by Daisy James
‘Well, I’ve made a decision.’
‘What about?’
‘About the job my old boss has offered me.’
‘Creative director?’
‘Yes.’
‘And…’
‘I’m not going to take it.’
‘You’re not?’
‘No, I want to stay here, Oriana. I want to devote all my time and effort into making Villa Limoncello the best venue in the area for retreats, courses, maybe even start a tennis academy, or host a volleyball competition, or a netball match, when we get around to renovating the courts. What do you think?’
Izzie experienced a wriggle of concern when Oriana didn’t leap up from her seat to embrace her, to tell her how pleased she was that she was staying on in Tuscany or bombard her with a myriad of other suggestions.
‘I’m glad you’re staying, Izzie…’
‘You don’t seem very excited.’
Izzie scrutinised her friend’s face and saw she was struggling with something.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘I really think you should talk to Luca before you call Harry.’
‘I’ve tried to talk to Luca, Oriana, believe me, but, well, he’s acting a bit…’
‘A bit what?’
‘Weird, you know, distant, aloof, cool. Every time I try to guide the conversation around to the future, he changes the subject or does something crazy.’
‘Crazy?’
‘Like yesterday, for instance, he grabbed my hand and plunged us both into Riccardo’s pool – fully clothed!’
‘Ah, that’s so romantic!’
‘Romantic? It was freezing!’
‘But I’m sure Luca’s scorching hot body heat kept you warm as you floated together in a sizzling passionate embrace, the ripples of the water caressing your skin and whipping your desire into a frenzy of—’
‘Oriana!’ Izzie laughed, enjoying the burst of attraction that spun all the way out to her fingertips whenever Luca was the focus of a conversation. ‘Anyway, what I’m saying is, one minute he’s buying me sunflowers and a cute knitted donkey hat, and the next he’s zooming away in his Spider like a bat out of hell!’
Izzie saw Oriana’s eyes cloud over and her stomach dropped.
‘Is there something you’re not telling me? Have I blundered into another massive mistake?’
‘Well…’
Oriana paused again, indecision stalking across her face as she fiddled with the handle of her mug before placing it on the floor next to her bean bag and turning to meet Izzie’s eyes. She parted her lips, then closed them again, clearly wrestling with her conscience.
‘Oriana! Tell me what’s going on! All this secrecy stuff is driving me nuts!’
‘What secrecy stuff?’
‘It seems like everyone around me is hiding some deep dark secret that they’re at pains to conceal – apart from Gianni, that is. At the moment, I think he’s topping the league as the most open and straightforward person I know. But, getting back to my question – what’s going on with Luca?’ And then it hit her. Oh God, surely not. ‘Has he… has he met someone else?’
Oriana obviously hadn’t been expecting their conversation to swerve off on quite such an obtuse tangent because her eyes widened and her jaw dropped.
‘No! No, Izzie, it’s nothing like that. Oh, my God, I told him he should tell you when he picked you up from the airport!’
‘Tell me what?’
‘I’m so sorry, Izzie, Luca’s selling the villa.’
For a moment, Izzie wasn’t sure whether she had heard right.
‘Sorry, Izzie.’
She opened her mouth to say something but her thoughts had scattered, bouncing in confusion around her head, and she couldn’t put together the words to express her shock. Okay, so she knew things were difficult after the Wine & Words course had been cancelled, but selling the villa? After everything they had done to breathe new life into the house and the studio? Why? Why would Luca do that? Then, her brain reconnected to its modem and the full implication of what Oriana had just told her dawned.
Gianni!
‘But what about Gianni? What about his olive trees and his vineyard? He’s just had his first successful vendemmia! His wine is going to be the best Chianti Tuscany ever tasted!’
Her heart gave a painful squeeze. She just couldn’t bear to think of the look on Gianni’s face when he found out about Luca’s decision to sell, but then equally she couldn’t believe he didn’t know already – if Oriana did. Luca was his best friend; they had travelled together, side by side, along life’s twisted highway since kindergarten.
‘You need to talk to Luca, Izzie.’
