Under a Siena Sun (Escape to Tuscany Book 1)

by T A Williams

  ‘Trust me, you look alluring.’ This sounded like flirting to her, and it worried her. She would never in her life have wanted to be thought of as just a blonde accessory to a rich man and she felt almost sullied. Still, she told herself firmly, she had agreed to accompany him and she was stuck with it now. Whatever it might look like to other people, this was a day out with a friend, learning a bit of history. Nothing more.

  The drive to Florence turned out to be really rather nice. He avoided the main road for the first part and took her along winding country lanes through the hills, passing through charming rural Tuscan scenery. Trees, fields, olive groves and vines surrounded them and they met very few other vehicles and saw very few other people. As a result, her sense of embarrassment gradually began to subside. David drove remarkably slowly and she relished the feel of the relatively cool morning air. When the stunning medieval walled town of Monteriggioni hove into view he suggested stopping for a coffee, but instead they decided to press on to Florence on the superstrada. To her surprise, even at speed on the highway, she barely felt the wind, and she was able to take off her headscarf after a while, letting her hair blow about gently in the breeze, confident she wouldn’t end up looking like Worzel Gummidge.

  The traffic as they drove into Florence was heavy but passable and it was here that she started to feel very uncomfortable once again. As she had predicted, the open-topped Ferrari attracted a lot of attention and she felt sure she caught recognition of David on a number of faces in cars alongside them as they crept in towards the city centre. The driver of one car in particular made a point of hooting his horn and pointing and waving enthusiastically in their direction and she cringed. There was no doubt that the combination of the flashy red car and his famous face made anonymity a forlorn hope – for him and for her.

  Over the years, Lucy had been to Florence many times, but she was still looking forward to seeing the historic centre again. As the massive Fortezza da Basso appeared and David turned in alongside the railway line towards the main station, her anticipation grew, not least as she knew she would soon be out of this shameless status symbol.

  He edged the very low-slung car gingerly down a steep ramp into an underground parking garage right at the edge of the pedestrian area and they emerged into the daylight at just before ten. He was wearing dark glasses and a baseball cap, but she felt pretty sure he would soon be recognised. However, they were able to walk past the front of the station and across the broad Piazza Santa Maria Novella without hindrance, passing the imposing church that gave its name to the square. They stopped to read the sign alongside the beautiful marble-clad façade and saw that, interestingly, it had been built around the same time as John Hawkwood had been active here. Lucy rather liked the idea that their man had maybe ridden past this very spot on his horse and had actually watched the workmen labouring to build this beautiful structure.

  As they reached a newsstand on the corner of the already crowded main street leading up towards the cathedral, Lucy stopped to buy a copy of the local paper and opened it with trepidation.

  Sure enough, there was a banner headline across the front page reading, TENNIS STAR DISCOVERED IN TUSCANY. Page three was filled with Tommy’s scoop, along with a potted history of David’s career, his injury and his unhappy marriage, as well as numerous photos of him on the tennis court and off it. The article even included no fewer than six photos of possible women who might have been responsible for his marital break-up, although the article grudgingly conceded that no proof existed to link him to any of them. Lucy found herself wondering whether her own face might soon be adorning the tabloids if they were photographed together and she started to screw up the newspaper angrily, ready to drop it into a nearby bin. As she did so, she muttered a few more choice expletives aimed at Tommy. David had been reading over her shoulder and he gently took it from her hands, removed the page with the article, and dumped the rest of the paper. After folding the article and stuffing it into the back pocket of his jeans, he took her arm and led her away.

  ‘He’s good, your friend.’

  ‘My ex-friend.’

