, sis.’
***
Leaving the office a little early allowed her to pop in to the Bureau de Change, and Boots the chemist on the way, for euros and last-minute toiletries. She was arranging small piles of clothes on her freshly laundered bed when she heard Will’s key in the front door and his familiar kick of the door.
‘Will?’
‘Yup.’
‘I’m upstairs packing.’
‘Is it OK to come up?’
‘Don’t be facetious; of course it is.’ She picked up her phone with her ‘packing’ list and ticked off two items. ‘Charger and spare,’ she mouthed, heading for the bedside table. ‘Oh, best put that in in the morning,’ she muttered, leaving a charger beside her bed.
She then opened the drawer, picking up her passport and two small purses. Taking them around to the bottom of the bed, she opened an envelope and, removing half the notes, stashed them into one purse, placing it into a pocket in the side of the suitcase, then stashed the other wad of notes into the other small purse and inserted it into a side pocket of her handbag and zipped it up.
Turning and straightening up, she saw that Will – out of breath – was at the door, dressed in his grey suit. He looked so handsome in a suit. She sighed. ‘You’ve not been home yet?’
‘No. Thought I would drop this in before you leave. Wouldn’t want you obsessing about your key and security whilst you’re away.’
‘Thanks. That’s very thoughtful of you,’ she said, reaching for the front door key in his hand, and curling back her tongue to keep the sarcasm contained. ‘I’ve got packing to do but would you like a coffee? Beer?’
Sucking in his breath as he observed the various piles on her bed, he said, ‘No, I’ll let you get on. I know you have a lot to do.’ He signalled with his head and transferred his weight from one foot to the other before he said, ‘Just one thing. I would like you to give me another chance. I’m sorry I let you down when you needed me. I would really like to join you in Italy and offer my support.’
Glaring at his apologetic face for several seconds, her resolve briefly weakened. He did seem to care. But then she remembered all the discussions and excuses that she’d heard over the last few weeks and how those photos had captivated her. Now, it seemed, he felt the need to show his hand and it wasn’t the hand she wanted.
‘It’s too late. I’m not going to change my mind,’ she said, swiping her phone and selecting a list. Then concentrating with her tongue licking the side of her mouth, she said, ‘Ah, here we are: “door key”.’ She tapped the screen to strike through the item. Having the phone to hand was a comforting distraction but she had to be firm. There was no use giving him any snippet of hope. ‘I made it perfectly clear, Will,’ she said glancing back at him, and watching his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. ‘It’s for the best.’
‘How do you know it’s for the best? You’re still upset about your nonna and I appreciate it isn’t easy for you, but you know I love you and I want to be with you, marry you. You’ve made a split-second decision that will affect us for the rest of our lives. All those plans … Now that Chiara is having a baby, I thought you might change your mind too. I wasn’t going to mention it yet, what with your nonna just passed away.’
Fighting back a sad but not sorry tear, Olivia slid the phone into her jeans pocket. ‘Will, that just proves to me that you really don’t know me. What makes you think you always know what’s best for me? What do you know about what I need? Why would I want to start a family when I’m not even in a relationship with a man who loves and supports me, who makes the effort to see me? I’m not going back on my decision, so if you don’t mind, I will get on with my packing. I still have lots to do.’
She noticed the near-empty pack of contraceptive pills stacked with the new one and threw them in the bin. ‘I won’t even need these. Thank you for returning the key. I’ll see you out.’
***
On the train as she made her way to the airport, Olivia couldn’t stop thinking about Will. He did seem genuinely hurt, and whilst the break-up was sad, there was no point in continuing to harbour guilt. She had done the right thing and therefore she should now embark on a journey that would certainly force her to think for herself. Or, at least try.
Dealing with her grandmother’s death ten years ago in England was going to be quite different to Italy. She wanted to do the best for her nonna but she hadn’t a clue about the legalities and would be relying on the lawyer her nonna had appointed. Her Italian was fairly good but she dreaded having to deal with legal documents.
As she anticipated the journey ahead, her nerves felt jagged. Someone had always travelled with her, sharing the responsibility of it all. Nearing her stop, she bit her lip, opened her handbag once more and flicked through it. Passport, phone, charger in bag and one in case, flight check-in on phone, a flight check-in printout, car hire confirmation details on phone, car hire printout, insurances on phone and in print, and two purses.
At the airport, after checking in her large case, she raced across the hall to security. The train journey had been delayed twenty minutes due to an ‘incident’, which had been announced on the train line from Bermondsey to Canning Town, and she was cursing as she rifled through her hand luggage to take out her Kindle, laptop, and phone, which all had to go separately into the security box.
‘Oh damn,’ she cursed again, as her Chanel sunglasses dropped to the floor. She bent down in a harassed stupor. Twisting around to grab them, she saw a large olive-skinned hand retrieve them and she stood back up.
‘Thank you,’ she said, grasping them and peering up, catching a sparkling glint from dark eyes behind heavy-rimmed specs. She stared for a few seconds. Too long, then in a fluster as the queue behind her seemed to be bustling, she thrust the glasses, along with her handbag, into another box and pushed it forward on to the small rollers in the security machine.
‘Prego,’ he muttered in Italian and proceeded to concentrate on his own box.
Olivia continued in a fluster through security, gathering her belongings on the other side and moving to an out-of-the-way area to reorganize herself before checking the screen and heading for the right gate. It was so chaotic and for some reason, being on her own, she felt so much more self-conscious. Maybe it was the handsome Italian who was making her more so.
Relieved to be on the plane, snuggled away in a seat next to the window, she blew out a sigh, placed her handbag by her feet, lifted out her Kindle, and switched it on. She was just starting to read the prologue of the book she had deliberately downloaded for her trip to Italy when a small hand waving in front of her face appeared.
‘Hello, Lady,’ the small child said peering over the chairs in front.
Olivia looked up. ‘Hello.’
‘Freddie, sit down. So sorry,’ said his harassed mother who was stashing bags into the overhead locker and carrying a baby on her back. ‘I’ll buckle him down as soon as I’ve put these away.’
‘No worries. He’s excited I imagine.’
‘Very.’
Olivia smiled and began the page again struggling to ignore the child as he began telling her about his baby sister. His large blue eyes soon had her hooked as he told her about his sister crying because she hadn’t had her dinner and his mummy crying because it was the wrong milk.
‘Oh dear, poor Mummy – she’s having a tough morning,’ Olivia told him, feeling helpless as his mother closed her eyes probably wishing the ground would swallow her up.
‘Can I help?’ she asked watching her wriggle the baby carrier off.
‘Here. Allow me,’ a deep Italian voice intervened. The man reached his tanned arms up to shut an overhead locker and then he reached for the baby carrier on the woman’s back. He held the weight of the baby in the carrier so that the woman could slip out her arms with ease.
‘Thank you. You’re very kind,’ she told him. Then the woman steered her eyes to Olivia. ‘You have a gem of a husband here.’
‘Oh, he’s not with me.’
‘Oh.’ The woman sniggered, covering her mouth. ‘Sorry, well, enjoy your journey. Hope we don’t disrupt it too much,’ she said squeezing in to the seat in the row in front, next to the toddler, and trying to get herself organized with the infant on her lap.
Olivia buried her head back into her Kindle, feeling slightly exhausted herself after watching the woman try to manage. It couldn’t be easy trying to cope with more than one child, she imagined. She wondered why the woman was travelling alone. Was her husband too busy with work or football to accompany her with the children?
Feeling satisfied her decision was sound at least, her mind centred on the long legs and rather pert bottom nearing her face. Sliding up to the seat beside her, was the man who had helped the woman, and retrieved her glasses, the mop of near-black hair and his thick-rimmed glasses seemed increasingly sexy as well as familiar, she thought, as she looked up and smiled.
‘Buongiorno, are you staying in Florence?’ he asked.
Olivia’s eyes once again met the Italian’s, which lit up as he smiled. She guessed his age to be less than her own.
‘Actually no. I’m heading a little way south, to a village up in the hills.’
He held out a hand. ‘Alberto Luciano.’
‘Olivia. Call me Liv.’ She took his hand and shook it. At the touch, notes of sophisticated aftershave raced up her nostrils, dispersing inside her and stirring rumblings of desire she barely recognized.
