Wedding Bells at Villa Limoncello

by Daisy James

  ‘Maybe you’ll permit me to ask a question of my own first, Miss…?’

  ‘Jenkins, but please, call me Izzie. What’s your question?’

  ‘Who’s paying your fee?’

  Izzie gawped at Riccardo, stunned that he had asked such a personal question, before realising that he clearly thought she was working for the owner of the villa.

  ‘Oh, if you want to know the identity of the villa’s absent owner then I’m afraid you’re asking the wrong person. I genuinely have no idea. Sorry. So, what do you say about my proposal that we help each other out?’

  Riccardo eyed her for several beats whilst he weighed up his options.

  ‘I might live to regret this, but okay, you have a deal.’

  Riccardo offered Izzie his palm and she took it, unsurprised at the strength of his grip.

  ‘Thank you.’

  She spun on her heels to return the way she came when she caught a glimpse of what she thought was a brightly coloured painting hanging on the back wall of the pool house. She took a couple of steps towards it, but Riccardo stepped into her path, taking her arm and guiding her back towards the path.

  ‘Goodbye, Isabella.’

  His dismissal brooked no argument but piqued Izzie’s curiosity. For a man who had queried the bridal couple’s desire for privacy, he certainly had secrets of his own to keep.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Terrace, Villa Limoncello

  Colour: Raspberry Ripple

  So, what was Riccardo hiding? What was in the pool house he didn’t want her to see? And what had happened to cause such deep-seated pain to linger in his eyes?

  However, Izzie’s internal reverie came to an abrupt end when she rounded the corner of the villa and her gaze fell on the terrace. For there, with her pink tipped hair flowing in the breeze like a mermaid stepping from the ocean for her first foray onto dry land, was Meghan, a wide smile stretching her lips.

  ‘Izzie!’

  ‘Meghan!’

  Within seconds she had covered the space between them and flung her arms around Meghan, inhaling the delicious whiff of floral scent that would forever remind her of her best friend. Her heart ballooned with delight and she wasn’t surprised to find tears prickling at her eyes as her emotions surged.

  ‘Welcome to Villa Limoncello, darling. I’m so happy you’re here at last.’

  ‘Me, too! Wow, what an amazing place! I knew it would be stunning, but it’s even more beautiful in real life. It just so…’

  Izzie waited for Meghan to continue, but her litany of superlatives had frozen on her lips because her gaze had fixed on a point just over Izzie’s shoulder. At first Izzie assumed it was the breath-taking view of the vineyards or the terracotta roofs of San Vivaldo nestled on the hillside to her right, but she should have known better because Meghan was almost drooling.

  Izzie giggled. ‘That’s Gianni, and yes, as far as I know, he’s single.’

  ‘What’s the matter with the women around here?’ declared Meghan, flicking her hair over her shoulder and straightening her luminous orange T-shirt that she’d accessorised herself with gold-appliqué butterflies. ‘He’s leading man material, if you ask me! Are you absolutely sure this isn’t a film shoot and he’s not playing the role of dashingly handsome groom?’

  And in pure Meghan style, forgetting the fact that she had just arrived and had promised to spend every minute of her time helping Izzie with the wedding arrangements, she skipped off down the garden steps on a mission to introduce herself to the new man in her life – even though Gianni didn’t know it yet.

  ‘Hey! You’ve just arrived!’ Izzie called after her, amusement in her voice. ‘Have you even unpacked?’

  ‘Sure,’ Meghan shouted over her shoulder. ‘Carlotta has put me in the pink room! Bit like my aunt Lydia’s boudoir. Who puts rose-covered wallpaper on the walls and the ceiling?’

  ‘I…’

  But Meghan was already out of earshot and was introducing herself to a bewildered Gianni who was in the process of rehoming the bay tree in a huge ceramic pot and had no idea of the maelstrom of attention that was about to hit him. She briefly wondered if Carlotta’s matchmaking skills had woven their magic spell and caused this swift introduction. Could she have pointed Meghan in the direction of their intrepid estate manager when she was settling Meghan into her suite?