  ‘He hasn’t had much time, but he’s managed to dig up almost all the dirt. I particularly like the rogues’ gallery of possible sexual partners. He got that straight out of the National Enquirer and who knows who dreamed it up before them? I’ve only ever met one of those girls and that was among a group of journalists at a news conference. Still, all’s fair in love and the media, as long as it sells newspapers.’ Although he was trying to sound blasé, she could hear the hurt all too clearly in his voice. He paused by the front of a sports shop and stared in through the window at a full-size cardboard cut-out of himself advertising tennis racquets. He gave a heartfelt sigh and turned towards her. ‘You mustn’t believe everything you read in the papers. That’s what my agent’s been telling the sponsors for two years now.’

  Lucy felt sure he was telling the truth. He certainly sounded very convincing and she found herself really hoping somebody would be able to prove that he wasn’t after all cut from the same cloth as Charles or Tommy, and restore his good name. She reached across and gave his forearm a supportive squeeze.

  ‘Sticks and stones, David. Just try to ignore it. For what it’s worth, I believe you.’ And she realised that she did.

  He looked down and gave her a little smile. ‘You do? Well, that’s all that counts to me.’ The smile was still on his lips as he led her off up the road again.

  Ten minutes later they were standing in front of the Duomo. As with the cathedral in Siena, Lucy just stared in awe for a good few minutes. Although her mind was still churning at the thought of the ramifications of the newspaper article, the sheer outstanding beauty of the building cut through her concerns.

  The soaring white marble façade, interspersed with narrow lines of deep green stone and studded all over with statues, was as imposing and fascinating as ever. The paved piazza in front of the cathedral was already crowded with tourists milling around and taking photos, although the presence of an armoured car and armed police and soldiers was a reminder of the ever-present terrorist threat that existed all over Europe these days. She intercepted a few smiles and interested glances from passers-by as they recognised David and she knew his secret was now well and truly out there. To her mortification, she also felt a number of people subject her to curious and, in a couple of cases, downright intrusive stares and her sense of not belonging in this scenario strengthened.

  Inside the Duomo it was pleasantly cool in spite of the numbers of people already in there. The walls rose up immensely high and the cupola with its viewing gallery hundreds of feet above them already had energetic tourists visible up there, their heads little more than dots from down below. It was almost unbelievable to think that this magnificent edifice had been built without the help of modern engineering and machinery. They found the memorial they were looking for almost immediately, just on the left as they went inside. The sign alongside it informed them that it had been specially commissioned back in the middle of the fifteenth century and it was the work of the famous Tuscan artist, Paolo Uccello.

  It was a predominantly deep ruby red and cream fresco of a serious-looking man with a strong face and long nose, holding what looked like a baton in his hand. He was seated on a magnificent white warhorse and he looked every inch the successful general he had been in real life. They stood and studied it and they both took a few surreptitious photos, even though there was a sign informing them that photography was forbidden. Very few of the hundreds of tourists milling around them appeared to have read the sign either – or if they had done, they had chosen to ignore it.

  As they were standing there, Lucy heard an American woman’s voice alongside them and her heart sank once more.

  ‘Excuse me, but aren’t you David Lorenzo, the tennis ace?’

  Without batting an eyelid, David shook his head and smiled down at her. ‘That’s my cousin. I’m little Albert. I can’t play tennis to save my life. H
ave a good day.’ Tapping Lucy on the arm, he set off back out into the open air once more. As they walked down the steps into the sunlight, Lucy glanced up at him and grinned.

  ‘Well, little Albert, what do you want to do now? Want to look for a suitable stone to crawl back under?’

  He smiled back at her. ‘No, no more stones, no more crawling. Mind you, that’s as far as I’m concerned. If you feel uncomfortable being seen with me, just say the word and we can head for home. I wouldn’t blame you. Even after years of it, I still don’t feel comfortable being recognised wherever I go.’

  She stood there for a few moments, genuinely torn. She knew she was enjoying his company, but she certainly didn’t enjoy being the object of indiscriminate scrutiny by complete strangers. She had enough experience of the magnetic way rich men managed to attract good-looking girls to have no illusions as to what was going through the heads of many of those who saw her with him. It made her feel uncomfortable and dirty.

