by T A Williams
‘A splendid bit of map-reading, Sarah. Very impressive.’ He sounded as if he meant it.
‘No big deal, really. There was just the one road and the one turnoff, after all.’ She had a sudden thought. ‘I’d better call Polly and tell her she doesn’t need to come and rescue Glynis.’ She pulled up, took out her phone and made the call. Miles waited beside her as she did so. While she spoke to Polly, her eyes just happened to rest on his strong, muscular thighs and suntanned forearms, the hairs now bleached blond by the sun. It was a very nice view. As she put the phone away, he made an observation that made her flush.
‘Nice view, isn’t it?’
She glanced up guiltily, but was relieved to see his eyes trained on the ruins of an old stone building ahead of them, the meandering riverbed appearing to make a path towards it. It looked like a watermill, with arches reaching out across the water and an enormous willow tree alongside it.
‘It’s beautiful,’ she had to agree. She raised her eyes. ‘And the village where we’re stopping for coffee looks rather good, too.’ She clipped back into the pedals and set off after Glynis, now a yellow speck in the distance. She turned towards Miles as she saw him at her side. ‘It’s a stunning area, isn’t it.’
‘Very romantic.’ As he said the word, Sarah heard a curious note in his voice. Resisting the temptation to glance across at him, she did her best to steer the conversation onto a happier theme.
‘And tonight we’re all invited to dinner in a Renaissance villa. I can’t wait.’
‘I saw that on the programme. Count Somebodyorother, no less. How amazing. What’s that all about?’
Sarah was pleased to hear him sounding normal once more. ‘He’s a benefactor. He’s raised loads of money for cancer research and, when he got wind of this ride, he made the offer. If his place is anything like as beautiful as some of the villas and castles we’ve seen, it promises to be a night to remember.’
They met up with the rest of the group in a little hilltop village, their café directly opposite a shop selling guns. This part of Italy appeared to be obsessed with hunting and, all along the route, they kept coming across signs reading Divieto di Caccia, No Hunting. Sarah felt pretty sure that, as far as the animals were concerned, this probably didn’t mean protection from hunters, rather just that hunting in that area was the preserve of private individuals. She sat down with Miles and Glynis and ordered an espresso and a mineral water, glad to find a seat in the shade. It was already very hot out on the road and the weather map on TV this morning had been a mass of yellow sun symbols, accompanied by warnings of high UV levels. She hoped they would reach their destination, Urbino, well before the hottest time of day, which seemed to occur around or just after mid afternoon.
Once her coffee arrived, she sat back and looked around the table. Miles was chatting affably to Glynis, who had by now got over her embarrassment at having managed to get lost. While his attention was directed at Glynis, Sarah had the opportunity to study him surreptitiously. He had taken his helmet, gloves and glasses off and was relaxing, leaning back against the warm stone wall of the building. The effects of the sun, fresh air and exercise had removed most of the stress lines from his face. As she watched, he picked up a bottle of water, threw his head back and drank deeply, his Adam’s apple bobbing as each mouthful went down. Her eyes followed the direction of the liquid until they were resting on his hard, furrowed abdomen, and she was just wondering how much time and energy it had needed for his abs to develop like that when she suddenly realised he was looking at her, the blue eyes locked on to her, a quizzical expression on his face, a smile on his lips.
‘Sarah… Hi, Sarah, welcome back from wherever you’ve just been, lost in your thoughts. You looked miles away.’
She blushed and reached for her water glass, taking a big mouthful. ‘Just thinking, you know.’
Glynis joined in from across the table. ‘What about, Sarah? Not about me and my talent for getting into trouble?’ Although her tone was playful, Glynis looked worried. Sarah hastened to set her mind at rest.
‘Not at all, Glynis. And don’t worry a bit about getting lost. It could have happened to anybody. No, I was just thinking how great it is to get out of the office and into the fresh air.’ She let her eyes flick across to Miles. ‘I really must look into the possibility of doing this a bit more often in future.’
