Summer on the Italian Lakes

by Lucy Coleman

  ‘I hear what you are saying, and I know there are no guarantees, but I have never felt like this before. Arran’s been through a lot and it might be a while before he’s ready to commit to anyone again, but I can wait if things between us do progress. But either way, we’re having fun together, against all the odds. Anyway, I can’t help myself, even if this goes awry.’ Nervous anxiety has made me a little breathless and I stop talking.

  ‘Well, I’m here for you whatever happens. Maybe I’m wrong and a few weeks of wanton behaviour is exactly what you need. But if this was suddenly splashed all over the tabloids, I’m worried about how it would look; and how you would react. But what if you are falling in love with him, Brie? You’re the romantic one and that’s what your heart ultimately craves. I’m not saying that great sex isn’t important, it is, but once things settle down it’s only the icing on the cake. It’s important to choose the right cake though, and not one you’ll tire of quickly.’

  At that point, we both burst out laughing. Ooh, I really do want to have my cake and eat it. Brie, stop, I tell myself. Mel is making a valid point.

  Plus, I freely admit Arran’s background is wildly different to mine as, no doubt, are our friends. And our families. Oh dear. What if the only two things we have in common are writing and sexual compatibility?

  ‘I’ve been getting ahead of myself,’ I admit, suddenly. ‘Arran is just as surprised and caught up in this little… thing, as I am. To be honest, he has so many problems I think he’s just overwhelmed right now. You’re right, Mel, and maybe I’m thinking with my heart and not my head.’

  ‘Heart?’ And with that she starts laughing again. ‘That’s not how it sounds to me!’

  When the call ends, I lie here for a while considering the points our conversation threw up. I’m not a jet setter and my roots are firmly in the UK. Arran travels as a natural consequence of his diverse range of work activities. But he regards this as home. Maybe after four weeks this will be a wonderful memory to look back on and we will both be able to walk away with no regrets. But what if that’s not the case?

  As for my reputation, well, I know what Mel meant. However, we’re consenting adults and it takes two, as they say, so we’re even on that score whether or not it’s alien to our respective natures. But for me there’s an enormous amount of churning emotion attached to this little… diversion. What if that’s not the case for Arran? Is this simply a little interlude to help get his mind off the heavy financial worries he has at this particular point in his life? How devastated will I be if we part with a kiss on the cheek and a see you around sometime, maybe?

  I listen to the little voice inside my head. Come on Brie, you’re a big girl now. You have enjoyed every second in his company and you don’t want it to stop. Since when did having a little fun become a sin? You are both single and free to do whatever you want.

  That makes me feel better until another little voice creeps in.

  Oh, yeah? Who are you kidding? You know you’re falling in love with him and it’s probably already too late. The real question is what are you going to do about it?

  A quick glance at the clock tells me nothing at all at this moment in time. The session starts in ninety minutes and I need to get my act together, quickly.

  22

  A Defining Moment

  It feels like today is never going to end. The morning session goes extremely well. Afterwards Rick, Kris, and Will ask for one-to-one sessions as all three intend pitching their current work in progress to a publisher. Having been enthused they naturally want to go away and work on their synopses and cover letters, then have me cast an eye over them. In the end I suggest a mini critiquing session late in the afternoon, where we all get together and they each read through what they’ve produced. I figured four heads were going to be better than one, especially as I was beginning to wane a little. I didn’t want to risk missing anything and it worked well.

  I’ve texted Arran twice asking how it’s going and received the one response saying good. Carrie has texted several times asking how he is doing and saying he isn’t responding to her. I just keep telling her he’s hard at work and that’s a good sign. The reality is that I have no idea whether he’s sitting in a depressed funk, feeling I’ve tried to steer him in the wrong direction, or if his keyboard is on fire.

  It isn’t until I pack the group off to La Pergola at seven thirty that I realise how wired I am. It’s been an intense day and I can fully understand why Arran can’t do this on his own. In fact, having to cope without my help while I was working on his revisions put an extra strain on him on top of everything else he’s battling with.