  Izzie shook her head but was happy Meghan had arrived at Villa Limoncello bringing with her a whirlwind of carefree positivity and jubilation. She decided that Gianni was old enough to look after himself and continued her journey to the kitchen to report on her breakthrough with Riccardo to a very relieved Carlotta and Vincenzo.

  ‘I don’t understand why he has to be so grouchy,’ muttered Izzie as she rinsed the last of that day’s cups and saucers and returned them to the designated place in the cupboards, ticking off the final item on that day’s agenda with a sigh of relief.

  It had been a very long day, filled with a cornucopia of emotions. It was only seven thirty, her shoulders ached and exhaustion swirled, yet despite this her spirits were flying high. Not only had her conversation with Luca freed some of her demons from their cage, but now that Meghan had arrived to adorn Villa Limoncello with her effusive cheerfulness, she knew that with her help she’d be able to stage the wedding according to Brad’s carefully crafted plan, especially after the deal she’d struck with the enigmatic Riccardo. Her brain snagged once again on that wisp of turmoil deep in his eyes that only someone who had experienced something similar themselves might notice. She wondered what had caused it and if anyone had the answer it was Carlotta.

  ‘How long has Riccardo lived next door?’

  ‘Not long,’ said Vincenzo, slotting the mop he’d been using to wash the tiled floor back into the cleaning cupboard before coming to sit down at the table. ‘He and his wife bought the place around the same time as Villa dei Limoni was sold by the American. It was a real wreck, even worse than the villa, and to give him his due, he’s spent time, effort and a great deal of money renovating it. Do you know him?’

  Izzie paused in her task of restacking the white china plates in order of size on the sideboard and stared at Vincenzo.

  ‘Know him?’

  ‘He’s English.’

  A bolt of surprise hit her between the eyes, then realisation dawned when she realised that Riccardo had spoken with no accent whatsoever, but then a lot of Italians did. Even so, was Vincenzo really suggesting that she would know everyone who lived in Tuscany with a link to the UK?

  Carlotta saw her confusion and smiled.

  ‘I think Vincenzo means do you know his work?’

  ‘His work?’

  ‘Yes, he’s a writer? Quite well-known, I’m told, although I’ve never read any of his books. Richard Clarke?’

  ‘Richard Clarke!’

  It took Izzie’s brain a few moments to recover from the shock. She had actually read a couple of his crime novels, a good five years ago though, when she enjoyed reading that sort of fiction. After she’d lost Anna she just couldn’t bear to go near such stories and restricted herself to light-hearted, uplifting reads.

  ‘I had no idea… I…’

  ‘Sadly, his wife passed away rather suddenly twelve months ago whilst they were in the throes of renovating the house,’ explained Carlotta, removing her apron and hanging it on the back of the door and joining Vincenzo at the table with a mug of coffee.

  Izzie slumped down at the table in the middle of the kitchen like a puppet clipped of its strings, a myriad of thoughts racing through her brain. Now she understood that haunted, guarded look she had seen buried just beneath the surface. Although they were different people in many respects, the trauma they had experienced was very similar; both struggling to deal with that one devastating event that had defined them and turned them into a mere shadow of what they had been before. She had glimpsed in Riccardo the immensity of the daily struggle and put his demeanour down to impatience, grumpiness, the physical exertion neede
d to renovate a crumbling old building.

  Did people meeting her for the first time feel the same way about her? Did they not bother to pursue their initial contact into a tentative friendship because she gave out such negative vibes which they interpreted as grouchiness and rudeness, when actually she was simply shooting up barriers to protect herself from the anguish of more loss?