‘Does Gianni know?’
‘Yes, he—’
‘So why didn’t he say something?’
‘I suppose he thought it was up to Luca to tell you. But, Izzie, he’s not selling the vineyard or the olive grove and studio, just the villa and the gardens.’
‘And the limonaia,’ whispered Izzie, imagining her favourite place in the world being turned into a sumptuous conservatory in which discerning holidaymakers took their evening aperitifs whilst gazing at the best view in Tuscany.
What would happen to the lemon trees? Some of them were rare and others had called the glasshouse their home for over two hundred years! Oh God, she couldn’t bear to think of them being thrown into a skip with everything else in the villa that bore the label ‘careworn’.
‘Izzie, why don’t you go over to Antonio’s now and talk to Luca about all this? The lunch will have—’
‘Do you know if he’s found a buyer yet?’
‘I’m not…’
But Izzie could tell from Oriana’s expression that he had. He’d probably sold it to one of his former banking colleagues keen to add another asset to his portfolio of luxury items. Dilapidated villa in Tuscany – tick. Tennis court – tick. Columned gazebo – tick. Ancient limonaia – tick.
Suddenly, she was ambushed by a whoosh of emotion. Tears prickled at her lashes, and despite being grateful to Oriana for putting her in the picture – again – she was beginning to feel claustrophobic in the windowless yoga studio as a plethora of questions started to circle her brain. She desperately needed to escape from her friend’s sympathetic gaze otherwise she feared she might crumble into an inelegant mess on her polished wooden floor. So, forcing a smile on her lips, she abandoned her mug of herbal tea and pushed herself out of the beanbag’s embrace.
‘Thanks for the tea, Oriana.’
‘Izzie, wait, why don’t I come with you to the trattoria?’
‘No, no, it’s fine. I’ll go and have a chat with Luca before I go back to the villa.’
‘Are you sure you’re okay?’
‘Of course, and thank you. Thank you for telling me, Oriana, especially before I rang Harry to turn down his offer. You saved me from a grovelling telephone call.’
‘Izzie…’
They had arrived on the threshold of the shop, mercifully empty of drooling customers. The wonderful display of Italian pastries, crunchy biscotti, panettone dotted with chocolate or sultanas, and Christmas confectionary had completely lost its lure for Izzie.
In fact, she felt nauseous.
Whilst she was shocked that Luca was selling the villa, financially at least, it had probably been inevitable. No, what had stunned her to the core was the fact that he hadn’t told her, hadn’t sought her thoughts or her support after taking such a difficult, and no doubt painful, decision. Okay, Luca owned the villa, not her, but she had, mistakenly as it turned out, thought she had meant more to him, thought they had a deeper connection than a mere passing friendship or someone who visited occasionally to present the creative side of their courses.
Sadness swept through her body as she turned to hug Oriana goodbye and stepped out into San Vivaldo’s cobbled piazza. Despite her assurances to Oriana, she couldn’t face having the conversation with Luca right then. She needed time to process the new information, bu
t even more importantly she needed the space to reassess her feelings for the man who had come to mean so much to her, but who clearly didn’t feel the same way.
Chapter Twelve
Piazza Santa Croce, Firenze
Colour: Nutmeg brown
‘Wow! This place is fabulous!’ declared Jennie, bundled up against every weather eventuality in her sensible velvet-collared coat, a pair of neat leather gloves and a woollen beret set at a jaunty angle. With her trusty canvas bag hooked over her shoulder, her eyes shone as she surveyed the wooden, chalet-style stalls in the Piazza Santa Croce.
‘I’m glad I brought my credit card!’ laughed Phoebe, who looked like she was about to address a business conference in her navy gaberdine trench coat that Izzie recognised as Prada. ‘Oh, God, I haven’t been shopping for months, I can’t wait!’
‘Me neither!’ declared Sofia, giggling as Nick and Dylan exchanged an eye roll.
Unlike the women, who had dressed with practicality in mind, Nick had chosen to wear a beautifully cut cream-coloured dinner jacket with emerald green lining and a matching paisley cravat, looking every inch the would-be celebrity choir conductor. At least he’d left his baton at villa!