‘I’ve been wondering about that, Sarah, ever since you mentioned it the other day. The more I think about it, the more I think it’s a good idea, and not just for you. I reckon it would do me good as well to take time out every now and then to accompany a group. It would be good from a business point of view and, of course, for our health.’ Miles was smiling. ‘I’m sure this is doing us all good, not just as far as our waistlines are concerned.’ Sarah suddenly found she was powerless to stop her eyes dropping once again to his hard, muscular abdomen and she immediately developed an urgent need for more cold water.
***
They were all glad to reach the hotel in Urbino. It had been a gorgeous day, but very hilly, and the final climb up the winding road to the town, yet another World Heritage site, had been accomplished in the full heat of the day. Dan’s knee had apparently flared up again and he opted to do the last twenty kilometres in the van with Polly, although by now Sarah definitely had her doubts as to what his real motivation might be. It was so hot that some of the tarmac on the bends had started to melt and their tyres slipped and slithered about. Only one person fell off and Sarah was delighted to see that it wasn’t Glynis. The unlucky man was Lars but, as he was going so slowly, little harm was done to him, apart from to his pride. As they finally pulled up outside the impressive old building that housed the hotel, Sarah could see the relief on a good few of the faces.
‘Would it have hurt them to build their town at the bottom of the hill instead of on the top?’ Chuck was complaining to the world at large. ‘And all the towns and villages round here are built the same way. And why? Surely the rivers and the water supply were way down below?’
Sarah was quite surprised to hear Miles respond to his question. ‘Defence, Chuck.’ A number of heads turned towards him, Sarah’s included. ‘See these walls? This place was built up here to give the inhabitants a chance of defending themselves from aggressors. I’m not sure I would feel too much like fighting after slogging up here in this heat.’
‘What sort of aggressors?’
‘You name it.’ Miles clearly knew his history. ‘Romans, Ostrogoths, Guelphs, Ghibellines, popes, kings, not to mention Napoleon’s army and, of course, the Germans more recently. There was one hell of a lot of fighting going on in these parts for centuries.’
Chuck looked around at the ancient stone buildings with new-found respect. ‘So we’re talking old?’
‘We’re talking very old, Chuck. They’ve been knocking the crap out of each other round here for a couple of thousand years at least.’
Before they all broke up, Sarah decided to use the moment to remind everybody about what was planned for the evening.
‘As you’ll know if you’ve looked at the programme, we’ve all been invited for dinner tonight at the Villa della Francesca. I’ve never been there, but I’ve heard it’s one of the most beautiful Renaissance villas in Italy. The gentleman who lives there, Count Roberto, wanted to show his support for our efforts by inviting us to his home. It promises to be something special and, allegedly, there’s going to be dancing. It’s a little way out of town, so we’ve booked a coach, leaving from here at seven-thirty. Please try to be on time. We don’t want to keep the count waiting.’
She heard a ripple of interested murmurs among the crowd and nodded. It wasn’t every day you got invited to dinner with an Italian count who lived in a gem of a Renaissance villa.
The Villa della Francesca was stunning. Set about ten kilometres outside the town, high on a wide, sweeping hillside, it dominated the surrounding countryside. The coach turned in past an ornate gatehouse and followed a long gravel dr
ive leading up to the house, lined on both sides with cypress trees. As they drove up the hill, the setting sun turned the roof of the villa blood red and, as they drew nearer, the true spectacular beauty of the place became clear. The three-storey stone building, capped with crenellations, sat at the top of a wide stone staircase that led up to a broad terrace running the full length of the villa. All along the terrace were stone statues and in the middle of it was a magnificent fountain ringed with golden cherubs that could have been lifted out of the Palace of Versailles. Waiting to greet them at the top of the steps was Count Roberto, who was, in his own way, as remarkable as the house in which he lived.
Their first sight of him was dramatic and, as the evening progressed and Sarah got to know this remarkable man better, she realised it had been carefully stage-managed so as to be exactly that. He was sitting right at the top of the sweeping flight of steps in an electric wheelchair with two big, handsome, black Labradors sitting to attention, one on either side of him. He was an old man, probably in his eighties, but his deep brown, almost black, eyes were bright, and his expressive face alive with anticipation. He was dressed in the most amazing vermilion silk tunic with lacy inserts, and on his head was a matching red hat whose shape was not dissimilar to an upturned sponge cake, complete with plate. It could have looked ridiculous, but here, in this Renaissance setting, it belonged. As Sarah set eyes on him, she had the distinct feeling she had seen him, or at least his outfit, somewhere before.
