One Summer in Italy

by Sue Moorcroft

  After an hour he satisfied himself the moderators were doing their jobs, then went back to wading through emails.

  He hadn’t quite completed his task when Wes rang. ‘Got any coming-home plans yet?’ he demanded without preamble.

  Levi tried to get the conversation off on the right foot. ‘Things are taking longer than I’d hoped. I was just on the site when you rang. It’s looking great. You’re doing a fantastic job.’

  Wes sounded pleased. ‘Yeah, things are going OK. I rang to ask your views on starting up a new page.’

  Levi was surprised he’d have had time to worry about extra work when he was there on his own. ‘What do you have in mind? Wouldn’t you rather wait till I get back so there’s another pair of hands on deck?’

  ‘Normally. But Octavia’s so fast and so competent that I don’t see any real reason to wait. It’s her idea, actually: Modern Woman to balance Modern Man.’

  Levi felt himself bristling. Was it just the sound of Octavia’s name? ‘We’d already discussed redressing that imbalance, hadn’t we?’ It was a bit of a stretch for Wes to present that as ‘Octavia’s idea’.

  Wes swept that detail aside, his voice ringing with enthusiasm. ‘Octavia’s willing to get it up and running and moderate the forum too. I think it’s a fantastic idea because the bias on the site at the moment is definitely towards men – like women are born without a sense of humour. Octavia’s just what we need: sassy, irreverent, quick-witted, yet with an underlying intelligence and compassion that will attract women searching for their tribe and men who want to understand women.’

  ‘Right.’ Levi could imagine Wes reading that lot off the A4 pad that acted as a mouse mat. He’d either worked on his pitch before he rang or Octavia had given him lots of pointers, because Wes was usually a bit short on opinions regarding what women might want. He frequently referred to himself as ‘never having much luck with females’. A homely guy whose friendship groups were exclusively male, in the time Levi had known him Wes had fallen violently in love twice and thrown himself into those relationships in a welter of hours at the gym, new clothes and smart haircuts. On both occasions he’d ended up with gaping wounds in his heart when the girl failed to appreciate his adoration and moved on.

  Levi couldn’t help recognising, with a sinking heart, the signs that Wes was falling in love once more.

  Wes had been part of Levi’s life since they met at uni. Stolid by nature, he seemed content to inhabit the background, his motorbike less powerful than Levi’s, his enthusiasm for new ventures more moderate. Levi had driven the transformation of The Moron Forum from free-time joke to part-time career to full-on focus then runaway financial success. He was the ideas man, but he relied on Wes’s calm good sense to rein him in when he needed it.

  Maybe that was why Levi was having trouble with Wes taking the lead in launching a new page? He hadn’t tried to trap Wes in the role of Wingman, had he?

  ‘So, you say this initiative’s come from Octavia?’ he enquired hastily. ‘How’s it going with you two? Do you think it might get serious?’

  ‘It’s going great. And yes, I do.’

  What was it about that emphatic declaration that made Levi uneasy? ‘Fantastic. So it’s no problem to be involved as well as working together? Some people hate that.’

  ‘Not in the least.’ Wes was all earnest enthusiasm. ‘She’s been using your desk and I value that, to be honest. Working on my own soon got old and Octavia, like me, thrives on a creative pool rather than isolation.’

  ‘She’s working from the office?’ They’d never instigated a ‘relationships at work’ policy because it was just him and Wes except when Bookkeeper Mary tucked herself in a corner of the office for two days each week. He and Wes didn’t need a relationships policy; they needed a whose-turn-is-it-to-buy-doughnuts-on-Fridays policy or a don’t-swear-in-front-of-Mary-you-stupid-arse policy.

  ‘That’s right.’ Something else replaced enthusiasm in Wes’s voice now. A hint of warning that he wasn’t going to react well to objections? Levi shoved his fingers through his hair. Why did this have to happen just when he was taking uncharacte‌ristically prolonged leave from his desk? It felt off, Octavia coming on to him in a particularly direct manner and then, when he’d politely backed off, approaching his company with a CV of web-wise wizardry and almost instantly falling for Wes. It seemed more like the plot of a psychological thriller than reasonable human behaviour.