‘Ah, beautiful,’ he said placing his folded newspaper on his knees. Careful not to crease the quality fabric of his shirt, he slid the seat-belt locks together.
She gripped her Kindle, unable to control jittering, nervous hands.
‘And Olivia is also a beautiful Italian name. You should not shorten it. Do you live in the village?’
She cleared her throat. ‘No. My nonna – well, she did.’
‘Ah, that’s doesn’t sound good. So, you had family there?’
‘Yes, Nonna died. My mamma is still in Italy though.’
His brows furrowed, sincerely. ‘I’m very sorry. But it’s good that you are still part of the living masterpiece that is Chianti. I live in Florence and have got to know much of Tuscany: its villages, towns, the scenic vineyards. My mamma is also Tuscan, from north of Siena.’
‘How lovely,’ she said, meeting those luring eyes again and then clutching her hands suddenly either side of the seat as the aircraft lifted. ‘Well …’
‘You’ll be OK. We are up,’ he assured her.
‘It’s still unnerving, the take-off and landing,’ she told him, fanning her face. ‘Yes, Nonna was always urging me to go and see the region. She told me it was lovely. I just enjoyed seeing her and Mamma – Nonno too when he was alive at her villa. Their farm is so warm and welcoming, and the landscape is certainly spectacular.’
More heat rose to her head as she gazed at his succulent moist lips, which revealed a sensitive smile. She guessed although pretty confident on the outside he was levering outside his comfort zone within. She went on. ‘Oh, I believe I went to see the Duomo in Florence when I was younger with my nonna and my friend Chiara. The thing is, I only ever got to visit a few days at a time usually. I know I’ve been to the village on several occasions, and I remember the leaning tower in Pisa. We flew in to Pisa last time we came so, Wi … we walked around the town and around the cathedral, went up the tower. A rather gruelling day.’
‘Is we the husband?’ His gaze rested on her hands.
‘No, he was a boyfriend.’
‘Was. I’m sorry. You have now broken up?’
‘Yes.’
‘So, do you come to Italy to restock?’
Olivia chuckled and realizing the plane was now moving took a deep breath. ‘What – the boyfriend or the mind?’
Alberto’s lips relaxed too. ‘Yes, well either, I suppose.’
‘I’ve Nonna’s business to attend to mainly. What about you? What’s the reason for your journey today?’ she asked, not wishing to discuss too much of her private business with a total stranger.
‘I’m working with a university in London. We are teaching one another really. I’m exchanging my knowledge with theirs. They are helping me refine development of an electric autonomous car my company have designed.’
‘What is that, exactly?’
‘Have you heard of driverless cars?’
‘They’ve been in the news lately. The industry still having problems with them; well, totally controlling every potential hazardous scenario, I gather. Rather like the robots and artificial intelligence.’
‘That’s it. And the wireless charging is another issue.’
‘Totally out of my realm,’ Olivia said feeling the subject could quite easily fly over her head with no power required whatsoever. She did find his geekiness attractive though. ‘It sounds amazing and very interesting. I’d love a car to drive me. It would be nice to be chauffeured everywhere, especially in Italy. I’ve never driven there before and I’m not looking forward to it.’
‘Let me. I can give you a tour of Tuscany.’ He held his palms open and nodded as if he had resolved her problem. ‘I have time tomorrow. I’ll take you.’
She thought of her tight schedule. ‘I couldn’t possibly. I’ve so much to do before Monday. Maybe next week some time, but impossible tomorrow I’m afraid.’
‘A few hours – that’s all. I’m sure you can spare a few hours.’
Afraid he could read her as simply as she could read a diamond catalogue, she leaned on the chair arm by the window and bit her lip. She only had the next two days to clean, as tempting as it was. And, she reminded herself, it was not her intention to start any romance as stunning as he was, and cute. ‘I would love to but I have so much to do in the short time I’m here. Thank you, anyway.’
‘You know balance is key to a healthy life, right?’
‘Yes, but I’m reluctant to reward myself until I’ve actually done some work, which, as yet, I haven’t.’
She watched his playful eyes as he pondered momentarily. He seemed so caring and grounded, as though he genuinely paid attention to keep the balance in his life. And her mind catapulted back to minutes before – the way he had helped the lady in front with her children. He was so at ease and not at all intimidated by a baby. Unless of course he had his own.
She was just about to open her mouth when he said, ‘What about tomorrow afternoon then, after you do some work? You could begin an hour or two earlier. I’ll get you back home for an early night too. Why don’t you take my card?’ He whipped a card from the top pocket of his shirt and held it up. ‘When you finish your morning’s work, ring me.’ Then as if he had looked up her character traits on some hidden profile of hers on Google, added, ‘Or before, if you like to be organized.’ That was so spooky.
Hesitating before accepting the card, she licked her bottom lip. ‘Really, I’ve just …’
‘I’m single, I promise, if that’s what you’re worried about,’ he said as though reading her concerns. ‘I would very much like to see again. Please take it. I promise you, I’m never this forceful, but sometimes, you have to push yourself that bit harder for what you want. At least allow yourself the choice. I’ve learned never to close an open door until you’ve at least seen what’s behind it.’
Rubbing the smooth card, Olivia’s other hand flew to her mouth as she laughed, nervously. He was clearly on her page – as well as being physically irresistible.
‘You sound very wise; maybe I should heed your advice.’
She closed her Kindle realizing there was more entertainment to come from the man beside her, and even if she tried to read, nothing would go in. How could she absorb anything with his body at such close proximity? Her body and head were swirling with lust.
This was truly a bizarre situation to be in, and not one she could ever have imagined. This wasn’t on her agenda. Hadn’t she just convinced herself she didn’t need a man? Wasn’t that what she’d spent the whole of Friday night and weekend concluding? A loud ping sounded over the Tannoy and the lights signalled so that seat belts could be unsecured.
‘Perfect, so let me buy you a drink when the stewardesses begin serving.’
‘Thank you. Yes, but something non-alcoholic – I’m driving the other end.’
‘You choose,’ he said with a dimpled smile.
She peered at him as he craned his neck to gauge the steward’s movements. She surreptitiously eyed him, admiring nearly black curls, strong dark brows and lashes, straight nose, well-proportioned lips that she found herself yearning to kiss. She could feel a heat radiating from her chest, as though her blood had only just found its way into the main artery of her heart. Even her loins ached for his touch and she yearned to touch him. She had never had to restrain herself like this before.
He then suddenly glanced sideways at her and she jumped, guessing he’d caught her looking.
‘Oh, er, a fruit juice,’ she said swiftly.
His blush blazed as bright as hers. ‘I might have the same,’ he said.
Trying to steady her rapid breathing, she moved her gaze to the window. Was he having to control his lust as much as she? He seemed fidgety. Had Nonna sent some spiritual message from her photographs? Maybe Nonna was here in the clouds and knew this meeting was going to take place. Could it be Nonna’s spirit was the force urging her to act; to finish with Will, to be here on this flight, meeting this Italian man?
Ridiculous, she told herself. Alberto was just playing with her. Men lusted after anything in a skirt, didn’t they? And Will, he had never evoked such momentous eruptions in her. It set her wondering what it would be like if everyone in the cabin disappeared right now. What would she be capable of with these wild and lurid urges? She tried to switch her mind back to the long list of things she had to do. Would a few hours be possible?
She was still gazing into the ether when the child in the row in front of her popped up from his seat again. He showed them a fire engine and a Fireman Sam figurine, and then he and Alberto began chatting. They spent the following hour hearing all about Fireman Sam and all his vehicles, playing peek-a-boo and singing nursery rhymes to the three-year-old whilst the mother fed the baby and got some much needed rest.
Her rest was short-lived, however, as little Freddie reported his need for the toilet, and his mother immediately jumped back to attention with the baby in her arms.
‘Would you like us to help? We could hold the baby whilst you take him,’ Olivia said, then added as a reassurance: ‘You don’t have to worry, we aren’t likely to run away anywhere.’
Agreeing with a nod, the woman popped a soother into her daughter’s mouth. ‘Zero chance I’d say. Thank you. That’s very kind.’ She handed the child to Alberto to pass along.
‘She is pretty,’ Alberto said as he passed the infant to Olivia, who cradled her arms in readiness. Alberto, she noted, was very gentle with the bundle.
‘She is – very. I’m guessing three or four months. I don’t know that much about children, not having any.’
