by T A Williams
She smiled back at him. ‘No thanks, I’m going back home for breakfast in a minute.’
‘So you’re staying round here?’ Seeing her nod, he continued. ‘Ah, so you must be one of the two beautiful girls with the sports car that my friend Marco was talking about. You were spotted driving up the road yesterday.’ He nodded to himself. ‘Due bellissime fanciulle, is what he said. Well, he wasn’t wrong, at least as far as one of them’s concerned. I’d better reserve judgement until I see your companion.’
Katie could feel her cheeks burning, but she did her best to brazen it out. ‘We did arrive in a beautiful sports car, I’ll give you that.’ She indicated the Land Rover. ‘No sports car for you, I see.’ He smiled.
‘Nothing so posh. I’m a farmer, so I need something that can get me about, even when this road is six inches deep in mud.’ Seeing the expression on her face, he added. ‘Really. You should see it when it rains around here. Last winter we had to get a bulldozer to repair the road three times. This soil turns into porridge like nobody’s business. Next thing you know, you’ve got landslides and the road has started heading down the hill to the Arno’ He watched as the dog finished his half of the banana. ‘Well, if you’re sure you don’t want a piece, I’ll finish the banana. If I leave it in the truck for a few hours in this heat, I’ll have a colony of ants in here.’ He took a bite and sat back, his eyes on Katie.
‘Is this your farm here?’ Katie pointed through the gates which had now closed once more. He shook his head, swallowed and explained.
‘No such luck. This villa belongs to a friend, or at least it did. She died last month. I’m just keeping an eye on the place until they decide what’s happening to it.’
‘Oh, I’m so sorry.’
‘Not really. She was well into her nineties. That’s a pretty good age. She was a very well known opera singer in her day. She’s been living there alone for almost thirty years. I knew her because my mum and she used to work together.’ He took the last piece of banana and chewed it pensively. ‘Now they’re both dead.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Katie didn’t know what else to say. She cast about for something more cheerful, but he got there first.
‘So, to what do we owe the pleasure of the arrival in our midst of two sirens from the frozen north?’
Katie laughed. ‘I was talking to a friend back home yesterday and she told me it’s pullover weather up there. Not like here.’ She looked up. While she had been chatting to him, the sun had moved round until the meagre shade provided by the wall had disappeared. It was already very hot. ‘And we’re not sirens. I’m Katie and I’m here with my friend.’
‘Well, welcome to Tuscany, Katie. Your Italian sounds impressive. Complimenti.’
‘So does yours. You must have lived here for ages to speak it that well.’
‘Since I was seven, on and off. My dad was English and my mum was from round here. I grew up speaking both and then went off to university in the UK.’
‘So that’s how you know Dante the dog, then?’
‘Yeh, we’re both locals. And I’ve known his owner for years. In fact, I’ve done work for him. Dante’s always around.’
‘What sort of work, farming stuff?’
The man nodded. ‘You see, I’m a bit of a specialist. I’ve specialised in olive trees and I’ve got a company that looks after them. We plant them, prune them, treat them, harvest them. You name it; if it’s olive, we do it. Anyway, Nando called me in when their trees had an attack of Peacock Spot.’ He caught her eye. ‘That’s a nasty disease that olive trees can get. Anyway, I treated his trees and saved most of them, all bar three. Three out of three hundred is bloody good, you know.’ A thought occurred to him. ‘So how come you know Dante, then?’
‘We’re staying at the villa.’
She saw a cloud cross his face and he suddenly looked serious. She was on the point of asking him more when he started the engine.
‘Sorry,’ he glanced at his watch, ‘I’d better get on, the guys arrive at seven thirty and I have to be there.’
Katie waved him goodbye, but the Land Rover was already moving. It disappeared down the hill and she set off back to the villa with the dog. As she walked down the road, she found herself wondering if, somehow, she had touched a nerve.