  He decided to deal with what he could. Blocking manoeuvres and interrogations were likely to piss Wes off and it would prove a challenge on a par with climbing Everest to run the whole site on his own remotely, in between watching over Amy and keeping up his front of being in Montelibertà only to paint pretty pictures. ‘OK, talk specifics about the page,’ he suggested.

  Listening, he paced around the room, finding a path between Sofia’s cases, trying to assess the project objectively. He asked a few questions but had to admit to himself that Octavia had thought about her audience and her approach, and even trialled a few thread topics amongst her social media contacts. Apart from a distrust of her, he had no reason not to support her initiative. ‘OK, let’s give it a go,’ he agreed. Then added casually, ‘But I’d like a co-moderator on the page, please.’

  Wes immediately sounded wary. ‘Why should her page be co-moderated? Some of the other pages aren’t.’

  ‘True. But some are. And we’ve never let a moderator go solo that we’ve known for such a short time. There’s no downside to continuing that policy so far as I can see.’

  ‘Oh-kay.’ Wes drew the word out as if to indicate it wasn’t OK at all.

  ‘Anything else we need to talk about?’ Levi asked when he’d waited in vain for Wes to share what was on his mind.

  ‘Nothing from me. See you when you finally make an appearance.’

  ‘Great. Thanks for keeping everything going.’ Levi waited. ‘Wes?’ He removed his phone from his ear and checked the screen. Call ended. Had Wes really just turned sulky because Levi wouldn’t give his girlfriend sole control of a new page?

  He threw the phone on the bed and dropped down after it, skin prickling with the discomfort of not being in his own office at the beating heart of The Moron Forum. Specifically, not being there when Octovia was, and Wes was behaving weirdly.

  Then everything that had happened in that bed last night floated into his mind and he wished Sofia’s bucket list had included a ten- or twenty-night stand instead of the usual one.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sofia plodded down the main staircase as if someone had poured concrete into her shoes. Crossing reception, she glanced out to the sun-splashed Il Giardino and saw Amy speeding towards the kitchen hatch, an empty tray dangling from her hand. Catching sight of her, Amy held up her free hand, fingers firmly crossed, her brow creased apprehensively. Sofia managed a reassuring wave.

  ‘Ciao, Sofia!’

  She turned to see Aurora behind the reception desk, easily the best of the Morbidellis in Sofia’s opinion, but couldn’t summon up a smile to match hers. ‘Ciao, Aurora,’ she replied, trailing through the door marked Solo staff.

  She arrived at Benedetta’s office reflecting that fulfilling Aldo’s request to visit Montelibertà was turning out to be a lot more complicated than she’d expected: Gianni’s snottiness; Benedetta’s flakiness; Amy tugging at Sofia’s heartstrings; and Levi capturing Sofia’s attention in a wholly different way. And now she was about to condemn herself to spending her shifts on the front desk when the sunshine of Il Giardino or the terrace was much more what she’d had in mind when she came here. Not responsibility. Not being stuck indoors.

  She’d spent way too long incarcerated in the house while Aldo had needed her. Then, it had been worth it. But now?

  ‘Buon giorno,’ she murmured as she stepped into the brown leatherette dullness of the office and though the door only clicked shut behind her it sounded in her imagination like the clang of a prison cell.

  Benedetta was smart an
d unsmiling in a suit, manicured and made up. A folder lay open before her on the desk, presumably Sofia’s staff file as she could see a photocopy of the ID page of her passport, taken when she’d arrived nearly three weeks ago. ‘Buon giorno. Are you to continue working at Casa Felice?’

  Sofia took a breath. She thought of the man she’d left in one of Casa Felice’s rooms a couple of floors above her head. Then she thought of Amy – red-faced and furious at Davide, white and anxious about being left alone. ‘I’d love to.’ As Benedetta began to smile and she saw the outside world receding she added desperately, ‘but I’d prefer to stay in my current job.’

  Benedetta was already shaking her head. ‘I am sorry. I’ve added a local person to the waiting staff. The job I’m offering you is the one we discussed last night. I need another person on the reception roster.’

  ‘Oh,’ Sofia said unhappily. ‘Then thank you very much. I’ll take it.’

