Euro Tripped

by Sally Bryan

  I flipped the menu and found the other side was written in English. “It’s beef ravioli, which means make that two.”

  Dayna bounced once on her toes, “might I suggest the ricotta and spinach tortelli?”

  Arwen’s eyes happened on mine again before switching to Dayna. “You’re out of the ravioli too, aren’t you.”

  Dayna nodded but kept her smile. “Two tortelli, I’ll tell the chef.” She disappeared into the kitchen, which left us to finally sample the famous Giordano wine.

  Now, I’m no wine expert but I know what I like and I most certainly did enjoy the dry fruitiness of this Panizzi blend.

  Arwen sipped hers and her eyebrows lifted appreciatively. “At least something’s working around here.”

  “Oh, she’s working, all right, in fact, it’s beginning to look like she’s the only one around here who is.” This was because I was leaning back on the bench to peer into the kitchen and I could just make out Dayna’s backside and elbow as it moved rhythmically back and forth and I whispered to Arwen that it was apparent that Dayna was also the chef.

  “What? Noooooo.” She stood to lean over the table, gifting me with the most heavenly view of her cleavage, I went for more wine and gulped it back, and she retook her seat and shook her head. “I feel for the woman, of course, but all I really care about right now is that whatever it is she’s making is delicious and fills me up.”

  As it happened, we had to wait thirty minutes for lunch to arrive, and when it finally did the ricotta and spinach tortelli was only about average and neither did it fill us up, but then what were we expecting? I tried to tell Arwen that it was only lunch and we’d get something more substantial for dinner.

  “I’ll just be glad when this tour’s over. It’s no wonder we’re the only fools here, it’s been a disappointment.” Her face scrunched up in that cute way I loved but I had to agree with her.

  “We’ll pig out in the camper tonight with a film … sound good?”

  She didn’t have chance to answer because Dayna was back and from there we were escorted through a side door in the main residence and down a flight of stone steps that led into the cellar. It would be the final call of the tour before finishing in the shop, which Dayna had earlier been eager to tell us about.

  “Do you own the place?” Arwen joked but I don’t think Dayna heard.

  We passed through an arch and I gasped because I could now see the many hundreds of oak casks stacked up, either on large wooden frames or atop of each other. “Wow,” I said, involuntarily, “who’d have guessed all this was under that house?”

  The air was thick with a deep mix of wine and oak, which made it harder to breathe and the room was barely lit by the few aged lanterns hanging from the walls, bestowing a definite sense of history, as well as claustrophobia.

  Arwen was pottering around of her own accord whilst I remained further back, closer to the way out with Dayna.

  “These days, most wine is aged in stainless steel barrels,” Dayna began, “but … but of course, being traditional, we do things the old-fashioned way, ageing our wine … ageing our wine for up to a year, allowing for an extremely slow oxygenation process as the air seeps in through the oak. Doing so also improves the colour, texture and taste of the wine.” She fanned her face vigorously and held onto an upright and then Arwen reemerged from the shadows, traipsing back in our direction.

  “It’s kind of stuffy down here, don’t you think?”

  Dayna took a step back and Arwen waved an arm in the direction of the cellar’s deep recesses.

  “I went down as far as I dared … almost felt like suffocating. I’d hate to be the guy charged with finding the Dom Pérignon 1975.”

  “Our wine…” Dayna began.

  “I remember that one time I accidentally locked myself in my parents’ chest and I swear, by the end I was hallucinating weird animal creatures.” She jerked her chin into the void, oblivious to whatever discomfort she might be causing her companions. “Now, I’m hoping that was an apparition and not a rat I just saw down there.”

  Dayna had stepped further away and I felt it necessary to cut my blundering friend off, cut her off with absolutely anything.

  “Dayna, I have to ask, where’s everybody else?”

  She let out a howl and staggered, hunched, to the foot of the stairs and clutched the bannister with both hands and I rushed to offer my assistance, putting my arm around her back so she knew I was there.