  Finally she reached out and gave him another little squeeze on the arm. ‘I’m very happy to be with you.’ And she was. ‘But I’d be lying if I said I felt completely comfortable. Apart from anything else, don’t forget that I’ve just come back from years in the middle of nowhere, so finding myself surrounded by crowds of people was bound to be a bit unsettling. How about we go somewhere a bit less crowded?’

  ‘I completely understand. To be honest, after my last few years as a hermit, I feel exactly the same way.’ He sounded as if he meant it. ‘Let’s go and find somewhere quiet so we can sit down and have a coffee. Then, unless you have plans, how about I take you for lunch in one of my favourite restaurants in the whole of Tuscany. It’s in the hills just outside of town and it’s very discreet.’

  Chapter 19

  At first sight, his favourite restaurant looked anything but discreet. It was a stunning hilltop villa, surrounded by cypress trees, approached up a long, curling, tree-lined drive off a minor road. It was situated about ten kilometres outside Florence, just over the first range of hills on the south side of the city. Even though the bustling conurbation of Florence was so close-by, here everything was much more peaceful. Everywhere they looked, there were olive trees, some still with the nets used to collect the ripe olives lying at their feet since the last harvest the previous autumn. A little three-wheeled farm vehicle came coughing and spluttering along the drive towards them, leaving an unhealthy trail of blue smoke in its wake. As the driver passed the Ferrari, Lucy saw him kiss his fingers and shout something. Whether this was a compliment directed at the car, the driver, or herself, was unclear to her, but she felt her cheeks flush all the same.

  She found herself wondering what Miriam, her invaluable clinic manager and close friend back in Mabenta, would have thought if she were to see her here in this flashy car. The last time Lucy had seen her and the other locally employed staff had been several months ago as they disappeared into the bush in the hope of escaping the advancing fighters. Lucy had her sent numerous emails and text messages since leaving the DRC, but without success, and she feared the worst. Yet again, she found herself dwelling upon the gross unfairness of life and she actually sighed.

  David manoeuvred the car into a space in the car park behind the hotel/restaurant and it came as no surprise to Lucy to see it filled almost exclusively with luxury cars. David, apparently unaware of her reservations, jumped out to come round and offer her a helping hand. As he reached down with both hands and caught hold of hers, he gave her a little grin. Seeing him smile cheered her up. A little.

  ‘Been feeling a bit conspicuous?’

  Lucy rearranged her clothing after being hauled back onto her feet and nodded. ‘I feel like a goldfish in a bowl when I’m in this thing.’ She risked a personal question. ‘Did your wife like riding in it?’

  ‘Riding in it and driving it; she loved it. More than me, probably.’ He hung his head and stared at his feet as he replied. ‘But she didn’t use it that much.’

  ‘I thought you said she liked it.’

  ‘Oh, she liked the car all right. I bought it only a short while before my accident, but by that time she didn’t like me. She had pretty much already left me by then and she went to live on the coast on her own for a while. After the accident she came back for a bit and then, finally, when she realised I was a hopeless mess, she went off and left me. The car stayed here and, like I say, I stopped going out so I stopped driving it.’

  Lucy grabbed hold of his arm with both hands – it felt rather good – and subjected him to her sternest look, while doing her best to keep her tone light. ‘Don’t say that sort of thing. The only mess round here is my hair after the ride in your car.’

  ‘Back then I really was a mess, but there was more to it than just the accident. I’ll bore you with the story some time, but not today.’ He looked up and she was very pleased to see a more positive expression on his face now. ‘Today’s a day for celebration. My jail term’s over and I’m a free man.’

  Lucy gave him a smile in return and wondered if she dared press him for more information about what had happened between him and his wife but decided it was best, for now, to avoid poking at what was evidently still an open wound.

