Wedding Bells at Villa Limoncello

by Daisy James

  She raised her chin, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her face, unconcerned about the reappearance of her freckles, and sighed with pleasure. Again, she wondered who owned the villa and whether they hired it out for other purposes, such as Italian cookery courses (probably not bearing in mind the state of the kitchen), or artists’ and writers’ retreats, or maybe yoga holidays, or even, dare she add, film shoots? It was a perfect setting for any of these pursuits, as long as Mr Grumpy next door gave up the early morning jackhammering and chainsaw wrangling.

  Izzie strained her ears, but no mechanical sound interrupted the peace and a smile spread across her lips as an idea slid into her mind. Could she? No, she’d better not. She really should concentrate on reconfiguring her schedules or becoming proficient in the art of napkin-folding. But the seed of curiosity had been planted. What did the house next door look like? What about the gardens? Did it have a vineyard and olive groves, too? Was there a tennis court, a pond, a swimming pool?

  Oh, God, the interior designer in her was screaming for her to take a quick peek, and so, with excitement bubbling in her chest, she trotted across the terrace, past the limonaia and the wishing well, to where she’d seen a gap in the wall whilst exploring with Gianni the previous day. Well, not a gap as such, more a couple of missing top stones. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure there was no audience to witness her mission – Gianni – and cocked her leg as high as she could, rolling on her stomach over to the other side and landing with an uncomfortable hurumph.

  She jumped up, dusted herself down and gasped. In front of her stood a completely-renovated villa – smooth antique-gold façade, newly painted shutters, pristine front door – encircled by a perfectly level sandstone terrace. It was a princess of a property compared to its ugly duckling twin sister next door. The owner had clearly spent a fortune on the renovations, and Izzie wondered whether he intended to live there, or rent it out to holidaymakers with cash to burn, or maybe he was intending to open it as a B&B? Really? With the Italian version of Basil Fawlty as the host?

  The place was deserted so she felt emboldened to continue her exploration, although others might call it trespass. She had taken only a couple of steps towards the front door, when she paused next to a rose-covered arbour through which was the most wonderful sight of all – a huge, rectangular swimming pool. It was like something from a travel brochure for upmarket Italian holidays; the rolling green hills in the distance, the cypress trees and resplendent rhododendron bushes in the foreground, the honeyed-stone and green shutters of the pool house, all framed by a border of rich yellow roses. If she ignored the discarded tools, the piles of stone flags waiting to be cut to shape, the cement mixers, portable workbenches, stone saws and jackhammers, the image was pure Tuscan paradise.

  She made her way along the terrace towards the pool and was surprised to see that it held less than three inches of shimmering aquamarine water. Why wasn’t it filled to the top to entice its guests to indulge in a refreshing dip? Nevertheless, the lure was too much to resist. Taking another quick glance over her shoulder, she slipped off her shoes and descended the marble steps into the water.

  What an amazing feeling! She kicked her feet in the air with wanton abandon, splashing her arms and face with droplets of water, revelling in the way the sunlight danced on the surface like a sheet of scattered diamonds. She was enjoying herself so much that she completely lost track of time.

  Oh, God, if her neighbour saw what she was doing he’d probably have a coronary!

  As much as the guy had been a pain in the butt she didn’t want his death on her hands, so she clambered back up the steps, grabbed her shoes, and jogged back to the villa. She had just rounded the corner of the limonaia when she heard the insistent ring of a house phone. Not sure where to look, she rushed into the kitchen, feeling as though she was six years old again and she and Anna were playing hide-and-seek – a game her sister had excelled at. She eventually located the old-fashioned telephone in the lounge, loitering beneath a pile of newspapers from two thousand and twelve.

  ‘Hello?’

  Should she have said Ciao? Or Buongiorno?

  She held her breath, praying that the caller wouldn’t launch into a tirade of unintelligible Italian, but relaxed when she heard the dulcet tones of Carlotta. Sadly, her relief didn’t last very long.

  ‘Ah, Izzie, at last! I’ve been calling you for the last hour! I’m so sorry, I won’t be able to make it to the villa today.’