  I asked Elisabetta to take Arran up a breakfast and a lunch tray, but he really does need to take a break now. Heading upstairs, it’s weird when the villa is so quiet but as my foot hits the top stair I can hear his voice. He’s on the phone and while I can’t distinguish any words, the tone is enough to tell me he’s angry. I hover, not quite sure what to do. I decide to creep back downstairs and hang around in the kitchen for a while.

  Opening the fridge door, I pull out a bottle of white wine and cast around for something suitable for dinner. Then I have an idea. I ring Antonio at La Pergola and ask if he can deliver a meal for two. I order the special for Arran and something light for me, grateful that Antonio will get someone to bring it down in the next forty-five minutes.

  Grabbing two glasses I take the wine out onto the terrace and sit in one of the reclining chairs next to the pool. With the lights reflecting off the water it’s very relaxing, although I’m tense thinking about Arran’s phone call. It’s unlikely to be good news given his tone and I’m not sure how much more he can take. Looking up, he isn’t on the balcony, but the light is on in his room. Suddenly it flicks off and I know he’s making his way downstairs.

  I lie back trying to look calm and composed but my heart is racing. I haven’t been in his arms since the early hours of this morning and it feels like forever.

  ‘I’m glad you waited for me.’ He sidles up alongside me, placing a hand on my shoulder. ‘I hate to think of anyone drinking alone. How was today? I bet you’re shattered. People don’t realise how exhausting it is because you can’t simply switch off when a session ends.’

  He pours out two glasses of wine, passing one to me and we chink.

  ‘To the end of a very productive day.’

  As he settles back in the chair next to me, I don’t take my eyes off him. He doesn’t seem down, but he does seem depleted – he’s probably tired.

  I can’t mention I overheard him on the phone so all I can do is give him an opportunity to talk. ‘Tell me all about it.’

  ‘One of the hardest days I’ve ever had, I think. You did a good job, though, and it was mainly a case of accepting the proposed changes. I worked on that extra chapter, taking your brief outline and expanding it. I had quite a bit of background research about Rose’s time while Arthur was away, and you were right, there was a gaping hole in the story.’

  ‘Have you spoken to Carrie at all?’ I don’t want to tell him about the texts this morning, but he does need to get in touch with her.

  ‘Yes. I sent the manuscript off to her about an hour ago. It’s done. Finished. Let’s hope the two publishers get into a bidding war over it.’

  I don’t know whether to feel anxious that he took on board everything I said, or flattered. I know Carrie will go through the changes in detail to satisfy herself it’s been taken in the right direction and I think that’s important. But I also know she’ll drop everything to do that, knowing how critical Arran’s situation is at this precise moment.

  ‘I’m starving,’ he admits, reaching out to put his glass on the small side table nestled between our chairs.

  Before he can lever himself out of his chair, I put out my hand and rest it on his arm.

  ‘Don’t move a muscle. Dinner is on the way, courtesy of Antonio. I thought it would be nice if we could both sit and chill for a couple of hours. The group have
had a great day. I ran an afternoon session for Rick, Kris and Will so they could perfect their first pitch. The others headed down to town for a couple of hours. So you can relax knowing that they all went off to dinner in high spirits, having had yet another good day.’

  He places his hand over mine, running his thumb gently over my skin.

  ‘You know you’ve spoilt me forever, now? How can I run another course without you by my side? We’re a team.’

  I look at him and he isn’t joking or being playful, he means it. The doorbell chimes, breaking the moment and I jump up and head inside. By the time I’ve plated the delicious smelling ravioli for Arran and my chicken and lemon zucchini, Arran has already set a table for two on the terrace.

  ‘Here, let me take those. Can you grab a large bottle of water?’

  I follow him outside, thinking it would be nice if we had some candles. Not for additional lighting but just because the flicker of a flaming candle adds to the ambience. Arran pulls out my chair for me while I sit and then passes me a paper napkin with a flourish.