  “Oh gosh, Dayna, was it that hard a question? I’ve got you, let’s get some air.”

  She transferred some weight to me and I had to readjust my position to cope.

  “Freya, you’re the worst tourist ever.” The ditsy one remarked from behind and I scowled over my shoulder.

  “Oh, shut up, Arwen and help.”

  She did, by carrying Dayna’s fan. “No worries, we’ll soon have you outside in the fresh air.”

  Dayna panted and managed to tell us that outside was too hot and that we should take her to the office inside the residence.

  “Oh fuck!” Arwen and I both said together as we entered. The house was impressive, my immediate attention being drawn by the huge oak beams and wooden rafters holding up the high ceiling, the exposed stonework and fireplaces, the tapestries and tasteful furnishings, lanterns and candles, archways and stone flag floors, the sheer size of the interior and that it was mostly open plan but for a few rooms.

  We now helped Dayna into one of those rooms, which turned out to be a small, cosy office.

  We placed her down in the seat and she waved a hand in silent gratitude. There was soft music playing and a large fan whirred from the desk.

  “You need to take it easy,” I told her, my tone sounding harsher than intended though perhaps that was no bad thing, she shouldn’t be doing what she was doing, taking tours, cooking, almost turning wheels attached to medieval contraptions and dealing with Arwen. “Your employers can’t make you work like this, when do you go on maternity leave?” If Italian laws were anything like they were in the UK then she should have been excused by now.

  She laughed, which was hardly the response I expected, and sank back into the leather whilst slowly blowing out air. Her face was flushed and I hoped she wasn’t about to make things yet harder for herself.

  Arwen had been standing close by her side, blocking the breeze from the fan, whilst making the occasional apprehensive glance at her belly. “Would you like me to call the father?”

  Dayna shook her head, snatched the fan from Arwen’s hands and proceeded to flap it near her face. “Mother,” she panted.

  Arwen met my eyes with a smirk, “she’s not feeling very well,” then leaned towards her with a hand on her arm, “yeeees, soon you will be.” She grabbed the phone from the desk. “What’s his name?”

  Dayna heaved, her fingers clutching the armrest and jerked her chin towards the ceiling. “Upstairs. Two floors. Second door on right. But…”

  “Easy.” Arwen beamed, slamming down the phone and leaving the room. “I’ll do that now.”

  I nodded at Dayna and smiled awkwardly whilst she sat and stared back at me. “Um, can I get you something, some water?”

  She shook her head and I listened to Arwen’s feet stamping up the stairs as I awkwardly perched against the desk, trying to occupy my eyes without coming across like I was prying too much, to what looked like a staff rota on the wall and the large crosses struck through most of the names, the dead and dying plants, the many packs of Kit Kats and the large half-eaten jar of marmalade. There were also four photo frames turned to face the wall.

  There was a knock, followed by a more insistent one a few seconds after. Dayna and I were both staring absently at the roof and there was another knock, which was immediately followed by screams in Italian. Arwen gave as good as she got and shouted something back, the exchange continued and Dayna winced as she slid down in her chair, something heavy banged against the door, Arwen shouted again and then she was thumping back down the steps
.

  Arwen walked in and threw up her arm. “I don’t think he, she or whatever’s in there’s coming down.”

  So what was there we could do? We could leave and not think anything more of it but neither Arwen or I were that bad as people. We’d been in the vineyard grounds for anywhere between two and three hours and seen only the one worker breeze through with an agricultural robot. There were no women and nobody else in this huge place, save for a few contractors banging with hammers and they were unlikely to be of any use, if indeed we were even needed ourselves. It just felt like we ought to remain behind, for a short while at least, it was the decent thing to do.

  We suggested going through to the main room and Dayna, apparently feeling better, led us through and we each took separate couches, Arwen and I checking the time on our phones every few minutes, the only sound some rhythmical strumming from a grandfather clock in the corner. It wasn’t merely the Giordano winemaking process that was medieval.

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” I asked again.