  ‘Oh, I…’ A myriad of thoughts and questions ricocheted through Izzie’s brain. She needed to ask Carlotta about the wedding, to apologise for her mistake, to enquire about the food and the menus, to check exactly how many guests she was catering for, to make sure they were now, at last, on the same page with the arrangements, but she had caught the note of distress in Carlotta’s voice. ‘Why can’t you come? What’s happened? Are you okay?’

  ‘It’s my friend, Vincenzo. He’s had an accident.’

  ‘Oh my God, is he okay?’

  ‘Argh, I tell him every day, he drives like a maniac! Does he listen? No! Lui è matto! He’s crazy! Like many men his age, he seems to labour under the illusion that the speed of your vehicle is directly proportionate to your masculinity!’

  ‘So where is he…’

  ‘He’s in the hospital with a fractured collarbone and he will also have ringing ears to add to his woes when I get to see him, but I really need to be with him, I… well, he needs someone to take care of him.’

  Gianni had been right. From Carlotta’s reaction it was clear she cared a great deal for Vincenzo, although Izzie wasn’t sure she’d admitted it to herself yet. Maybe this incident would be the catalyst to a new beginning? However, did she really believe that every cloud had a silver lining? Her own black cloud remained resolutely unlined!

  ‘I’m so sorry, Izzie, I know how much there is still left to do before the wedding on Friday, but when I couldn’t get hold of you I spoke to Gianni and he’s promised to put his services at your disposal today – just make sure you give him a list of things to keep him busy and away from potential trouble.’

  ‘Oh, erm, thanks…’ muttered Izzie, suspecting that Gianni was more likely to add to her list of jobs. ‘But what about the food, erm, for all the wedding guests? There’s no way I can…’

  ‘It’s all sorted. Vincenzo and I spent the whole of yesterday afternoon sourcing the non-perishables and checking up on the orders for the fresh food which will be delivered first thing on Friday morning. I’ll be with you tomorrow to prepare everything we can in advance, I’m so sorry, Izzie…’

  ‘Please, don’t worry, Carlotta, you can leave everything with me and Gianni. Send Vincenzo my love and I hope they discharge him soon.’

  ‘Thank you, Izzie. Good luck.’

  Before Izzie had the chance to reassure Carlotta again, the line went dead, and a surge of anxiety threatened to overwhelm her. Even with Gianni’s help, there was no way she could handle everything there was left to do. Okay, she had no concerns about the wedding cake and the dessert course, and the venue was almost finished and looked amazing, but there were still the flowers to check up on, the house to clean, the wishing well to paint, the stupid napkins to fold.

  Still clutching the telephone receiver, she sank into the folds of the ancient cracked leather sofa, battling the demons that were threatening to poke their heads from their swamp of self-doubt.

  Then she gave herself a stern talking to. Of course she could do it! If she could find someone to help Carlotta with the food preparation, all she had to do was concentrate on turning the grounds of Villa Limoncello into the most amazing of venues. Hadn’t she spent her life doing just that? Okay, not staging real-life al fresco weddings, but she had designed interiors for a great deal of highly discerning clients in her time.

  But that was before, challenged the invisible naysayers perched on her shoulder. However, Izzie ignored them – she had her secret weapon, didn’t she?

  Meghan.


  Chapter Eleven

  The Garden, Villa Limoncello

  Colour: Friendship Gold

  ‘Oh my God,’ giggled Meghan, her tinkling laughter easing Izzie’s rattled nerves. ‘Believe me, I had no idea! I’m so sorry, Izzie, this is totally my fault. When Brad called me on Friday morning, I just assumed that, as usual, he was expecting me to down tools and rush to his rescue like he’d done before. In fact, remember three years ago when I had to fly over to Cyprus to help out with the Jacques Vivian film shoot? That was for a wedding scene and I just thought… well… again, I’m sorry, Izzie. I feel awful for jumping to conclusions when I should have asked for details. So, what did Oriana say when you fessed up?’

  ‘Oh, she was really understanding. You’ll like her, Meghan – she’s not only a maestro of confectionary heaven, she’s also the local yoga buff. She’s got a studio and even invited me to join her for a session!’

  ‘Obviously hasn’t known you long enough!’

  ‘True! When was the last time you saw me in lycra?’

