Italian Summer with the Single Dad

by Ella Hayes

  As she watched the other passengers piling aboard with belongings of all shapes and sizes, she had the urge to pinch herself yet again, just in case she was dreaming. Was she really here in Italy, on the final leg of her journey to start a new job in Ravello?

  The bus belched, lurched then pulled away from the airport bus stop, cruising slowly to the exit before joining a busy road. The sun glinted off the chrome of unfamiliar cars, dappled through the leaves of unfamiliar trees and she felt her lips curving into a smile. It was real, and it was all because of what had happened after the Merrill wedding...

  They’d been driving back to London when Ralph had suddenly announced that he was letting her go.

  She couldn’t believe her ears. ‘You’re letting me go! Why? Because I took a few photographs of the groomsmen? For goodness’ sake, Ralph.’

  ‘It’s not that.’

  ‘What then?’

  He threw her a sheepish look. ‘Because you’re after my job!’

  ‘I’m not!’

  He pulled up at a set of traffic lights and turned to face her. ‘Okay, I’m not saying you want my exact job, but you want more than I can give you. I’m not looking for a partner, Liv. I want an assistant. At the very most I want someone who’s happy shooting the flowers and the frilly bits—a few guests now and again. You, my darling, want to be the photographer with a capital F.’

  ‘It’s P! And yes, I won’t deny that I want to be a wedding photographer...one day...but I’m not ready.’

  ‘You’re more than ready.’ The traffic light changed and Ralph drove on. ‘I watched you working with those boys today and you were great. You get on with people, your technical skills are top-notch. It’s time for you to fly the nest.’

  She felt as if the air was rearranging itself around her. Ralph had been getting on her nerves for ever, but this wasn’t what she’d planned—she didn’t have a plan. Maybe that was the problem. She’d spent most of her time with Ralph just simmering with frustration, but she’d never done anything about it. She hadn’t imagined that he would be the one to push her off the plank.

  ‘Don’t look so glum, darling. You can have some of my old gear as a leaving present.’ He tipped her a wink. ‘You’re going to be a big success. Just make sure you’re not a big success on my patch!’

  After the initial shock, she realised that he was right. Letting her go was a backhanded compliment. Although the thought of launching herself as a wedding photographer was scary, she knew she had the skills, and handling Ralph’s admin had given her a good insight into the business side of things. Her biggest challenge was going to be finding the right clients, but then...

  On her very last afternoon Ralph muttered something about having left some kit for her as promised, then he’d shot off to some ‘important’ meeting which didn’t seem to be marked in the diary. When she went into his office and saw what he’d put out for her she was overwhelmed. Some of the gear had hardly been used, just mothballed in favour of something newer or fancier. She was looking at everything he’d given her, feeling a bit emotional about it, when the telephone had rung.

  ‘Good afternoon. Holdsworth Photography.’

  ‘Hello. Is that Olivia Gardner?’

  The man’s voice was familiar. Probably one of Ralph’s bridegrooms. ‘Yes. Can I help—?’

  ‘I have something of yours...’ Little pause. ‘It’s got your name engraved on it.’

  ‘Something of mine?’ A rapid clicking sound filled her ears and suddenly she knew why she’d recognised his voice. ‘Zach Merrill! You’ve got my pen!’

  ‘I forgot to give it back... I’m so sorry.’

  She could hear the smile in his voice, momentarily lost herself in a memory of intent blue eyes. ‘There’s no need to apologise. You were stressing about your speech, if I remember rightly. In such circumstances, petty theft is excusable.’ She couldn’t stop smiling, couldn’t help feeling a little glow at the thought of him, even if he was absolutely not her dream man. ‘It was very good, by the way—your speech, and I’ve heard lots of speeches—’

  ‘Thanks! I’m not so sure, but I’ll take your word for it.’

  His voice in her ear sounded warm, intimate somehow. She was blushing, glad that he couldn’t see her face. She cleared her throat, tried to sound blasé. ‘So—about the pen. It was a twenty-first birthday present—can I have it back?’