  Dayna nodded and sighed, “I’m sorry for giving such an abysmal tour, of course, I’ll refund you both the full price of admission.”

  We both waved our hands to dismiss such nonsense, even though a full refund was probably justified. “Oh, no, no, don’t worry about it, we had fun.”

  “Right,” Arwen agreed and nodded towards a space out of Dayna’s hearing range.

  I stood and walked over and Arwen pulled me in closer by the shoulder to whisper into my ear.

  “I think we can probably leave now, she’s fine.”

  I glanced across at Dayna, who was lounging back on the couch. “You really think? I’m worried about leaving her alone.”

  She shrugged. “There’s someone else upstairs, it might be a woman, I’m really not sure but there’s definitely something up there, in full existence. Whenever she or it decides to come look after Dayna is another matter but it’s not our responsibility.” She tutted and had to speak above the hammering and I worried Dayna might overhear. “That was quite a greeting she gave me, Frey.”

  I recalled our very first encounter. “Now you know how I felt.”

  Arwen scrunched up her face as my attention was taken by a row of picture frames on the mantelpiece that had all been turned away to face the wall. There were more on the windowsill likewise but then I noticed three together on a table in the corner and all were visible and I had to squint across the room to see that the images were of a man in his sixties with grey hair and an affable face. So far, they were the only photos I’d seen that weren’t bizarrely turned away, the table also possessing flowers and those small candles you light in church.

  “Frey?” Arwen prompted me.

  “Um, I don’t disagree, we probably do need to get moving.”

  There was a succession of bangs followed by an odd hissing, which caused even Dayna to perk, the noise stopped and a few seconds after the man from before, in red baseball cap, paced in from the outside and spoke to Dayna. “It was Fabio,” he held his hands out in an apologetic gesture, “he put a nick in the sewage pipe … bit of a spills but honestly, it under control, in case you can taste the stink.”

  “Salvo,” Dayna grimaced as she tried pushing herself up and Arwen and I rushed over to help, as unnecessary as it turned out to be, for we were worrying too much, “how many times? I speak Italian.” This was spoken in Italian, which Arwen hastily translated for me. It was a strange reaction to the news, aye.

  Salvo removed his filthy hands from the back of the white leather couch to shrug, “I try learn English for I next trip.”

  Dayna rolled her eyes and waved him away.

  “Wait,” I called on Salvo and he stopped before reaching the door. I wanted him to wait behind long enough for Arwen and I to safely leave the property.

  Arwen caught on quick and grabbed ahold of my blouse cuff. “We’d best be off then.”

  I was already moving and thinking of an early dinner and the wine we were having tonight, Bordeaux or Tuscany, I didn’t much give a shit, and whether that would be enough to finally put the animal back into Arwen. “No need to show us out,” I called over my shoulder and was horrified to see Dayna already shuffling towards the door only a few steps behind us.

  “Well, thanks so much for coming, it’s always nice to have a fellow English girl around the place,” no correction required, “although I hear they’re producing wine down in the south now, Surrey and Kent, ah well, good luck to them. Ooh gosh…”

  We’d reached the door and for some stupid reason, I found myself twisting around even as Arwen gave a couple of quick but noticeable tugs at my sleeve. “Thanks again.”

  Dayna blew the strands of loose blonde away from her face, “it was our pleasure.”

  “Yep,” Arwen had to reach around me to pull the door open.

  Dayna leaned against the wall, only a few inches from the opening and wiped her forehead in a display, “say,” she panted, “I know this is out of left field and I don’t mean to be a nuisance but since you’re here, I don’t suppose you wouldn’t mind just helping out with a couple of things?”

  My mouth jerked, again Arwen tugged and made a strange whimpering sound, Salvo had disappeared anyway and Dayna looked so sweet, vulnerable and distressed.

  I wanted to cry but what could I do?

  * * *

  “How did this happen again?” Arwen pointed her pruning scissors at me and I had to step away from her wrath.

  “A few hours won’t kill us and it’ll be a big help to her.” I snipped at a small bunch that looked ripe and tossed it into the cart.