It turned out to be a tiring day for both of them. Nando was complaining that morning that his head man had chosen that particular week to take a holiday. As a result, they were short of a driver for the tractor and trailer. Victoria immediately volunteered, claiming she had years of tractor-driving experience behind her. Katie stood back and watched with amusement as Nando did his best to conceal his disbelief. He couldn’t really say no as she was, after all, the new owner of the villa and his boss, but both girls could read his thoughts: a woman? It was only once he saw her climb into the driving seat of the massive tractor and skilfully reverse it back to couple with the trailer that his expression changed to one of incredulity, and from there to admiration.
‘Rosina, Rosina, come and look. She really can drive a tractor.’ He summoned his wife from the kitchen to enjoy the spectacle. ‘A little scrap of a thing like that and she’s driving like an old pro.’
Victoria spent most of the day ferrying men and materials around the hillside, thoroughly enjoying herself as she did so. Katie had arranged to go into Florence to visit friends she had made when she was doing her year abroad ten years earlier. She opted to take the train, leaving the car at the station. She had lunch with the family where she had lived while she was studying. They were unchanged, apart from being a few years older, and the pappardelle alla lepre were as good as she remembered. She spent the afternoon in the baking sun, walking round all her old haunts. By the time she got back home, it was six o’clock and she needed a shower and a change. Victoria was sitting in the kitchen, chatting to Rosina, a layer of dust covering her face. She smiled broadly as Katie came in.
‘Somehow I think we’re going to be the talk of the village. They’re not used to seeing a woman driving a tractor.’
Katie remembered the conversation she had had that morning. ‘We already are. Apparently the word has gone round that due bellissime fanciulle have turned up in a flashy German sports car.’
‘Fanciulle, eh? That’s an antiquated word for girls, isn’t it? Mind you, bellissime, doesn’t sound too bad. So who told you that then?’
Katie told her about her chance encounter with the man in the Land Rover and his rather abrupt departure. They were chatting quite naturally in Italian and Katie saw comprehension dawn on Rosina’s face. Along with comprehension was something else. It might have been apprehension. ‘Ah, so you’ve met Paul Taylor?’
‘Is that his name. He didn’t tell me.’
‘Signor Paul Taylor. He has a business looking after olive trees. He is a magician, or so Nando says. He can cure anything apparently.’
‘Do you know him well?’ Again, Katie saw something she couldn’t read on Rosina’s face. ‘He and Dante are big buddies. In fact,’ she smiled at the memory, ‘they had breakfast together today.’
‘Yes, we know Paul very well. He’s been living here since he was little, but he went off to school in England. He came back about seven or eight years ago and set up his business. That was only a year or two before his poor mother died.’
‘He said his mother was dead.’
‘So very sad. And Paul now, all he does is work. He just works and works. He’s built up his business from nothing, you know. Nando says he never stops.’ For a moment, Katie was on the point of asking more about Paul Taylor, but something in Rosina’s face stopped her. She glanced sideways at Victoria who appeared not to have noticed anything and decided to wait until she and Rosina were alone.
Chapter Twelve
Katie barely saw Victoria the next day, mainly because she was once more on tractor driving duty. Katie and Dante went for a long walk. She found she was looking forward to the big dog’s company and it felt reassuring to have him with her up there
in the midst of the fields. It was in the midst of a particularly big field that she met another of the locals.
As she and the dog followed a narrow path through the olive groves, she spotted a tall figure walking towards her and, for a moment, she thought it might be Paul Taylor. When she realised it wasn’t him, she had a momentary sense of disappointment. She was still trying to analyse that reaction when the man drew level with her. Her eyes widened in surprise. This man was absolutely gorgeous.
‘Ciao, bella.’ She stopped, slightly unnerved by this informal approach. He gave her a big smile that instantly put her at her ease and stopped to talk. ‘Now I see you out of the car, I realise you are more beautiful than I remember.’ She felt herself blushing. The dog, recognising him, trotted over and nuzzled his leg. It was a very long, muscular, suntanned leg and the rest of his body looked amazing as well. She racked her brains for the name Paul Taylor had mentioned. It came to her.
‘You must be Marco.’