She had been sitting in the very front seat of the coach, by the driver, so she was first up the steps. The old gentleman greeted her with all the formality of royalty receiving a loyal subject. She almost curtseyed as she bent down to shake his hand, feeling extremely scruffy in her light summer dress, which barely reached halfway down her thighs.
‘Signorina, welcome to my home. I am Roberto.’ He took her hand, raised it towards him and pressed his lips against it. As he did so, she couldn’t miss the twinkle in his eye and began to realise that he was thoroughly enjoying himself. As he relinquished his hold on her, he glanced up at her face again and murmured, ‘Squisita.’
‘I’m very pleased to meet you. My name’s Sarah.’ She answered him in Italian and saw him nod approvingly. It’s always nice to be called exquisite, and Sarah found herself smiling back at him as he completed the introductions. He nodded left and right towards the two dogs who were still sitting motionless on either side of him. ‘This is Leonardo and this is Raffaello, better known as Leo and Raffa.’ As he spoke, he made the faintest of gestures with his arthritic fingers. At the mention of their names, the dogs leapt to their feet, tails wagging, and came across to greet her in effusive fashion. Sarah loved dogs and was very happy to sit down on an ornate stone bench and make a fuss of them while the other members of the group made their way up the steps to be greeted in their turn.
‘Champagne, Signorina?’
Sarah looked up and saw a footman in formal evening attire standing at her shoulder. She got to her feet and helped herself to a glass. ‘Grazie.’ As he moved away to offer wine to the others, she stood there, using her free hand to scratch the head of one of the dogs who had parked himself beside her while she admired the view. Dark was falling now and a formally dressed maid was going round the terrace lighting candles. These weren’t just any old candles. They were huge and ornate, moulded with intricate patterns, mounted on the sort of hefty candlesticks Colonel Mustard would have found most useful in dispatching Professor Plum in the library. There wasn’t a breath of wind and the flames barely flickered. Sarah noticed a sweet smell emanating from the candles and wondered if this was maybe designed to deter marauding mosquitoes.
Once the introductions had been made, Count Roberto proved to be the perfect host, purring among his guests in his electric wheelchair, seeing that nobody was without a drink or a canapé and chatting volubly in excellent English. When he reached Sarah once more, however, he switched back to Italian. ‘Sarah, isn’t it? My memory for names isn’t as good as it used to be. How fortunate I am to be visited by such a group of athletic, energetic and, if you don’t mind my saying so, enchanting and beautiful guests. I am delighted to meet you all.’
‘And I you, Count Roberto. I’ve just been admiring your wonderful, wonderful house. Has it been in your family for many years?’ She noticed a bench close by and sat down on it so her face was at the same level as his. The Labrador she had been stroking settled down beside her and rested his big heavy head on her knees. She scratched him behind the ears as she listened to the count’s reply. The other dog, she noticed, had positioned himself beside Miles and it looked as though they were getting on like a house on fire. Somehow, she felt pleased that the Labrador had chosen him, of all the guests.
‘Centuries, my dear, centuries. In fact, this…’ With his fingers he indicated the outfit he was wearing. ‘This is a copy of a suit that used to belong to my great, great, great – and a whole lot more greats – grandfather. The original’s in the Uffizi in Florence. It was worn by him back in the days of the real Raffaello, not just my dog here who, by the way, is a very good judge of character. You must be a very fine person. He can tell, and that’s why he hasn’t left your side.’
‘I’m not so sure about that.’ Sarah smiled back at him. ‘But I knew I’d seen your outfit somewhere before. It’s in a painting, isn’t it?’
‘Bravissima. Absolutely right. In fact, if you have a moment, I can show you.’ He gave her another smile. ‘Not the original, I’m afraid. That’s also safely housed in the Uffizi.’