  ‘Now, tell me, is this a romantic or a gentlemanly gesture?’

  I can’t suppress a giggle and he gives me a look of disappointment before sauntering around the table to sit opposite me.

  ‘Gentlemanly.’

  ‘What would you consider to be a romantic gesture?’

  I toy with the lettuce leaves in the small salad bowl next to my plate.

  ‘Doing something unexpected; something thoughtful and personal that makes someone feel special. It’s hard to put into words. Why?’

  He switches off for a moment and I watch him eating. He attacks his food with relish, never talks with his mouth full and you can tell when he’s really enjoying something.

  As if to prove my point he nods his head vigorously, pointing his fork at the plate until his mouth is empty. ‘Now that’s good ravioli. How is your chicken?’

  ‘Delicious. I need the recipe for this,’ I enthuse.

  ‘Good, Antonio will be delighted to hear that,’ Arran replies, in between devouring a forkful of pasta. ‘There were a couple of small changes you made in the book, so minor I felt they were trivial, but it made me stop and think. You just seem to look at some things very differently to me. It made me feel guilty, actually.’

  I put down my fork, lifting my glass to take a swallow of wine simply to have something to partly obscure my face with. Where is this leading? If it’s bad news, then I might not be able to control my reaction.

  ‘Guilty?’

  ‘I… um… wouldn’t want you to think that I was using my personal problems to get the sympathy vote. I mean, I shouldn’t really have exposed you to all that because it was unfair of me.’

  Oh no, he thinks I’ve been comforting him because I feel sorry for the mess he’s in. He’s certainly misread my moral code of conduct.

  ‘I’ve only ever slept with someone when it meant something, Arran. That might not be what you want to hear but it’s the truth. I wouldn’t jump into bed with anyone merely because I felt sorry for them.’ There’s a sharp edge to my tone and this time I take a large gulp of wine, feeling disappointed in him.

  ‘That’s not what I meant, really, Brie. I don’t quite know what we have going on between us, but I didn’t want you to feel I was taking advantage of you in any way. I don’t make a habit of this—’

  ‘Oh, and you think I do?’

  He drops his fork and it clatters against the plate.

  ‘Sorry, sorry. I’m not doing a good job of explaining myself here. It’s not your fault, it’s mine. You’re a genuinely kind and caring person, Brie, and I’m not used to being around someone who cares that much about anyone besides themselves.’

  Why would he feel guilty, unless—

  ‘What did Carrie say to you?’

  My suspicions are correct because his expression changes immediately and he presses his lips together as if he’s afraid of talking.

  ‘She said something, didn’t she?’

  He shakes his head but it’s an unconvincing gesture.

  ‘Arran, tell me exactly what she told you.’

  He can tell from my tone I won’t be messed around. He swallows hard and the index finger of his left hand begins to drum on the table.

  ‘I’m not good at this sensitivity stuff. She asked how you were coping and I said you were the perfect stand-in. When I explained that you’ve been working away quietly in your room quite a bit, fixing my manuscript, she sounded concerned. She asked me if you were avoiding mixing with the group. Of course, I said no. But then I started questioning her because her concern seemed rather odd. I wondered if there was something I should know.’ He reaches forward to pick up his glass, taking a small sip and clearing his throat before continuing.

  ‘She told me you’d been through a rough patch shortly before you arrived and that you’d been avoiding people. When you mentioned the backlash from Paul’s fans I didn’t realise it had affected you quite as much as it obviously did.’

  I groan inwardly, not even sure if a sound did, in fact, escape from my lips.

  ‘She was simply checking you were fine, Brie. I felt bad afterwards as I forced it out of her. I don’t know the details, but I sort of got the impression she thought a change of scenery would do you good. Afterwards I realised that not only had I encumbered you with my life story and the mountain of problems that need to be resolved, but that knowledge put you under additional pressure. Turning that manuscript around so quickly was intense and if you haven’t been well—’

  I owe him an explanation.

  ‘Look, let’s not spoil dinner. Let’s eat first and talk afterwards.’