Izzie stood at the back of the excited group, listening to Luca explain a little about the history of the magnificent Basilica di Santa Croce that presided over the Christmas market, including the fact that it was the final resting place of Michelangelo.
A sharp nip had invaded the air, but that wasn’t why Izzie’s body and senses were numb. She had tried her utmost to act naturally, to keep a smile on her face, to nod in all the right places but, ironically, she was aware that she was acting in exactly the same way as Luca had been acting since she’d arrived in Tuscany: standoffish, aloof and jittery. Whilst before Oriana had informed her of Villa Limoncello’s imminent sale, she would have wanted nothing more than to break away from the rest of the group and spend her time in Florence mooching around the market with Luca as her personal guide, now she was keen to stick with the group and avoid Luca’s question-filled gaze, fearful that once she spoke to him about his decision, it would be true.
Avoidance, for the time being at least, was her preferred way to deal with the news until she’d had time to come to terms with the fact that her future was not going to be in Tuscany, or with Luca.
‘Hey, look at this!’
Jennie broke away from the group to investigate the stall selling all things wooden, from tiny alpine houses to cooking utensils such as spoons, spatulas, whisks and rolling pins, from decorated place mats to hand-turned bowls and cruet sets. There were even a couple of guitars hanging from the eaves which caught Dylan’s eye.
‘I’m going to buy one of these chopping boards for Maggie at the surgery!’
When Jennie had made her purchase, they moved on, exclaiming at the range of foodie treats on offer: the local cheeses, the nougat spotted with pistachios and almonds, the Italian breads, the German sausages, the apple strudel, the huge candy lollipops. They marvelled at the craftsmanship of the painted glass ornaments, the paper lanterns, the fresh-flower-filled soaps and candles, the hand-decorated Russian dolls. Everywhere Izzie looked there was something new to discover, accompanied by the delicious scent of Christmas fragrances: warm mulled wine, cinnamon, cloves, baked orange peel, all to the backing track of animated conversation in a variety of languages.
‘Oh, wow, aren’t these gorgeous!’
Phoebe had stopped at a stall selling handmade jewellery, the necklaces, bracelets and rings sparkling under the twinkling lights that framed the kiosk making it look like a fairy-tale grotto. Whilst the women oohed and ahhed at the earrings adorned with crystal snowflakes, the men investigated the adjacent stall, piled high with heavy hessian sacks containing every spice an avid student of culinary delights could wish for – paprika, cumin, cardamom, dried oregano, star anise, whole nutmegs and nobbles of ginger.
‘Okay, so is everyone ready to eat?’
‘Yes, I’m starving!’ declared Sofia, surreptitiously sneaking a pretzel into her coat pocket.
‘Bene. I’ve booked a table at Ristorante Constantino, which is just a few streets away.’
The group followed Luca as he guided them through the maze of narrow, cobbled alleyways that Florence was famous for, the sand-coloured façades of the buildings decked in garlands of fairy lights or projected images of Christmas scenes as part of the annual luminaire.
‘Hey, Luca what’s this?’
‘Ah, yes, that’s a presepe – a nativity scene. You’ll see them all over Florence, in churches, shops, banks, restaurants, even the railway station has one. Every Italian family has a presepe in their home at Christmas, and every one is different. Some are simple and feature Mary, Joseph, the three wise men, the shepherds and their flock, an ox, a donkey and an angel, but some families really go to town, staging a whole village in their living room complete with lights and music, rivers and waterfalls and peopled with a wide cast of characters.’
‘Characters?’
‘Sì,’ laughed Luca, really getting into his stride as he relayed his festive traditions. ‘I have a friend whose family include painted wooden figurines of a wine merchant, a fisherman, a pizza maker, a butcher, a baker…’
‘A candlestick maker?’ teased Jennie.