He was kneeling down by this time, ruffling the dog’s neck and ears. Dante looked as though he was enjoying it. For a moment, she found herself wondering what it would feel like to have her hair and ears ruffled by this tall, handsome man. He looked as if he had just stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine. He glanced back up at her. ‘My fame has spread. Everybody knows Marco.’ His accent was Florentine, but she was delighted that she had no difficulty in understanding his Italian. He kissed the dog on the top of his head and straightened up again. ‘You know why he’s called Dante?’
Katie shook her head so Marco explained. ‘When he was a little puppy he chewed everything and pooped all over the house. Nando called him Dante because he was infernal.’ He put his hands on his hips, cocked his head on one side and studied her critically. ‘You know, I wasn’t wrong. You really do have spectacular bone structure.’ She felt her embarrassment grow.
He flicked his fringe out of his eye and stretched his arms back behind his head. Then he remembered his manners and held out his hand towards her. ‘So you know my name, but I don’t know yours.’ He bowed formally. ‘Marco, piacere.’
‘Katie. And it’s a pleasure to meet you, too.’ She shook hands with him. He held her hand a few seconds longer than necessary before relinquishing it.
‘Buongiorno, Katie. And what brings you to this part of the world?’
‘I’m here with my friend, Victoria. We’re staying at the villa over there.’ She pointed down the hillside to the roof that was just poking up through the ancient trees that surrounded it. She saw immediate comprehension on his face.
‘You are staying at the Chalker-Pyne villa?’
‘Yes. I’m here with Victoria Chalker-Pyne. Maybe you knew her father.’
He nodded. ‘Oh, yes. We all knew Sir Algernon.’ His tone did not express warmth.
‘Was he a difficult man?’ Katie wasn’t surprised. Anybody who could lock his own daughter up for twenty years had to be an odd character.
‘I’m afraid he didn’t endear himself to most of the people round here. In fact most of us couldn’t stand the bloody man. I’ll tell you about it one of these days.’ Clearly he didn’t want to talk about it now. An idea struck him. ‘Anyway, Katie, as luck would have it, I’m having a party tonight. Would you and your friend like to come? It would be a really good way for you and Victoria to get to know the neighbours.’ Seeing her hesitation, he added, ‘Rosina and Nando will be coming. They can show you the way.’
‘Well, if you’re sure… Thank you, Marco. That would be great.’
He gave her a cheery wave and set off again. Katie and the dog carried on round the hillside until they came back to the villa. She found Rosina in the kitchen.
‘No Victoria yet?’ Katie looked at her watch. It was almost eleven o’clock. ‘She’s surely not still in bed?’
Rosina shook her head. ‘She’s out on the tractor again. Nando can’t believe it; she drives it really well. Just like a man.’
Katie let that one pass and decided to change the subject. ‘I’ve just met a man called Marco. He’s invited us to his party tonight and he said you and Nando are going.’
Rosina wiped her hands on a towel and pointed towards the stove. ‘Oh yes, indeed. Would you like a coffee?’ Katie nodded and took a seat at the table. Dante the dog wandered round and collapsed at her side. As Rosina busied herself making the coffee in the old Moka machine, she filled Katie in on Marco.
‘He’s a lovely boy. His house is just up the road from our main gate. He runs the family business and he’s lived here all his life. His parents both died not so long ago, around the same time Paul Taylor’s mother died.’
Katie found herself hoping that Rosina would tell her more about Paul Taylor, but she was to be disappointed. Rosina returned to the topic of Marco and gave Katie more detail about his job. He had indeed been a fashion model for a few years, but he was now in charge of the family factory down by the river. They made ceramic plates, bowls and other objects. Then her attention was diverted as steam started to come out of the coffee pot. She took it off the hob and poured two tiny cups of back coffee and pushed one across the table to Katie. ‘These cups are from Marco’s factory. Nice, aren’t they?’
They chatted about generalities as they drank their coffee and Katie realised she wasn’t going to get any more information out of Rosina about either of the men, particularly Paul Taylor. And yet, somehow, she had the feeling there was more, a lot more, to tell.