  The eye contact is a little awkward, but we manage to continue eating and I change the subject. I figure that getting him to talk about his favourite music is bound to lighten the atmosphere and I’m right.

  *

  After clearing away we’re both conscious that the others could arrive back at any time. So, we saunter down to the library, figuring we’re unlikely to be disturbed. I owe Arran an explanation for Carrie’s unnecessary concern and for the fact that it has now made him feel awkward around me. That’s the last thing I want him to feel and I need to clear the air.

  Although we are walking inches apart, he doesn’t reach for my hand.

  ‘I know Carrie meant well and I will admit I needed to spend some time on my own away from everyone. I felt I’d lost my way and then I realised I was married to my work and going through the seven year itch.’

  We step over the threshold and Arran closes the door behind us, indicating for me to take one of the cosy winged chairs. He takes the seat opposite me, drawing it a little closer.

  ‘Seven year itch?’

  ‘An old wives’ tale relating to marriage. It’s when the newness is long gone and there’s a real danger that things will become boring and predictable. In terms of relationships the honeymoon period is effectively over. For me, in terms of my work, that was how long I’d been writing about hot, sexy men and feisty females, having left my contemporary fiction days behind me. I’m earning a good living because of the switch, but something is missing. When I began writing it was all about the romance; about finding one’s soul mate. Lives that hadn’t been easy and lessons learnt that had scarred the heart. But above all there was hope that somewhere out there would be that one, true love, just waiting to be discovered. I wrote about the lessons life teaches us all along the way.’

  Arran’s face is quite blank.

  ‘I thought that was what you were doing anyway; you said you were working on two stories. Why did you feel you had to hide away?’

  I frown, and a sigh escapes my lips; it seems to echo sadly around the room.

  ‘For a while I couldn’t write a word. Well, I wrote thousands and ended up deleting them all. I will write both stories but it’s not quite as cathartic as I thought it was going to be. Maybe I’ve always been a little delusional when it comes to my rosy view of the perfect love a
ffair. The one that will last forever. Or perhaps I’ve simply watched too many romantic films over the years. I mean, anything can happen on screen but in real life? I blame the fact that I was born on Valentine’s Day. It messes with your head until you get to understand why it’s a day when the world is full of ostentatious outpourings of love. Then you wake up to the cold reality that it’s a big earner for anyone selling hearts and flowers. And a lot of people give gifts because it’s the done thing. So what’s the point of it?’

  Now he looks worried.

  ‘It definitely wasn’t because you were in love with Paul Turner when it went wrong?’

  I’m chewing on my lip and I make myself stop.

  ‘No. I never really wanted Paul, but I needed something exciting to happen to make me feel alive again. I thought I could step outside myself for a while and that it would be fun; something was missing and I’d become jaded. That had nothing to do with what happened afterwards, except that I chose to comfort eat and it got out of control. But what triggered it was writer’s block. So, yes, I did go through several tough months and I sure as hell wasn’t going to act that out in public.’

  Arran clears his throat. ‘Or with the support of family or friends.’

  He’s listening to my every word and I know my expression is one of acceptance.

  ‘I didn’t want to have to worry about being an author, a daughter, a friend or anything to anyone. I wanted to wallow. Facing up to reality is tough. Now I’m over it because I’m not the sort of person to give up. I’ve lost my pride so many times over the years, it’s no longer something I worry about. But I do value the people I love and there was no way I was going to inflict my misery on them. Yes, I’ll write both stories and whichever has the highest sales will determine what I write in future. If Carrie is right, then that’s my fate.’

  Now he looks confused. ‘But isn’t that giving up?’

  I shake my head vehemently. ‘No, it’s called being practical and earning a living. I’ve decided to stop being a dreamer.’

  The silence between us is heavy but I don’t regret telling Arran everything. I know Carrie was checking I really am over my little episode and she meant well, but it’s a message I need to take on board. I can’t live my life as a dreamer, wanting the impossible and feeling constantly let down.