‘Possibly. Anything goes; my cousin’s girlfriend’s family have plaster models of sports stars and actors, such as Leonardo DiCaprio, and they add to their collection every year, combing the stores for quirky figures to include the following Christmas. But one thing remains the same – Baby Jesus is only added one minute before midnight on Christmas Eve.’
‘Well, that makes sense,’ said Dylan, pausing to stare into the window of a shop selling a jumble of musical instruments.
Fortunately for the rest of the group, it was closed and a few minutes later they had arrived at a narrow doorway that sported a rectangular brass plaque but otherwise would not have advertised itself as a restaurant. However, as soon as Izzie stepped through the door, the warmth enveloped her, along with the delicious perfume of red wine, roasted garlic and fresh ciabatta, and her stomach rumbled. A muted ripple of conversation drifted around the stone walls of the main dining room, but the group was shown to a covered courtyard at the rear of the restaurant where a table had been prepared with pristine white table linen and sparkling cutlery and glassware.
The meal was delicious, but Izzie struggled to eat, the whole event passing by like a scene in a dream. She laughed at Dylan’s stories about the exploits of his brother’s band, smiled when Nick talked about the Christmas pantomime his drama students were putting on for local children who would not otherwise get to see a show, and sympathised with Sofia’s attempts at writing her own stage play. Every time she chanced a peek in Luca’s direction, he seemed to be staring at her, his eyes narrowed as though he could read everything that was spinning through her mind, that he knew that she knew.
When the cantucci and Vin Santo were being handed round, Izzie demurred, preferring to stick to the rich, red local Chianti that Nick had selected to accompany their meal as she listened to Phoebe tell Jennie about a divorce case one of her friends had handled.
‘And, do you know what the wife did when she found out about his adultery?’
‘No?’
‘Well, before her ex came round to the house to collect his belongings, she painstakingly unpicked the lining from every one of his Savile Row suits and threaded the hems and cuffs with anchovies before re-sewing them up and replacing them back in the suit carriers that she’d generously sorted out for him. It’s such a small thing, but it gave her a modicum of satisfaction.’
‘I wish I’d had the courage to do something like that,’ murmured Jennie, her voice cracking slightly on the last word.
‘Oh my God, Jennie, I’m so sorry. I completely forgot…’
‘It’s okay, Phoebe, Tim and I are still on civil terms – just. Although when he told me that he and Lydia are spending Christmas at a
five-star hotel in the Caribbean, I nearly bashed him over the head with my cycle helmet. You know, we were married for almost twenty years and we never once had a foreign holiday. Oh, the boys didn’t mind, they loved camping in mud-soaked fields in the middle of nowhere, hoping for clear skies so they could use their father’s latest telescope to stare at the stars. Obsessed, they were! I always thought they’d go off and study astronomy at university.’
‘What are they studying?’ asked Izzie, relieved to see the distress melt away from Jennie’s friendly face now the conversation had turned to her twin boys.
‘Ben is studying law at Durham and Daniel is studying accountancy – neither of them wanted to follow their dad into pharmacy. In fact, since they found out about his affair with his secretary, they’ve avoided visiting him in the holidays. I’ve tried to talk to them about it, tried to reassure them that their father’s love life has no bearing on his relationship with them, but Ben in particular is appalled.’
‘Jennie, it’s up to Ben and Daniel whether or not they want to see Tim,’ said Phoebe gently, placing her hand on the older woman’s arm. ‘They’ll be twenty-one next year – they’re men who know their own minds and can make their own decisions.’
‘But they’ll always be my little boys. I know they’re both forging ahead with their lives and I’m overwhelmingly proud of them, but I miss them so much, especially now that Tim’s gone. The house sometimes feels like a mausoleum without their happy, cheerful voices singing along to that god-awful music they listen to, or their heavy feet hammering on the stairs, or the laundry piled high on top of the basket instead of inside!’
Tears sparkled along Jennie’s lower lashes, but she flicked them away in irritation, taking a sip of her Chianti to steady her emotions.
‘I know it’s the natural progression of life, and I would be mortified if they thought their mum was sitting at home, in her empty nest, surrounded by memories and dashed dreams, feeling sorry for herself.’