‘I have several younger sisters and a brother, plus nieces and nephews, but I’m useless at knowing their ages. I’m looking forward to having my own,’ Alberto said clearing his throat. ‘Hopefully, one day.’
Sitting back in her chair, Olivia tucked her hair behind one ear, listening to her heart thud. This was a man whose attitude differed from hers.
Chapter 4 (#ulink_d171eefe-8bcf-58cb-9d00-bc594943a368)
Olivia jumped as the wheels of the plane hit the tarmac.
‘Oof!’ The sound escaped her lips as she bounced.
‘Safely down,’ Alberto assured her. ‘Life will go on and you will live to have lots of beautiful babies I’m sure,’ he whispered, arousing her again.
‘I’m not particularly maternal,’ she admitted, thinking it was only fair he should know. He would probably think twice and swiftly lose interest. Perhaps she wouldn’t go so far as telling him that – like her mother – she would just abandon them and screw them up.
‘Watching you with that baby and little Freddie, you have a natural maternal instinct. You would know if you didn’t want babies, believe me. I was with a girl for three years before she told me, but when I thought about it afterwards, all the signs were clear, if I had read them. Her reaction to this scenario today would have been to immediately move seats. She couldn’t be near a child. Hated any attention I gave my nieces and nephews. She was selfish. Some people just don’t want them and a few are perhaps too materialistic to want to share their wealth and time. She was the latter. You strike me as someone who would be a loving mother.’
Financially, Olivia was exceptionally lucky having inherited her grandparents’ home, and running a thriving business. Having a child was not going to ruin her, but she wasn’t convinced about being a committed mother. Doubts still lurked in her mind and until she had a child, she would never know. She would never be able to test her reaction to having her own child and that was such a huge and possibly damaging leap of faith to take, one that convinced her she would need a relationship with every ounce of support.
However, Alberto’s suggestive tones and readiness to make her even consider a child was hugely provocative, a massive turn-on. If anyone was going to persuade her to get pregnant, it would be him – but still, such a risk. And anyway what had happened to that iron determination to embrace being single and manage without a man? Her nerve was already weakening.
Could this be what love was all about? Meeting someone who turned your life upside down in just a few hours? Could she be struck by someone so quickly and totally out of the blue? Would it be madness to ignore such a magnetic force and live life regretting she didn’t at least find out?
As the plane parked, passengers stood and gathered their belongings, Alberto included, and as he lifted his arms to collect his rucksack from the overhead locker, she perused the lithe, slim trunk of his body, and wondered if she would regret not taking up his offer.
He lowered his gaze, catching her again and triggering a further heat rush from her chest to her brow. Her skin pinked and licking her lips she said, ‘Well it’s been lovely meeting you. Have a good trip.’
He bowed his head slightly and although appearing disappointed, forced a smile. ‘Thank you. You too, but I hope you make use of the number on my card. I think destiny has arranged our meeting today.’
She clenched her fists, trying to reconcile her head with her heart. He was right: it was destiny, and obviously it was time she threw caution to the wind and had a bit of fun, wherever it took her. Before she could speak and agree, her conscience intervened again. She gritted her teeth. But what about remaining unattached and learning how to be totally self-reliant and independent? Yes, and miss the one opportunity to be with someone you really feel at one with.
‘You may be right,’ she told him, resisting a commitment.
***
In extremely high spirits, thinking of the gorgeous Alberto, Olivia’s self-esteem had swelled to top level in just a few hours, even aiding her with her rusty driving skills. Apart from negotiating the first roundabout, she almost forgot was on foreign roads. She followed the satnav instructions with a new-found confidence, catching glimpses of the undulating hills and vined landscape as she drove along the Tuscan motorway and to the village for supplies first.
Soon back on the winding roads and climbing round tight bends, it was only when she reached the grounds of Villa Elena that it dawned. It was possible that she was in love, or lust at least. She had felt Alberto’s presence beside her for the whole car journey and she felt elated. Olivia Montague may have found the man of her dreams.
Following the driveway, she entered the gravel parking area in front of the villa, spotting the familiar figure of Nico, the farm manager, speaking to one of the groundsmen. The groundsman held a Strimmer in one hand and a set of earphones with the other. Nico waved and headed towards her car.
‘Ciao. Welcome again, Olivia. You have bags?’
‘Thank you, yes in the boot.’ She stepped out of the car and pressed the fob to open the boot, then reached across to collect her hand luggage from the passenger seat. Peering up at the villa, she sighed at its towering strength.
It was a farmhouse really, but for some reason earned the title of villa. Three storeys high, built of local stone, and nestling so fittingly within its own hamlet of medieval cottages and farm buildings – now renovated for agritourism – among the sprawling vineyards and olive groves. It was a sight to behold and one she had barely appreciated in her youth. She loved the farm as a child, loved being able to run as wild as any beast, and enjoyed her time helping out.
Now it appeared so organized and formal compared to the ruggedness she remembered as a child. Still stunning but in a different way. Nonna had secured grants to renovate and elevate the accommodation, which now drew in the tourists, the complex reorganized and kept to much higher standards.
It was only the separate house – the villa, her grandparents’ home – which for some reason hadn’t yet been renovated. It had been maintained but suffered neglect compared to the complex and, yet, had so much potential if funds allowed.
After kissing him on both cheeks, she smiled at Nico who was standing in front of the vines. ‘Lovely to see you again, Nico. Have you harvested the vines?’
‘You look – you see the fruit?’
Olivia gazed more closely at the vines between the buildings, unable to make out the details. ‘I’ll take a look.’
‘Yes, we harvest two days ago.’ Nico shook his head. ‘Come. Gabriella make you something to eat first.’
As they entered the main courtyard, Gabriella, with combed-back grey hair and wearing a navy trouser suit, walked towards them, the ruddiness in her face immediately warming. ‘Olivia, so happy to see you. How was your journey?’
‘Good thank you and, as you ask, quite different to the usual actually. I seem to have made a new acquaintance. A very charming Italian man who is keen to show me around Tuscany.’
Gabriella’s kind eyes smiled and she reached out to hug her. ‘How very romantic. You go with him?’
‘I think I might call him.’ Blinking at her instinctive response, Olivia kissed Gabriella’s cheeks and wrapped her arms around her. ‘You look well. How is business?’
‘Is quieter now of course but we have a small party of artists. How are you?’ Gabriella ushered her towards the table overlooking vines drenched in afternoon sun.
‘Very well. I should be asking you. I expect you miss Nonna greatly?’
Unwrapping a platter of assorted bruschetta, Gabriella’s lips tightened. ‘Very much I miss Elena. The farm is not the same. She was a very good friend to me.’ She bit her lip, then wiped an eye. ‘Your nonna’s wish would be for you to continue for her at the farm.’
Olivia took an olive-paste bruschetta and bit into it, grateful for the tiny reprieve as the rich flavour of Italy burst on to her tongue. She swallowed the first mouthful. ‘My life is in England, Gabriella. Unfortunately, I know nothing about Nonna’s business. How could I possibly get into such a huge business with no experience? My mamma would know far more than me.’
‘Like your nonna, you learn, and me and Nico show you. You are a clever girl. If we have new owner, we don’t know if we like them or trust them.’ Her head rocked from side to side. ‘Nico and I are very worried.’
Olivia’s chest rose as she felt the burden of guilt inside her. This was why her mother, Roz, should have been given the responsibility. It was the natural order of things. Nonna was wrong to leave it all to her. Her mother grew up here and understood the land and culture, and all that was involved in farming, maybe even the business. Although, she suspected, with all the changes, it was now as alien to Roz as it was to her.
Finishing another mouthful, Olivia said, ‘Please don’t worry. You know I would select the new owner carefully and try to put in a clause or covenant that you and Nico are to remain. I can’t make guarantees. I really can’t tell what buyers are searching for. Not until the market is tested, but you and Nico will be my first consideration, I can assure you.’
Gabriella pushed the plate of antipasto bruschetta in front of her. ‘I know you will do all you can. It’s just that I can’t imagine living and working anywhere else, not after almost forty years. Why don’t you spend some time here in Italy? We will do everything to help you. There are …’ Again Gabriella paused, sliding her fingers along her collar. ‘We will make it big family farm. Your nonna has meant for that.’ She slid down her hand down and rested it on her heart.