Marco’s house was so close they were able to walk there in less than ten minutes. It was still very hot and the dog, exhausted after a day in the fields, wisely decided to stay at home and leave them to it. Katie was very impressed with the house. True, it wasn’t as big as some of its neighbours, but its position, on a little promontory jutting out of the hillside, gave it an amazing view across the valley to the hills and mountains of the Apennines beyond. The parking area in front of the house was jammed with cars and the sound of music and voices from the garden beyond told them which way to go.
They walked round the side of the house to the rear garden. The music was coming from a little pergola in the far corner, where a guitar player was giving a creditable performance of Eric Clapton’s Layla. People were dotted all over the garden, particularly around a huge table, positioned under a lovely old loggia, looking out over the olive groves.
‘Oh Marco, siamo qui!’ Nando raised his voice, partly because of the background noise, but partly because that’s what Tuscans do. Katie spotted Marco emerging from the house with a tray in his hands. It was laden with food. He set it down on the table and made his way over to them. He looked immaculate in a light blue shirt and white jeans.
‘Oh Nando.’ He bellowed the greeting and enveloped him in a bear hug. He then transferred his attention to Rosina and kissed her on both cheeks. Katie smiled to herself, remembering that any greeting here had to be prefixed with a hearty “oh”.
‘Oh Marco, something smells good. Here.’ Rosina reached into her bag. ‘Good pecorino from my cousin in Fucecchio. You won’t find this in the shops!’
Marco thanked her profusely and turned to the two girls, catching Katie by the hands. He kissed her on both cheeks and then transferred his attention to Victoria. ‘I’m so pleased you’ve come. That’s marvellous.’ He looked and sounded genuinely pleased to see them. He kissed Victoria and then held her out at arm’s length. ‘Victoria. You look so much like your father.
‘Good evening, Marco.’ Victoria looked as if she was relishing being kissed by such a handsome man. ‘How very kind of you to invite us.’
‘You’re very welcome. So, anyway, it’s self-service here. There’s wine over there, and glasses. The water in the jugs has just come out of the well and it should be nice and cool. There are bottles of beer in the horse trough if that’s your thing. Get yourselves a drink and I’ll introduce you to some of your neighbours. There’s ham and cheese on the table. Don’t applaud the guitar player too much. Fame goes to his head.’ He grinned, then tu
rned and disappeared back into the house. They headed for the drinks and Nando poured them each a glass of light ruby red wine.
Nando muttered something and headed for a group of men over by the garden wall, who were drinking and smoking and talking. A group of women at the opposite end of the garden were doing the same, but without the cigarettes and wine. As Rosina went over to join them, Katie reflected that the only areas where the two sexes appeared to be mingling were over by the guitar player or under the loggia. She and Victoria had just started heading in the direction of the music when they were joined by Marco. He slipped in between them and linked his arms in theirs.
‘Come on and meet some of my friends.’ The people over here were noticeably younger than the other groups. A couple of male faces turned towards them as they wandered up. Marco happily made the introductions.
‘Here we are, these are the beautiful ladies from the villa. Franco, Giuseppe, come and say hello.’ Giuseppe was a small man, probably a bit younger than Marco, wearing a lovely pink silk shirt. He was probably in his mid or late thirties, with John Lennon glasses and a shaved head. There was a tattoo on his neck that looked like Chinese characters. Beside him, Franco was a lot younger and a very different animal. He was wearing a tank top that seemed about to split any second under the strain of containing his array of beautifully-honed muscles that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a Schwarzenegger movie.
‘Well, hello, girls.’ The smaller man reached out and took the collar of Victoria’s blouse in his fingers. She stood rooted to the spot, uncertain what was happening. Katie, on the other hand, had a good idea of what was about to happen. She was not wrong. ‘My, my, what a beautiful blouse.’ There was awe in his voice as he turned to the muscleman beside him. ‘There’s something so terribly, terribly sensual about the feel of real silk. Here, Franco, feel this.’
Franco extended a powerful forearm and grasped the other side of Vicky’s collar. To her evident relief, he took hold of the cloth very gently. Katie found herself grinning as the memory of the dainty way the dog had taken the banana that morning came to mind.