  ‘Good!’ Benedetta’s smile broadened. ‘You will be an asset. You know how to talk to people, you are smart and listen to guests’ views. You’re a team player.’ She paused to fold her hands and frown sternly over the top of them. ‘There will be no repeat of yesterday’s incident in Il Giardino, of course.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I’m making an allowance for your uncle acting unforgivably. I have known Gianni Bianchi for many years and find him a difficult man. Until you let yourself to be goaded into an argument with him you had been cheerful and bright.’

  Sofia nodded.

  ‘You must also remember to follow the rules. You understand the importance of the rules. Yes?’ Benedetta prompted.

  ‘Yes.’ Sofia kissed goodbye to the memories of Levi below her, above her, curled around her, while Benedetta launched into a lecture on attitudes, particularly of those she considered permanent staff, which now included Sofia. Sofia didn’t worry too much about the permanency aspect. If there was no time for a simple resignation letter she could work Benedetta up into a rage and get the sack again.

  ‘Yesterday and today will be considered your days off,’ Benedetta continued. ‘You will join Aurora tomorrow morning at the reception desk at seven. Wear your black dress without the apron to begin with and Aurora will take your sizes and arrange your new uniform.’ She hesitated. ‘Please note the personal grooming standards of Aurora and me.’ Her gaze dropped tellingly to Sofia’s neat, unvarnished nails, making Sofia want to curl up her fingers to hide them.

  Feeling progressively glummer, she listened to advice on wearing her hair ‘neatly’ up – ‘messy’ or ‘casual’ updos were the preserve of waitresses, apparently – and selecting shoes with a heel. ‘I understand,’ she acknowledged. The job wasn’t sounding any more appealing.

  Finally, Benedetta signalled the end of the interview by rising from the desk and opening the door. Sofia escaped, hurrying past the front desk where Aurora was tied up with a guest, and took the lift back up to Levi’s floor. His corridor was quiet. Probably most of the guests were out for the day or enjoying a leisurely lunch.

  When she reached his room she tapped lightly and he immediately opened the door. He didn’t look any more cheerful than she felt. His laptop was open on the bed and his phone beside it.

  She paused, suddenly unsure of one-night-stand protocol. ‘I took the job.’

  ‘Right.’

  They looked at one another.

  She spoke first. ‘I’d better move my stuff back.’

  He glanced at the stacked cases, the top one spilling its contents. ‘I’ll help you.’

  She shook her head. ‘Asking for trouble. The luggage has wheels so I can manage.’ As he watched, she bundled her things into the top case, fetched her sponge bag from the bathroom and borrowed the bin liner for yesterday’s still-damp uniform. She glanced at the tumbled bed and her imagination selected images from last night – and yesterday afternoon and this morning – to set fire to her cheeks.

  She fumbled the zipping of her suitcase, feeling ridiculously coy over the sight of his hands and the memory of what they’d done to her. She straightened, yanking both cases upright and pulling out their handles. ‘Well—’

  He was standing very close. ‘Are you reporting for duty straightaway?’

  ‘Not till tomorrow. When I’ve dumped this lot I’m going to walk into town, I think.’

  His hands settled on her waist. ‘Fancy lunch?’

  Her laugh was breathless. ‘We’re back to the staff/guest thing.’

  He smoothed her hair. ‘How about we happen to fancy a walk in the country park at the same time? I’ll bring lunch. I want to talk.’

  She studied him but his face didn’t give any clues as to what he wanted to talk about. ‘OK.’

  He slid his arms around her and dipped his head so he could kiss her properly, prompting her to abandon the case handles and wind her arms around his neck, closing her eyes as desire swept through her at his body touching hers all the way up.

  Finally, she disengaged. ‘I’d better go.’ But it was only when she was back in her old room and changed into shorts and a T-shirt, her hair brushed into a loose side ponytail, that her heart rate returned to normal. It could have just been the effects of manhandling two heavy cases and a backpack down the steps from the yard to the staff gate, of course. Could have been.

  She groaned aloud as she looked around her plain-but-adequate room and began forlornly to restore her possessions to the spots they’d occupied for the past few weeks.