  She loosened her collar and took a big step into my space, which ordinarily I’d have welcomed. “Why did you bloody stop? We were at the bloody door, staring out at freedom, you daft drongo.”

  My gaze dropped towards the dirt and I pinched at the skin between my eyes. She was right, kind of, I should have kept moving. “There’s no need to get so worked up, Arwen.” Usually, I loved the very rare occasion she was in a bad mood because I adored the way her face expressed itself, even if I’d never tell her that but this felt different, she was angrier than normal and I’d done it to her. “Besides…” I stopped myself and continued pruning, hoping she hadn’t heard.

  “Besides?”

  “Oh, nothing.”

  “Whatever.”

  And I felt a grape bounce off my head.

  The besides had been that I could sense something was wrong here, don’t ask me how, it was just one of those things, woman’s intuition but it was there and I was curious about whatever it was. Anyway, divulging it to Arwen in this mood was only to risk triggering the girl so I put it to rest and out of my head.

  We were working downhill, taking a row of vines each, snipping away the ripe bunches and chucking them into the large cart we had to drag along with us every step of the way. It became progressively heavier so that I dreaded the prospect of heaving it back uphill when it was full, towards the barn where presumably, someone else would check our work and send them through the press.

  “Hey…” Arwen hissed as though there were nearby people who could hear us when there weren’t, “you see that?”

  I examined the vicinity but didn’t know what she was referring to. “What?”

  Her head jerked towards the house. “That. There’s someone watching us from that top window.”

  I followed her line of sight and saw that it was true, someone was watching us. “How long has that been there?”

  “That? I think it’s a she after all.” Arwen was using her hand to shield the sun from her eyes, making it more than obvious we’d clocked whoever it was but, unperturbed, the person didn’t even flinch. “Hey, doesn’t it remind you of that film Psycho?” She waved to the distant figure. “Mother! Mother!”

  I laughed and chucked a grape at her. “Maybe we can watch that when we get out of here.” Was Psycho the right film to get a girl in the mood? Perhaps I could park the camper in an isolated wood because
I was beginning to run out of ideas.

  “I have a full battery and waiting,” she turned away from the house, “anyway, I suppose the extra money won’t do any harm, assuming we’re being paid for this hard labour.”

  “And don’t forget she’s feeding us.”

  Which was true and the only reason Arwen had been pacified because we’d been promised a real Italian dinner and something better than what had been provided during the tour. I was sceptical, as was Arwen and with good reason. She wasn’t Italian.

  But the minute we returned to the house, it was obvious we’d underestimated her. We’d worked three hours, filled two cartloads with grapes and were beyond starving, especially considering lunch had been such a disappointment.

  “Please,” Dayna beamed and gestured to the table with its fantastic spread.

  My belly was already rumbling and the smell was enough to prompt my saliva glands into awakening. It was all there, the cute red and white squared table cloth that for whatever reason screamed Italy, napkins of the same design, red and white roses poking out from used wine bottles in the centre, a beautiful vase filled with corks, a lit candle crammed down its neck and the wax from candles past that had dribbled down the sides and set, wine at the ready with the kind of fancy glasses reserved for posh guests, a large platter of bread and the most adorable olive oil container with a spout that resembled a miniature watering can and side dishes for dipping, fancy plates and the kind of weighty cutlery that just had to be silver. Soft Italian dinner music was playing and Arwen puckered her lips as we made eye contact from over our seats before pulling them out. Dayna had gone to much effort, maybe too much.

  “How was your afternoon amongst the vines?” She made it sound so romantic and Arwen inhaled in preparation to speak and I was quick to cut her off.

  “It was an experience,” I emphasised with a nod to Arwen, thinking I sounded diplomatic and was rewarded with one of her cute little scowls.

  Dayna smiled and carefully took her seat facing us. “Maybe sometime I’ll show you how to operate the grape press.” She said, tipping a dollop of oil onto her dish and reaching forwards for a cut of bread.