  They walked into the luxurious hotel, not dissimilar to David’s Villa Castelnuovo, and were greeted by an obsequious lady in a designer dress, with gold-rimmed glasses dangling from a thin gold chain around her neck. She led them out through a charming lounge to a terrace at the rear of the villa, shaded from the sun by a rambling rose and luxuriant vines that looped and curled their way in and out of the crossbars of the wooden canopy that spanned the whole width of the terrace. Tables with other diners were spread out in the shade a good few feet apart from one another and David’s chosen table even had a massive lemon tree in a terracotta pot between them and their nearest neighbours. He had said discreet and it certainly was that.

  It was a gorgeous setting. An army of bees flitted from bloom to bloom and their buzzing provided the only constant background noise, drowning out the conversation going on at the other tables. Otherwise, apart from the occasional car on the road in the distance, it was quiet and refreshingly peaceful after the hubbub of Florence. Lucy sat back and did her best to relax, enjoying his company now that they were out of the public eye, but she couldn’t help being concerned for him that his hitherto peaceful existence was about to be well and truly shattered, and was still feeling guilty at her part in it.

  As if to reinforce her fears, his phone started ringing. He gave her an apologetic smile and answered it. She only heard his side of the conversation, but she had no doubt what was being said.

  ‘Hi, Sammie, this is early for you… You’ve what?’

  Lucy saw his face harden.

  ‘How did they get hold of the story?… All over the news?… Already?’ He gave an exasperated sigh. ‘Well, so what? I couldn’t expect to stay out of the limelight forever.’

  She could see him biting his lower lip as he listened to whomever was on the other end of the line and her heart went out to him. The conversation went on for another minute or two and by the time he hung up, it was perfectly clear to her that his whereabouts were not only out of the bag but being trumpeted all over the media. He dropped the phone onto the table and grimaced.

  ‘And so it begins. That was my agent. It’s all kicking off again.’ He sounded weary but she saw him take a couple of deep breaths and rally. ‘Anyway, enough of that for now, what’re we going to eat?’

  They both had the same thing; air-dried bresaola beef drizzled with extra virgin olive oil and lemon, and covered with rocket leaves and shavings of Parmesan cheese. This was served with a huge mixed salad and would have been enough for Lucy if she hadn’t already ordered grilled lamb chops. When these arrived, they were so very tasty that she managed to find room for them, but then very definitely refused a dessert. It was as they were sipping their coffees at the end of the meal that his phone rang again. This time it was Armando with bad, although not totally un
expected, news. The gates to the Villa Castelnuovo were now being besieged by a pack of paparazzi and journalists from as far afield as the USA. How the Americans had managed to get there so quickly was a complete mystery. As David set the phone back down again, he looked across the table at her.

  ‘I was going to suggest you might like to come up to the villa for a swim this afternoon, but I think it might be better if I drop you off at your place before you get caught up in the feeding frenzy. I’m used to it by now, but it isn’t pretty.’

  ‘I didn’t realise you had a pool. The idea of a swim definitely appeals, but I’m sure you’re right. Just kick me out when we get to my house.’ An idea came to her. ‘Or you could leave your car at my place and make your way home across country. I’m afraid you’re just too big to fit in the boot of my little Fiat or I could have pretended I was delivering something and sneaked you into the villa that way.’

  He smiled. ‘Nice idea, thanks, but I’m going to face the music. I’ve had enough of ducking and diving. I’ve had a two-year break and it’s time I move on. When all’s said and done, all I’ve done is to injure myself and manage to get caught up in an unhappy marriage. In the greater scheme of things, it’s not exactly mass murder. They’re bound to get fed up and leave me alone before too long.’

  Lucy did her best to look blank. ‘How come your marriage was so unhappy?’

  His eyes caught hers for a fraction of a second before dropping to his now cold coffee. ‘It’s a long, sad story. Like I said, I won’t bore you with it now. What I can tell you, though, is that your ex-friend’s version of how it happened is a million miles from the truth.’ He reached into his back pocket and handed her the folded newspaper article. ‘Read this when you get home by all means, but, remember, don’t believe a word of it.’ He resurrected a smile. ‘Well, the details of tournaments I won are hopefully correct, just not the personal stuff.’