  ‘Well, it wouldn’t do you any harm to take a class, Izz. Yoga is meant to be really good for controlling stress, you know,’ said Meghan gently, before swiftly changing tack. ‘So, what about everyone else? Didn’t any of them realise your mistake?’

  ‘Well, there’s only Carlotta and Gianni. Thinking back, they did look at me strangely a couple of times, but I don’t think my sanity was in question, just my intelligence. I think they must think I’m a bit flaky that’s all, and I’ll take that over being an absolute fool for not realising sooner, or not pressing Rachel for more information before I caught the flight over here.’

  ‘Look, Izzie, there’s no way you should beat yourself up about this. This is totally my brother’s fault. He’s staging this wedding – which I admit is very kind of him – but then he went and dumped it all on Lucy. It’s easy to make generous gestures when you don’t have to follow through on them. He’s done it one too many times now and believe me I’m going to have a few stern words with him when I get over there. It just isn’t on. If I hadn’t had the fashion show, it would have been me dealing with the fallout from another one of his cock-ups! Okay, not a cock-up, but you know what I mean. It’s so not fair on Lucy to have to do her job as his assistant and also be expected to singlehandedly organise a wedding for one of his actor friends so they don’t have to do it themselves. I know how busy these kind of people are, but it’s not on. Brad clearly needs someone else on the payroll – Lucy needs her own assistant… and I have the perfect solution.’

  ‘I thought you loved your job at Harrods…’

  ‘Not me, you idiot! You! You would be perfect, Izzie. You’re an ace organiser and a fanatical list-maker. I bet you’ve got your colour-coded clipboards with you. Together, you and Lucy will have my brother licked into shape in no time at all. And I know I complain about helping him out all the time, but when I do, it’s the most exciting gig to be part of, especially with all the exotic locations he films in!’

  ‘I’m not sure I have the skills to be a film set designer…’

  ‘Okay, so maybe a wedding planner, then. Oh, my God, Izzie, I’m so sorry I completely forgot!’ cried Meghan, contrition filling her voice. ‘Will you forgive me! How could I be so… Are you okay? How do you feel about… well… about organising another wedding after what happened last time? Oh my God, I’m so going to kill my brother. He’s really done it this time, he’s just so thoughtless. It’s always all about him…’

  ‘Meghan, it’s okay…’

  ‘No, it’s not. He knows about Anna and Matt, he should never have agreed to let you replace me.’

  ‘Meghan, really. I’m okay with it. Well, no, that’s not quite true. I’m terrified about getting something wrong when so much depends on everything going according to plan on the actual day, but you know what, I actually think that doing this will help me to move forward.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, don’t get me wrong, every single thing I’ve handled so far, I’ve compared to what happened last time. But this wedding is completely different to Anna and Matt’s. It’s in a foreign country for a start, and there’s been no expense spared, and the wedding cakes are just crazy, and I haven’t even seen the actual flowers yet, but the photographs are out of this world! Doing this will fill my brain with different kinds of flower arrangements, alternate table designs, other menus and wine lists, other table settings, so that whenever someone mentions a wedding in the future Anna and Matt’s won’t be the only one that will spring to mind. I’ll also have this one – which is absolutely amazing, too. It will help, I’m sure of it.’

  ‘Do you really think so?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘Then I’m glad, and I can’t wait to get over there and join you to make new memories!’

  ‘I can’t wait to do that, too, Meg. I’ve got so much to show you, so much to tell you about. Anyway, now it’s my turn to ask the questions,’ Izzie laughed, feeling as though she’d been under a heated spotlight for hours as she confessed her misdemeanour to her friend, yet she knew Meghan only had her interests at heart. Now that she’d admitted what had happened, a weight had lifted from her shoulders. She was relieved that it wasn’t just her who had made the crazy assumption. ‘How was the Fenella Fratenelli fashion show last night? Tell me everything, leave nothing out.’

  ‘Oh, Izzie, it was absolutely amazing, and I got to be involved in every part of the show! First, I helped Darius set everything up, then Martha showed me how to organise every outfit that was being showcased – along with the matching accessories. I was even allowed to spend thirty minutes with the hair and makeup guys. But meeting Fenella herself was the biggest treat of all. She’s a sartorial queen! You should have seen what she was wearing – this gorgeous, mid-calf-length, lemon jumpsuit with a cross-over back and flared trousers, and these cute leopard print pumps in tangerine. She really knows how to work an elegant silhouette. But my absolute favourite piece of the whole show was a turquoise sundress embroidered with tiny daisies – way out of my budget unfortunately.’