  ‘Of course. You might even want to collect it in person...’

  His voice was playful. She felt her forehead creasing, a smile lifting the corners of her mouth. ‘Okay, you’ve got my attention.’

  ‘Actually, this isn’t just about the pen—’ His tone downshifted, became serious. ‘I need to talk to you about something. Calling you at work was the only way I could reach you, but it’s not a conversation we can have if Holdsworth’s about.’

  ‘He’s not here—but it wouldn’t matter anyway. It’s my last day today.’

  ‘Your last day! You’ve got a new job?’ He sounded disappointed.

  She chewed her bottom lip. She was growing more confused by the second. ‘No.’ Deep breath. ‘Actually, I’m going out on my own.’

  ‘Ahh.’ He was smiling again, she could tell. ‘Well, in that case I’ll get straight to the point. You may remember that my family owns a chain of hotels.’

  She could feel her heart thumping. ‘Yes.’

  ‘In addition, I own an exclusive wedding venue. High-end. We look after everything: accommodation, catering, ceremony and...photography.’ His voice tightened. ‘I’ve just come off the phone with my photographer, Michele. Some idiot knocked him off his moped, fractured his leg. Poor guy’s going to be out of action for at least six weeks.’ He sighed. ‘So, here’s the thing... I’m booked solid and I need a wedding photographer to fill in—someone I can trust.’

  Olivia’s head began to spin so fast that it took a moment for everything to sink in. Was Zach Merrill offering her a succession of high-end wedding clients on a plate? She felt her spine tingle. This was her moment, her chance to prove herself. She tried to calm her galloping heart with a slow, measured breath. ‘You’re asking me to step into your photographer’s shoes?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve seen the quality of your work, the way you interact with people. You’d be perfect, I know you would. Is there any way you could help me out?’

  Ah—let me see...

  ‘Yes! That is, I want to say yes, but I have so many questions! I mean—I don’t even know where your venue is—although I’ve worked in a lot of places with Ralph so I might know it.’

  He’d laughed then. ‘I doubt it. Casa Isabella is in Ravello.’

  ‘As in—Italy?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Wow!’

  After his call, she’d looked at Casa Isabella online, scrolled through the website pages with wide, excited eyes. It was a grand old palazzo, slightly faded but elegant. Its secluded hillside setting above Ravello offered spectacular views of the Tyrrhenian Sea from its terrace and balconies, but it was the garden that had taken her breath away. Ancient cypress trees on terraced lawns, a stone pond with a sparkling fountain, arches leading to secret garden rooms with weathered statues. Achingly romantic, it was a wedding photographer’s dream venue...

  And now she was here, all set to photograph six weddings in a prestige venue—in Italy! Portfolio couples! She felt sick with nerves, a little dizzy, high on adrenaline, still incredulous but happy and excited too. No wonder she kept wanting to pinch herself.

  She pulled a bottle of water from her bag and took a steadying sip as the poor dwellings on the outskirts of Naples gave way to hillsides covered in olive trees. The bus trundled through small towns with narrow streets, screeched to a halt more than once to avoid scooters weaving through the traffic. She gazed at the sun-baked terracotta roofs, so different to roofs in England. She got her phone out, took pictures thr
ough the window—ancient churches, walls covered in brightly scrambling bougainvillea. She watched people going about their day-to-day business, saw people sitting at roadside cafés reading the papers or chatting with friends. Between the towns, she glimpsed lemon groves behind crumbling walls and then, on the skyline, she saw the mighty Vesuvius, its peak rising into a smear of hazy cloud.

  She sipped her water again and thought about Zach. Now that he was going to be her boss, it was inappropriate to think about him in anything other than a platonic way, yet when she pictured his eyes, recalled how handsome he’d looked at Lucas and Sophie’s wedding, she felt a little glow of anticipation that made her lips curve upwards into a secret little smile.