  The clarity of that insight into her personality over the last two years shocked her. Before Anna had passed away she had been a cheerful, confident, sociable, optimistic and open person who made connections easily and indeed had a wide circle of friends. Now, a mere twenty four months later, only a few hardy souls had stuck by her, loved her for what she now was, mainly because they understood as they were dealing with issues of their own; Jonti with his father’s attitude towards his chosen lifestyle; Meghan who refused to face the issue of her family’s desire for her to take over the reins of their business – literally – at their stud farm.

  Gratitude for their friendship spread over her like a warm shower and a window of self-knowledge opened up allowing her to peer inside. It was a light bulb moment and she resolved to make more of an effort to forge a new path through life that wasn’t based on her grief. Yes, she would still think of her sister every day, carry her memory with her in everything she did – she was still her twin after all – but now she understood that she had a responsibility to take on the world for both of them, to live enough for two!

  Gosh, she had her work cut out, but she was enthused and ready to give it a go.

  When she met Carlotta’s gaze, her friend reached over to pat her hand in a gesture of understanding, as though she had been following everything that had spun through her mind. How did she do that? How had she become so intuitive, so aware of people’s emotions, their secret dreams, even before they were? No wonder she was a formidable matchmaker if she could read people so well.

  A giggle erupted from her lips. Would Carlotta turn her attention to her? And if she did, how would she react? She had no need to ponder this question too long as a fully formed image of Luca floated across her vision and sent a delicious shiver down her spine.

  ‘Okay, it’s time Vincenzo and I left you,’ smiled Carlotta, flashing Vincenzo a look that said let’s go as he looked like he was settling in for the evening.

  ‘Thanks for everything you’ve done today, both of you. This wedding would never be happening without your help.’

  ‘Non è niente!’

  Izzie hugged Carlotta and Vincenzo goodbye, promising to have an early night and to be up and raring to go the following morning at six a.m. She waved them off from the terrace, then took a bottle of Chianti out to the pergola in the hope that Meghan might return to indulge in a girly gossip before she succumbed to the delicious lure of her bed. She was shattered but keen to catch up with what was happening at home.

  As she sipped the rich red wine the region was famous for, she watched the sky send streaks of apricot across the horizon, drenching the whole valley with a soft coppery light. The cicadas added their interminable backing track, their musical narrative never changing, reassuring the listener that whatever happened time marched on regardless. For some unknown reason, an image of Darren Hambleton drifted into her mind. She was surprised to find that she had thought very little about her dismissal from Hambleton Homes since leaving London, but then every spare minute had been taken up with sorting out the wedding arrangements. The assignment had landed on her lap with perfect timing and was something else she had Meghan to thank for. Again, her friend had known what she had needed most.

  Dusk now tickled the regimented line of cypress trees edging the driveway and the temperature dropped from sticky to comfortable. A tinkle of laughter floated on the early evening air from the direction of the wedding gazebo and, a couple of beats later, Meghan appeared with a beaming Gianni in tow. Izzie couldn’t stop herself from rolling her eyes, but she poured another two glasses of wine and handed one to each of them.

  ‘To Villa Limoncello.’

  ‘Cheers, darling!’

  ‘Salute!’

  ‘So, has everything been completed in accordance with my darling brother’s meticulous requirements? You know, I tried to call him five times before I left London and once when I landed in Florence to get an update on when he might get here, and he still hasn’t had the decency to call me back. Rachel says it’s because he’s in editing hell with the new film he’s working on, apparently the deadline’s midnight tonight. Crazy time for a deadline, but that’s Brad all over. I have no idea how Lucy puts up with him; I would have throttled him ages ago!’

  Meghan shook her head in disgust but Izzie knew she didn’t mean it. Meghan adored her brother with the same ferocity Izzie had loved her sister and would defend him with staunch indignation to anyone who had the audacity to write a sub-par review of any of his work. Her loyalty to her family and friends was legendary, as long as it didn’t include anything to do with horses.

  ‘I assume you’ve managed to talk to him, Izzie?’

  ‘Yes, but only for about two minutes.’