  ‘Sounds like you had a fabulous evening. How did the commentary go?’

  ‘Well, Martha opened the show, then she past the baton on to me. I admit, I was so nervous I thought I was going to vomit, but as soon as I had the mic in my hands and introduced the first model the nerves flew out of the window and I just went with the flow, let the couture speak for itself. Oh, Izzie, I loved every minute of it. And guess what? Fenella even mentioned to Martha that she thought I was a natural. I hope her endorsement means Martha will let me do the summer show! There were photographers there from the national magazines, too. I’m going to buy every single one of them to see if they mention me. I don’t expect they will, but you never know.’

  ‘I’m thrilled for you, darling! I knew you would ace it!’

  Izzie’s whole body, from the top of her curls to the ends of her toes, relaxed and the lingering nuggets of anxiety over her faux pas began to float away on a stream of gossipy camaraderie with a true friend. Meghan had always been able to do that, had always been there to dish up a portion of that trio of female solace – chocolate, cocktails and a good old chinwag. It was the perfect combination and she would be forever grateful to her best friend for being by her side, through the good times and the worst times.

  ‘Thanks, Meghan,’ she said, her voice catching with emotion.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘For everything. You are an amazing friend and I love you. No matter what trauma throws itself in my path, you’re always there to pick up the pieces, help me put them back together and then press on. I hope you know how much I appreciate that you are a part of my life.’

  ‘So, what you’re saying is that you owe me?’ she said with a giggle.

  ‘Well, that…’

  ‘I think you said his name was Gianni? Perhaps you could prepare the ground, so to speak? You know, talk me up as this super-talented, completely gorgeous frie
nd who’s in the fashion industry, and loves all things Italian; the couture, the food, the wine, but especially the smouldering good looks of the Italian Stallion? Something like that? I’ll leave the details up to you?’

  Izzie laughed and the final traces of mortification over her error disappeared. Her spirits soared, her lips curled into a broad grin, and she sent up a missive of gratitude that Meghan would soon be by her side in Tuscany where she would light up the whole valley with her imitable brand of cheerfulness. Gianni wouldn’t know what hit him – but he was also the luckiest guy in the world.

  ‘Love you, Meg. See you Thursday.’

  ‘Back atch’a, darling! Now, one last question.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Do I need to bring a bikini?’

  Chapter Twelve

  The Pergola, Villa Limoncello

  Colour: Dark Espresso

  A whoosh of confidence gushed through her and she leapt up from the sofa with a smile. The sooner she got started, the more she’d get done! She took a step towards the kitchen and stopped.

  What was that?

  She strained her ears and heard it again. The scraping of furniture on a tiled floor. Her heart bounced painfully against her ribcage, her thoughts performing somersaults of alarm as she peered through the gap in the door – but the kitchen was empty.

  Had she been hearing things? Was the pressure causing her to hallucinate?

  She took another step forward and heard a car door slam. Moments later, a figure appeared on the doorstep, their identity masked by the tall stack of cardboard boxes they were carrying.

  Did axe murderers use cardboard boxes as lethal weapons?

  ‘Erm, hello?’

  ‘Ah, buongiorno!’

  She rushed forward to catch a toppling box from the top of the pile and heaved a sigh of relief when she saw who her visitor was, followed swiftly by a lurch of pleasure, then panic. She’d hoped to avoid bumping into Luca again so that the whole wedding/film shoot fiasco wouldn’t rear its ugly head. She ran her eyes over his attire – smart, powder-blue shirt open at the neck, cuffs rolled back to accentuate his strong forearms, dark blue jeans that looked like they’d been sprayed on. There was an attractive smattering of stubble darkening his jawline, and, as usual, his hair sprang up in random tufts at the nape of his neck. But the best part of having Luca in her kitchen was the aroma of citrusy cologne that swirled through the air, tickling her nostrils and sending her senses into overdrive.