  * * *

  Zach Merrill leaned against the wing of his convertible, pushed his sunglasses onto his head and looked along the valley, searching the twisting road for signs of Olivia’s bus. He couldn’t believe how things had worked out. After Michele had called him from the hospital, he’d contacted some photographers he knew, but none of them were free. Calling Olivia had been a long shot, but he’d seen that she was tired of working for Holdsworth, had hoped that she would consider his offer. How lucky that she’d been free to come.

  His fingers closed around the pen in his pocket. He remembered the look in her eyes when she’d handed it to him, warm light pouring into him, making him dizzy. He’d had to look away, force himself to concentrate on the pictures filling her computer screen, but it was lucky too that he’d seen those photographs, seen the quality of her work. If he hadn’t—Alessia’s face captured so perfectly—he might not have thought of her as a replacement for Michele at all.

  He pulled the pen from his pocket, ran his finger over the inscription. He hadn’t meant to steal her twenty-first birthday pen. He hadn’t been himself that day...noticing Olivia with her bright brown hair and warm smile, liking the way she was looking at him, the way she was flirting, and then he’d been remembering Izzy and worrying about his speech. Emotions piling up, layers of confusion, his feelings all over the place...and then seeing Alessia’s face in the photograph...so like her mother’s.

  And now Olivia was on her way to Ravello, as if some invisible ink was drawing them together.

  He slipped the pen back into his pocket. His mother-in-law, Lucia, had questioned why he was bringing an untested photographer all the way from England—‘Couldn’t you get someone from Naples?’

  He’d told her that the decent people were already booked for the summer. He’d pointed out that Olivia was a native English speaker, which was perfect because their clients were mostly English-speaking. Besides, he’d added, wasn’t it the decent thing to do, to give a talented person a break? She’d agreed but she’d had a knowing look in her eye which bothered him. Maybe she thought that having Olivia to stay at Casa Isabella was going to change things. He could understand that in a way.

  Turning the faded palazzo into an exclusive wedding venue had been Izzy’s idea—their dream project. They’d started on the interior renovations and then Izzy had found the original landscape plans in the attic. After that, she’d worked closely with the gardeners to restore the old pathways and formal beds, breathing life back into the neglected garden. She’d get so excited about the smallest thing: new shoots on old wood, some jaded creeper bursting into flower... He’d loved Izzy with all his heart. He missed her every day. But he didn’t appreciate his mother-in-law dissecting his motives for bringing Olivia here. It was a business decision. He needed a wedding photographer and Olivia was talented, professional and discreet. Plus, she was available. That was all there was to it.

  When the bus finally came into view he rocked forward off the car and lowered his sunglasses, trying to ignore the little knot of excitement tightening in his stomach. After she’d agreed to come he’d phoned her a few times to discuss practical matters like getting her a computer. He’d enjoyed their conversations. He’d liked her enthusiasm, but talking to her, hearing the vitality in her voice, had made him realise how jaded he felt. He was married to the business, worked like a dog, but he didn’t feel fulfilled. He felt restless.

  When the bus pulled in and Olivia bumped down the steps with her camera bag he almost didn’t recognise her—she looked so different to the way she’d looked at the wedding. She was wearing blue sneakers, faded jeans and a white top which was slipping off her shoulder. Her hair was twisted into a loose knot and most of her face was hidden by a very large pair of sunglasses. The sight of her made him ridiculously happy. He had to fight the urge to pick her up and swing her around. Instead he held out his hand. ‘Olivia! Welcome to Ravello.’

  She pushed her sunglasses up and stretched her hand to his. ‘Zach! It’s so nice to see you, and please—call me Liv. Everyone else does!’

  ‘Okay, Liv.’ He smiled. The sunlight catching her eyes made them look lighter than he remembered, like amber, and for the first time he noticed the darker ring around the edge of her irises. When he realised he was still holding her hand he let it go quickly and reached for her camera bag. ‘How was your journey?’

  ‘It was great, although I can see how Michele got hurt. The roads here are challenging, and as for the way people drive—’

  The bus driver set down a modest suitcase and another big camera bag. Zach handed him a tip then picked up her other bags. ‘You see a lot of dented cars around here, that’s for sure! Is this the only luggage you’ve got?’