  She’d arranged to meet Levi at two-thirty in the same place as before, away from the main trails that linked green clearings between twisted pines and stately oaks. Levi was already seated on the wispy grass swatting away insects when Sofia arrived, out of breath from the trek uphill. Beside him was a lurid blue cool bag. He smiled and rose to kiss her, though the smile was perfunctory and the kiss a tender but almost distracted brush of his lips on hers.

  He unzipped the cool bag as he sat himself back down. ‘I got the lady at the kiosk down the road to put us together a lunch. Apart from the bottles of wine and water it’s all hidden in these little boxes.’

  ‘Intriguing,’ she said.

  As he was obviously prioritising eating over talking, Sofia joined him in opening boxes of various salads, cubes of pecorino cheese, rolled-up slices of prosciutto and chunks of foccacia bread. Plastic cutlery and glasses were tucked in the corners of the bag. The kiosk lady was evidently adept at supplying packed lunches for tourists.

  They sat companionably on the grass, munching glowing red baby tomatoes dressed in olive oil along with crispy green leaves and twirly pasta salad. Levi was quiet, contemplating the tree-clothed slopes of the neighbouring peaks spread out before them as he ate.

  ‘Well, I know why I’m down in the dumps,’ Sofia said eventually, wiping her hands on a paper napkin and taking up her wineglass. ‘Why don’t you tell me why you are?’

  He shot her a rueful glance. ‘I didn’t mean to be bad company but I had a conversation with Wes while you were at your interview and it’s left me …’ He paused to pick up his wine glass and touch it to Sofia’s. Because it was plastic it made a pathetic whisper of a sound instead of a clink. ‘I don’t know how to describe how it’s left me. Not exactly worried, not exactly anxious, but definitely unsettled. Negative. Feeling I should be there to properly assess what’s going on. Wes and I built The Moron Forum out of nothing and a lot of people depend on it for income.’

  Sofia listened in silence as he went on to outline how oddly he felt Wes was behaving and how encroaching he found Wes’s girlfriend. ‘Do you think the site’s under threat?’

  His shoulders moved in a big sigh. ‘I haven’t really got any reason to think that. Not a concrete reason. Just …’

  ‘A hunch?’

  ‘I suppose that’s all it is.’ Once again he shifted his gaze to the vista before them.

  Heart slipping down to somewhere near her feet, Sofia thought she could hear what he wasn’t saying. ‘You’re going home t
o Cambridgeshire to sort it out.’

  He swatted moodily at a wasp, his smile crooked when he turned to look at her. ‘Not immediately, but I’ve got to go back sometime. Amy might drift around Europe for months and I can’t hover like a guardian angel indefinitely.’ In the sunlight his eyes were the ice-blue of the topaz Sofia had admired in a jeweller’s window in town. ‘But the thought of leaving her is tearing at me. I know she’s an adult but she seems so vulnerable that I feel sick every time I acknowledge that I’ve got to leave her – if not right away then soon.’ He hesitated, gaze intense. ‘I’ve no right to ask you this, but will you keep in touch with me about Amy?’

  Sofia’s first instinct was to reply with a prompt ‘Yes, of course!’ to see relief relax the muscles of his face and know that she’d made his heart lighter. But she paused. Then she spoke slowly, trying to choose the right words. ‘Coming here was planned as only the first step in a journey that was meant to take a couple of years. Not just a literal but a metaphorical journey, all about freedom and having only myself to consider after spending half my life as a carer. I’ve discharged my promises to Dad – except, perhaps the one about being happy. That’s been patchy – so, much as I care for Amy, there’s an irony in picking up a new responsibility to tie me to her life and schedule. What you’re asking is too nebulous and open-ended for me to blithely say yes.

  ‘How would it actually work?’ she queried. ‘What if Amy wants to move on alone? What if she falls in with a bad crowd or gets a boyfriend, will you expect me to report to you? If so, how will she feel if she finds out? What if I decide to move on and it’s somewhere Amy doesn’t fancy, or can’t go, or I just want to be on my own?’ She saw disappointment dawning in his eyes but slogged on, needing him to see the whole picture. ‘Will you tell Amy that you’re her father before you go? It’s quite important to acknowledge that if you don’t then I’m joining in your deception by not telling her. But if you do, I can only guess at the effect it might have on her. I don’t have any particular skills to see her through it.’