‘Thank you. You’ve been so loyal to Nonna. Of course she would want you here. In fact, there may be something in the legal pack. I don’t know until I go to see the lawyer. Mum said I should be able to meet up with him next week. Meanwhile, the property agent …’ she checked her watch ‘… who should be here soon actually, has a couple of people waiting to see it. Naturally, we need someone who will put their heart and soul into it, and, of course, have money to spend on the villa to renovate it and make it more habitable. I don’t know why Nonna didn’t spend more on her own comforts – maybe she didn’t have the money.’
Gabriella glared at her, alarmed, then poured fresh coffee from the percolator. ‘Elena, your nonna, wanted it that way. She was comforted by familiar things: her family and her memories of Angelo. He was her life, what with …’ She paused momentarily in silent thought. ‘You know your nonna would have loved you to have lived with her. She loved you so much and … I … although I don’t agree with her method, she had her reasons for making you her benefactor.’
Sensing Gabriella’s unease and agitation Olivia only hoped it was possible to help her and Nico. She understood, but she wasn’t totally convinced she had the power to enforce the rules, though she would certainly try.
‘I will do all I can. I promise.’
Olivia’s phone rang and she reached into her handbag.
‘Signor Ricci, yes. Very well, thank you. Yes. I’ve just arrived. I’m just coming. Oh, yes, Monday is fine. Yes, ten-thirty. Mr St. James, eleven, OK. Thank you.’ She pulled the phone away from her ear, then pushed it back again as the voice on the other end continued. ‘Yes, I remembered twelve-thirty. Signor Mas … You’d better spell that. Ah, Marcheschi. Thank you. Yes. Ciao.’
Her mouth felt suddenly dry. The responsibility was all on her to find the right buyers, and she hadn’t had a chance to spruce the house up yet. She needed to ask the right questions. She had two already and had also agreed to time with Alberto tomorrow. Breathing out a small sigh, she placed the phone in her bag. If she worked really hard, she still had Sunday to give the house an airing and make it presentable.
Nothing but several thousand euros was going to make too much of a difference to its appearance, but she certainly wasn’t prepared to do that. It had been a shock to discover the task Nonna had laden her with just a few weeks ago, and it was the reason she had felt the need to put the villa and business straight on the market.
It was far too much for her to handle. The price of it had surprised her too. She had completely underestimated what her Italian grandparents had here. She took her phone back out and swiped the screen, adding the details to her ‘Viewers list’, slowly entering the spelling of the name correctly.
Olivia glanced over at Gabriella who gazed at her with suspicion. She felt her body stiffen as she wondered if Gabriella really trusted her to do the right thing. How could she know what was right? There was nobody to ask.
‘Well, he’s coming along on Monday instead before the viewings on that day. I’d better get started,’ she told Gabriella, gathering her bags and feeling only able to empathize. There wasn’t much more she could do or offer to secure the couple’s future. ‘I’ll see you later,’ she told Gabriella and, lifting her chin, she marched out of the courtyard towards Nonna’s villa.
She couldn’t allow emotion to dictate, nor feel intimidated. She would at least look like she was confident about managing her nonna’s affairs, even if she didn’t feel it. With any luck it wouldn’t take long. If you believed the media, hundreds of people would love to own a vineyard in Tuscany. She only had to find the right one and pray they retained the staff. Nonna seriously hadn’t thought this through – that much she knew. She should have left it to someone capable.
‘Yes, and just ask me. I am happy to help.’
Still feeling wretched as she unlocked the door, Olivia placed her bags on a bench and, after scanning the darkness of the hall, headed for the main sitting room. The stale air immediately wafted up her nose, shocking her into opening shutters and windows, to allow the air and light to flood into the soulless room.
It had been neglected since her nonna’s demise, which was terribly sad. Barely anything touched since she’d left it, four weeks ago, soon after her grandmother’s funeral. For as long as she could remember, Nonna had lived in just the ground-floor rooms of the large villa, whilst she was virtually running a sizeable empire up in these Tuscan hills. She’d run the farm and the vineyards on her own for years since Nonno died – with staff, of course, and managing to keep up with much of the technology.
With Gabriella’s help, Nonna had made sure the accommodation had a professional website and an email address for bookings, as well as the telephone. Nonna had also told her they were on travel sites so that reviews and bookings were twenty-four seven. Olivia was in total awe that her nonna knew so much about it all.
Her eyes rested on Nonna’s old leather chair. It was still covered with a red chequered shawl and two cotton-canvas cushions, and it sat forlorn by the fireplace appearing sulky without its occupant. Behind it was the beautiful bridal chest or cassone, which was Nonna’s pride and joy. Every visitor was told the story of her family’s chest. How her great-great-grandfather had created intricate carvings for each panel. It was very special to her.
Olivia sat on the arm of the chair. Crossing her legs and wrapping her arm around the wing, she breathed a sigh. ‘Oh, Nonna, what am I meant to do? There’s the business that, in all honesty, goes way over my head. As much as I want to make sure Gabriella and Nico remain secure, it’s too much. I have a business and home in England. I just couldn’t cope with both. And, this man Alberto? Nonna, I can’t think straight. I mean, what happened today? Where did he come from? He was so … I don’t know how to say it in words. It was here.’ She clutched her stomach.
‘Immediately I loved his eyes, even though he wears glasses. And he has this geeky look, but his pheromones ate right into my skin. But – and this is the problem – I don’t know if I’m doing right by jumping from one relationship to another so quickly. I’ve always done it. Not feeling like this of course, no, this is quite different; but I hate that I just need to feel loved without ever really feeling it back. And I was so determined to actually experience total independence.’
She buried her face in the arm of the chair for several seconds, squeezing her brow and equating herself to some mad person talking to herself. She shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I really don’t know.’
Sitting upright, she stared down at the seat for several seconds as if waiting for an answer. She peered to the other side of the chair. The inglenook still contained ashes from a fire. The beam above held layers of dust, along with several photographs of Angelo; one of her mother, Roz; and two figurines: a couple dancing and an old man wearing a sunhat. Was that Angelo too? she wondered.
At one end was a photo of them both in a gilt frame. Love emanated from their faces. Her mind flashed to Alberto’s face, and the moment of intense yearning between them. She took the frame in her hand and squatted on the hearth. A brush and poker lay flat in front of a woodpile and the rug was speckled with ash and slithers of wood.
Memories of sitting on the rug watching her grandfather build a frame of kindling came to her, the flesh of his fingers fearlessly feeding the flames with increasingly larger chunks of chopped wood until he was rewarded with a spread of flickering fire and heat. She knelt on the deep pile of the rug, feeling a sudden wave of warmth on her skin and a familiar touch, as though her nonna’s hand was stroking the back of her hair. She felt comforted, assured even that they were there and supporting her.
Minutes went by before Olivia stood and replaced the photo on the mantel beam.
‘I’d best get my phone and Alberto’s number, then get to work. There’s lots to do,’ she told the photograph firmly.
***
At one-thirty the following day, looking taller and even more handsome and more clean-shaven than she remembered, Alberto stood at the villa door. Her whole body trembled.
‘Ciao, beautiful lady.’ He beamed and took her hand before stepping forward to kiss both her cheeks. ‘I was so happy you called me. I don’t think I could have lasted much longer waiting to hear your voice.’
Without making too long a list of pros and cons, she’d carried out her promise, and producing a joyful smile, whilst trying to stay calm, she said, ‘Well, I’d pretty much made up my mind so I thought I should just do it. I’m looking forward to a tour. Step in while I lock up. What do you have planned?’
With the ground floor sparkling from all her rigorous cleaning and polishing, she left him to follow her as she closed the shutters and windows in the kitchen and sitting room.
‘First we’ll drive around to take in just some of the finest Tuscan landscape and then we’ll stop for lunch.’
‘Sounds wonderful.’ And so romantic, she wanted to add, but whilst she threw herself into scrubbing the floors this morning, she had promised herself that she would refrain from overloading her head with romantic notions and allow the relationship to gather its own momentum. She wouldn’t wish to reveal too much of herself at once and risk driving him away. She had done that too often and, in retrospect, must have sounded desperate.
The windows finally locked up, she grabbed her scarf and wrapped it around her neck, her fingers quivering as he followed her out the door and watched her lock it. ‘OK, I’m ready to go.’