  ‘I travel light.’ She widened her eyes. ‘Except for the camera gear!’

  ‘I suppose it’s just as well...’ He motioned to his car.

  ‘Nice!’ She walked over, ran her fingers over the silver paintwork. ‘It’s not even dented!’

  She was teasing him, laughing, and he couldn’t help laughing too. ‘I don’t get out much.’ He put her bags in the back and opened the door for her. ‘Ready?’

  ‘Absolutely!’ She slipped her sunglasses over her eyes and beamed.

  * * *

  She felt the sun warming her face as Zach drove them up into the hills. It felt so good to see him again. As the bus had pulled in, the sight of him waiting for her had set her heart going—she’d been glad of her dark glasses. He’d looked handsome at the wedding, but today, casually dressed in a pale blue shirt and navy chinos, he looked even better. More relaxed. From behind her sunglasses she took in the golden skin at the base of his throat, the nice shape of his mouth, the straight nose. His dark hair had been combed back at the wedding, but now it was blowing every which way in the breeze, dishevelled, touchable.

  He glanced at her and smiled. ‘What do you think so far?’

  Gorgeous.

  She blushed, wondered if he’d noticed her checking him out. She turned to look at the view. ‘It’s lovely, greener than I imagined and so warm.’

  ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t pick you up in Naples. I had a meeting sprung on me at the last minute.’

  ‘That’s okay—the bus ride was an education.’

  His shirt sleeves were rolled back. It was hard not to notice his forearms. Tanned, muscular. She forced herself to concentrate on the view: slopes thick with sturdy shrubs and olive trees, a pair of donkeys in a paddock, tails flicking. She adjusted her sunglasses, glanced at him again. How old was he? Early thirties perhaps—at least six years older than she was—and married.

  Widowed.

  She wondered about his wife. He’d had so much to cope with: grief, a young baby and a business too. ‘I don’t get out much.’ Did he ever get lonely?

  On a tight bend thick with trees he steered the car into a concealed entrance and stopped in front of tall iron gates set into a stone wall. Engraved on a simple plaque fixed to the wall were the words Casa Isabella.

  He pushed his sunglasses up, turned to face her. ‘Isabella was my wife’s name—Izzy.’ She noticed the way he drew in a breath. ‘When we get to the house you’ll meet my mother-in-law, Lucia. She helps me with Ales
sia.’

  Olivia sensed that she didn’t need to reply.

  ‘Lucia’s a strong woman, an incredible person, and I couldn’t have coped without her these past two years.’ A shadow crossed his face. ‘She’s grateful to you for coming at such short notice but...she’s a little unsettled...maybe because this was Izzy’s home.’ He turned to press a button on the dash and the gates started to move. ‘I wanted to tell you, just in case you pick up a vibe...’ He met her eye again and suddenly he smiled. ‘I’m probably worrying too much. You’re really good with people—it won’t be a problem.’

  As he slid the car through the gates she tried not to think about Lucia, the admirable but possibly hostile mother-in-law. Instead, she looked back at the gates closing behind them. ‘Do you need such tight security here?’

  ‘Not really, but we had a celebrity wedding last year—they insisted on gates.’

  She wanted to know more, but she didn’t want to seem star-struck so she nodded and tried to look blasé as he drove them through a terraced vineyard and onwards through an ancient olive grove. Under the shade of the olive trees the light was blue-green, thick as gauze. She made a mental note to go back with her camera some time, try to capture it.

  Emerging into the sunshine, the road continued through an area of rough pasture, then turned sharply to the right. As Casa Isabella came into view, framed by an avenue of tall cypress trees, she gasped softly. Whitewashed in pale ochre, roofed with weathered pantiles, the ground floor windows were tall and shuttered, arranged at identical intervals along the length of the house. In the centre, an imposing double stairway led to a vast oak door. She knew from the website that on the other side of the property, facing the sea, was a long, arched veranda opening out to the wide terrace where the wedding ceremonies took place. Beyond the terrace, over the stone balcony, and all around the property lay the enchanting garden.