Urging her to her feet, he and the dog led her across the terrace, through the magnificent French windows and into an exquisite dining room, the long table set with so many silver knives and forks and delicate wineglasses that Sarah couldn’t count them all. When they reached a gorgeous, deep blue velvet chaise longue, no doubt centuries old, he bade her sit down. Immediately the Labrador took up station at her feet, resting his head once more upon her knees. She stroked the dog’s head as the count pointed out the painting in question. It occupied a position of importance on the wall directly opposite them and it was clear that, although it might not be the original, it was still a very good painting, made by an artist of talent. The man in the painting was wearing Roberto’s exact same outfit of red robe and hat and had been painted side on. The clothes were unmistakable, even though the man, with his hooked nose and dark hair, looked very different from the count.
‘If you’re trying to remember the name of the original artist, let me help you. It was Piero della Francesca and, as I say, it’s hanging in the Uffizi. As for this copy, it was the work of my dear departed wife.’ He caught her eye and she read the deep sadness in his face. ‘She died three years ago.’
‘I’m so sorry to hear that. You must miss her a lot.’
‘I do, my dear. Every single day.’ He took a deep breath and the Labrador, sensing his upset, removed himself from Sarah’s side and trotted over to his master, laying his head on the count’s lap in silent sympathy. The old man scratched the big dog’s ears as he changed the subject to Sarah. ‘Anyway, my dear, what about you? Do you have a significant other? I believe that is the modern parlance.’
Sarah hesitated, debating what to say. In the end she opted for a version of the truth. ‘I was engaged, but he broke it off.’ She paused before adding, ‘To be honest, though, the more I think about it, I think he may have done me a favour. But I really envy you and your wife the love you so obviously shared.’
‘Thank you, Sarah. And it will happen for you again, you’ll see. You’re beautiful, bright, talented. My dog’s never wrong, you know. I know you’re a fine person. As for your fiancé, what can I say? The man is obviously out of his mind. And be assured, sooner or later, the day’ll come when he wakes up and realises the mistake he’s made and what he’s lost.’
They talked for quite some time and Roberto told her more about his wife of over fifty years. She had died from cancer, and this had made him realise that research i
nto this awful disease was a worthwhile cause to support. It turned out that, as well as supporting this bike ride, he also sponsored a vintage car rally, a major Italian triathlon and even a sailing regatta in order to help generate funds for the cause. By the end of their talk, Sarah knew she had found a new friend.
***
The meal was as amazing as the house. In keeping with their magnificent surroundings, the mass of food that arrived on the table was a true Italian feast. Once everybody was seated, the doors opened and no fewer than six waiters and waitresses came in with starters ranging from stuffed roast red peppers to raw porcini mushrooms, served with extra virgin olive oil and flakes of Parmesan cheese. The centrepiece, however, took everybody’s breath away. As it was wheeled in on a trolley, Count Roberto explained to anybody unfamiliar with it just exactly what they were being offered.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, what you see before you is, I can promise you, some of the very best porchetta you will ever taste.’
Sarah gawped like the rest of them. She had had porchetta before, but never presented like this. On the trolley was a whole glazed roast pig, complete with its head and an apple in its mouth. On closer inspection it became clear that the legs were missing and, as the headwaiter began to carve it into vertical slices, starting from the back, they saw that the whole carcass had also been completely deboned. As this local speciality was carved and served, they saw that the meat had been laced with fennel, rosemary and other herbs, and layered with stuffing. It looked, smelt and tasted unbelievable.
Sarah had deliberately sat at the far end of the table from the count, as she felt she had already abused his hospitality quite enough and wanted to give others the chance to meet this fascinating man. Near him she saw Paul and Lars, with Diana inevitably in close attendance. Down at Sarah’s end of the table there was an empty seat alongside her. Just as the porchetta arrived, so did Miles, tucking his phone into his top pocket. He gave her an apologetic look as he sat down. A few moments later, Sarah found they were not alone. The two Labradors materialised under the table and squeezed in at her feet and slumped down between her and Miles. As the dogs rubbed against her, it occurred to her that Miles might not realise who was rubbing against him, so she tapped him on the elbow to attract his attention away from the delicious roast pork.