He took her arm, and led her over to his car. Olivia’s eyes creased with curiosity as they approached the unusual compact car.
‘Don’t tell me. All electric?’
He opened the passenger door, revealing a clean and simple interior. ‘Isn’t she great?’ he said straightening his glasses. ‘I can plug her in anywhere. Her charger is on the car. And I can go up to two hundred kilometres for every full charge, which costs about two euros.’ Olivia recalled the wording on the business card as she sank into the passenger seat. ‘EV. Right. Electric Vehicle. Impressive. More than a hobby then?’
‘You could say, yes.’ Alberto leaned on the door, proudly. ‘I’ve always been gnarly as far as saving energy is concerned, probably a bit of a nerd. I was three when my dad built my first electric racing car, which was constantly running out of charge even with a huge great battery pack on the back. So, it’s fair to say we’ve come a long way since. We have five models so far, which are selling worldwide. It’s exciting.’
Running her fingers over the dash, she tapped it as she spoke. ‘That’s amazing. I imagine it’s very rewarding and I expect there’s a lot of resistance from petrol heads. Hats off to you, not only building the cars that will be a large part of the future but to have created demand around the world – just wow.’
He closed the door and when settled into the driver’s seat added, ‘It’s been challenging, and it is hard work, but worth it. We want to stay ahead with the technology. I’ve not had normal life for about fifteen years. Anyway, enough about me. What about you?’
Well that was a good start, she thought as he hit the start switch. He’s not just interested in his own world. As the car moved, the only sound was the tyres crunching on the gravel. ‘So quiet and so smooth.’
‘Yes, imagine how cool it will be when cars become autonomous. No driving, just lie back and relax.’
‘Really cool,’ she said levering back her chair and savouring the view.
‘So, we are straying. What is it you do?’
‘I’m an osteopath.’
Now he is going to wish he hadn’t asked, she thought, relishing the soft breeze skimming over her skin as they glided along country lanes, interspersed with narrow, steep hairpin bends. Olivia marvelled at the countless verdant rolling hills surrounding them, steeped in vines and the occasional villa along with landmark cypress trees and medieval hilltop villages. She was sure they were driving through heaven itself and, at some point, she would wake up and it would all be some mystical magical dream.
Chapter 5 (#ulink_90f2c4d3-40a7-534a-b986-9838131535b7)
Sweeping what seemed like miles of flagstone floor, Olivia was feeling very much like Cinderella early the next morning. Waking to her alarm that she’d set for six, she’d thrown on her scruffiest jeans and a T-shirt, still dreaming of her shining prince.
Her day with Alberto had been simply beautiful and everything he’d promised. Apart from driving through the breath-taking scenery, on – he claimed – the most romantic route in Tuscany, they drove through steep narrow roads of medieval cities and walled towns, some he told her founded by Etruscans: the Tuscans before the Romans, before he’d pulled into a charming hillside restaurant.
The waiter had shown them to a front table on the shaded terrace overlooking sun-drenched vineyards and there they had chatted like old friends as they soaked up the wine and many delicious Italian flavours such as the Caprese salad with sweet tomatoes and mozzarella splashed with fresh basil, ricotta ravioli pasta with a fusion of fresh herbs, and a delicious pork medallion with vegetables, all followed by a show-stopping and irresistible mille-feuille, or what Olivia recognized as a cream slice.
More than a dinner, it was a feast, and throughout Alberto entertained her with stories about his many failures as he attempted to find solutions to the numerous challenges involved in creating some of the greenest cars on earth. He also talked about how he enjoyed not only lecturing students, but engaging with them as well.
‘They believe anything is possible,’ he’d said, which is why he loved to learn from them as well as teach. Even younger kids had brought something to the table when he’d visited schools, whether ideas for fuelling future cars or designing them. She found it endearing that he drew so much of his inspiration from the younger generation, though was wholly ashamed at how little she knew about the subject herself.
She’d tried desperately to rack her brains for a name in car design and had said, ‘I’m sure Enzo Ferrari would have been wise to utilize wider resources for his research.’
Alberto had laughed, displaying beautifully strong teeth. ‘Ah, now that is interesting,’ he’d said, ‘and I won’t bog you down with all the detail but, although the industry was mainly selling speed and sex when Ferrari built and styled the V12 engine for racing, Enzo Ferrari also built a training institute for technicians; mainly for his company, but which still exists today. He was a big inspiration for me, in fact.
‘He realized too, I’m sure, that young minds can contribute to education and knowledge in the world of mechanics and physics. Perhaps it was because his son Alfredo – they called him Dino – died young. He was only in his early twenties when he died, and was still working to develop the 1500 cc V6 engine, which they released within a year. I know our cars sit on very different shelves in the supermarket,’ Alberto had said, providing her with a strong image of those magazines on top shelves in the shops, ‘but it’s not so dissimilar to your industry, really is it? A massage can have so many possible markets.’
He’d said it sliding a hand across the table and catching her wrist, his eyes brimming with lust as his fingers squeezed hers.
Usually Olivia would have snubbed such an unoriginal and corny comment about her work, but the way Alberto had relayed the inspiration behind his work and the ethos involving students was admirable. What he said was true. Plus, his touch was electric. She’d watched his glasses slide down his nose, his eyes instantly rousing her.
She would have fallen into his arms that very second, spellbound by lust. How she’d managed to keep her hands to herself when his lips found hers, she’d never know. Instantly her body responded like never before. Like her, however, Alberto had managed to restrain himself, and pulled away, leaving her panting for more.
It took her another glass of wine to recover, so after resting on his chest, watching the sun inch behind the distant hills, he’d driven her safely back to the villa and left her aching for his body all night.
***
Shifting heavy bedroom furniture and rugs to sweep underneath was becoming tiring. There were so many bedrooms, but it had to be done, as did the mopping of the floors and polishing of copious amounts of antique cabinets and ornaments. At least they could be packed away straight away after the viewings were over, she thought. Each room was smelling as fresh and as inviting as she could manage with dust removed from every nook and cranny, even the ceilings.
By the evening, she was physically exhausted but satisfied and every room had been reinvigorated. She hankered after the tasty pasta she’d eaten the day before. After closing up the well-aired rooms, she headed downstairs to the kitchen and reached for the dried pasta in the cupboard. Inspired by her time with Alberto, who was now probably tinkering with some new energy theory, she was reminded of the explosion of herbs in her mouth at the restaurant, along with the warmth of the afternoon sun.
She missed Alberto already and couldn’t wait for their next date. Whilst boiling the pasta she created a sauce with chopped tomatoes and a handful of fresh basil and thyme from the tub outside. The aroma was delicious, making her mouth salivate and the memory of Alberto surge to her mind – to the moment he’d first brushed his lips on hers before moving to the seat beside her and, gently, lifting her chin and placing his mouth on hers again. Their first kiss.
At once her heart skipped at the recollection. Every nerve inside her had jostled before fusing to a monstrous heat and melting her body like liquid metal. A sensation alien to her. She regained her breath, and stirred the sweet-smelling tomato sauce. Alberto had scorched a part of her that she never knew existed and it had certainly left her body screaming for more.
Cupping her hands on her cheeks, as if covering her blushes, she recalled his parting attempt. As Alberto had stopped the car outside the villa, he turned his head to her, his eyes hungry, just like her own, but then, regaining control he averted them and gripped the steering wheel as if to tame his urge. The creases in the corners of his eyes had dropped. They both knew kissing would be highly dangerous.
Instead, he drew in his breath, stroked her wrist, and said, ‘I would love to see you again. Tuesday? I could pick you up at seven and take you into Florence.’
Biting her lip to curb a yell of extreme joy, she nodded, surreptitiously monitoring every minute flinch between them. ‘That would be lovely. Yes, I’ll look forward to it.’
They’d restrained their blatant hunger, possibly both subconsciously saving it for the right place. Olivia failed to understand how she’d managed. As he’d kissed the top of her forehead and said goodnight, he’d let her smoulder briefly in his arms.
***
Olivia woke Monday morning to the sound of the doorbell. With muscles refusing to cooperate from her cleaning binge the previous day, she tried to lift herself out of bed and took a few moments to stretch out before hobbling in her pyjamas to the front door. It sounded again as she unbolted the top and bottom.