  ‘God, the selfish…’

  ‘It’s okay. I’ve had Lucy’s emails and the lists and itineraries I drafted on the flight over here. And, apart from a couple of unavoidable events,’ she cast a surreptitious glance in Gianni’s direction, ‘I’m pleased to report that we’re on schedule to hold the most spectacular wedding San Vivaldo had ever seen.’

  She quickly filled Gianni in on the deal she had struck with Riccardo to share his electricity and suggested that he start work on the reconnection first thing the next day. She saw the relief float across his face and was touched when he slid his hand across the table to give her fingers a quick squeeze before excusing himself to make a few calls.

  ‘So, how are things back home?’

  ‘Yes, I should have told you as soon as I arrived, but well, I got a little distracted.’

  Both Izzie and Meghan glanced over to where Gianni was standing with his back to them, his melodic voice drifting towards them as he finished up his call and began serenading his precious vines whilst combing his unruly locks away from his forehead. For a fleeting moment the statue of David standing proud in the Accademia sprang into Izzie’s mind and she had to supress a giggle.

  ‘What should you have told me?’

  ‘That I had a visitor at the flat last night.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Dastardly Darren.’

  Izzie groaned and took a gulp of her wine to prepare herself for what was coming.

  ‘Actually, he came bearing gifts.’

  ‘What sort of gifts? My P45?’

  ‘Champagne and flowers.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘And a letter that I had to promise to deliver to you in person. Here.’

  Meghan scrambled in her fuchsia-coloured satchel and withdrew a crumpled envelope with Izzie’s name scribbled across the front. Izzie recognised the handwriting – it wasn’t Darren’s but Harry’s bold scrawl. Her heart gave a sharp nip of concern.

  ‘Oh, I…’

  ‘Open it!’

  Meghan hated waiting for anything. Although Izzie knew she would stop short of steaming open the envelope, she also knew that her friend was probably chomping at the bit to contain her curiosity.

  She inhaled a deep breath, ran her fingertip along the flap and withdrew a sheet of paper that had obviously been torn from an invoice book. She smiled when she saw a smudged fingerprint of dirt in one of the corners. It was good to see that Harry was still hands-on when it came to his love of building projects and had clearly been in the middle of something when he put pen to paper – an old-fashioned way of dealing with business matters, maybe, but that was Harry Hambleton’s style.

  Isabella,

  Sincere apologies for my son’s poor management skills. I’ve read him the riot act which didn’t include any of that corporate bullshit he loves! Your services are indispensable to Hambleton Homes and I hope to see you back at wo
rk first thing on Monday morning where I will offer you my personal apology along with a twenty percent pay rise.

  Harry.

  Izzie held the missive in her hand for several minutes as she re-read the straight-to-the-point message from her former boss.

  ‘Well? Is it good news? Do you have your job back?’

  ‘Yes, apparently Harry is livid with Darren. He’s apologised and has even offered me a raise!’

  ‘Phew, thank God for that!’

  Meghan held up her glass in a gesture of congratulations, but confusion filled her eyes when Izzie didn’t respond to her toast.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I know I should be over the moon, but to be honest the thought of going back to staging houses for resale just doesn’t fill me with any enthusiasm. Look around you – look at the vibrancy of the colours, listen to the song of the crickets, feel the warmth of the sunshine, inhale the perfume of the flowers, and wait until you taste the kaleidoscope of dishes that’ll be on offer at the wedding – all home-made from the freshest of ingredients. It’s a world away from the beige, bland, monochrome life I’ve been living in London for the last two years. Do I really want to go back to that?’

  ‘Hooray! Now that is something worth celebrating!’ beamed Meghan, putting her glass down on the table and reaching over to gather Izzie in her arms. ‘That’s the most positive thing I’ve heard you say in a long time. If this is what a week in Tuscany has done for you, then imagine what spending a month here would do. I can see in your eyes how much you love it here, but as someone who knows you better than you know yourself, I also know that it’s not just the gorgeous views, the exceptional wine and the delicious pasta that’s causing that glint of joy in your eyes.’