‘All right, I’m here.’ She turned the lock and drew back the door, her eyes meeting with a pleasing plate of croissants along with a smile from a friendly face. ‘Gabriella, how thoughtful. Come on in.’
‘I cannot stop now. I have guests in the dining room but I would like us to sit and talk soon,’ Gabriella said, her eyebrows squeezing together. She stepped towards Olivia, lifting the plate slightly. ‘I thought you might want something fresh and filling this morning as you have people coming to look at house.’
Olivia took the neatly arranged croissants and raised them to her nose. The buttery essence wafting up her nostrils was heavenly and instantly reminded her of Nonna. ‘Mmm, delicious, thank you. Oh, but what a shame you can’t join me.’ She peered at Gabriella eagerly, hoping she would change her mind.
‘Always business – it will be quieter later today once the guests leave. Maybe we have time to talk then.’
‘I know. You are so devoted. Oh, but before you go, do you know where the key to Nonna’s wedding chest is? I’ve kept an eye out as I’ve been cleaning, but can’t find it.’
Gabriella shrugged, then pinched her chin, peering up as though inspecting the ceiling. ‘Now I did see that in Elena’s office I’m sure. But that was a long time ago. I’m sorry. I don’t know where it is now.’
Twisting her lips at the lost hope, Olivia gave a wave with her free hand. ‘No. Don’t worry. I’ll look there. I’m sure it will turn up. I’m thinking of having it restored, so I was going to empty it out, although I am curious as to what she kept in it.’
‘I’m sorry, I don’t know. I will see you later.’ Gabriella gave a little wave and scuttled away.
‘Yes and thank you.’
Catching sight of herself in the mirror as she walked back into the hall, Olivia let out a yawn. Should she shower first or tuck into the beckoning croissants?
‘Oh, definitely croissants first. I need energy,’ she told herself knowing it wasn’t just the physical cleaning that had expended her energy.
Chapter 6 (#ulink_37450465-b7b7-5565-8569-277e308ef6f3)
Signor Ricci, the estate agent, arrived at her door before Olivia got back to the kitchen to sweep the crumbs away.
‘I’ve had a walk around the grounds and the accommodation, so now the villa,’ he told her as he clambered in through the door with a large digital camera fixed with flash in one hand and a briefcase in the other. ‘The sun won’t last today, so I’ve taken some outside shots first and hope it stays bright enough for the internal. The pictures will look better with the natural light in the rooms.’
‘Yes, please, feel free to have a wander,’ she said, grateful she had managed to shower.
He put down his case on the hall tiles and wriggled out of a rain jacket one-handed. ‘Signor St. James is running a little bit late. He got held up at the market, he says.’
‘No problem. I’ll put some coffee on.’ Olivia hung his jacket on a hook in the hall, and glanced at a large belly protruding from his beige suit. He swept a hand over a stripy-grey head, wiping beads of sweat.
‘Thank you,’ he said as he lifted his camera and pointed to Nonna’s sitting room. ‘I’ll start in here.’
She nodded and returned to the kitchen, leaving the flustered man to it. She added fresh water to the coffee percolator, arranging three cups and saucers on a tray. Pausing, she grabbed another, in the likely event Signor St. James was viewing with someone else. Signor Ricci hadn’t mentioned a wife or partner, but it was better to be prepared – at least in some way, because she didn’t feel it where the house was concerned.
She only hoped Signor St. James didn’t have too many questions, as she didn’t feel equipped to answer them. If only she had thought to make a list of some obvious ones and had asked Gabriella – or she could have tried to contact her mother. If only she had taken more interest over the years. Having only yesterday discovered files with Nonna’s bills and papers relating to the house, she hadn’t had a chance to even glance at them, let alone read them.
She was just sweeping off the croissant crumbs lurking on the worktop when, from the corner of her eye, she caught sight of something running past the window outside. Hurling herself in front of it, she peered out and saw a large golden retriever sniffing in the lawn area.
‘Hmm strange,’ she uttered, craning her neck to the side of the drive. It was unusual not to hear a car’s tyres approaching on the shingle. However, at the top by the entrance was a large black 4x4 vehicle with its rear door open and a British number plate. Unable to see any owner of either the car or dog, she ran across the hall to the study.
From the window, she could see the driver door open too, and the car – a right-hand drive, informing her that whoever it was, was sure to be British. Of course, the name St. James was a clue, but never a certainty. She calmed herself thinking the potential purchaser must have taken himself for a look around the grounds.
She headed back to the kitchen but the thought of a dog potentially living in the house moved her. It would make it much homelier. Not that she would be there but it made her think of Charlie, the little Westie her gran Nora and grandad Ronnie had bought her for her eighth birthday.
She’d loved the way he rushed to the front door and jumped up to lick her when she came home from school every day, his tail thrusting around in excitement as she knelt down to his level. It was such a warm, if somewhat wet, welcoming. He was the only one to ever make her feel loved unconditionally, and not like she was living in limbo, and she’d loved him so much. He was her family.
Gran had insisted she was to be responsible for him, however. Not totally, of course, but she made her save her pocket money for his grooming every six weeks and for any treats. Feeling choked, she swallowed a tear. She’d practically lived in that pet shop at times, taking with her a small list each week of his favourite chews and doggie sweets.
He was such a character and always getting himself covered in mud in the local park or in Gran’s garden. He continually had to be bathed. She missed him still, but when he died at seventeen years of age, she vowed she would never replace him. It was impossible. He was irreplaceable and locked in her heart for ever.
The aroma of coffee evoked her senses. It was drifting through the air as far as the study. After vaulting back through the hall to the kitchen, she was just about to pour herself a cup when the doorbell sounded. Assuming it to be Signor St. James, she headed back to the hall. Signor Ricci was still upstairs, so checking herself in the mirror, she scooped back some stray long hairs, twisted her hair together, and tied it up before pulling back the door.
Eyes as blue as the sky, framed by dark lashes and brows, took her breath away.
‘Ah, Signorina Montague?’ The man spoke in posh tones but was casually dressed.
Staring with her mouth open, Olivia rocked on her heels, and attempted to speak after clearing her throat. ‘Y … yes.’
From his old green Barbour sleeve appeared a hand. ‘Hugh St. James.’
Feeling the strong grip of his hand, her eyes remained fixed on his. Like buses, she told herself. Her insides babbled before what she imagined was a thick steel coil suddenly unleashing inside her, sending blood pulsing to every nerve. She stood rooted to the spot barely able to believe she could be struck in the heart twice in as many days. A loud bark close by stole her attention, bringing her out of the trance.
Peering at the car momentarily before blinking back at him, she said, ‘Dog,’ under her breath.
‘Yes, that is a dog,’ his voice mocked.
‘Bring the dog in.’ Her voice monotone, still under his spell. ‘You can’t leave him in the car.’ She watched as he pulled his head back as if surprised by the command, and a dimple appeared on one of his cheeks as his eyes widened.
‘He’s fine. The car is ventilated; the window’s open – or he could lie out here in the shade.’
‘No, really, he’s very welcome, Mr James, sorry, St. James.’
‘Hugh. Please, call me Hugh.’
Blinking hard again to gather her senses, she urged him, ‘Hugh, bring him in.’
As he scrunched across the gravel, Hugh removed his coat before tossing it in through the rear door of the 4x4.
‘Come, Boris.’ The sprightly bundle leaped out, but then braked at his master’s soft command. Tongue out and tail wagging, he strode elegantly at his master’s knee, his mane moving swiftly in rhythm, reminding Olivia of an Arab thoroughbred.
‘Oh, he’s so beautiful. Was that Boris you called him?’ Olivia said, immediately bending to greet him.
‘Yes, that’s right.’
Stroking his soft head, and then cupping his chin, she instantly warmed to him. ‘Hello, Boris. You are a handsome boy aren’t you. Come on in.’
‘Yes, he has it all.’
Like his owner, Olivia immediately thought, as she stepped back and let him in, feeling unnerved by such a gut-wrenching and overwhelming presence.
‘Perhaps you’d like to wait in the sitting room. Signor Ricci will be down soon I believe. Would you like a coffee?’
As he gazed around the walls and ceiling, his focus rested on her briefly. ‘That’s very kind of you, yes please.’ He tentatively sauntered in towards the sitting room. ‘Thanks.’
‘Yes, through there, Boris too. Would Boris like some water?’
‘He has just had some, but thanks.’
‘Well, help yourself to a seat or a look around. I’ll get the coffee.’
Placing the coffee on the tray, Olivia couldn’t decide whether she should pour it out beforehand; her limbs trembled so much she couldn’t trust herself. What on earth was going on? Two gorgeous men suddenly entering her life?
Walking with the tray into the sitting room, she saw Hugh squatting by her grandmother’s bridal chest whilst Boris had settled, lying down on the hearth rug. She placed the tray on the stand and began pouring two fresh cups of coffee, managing to keep her hand steady. Glancing over, she watched Hugh. He rested one hand on the top of the chest whilst running the fingers of his other over the intricate carving along the front.
‘It’s an impressive piece. Nineteenth century?’ he asked.
‘I’m not sure of its age exactly. It was my nonna’s. She died recently.’
Hugh raised an eyebrow as he sucked in his breath. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. It was possibly her mother’s then, grandmother’s even. It’s beautiful, a little damage here and there, but …’
‘I know. I’m thinking of having it restored. It’s one of my favourites, which I’d like to keep.’ She pursed her lips. ‘You seem quite knowledgeable.’
He stood back and folded his arms, sliding back sleeves of what looked like a cashmere sweater. ‘I’m in antiques. I’m a dealer. That’s why I’m seeking a base in Tuscany.’
‘Oh, right. That must be an interesting job?’
‘Yes, I’m a sucker for the antique and flea markets around here,’ he said, his tone more casual, ‘and they often come up trumps for furniture, even pieces of art occasionally. I know a brilliant restorer here too, if you need one. Not far from here either. He would do a great job on this.’ He gave the side of the chest a closer inspection and wiped his little finger along a bead of wood.
Enthusiasm brimmed from his eyes and Olivia licked her lips with cautious hope. ‘Maybe you could leave me his number?’ she said.
Hugh raised an arm and swept a wedge of his hair through his hands. ‘It might be better if I speak to him first. It’s just that he’s getting on a bit and is choosy about what he takes on.’ Lifting his phone from his trouser pocket, he scrolled down. ‘I’ll see him later, so you could give him a call tomorrow.’
Olivia clambered with excitement to the sideboard and opened a drawer. The bridal chest, or cassone as Nonna would call it, had always intrigued her. When she was young she remembered Nonna telling her it was a special box because it contained all the gifts for a bride from her husband and his family, including clothes and jewellery.
Nonna had shown her inside it once. All it contained was linen and lace household items. No beautiful jewellery or clothes. It was such a romantic idea though, and one that had captured Olivia’s imagination when she was just seven years old. As she riffled through the drawer for the pad and pen, she turned at the patter of footsteps nearing.
‘Ah, Signor St. James.’ Signor Ricci trotted into the room swiping his damp brow. ‘You’ve met Signorina Montague I see.’
Hugh held out his hand to the Italian agent. ‘Yes, I’m delighted to say.’
Standing by with pen and pad in hand, she said, ‘Olivia, or Liv. It’s easier. Yes, he arrived on time after all.’ Hugh passed her his phone and she took the restorer’s number. ‘What’s his name?’
‘Signor Nasino, but he’ll prefer Cesare.’
‘Thank you. You two need to get on. I’ll leave you to it, and I’ll pour you a coffee, Signor Ricci.’
‘Thank you, yes. I’ll finish the photos later.’
Olivia left them chatting in the sitting room and Boris comfortably snuggling close to the heat of the fire.
Not sure where to place herself, after making the third cup of coffee for Signor Ricci and delivering it, Olivia picked up her own and took it through to the study. There, at least, she could have another look for the chest key. She sat down behind the desk, looking out across rows of vines that climbed the hillside under a now hazy sky. It was a shame because the brightness from the sun added such a romantic charm to the place, but the thought of someone taking her nonna’s house made her skin prickle.
Her mind switched to the brief but often fun times she’d spent as a child with her mum and Italian grandparents, as well as Gabriella and Nico and several workers on the farm. She remembered especially the Whitsun break, when – after her mamma had gone home – she and Chiara would continue their stay at Nonna’s and help thin the vines. Those days were long and drenched in sunshine and laughter as Nico and the local lads – Giuseppe, Manelo, and Tom – mocked her not only because she was only allowed scissors, but being so small, she could only just reach the bottom leaves.
But she’d had so much freedom there, however brief her stays were. She’d felt like she had wings, like a bird; she’d been able to take flight and run around with no concept of time, rules, or routine. Even up to their twenties, she and Chiara continued their visits and spent lazy days in just jogging bottoms and T-shirts. No rigorous discipline or racing to get somewhere like her life in London. They were days when she could be herself – casual and pleasurable days. Her Italian nonno Angelo was so laid-back compared to her grandfather Ronnie in London.
Hugh St. James certainly had that laid-back appeal – young as he was – and could potentially make a good owner. He had a gentlemanly manner, but a casual quality about him she liked. She thought him well suited to country living. He was certainly alluring.
She rubbed her chin. Alberto also had a gentlemanly manner, but not one she could imagine fitting on a farm. He was more cosmopolitan and enjoyed the city. Not that he was looking to buy the farm like Hugh.
One thing was troubling about her about Hugh, however, and that was why he would want to take on the farm. Surely another business would be too much if he was running his own antiques business and going back and forth to England. She took out her phone and swiped the screen to create a new list: ‘Questions for potential buyers’.
Chapter 7 (#ulink_61d50e58-ce05-5ea4-9e69-c826d54e7cf4)
Impressed by the property and what he had seen of the owner, Hugh kept his countenance as he said goodbye and left Signor Ricci and Olivia Montague. He drove back down the hairpin bends and on to Cesare’s before returning to his apartment rental in Arezzo.
He had made it clear to the agent, Signor Ricci, that he was only interested in purchasing the run-down farmhouse, or villa as the agent and family called it. Buying the complete business would not only break his budget, but it would also be far too much work to take on. Signor Ricci had been adamant he should go along and view it, suggesting that vendors are just as fickle as buyers, and that the seller of the villa was sure to appreciate every option available.
As much as Hugh would love to own acres of vineyards and olive groves, the price and commitment were too high. After seeing the Villa Elena, however, it was now going to be a torment if he couldn’t have it. It was perfect. It was beautifully situated and would make a wonderful base, plus it had potential and would safeguard his investment.
He could gradually carry out the renovations to make a wonderful home for the future should he decide to stay. There were so few worthwhile options available in his price range in the area. He just had to hope that there was little demand and that Signor Ricci could persuade the owner to consider his.
After meeting Olivia Montague, however, he was pleasantly surprised. He’d imagined an elderly woman with red-dyed hair for some reason, but this woman was such a sweet thing, had just lost her grandmother too, which made him a little uncomfortable imagining that the agent was quite possibly now informing her of his proposal.
He felt rather silly. Clearly she wanted to cut and run from the whole thing and just take a few of her grandmother’s personal things. And that chest was certainly intriguing. Cesare, he was sure, would relish the opportunity to work on it.
***
As promised, Alberto arrived at her door Tuesday evening, lifting Olivia’s spirits immediately with his magnetic smile and his dark sunglasses. As he lifted them, she at once felt breathless. He pulled her close and pressed his lips lightly on hers, and the harrowing day she’d spent sifting through her nonna’s belongings was soon forgotten; but she was forced to tear her mind from the demands of her body. She lured him out the door and locked it.
‘We should go,’ she told him, ‘or I may never get to see Florence.’
‘I agree,’ he said sitting his glasses back into position and opening the car door for her. Subtle tones of ginger and grapefruit joined forces, wafting in the air as he got in to the driver seat and started the car. The pleasure she received from inhaling his alluring scent alone made her so grateful that she had come to Italy.
What a welcome distraction Alberto was from clearing out and distributing Nonna’s things into their destined piles. She hadn’t realized the extent of the task, nor the sadness it evoked. As much as she tried not to think about Nonna’s death, this task, she was convinced, was creating more grief.
After making small chat on the journey, Olivia recognized Florence immediately from pictures as Alberto parked the car on the south side of the Arno. She was sure she had come to the city when she was younger with her mamma, but was unable to recall the occasion. Alberto took her hand, leading her along a tree-lined road before taking her through the narrow, cobbled streets lined with artisan workshops. It wasn’t long before he was serenading her across the beautiful Ponte Vecchio.
Passing the plethora of sparkling jewellery shops, Alberto squeezed her hand. ‘So many exquisite items, but this jewel you must see. Close your eyes.’
Brimming with excitement, Olivia did as she was told, gripping tightly to his hand. Reaching the central arches of the medieval bridge, Alberto led her to the railing. Hugging her from behind, he lowered his face beside hers. ‘Open.’
Olivia gasped with delight, and she felt Alberto grinning at her reaction. Together, they soaked in the setting sun and its reflection on the Arno river.
‘This is beautiful,’ she said smiling up at him amid the glowing saffron hues. ‘Simply stunning. And an extremely pleasant end to what’s been quite an emotional day.’
‘Good, I am pleased it’s distracting you. The whole city is captivating; I never tire of it. Visitors should always return in the evening. It is special, but they go home after the museums close and miss the evening atmosphere. On Thursday, I’ll take you to see the Duomo. Tonight, we’ll eat and forget everything else,’ he told her.
‘I have an appointment with the cabinet restorer on Thursday morning, but I’m free in the afternoon.’
‘Magnifico! We can come in the evening again too. You know, you are driving me crazy and I cannot work very well. I keep thinking about you.’
Feeling the heat in her cheeks, she raised her head, lost for words. He was so easy and comfortable to be around, as though they’d been friends for ever. Wouldn’t this be the perfect opportunity to admit to him how crazy he made her feel? Or would that turn him off? Finally she said, ‘I’m flattered but I wouldn’t want to be responsible for making your business suffer.’
‘I’m hoping all this adrenaline you’re creating will make me function on a higher level; hopefully it will speed me up, lift my spirits as well as my business. Being around art helps too. If something captures my imagination, I’m completely fired up.’ Alberto stopped in the Piazza della Signoria, holding her near. He tilted his head and held her gaze for a few seconds. He stroked her face and pecked her lips gently before cupping her face. ‘I am flattered you want to spend time with me, but as soon as you’re ready, I would love my family to meet you too. I’ve already told them all about you.’
Olivia’s face drained of colour. This was too soon. ‘Well, I’m not ready yet.’
‘No, of course.’ He took her hand. ‘Come, we’re nearly there.’
The instant she walked in the door, a bouquet of herbs combined with tomato and cheese streamed to her nostrils. Peering around the high-beamed ceiling of what was a compact space, and noting a mixed display of old photographs and art on the wall, Olivia followed the waiter to a table at the rear of the Osteria Restaurant. It appeared to be the only free table, which she considered a good sign, observing the smiles and laughter around the small room. A light, warm aura danced in the air.
‘For you,’ the waiter sashayed before her, extending an arm out to a chair.
‘Grazie mille, Tommaso,’ Alberto said. ‘Magnifico.’
Right behind them another waiter appeared with two chilled glasses of sparkling Prosecco, which he placed on the table in front of them.
Tommaso handed them each a menu and expanded the choices with the night’s specials.
Olivia listened, trying to make up her mind from the delicious choices. Although relaxed and impressed by the intimate ambience of the restaurant, her limbs continued to tremble in Alberto’s presence and her stomach didn’t feel readily receptive to digestion.
Alberto lifted his glass as the waiter handed them their menus. ‘May I suggest the Osso buco.’ He kissed his bunched fingers. ‘The veal is braised with love and vegetables. It is amazing, especially with the local Chianti.’
‘Sounds wonderful, so long as I just have the zucchini salad starter and not pasta,’ she told Alberto, mesmerized by his hugely seductive eyes.
‘It’s an excellent choice,’ he said as the waiter took their order, then reaching out for her hand, he caressed her fingers. ‘Oh, you began to tell me about the furniture you want to restore. It sounds interesting.’
Trying to focus on his question, rather than his eyes and his touch, Olivia imagined Nonna’s bridal chest in her mind’s eye. She explained to Alberto how it had enthralled her for so many years, not only because it was a beautiful item and a bridal chest, but because since those early years – when her nonna had shown her the linen and lace – it had been permanently locked. This made it mysterious too, as when she had persistently asked Nonna for the key, Nonna told her it was lost.
She then told him of her plans to bring it back to its former glory. ‘It’s intricately carved but still has a rustic charm, which I think would sit perfectly at the bottom of my bed in my bedroom at home, and considering it must be over a hundred and fifty years old, it’s in pretty good nick.’
Alberto’s eyes twinkled. ‘I think so, yes. It is very good idea. And you’ll need to fill it with beautiful things for our future. Olivia, I’ve never met anyone quite like you. You must sense how I feel already. I really believe I’m in love with you. In fact, we should get married. Will you marry me?’
Clutching her chest with one hand as if trying to slow her heartbeat, Olivia blushed. Surely he didn’t mean it. She suddenly felt like Cinderella: one minute sweeping and scrubbing old floor tiles and boards and the next, meeting and possibly marrying her handsome prince. Alberto was a huge contrast to the other men she’d met. Nonna must have been guiding her to him. They seemed the perfect match. She adored him too, but whether that was love, she couldn’t tell. She needed to play it cool; however, she didn’t want to scare him off.
‘But we hardly know one another. I need time. Do you usually propose to women so fast?’
Looking down at her hand and swiping her fingers with the thumb of one hand, he twisted his mouth and pursed his lips. ‘I never propose to women. I’ve only now proposed to you, Olivia,’ he told her. With his other hand clenched against his breastbone, he fixed his eyes back on her. ‘It is here that I know: you are the one. Be sure, one day I will take your hand.’
Ill-prepared for such a mammoth revelation and wondering if this amazing man was for real, Olivia picked up her wine glass and glugged wine nervously. Their plates still seemed full. Neither could finish the sumptuous meal but Olivia finished the last drops of the fine Chianti wine Alberto had chosen and wiped her brow.
‘Is it me or is it hot in here?’ She grabbed her water glass.
‘It is hot. We can get gelato in the street. I’ll get the bill and we’ll take a walk. It is cooler out there now and darker. Florence is so magnificent at night. It will charm you.’
‘Fresh air and a stroll around Florence – what more can a woman want? As lovely as it is here, I think the wine has gone to my head.’ Olivia, feeling thoroughly spoiled, poured herself another glass of chilled water as Alberto paid the bill.
***
Olivia couldn’t recall such a blissful evening. Alberto was enchanting and answered many of her questions about his life and career. She learned that he was an excellent scholar and entered university at the Design School in Milan a year earlier than most, having completed his secondary education before any of his classmates.
Then, spurred on by his professors, he completed his masters with distinction, knowing exactly where he was heading with his own electric car designs. He was vehemently determined they would be as eco-friendly as he could make them.
He had investors and family opening their wallets before he was twenty, and after many trials and tribulations he’d had to overcome, like any worthwhile endeavour she imagined, he’d created one of the most successful electric cars on the European and world markets. A reputation he was currently building on.
‘Your parents must be so proud,’ Olivia said, catching her breath as they climbed a hill.
‘Yes, but they installed the genes and I suppose the drive. My sisters and brother are very hardworking too. One of my older sisters is a lawyer, a partner specializing in family law; the other is rising to the board of a bio-pharmaceutical company specializing in cancer and oncology drugs. They both have beautiful children and my mamma helps with the childcare. My younger brother is following in my father’s footsteps. He’s into econometrics, or economic statistical methods to you and me. He’s now a director for a bank and an adviser on its supervisory board. He is getting married next year.’
‘That’s impressive. What a lovely family. I feel quite humbled. A mere osteopath.’
Alberto laughed. ‘You heal – what work is more vital? To help and heal another human being on a personal level is incredible, so tell me more. I want to know more about you. We sit here.’
They sat on a bench at the Piazzale Michelangelo, Olivia grasping and capturing the sight with eager eyes.
‘Phew, wow. What a view.’ She gazed around at the panorama of the city. ‘Oh gosh, there’s not much at all to tell you. I was brought up by my grandparents in London. They were caring and lovely, but old. Even when I was young they seemed so old. The only person close enough to call a sister is my friend Chiara, who you would love, by the way.’ Olivia paused with a slant to her head and an affectionate smile. ‘Her family are from Italy, near Verona. I visited there once.’
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