Dreaming of Italy: A stunning and heartwarming holiday romance

by T A Williams

  ‘Not this megastar. In fact, no megastars. Ethan’s a sweetie. I’ve known him for quite a few years now and we get on well together but, and I know this is going to sound ridiculous seeing as he’s a Hollywood idol and all that, but I’ve only ever thought of him as a friend, more like a sweet little brother really. Underneath that hunky exterior, he’s remarkably insecure. I’m sort of his shoulder to cry on.’

  ‘Well, we all need a shoulder to cry on from time to time. He’s a lucky man to have you as a friend.’

  There was something in his voice that cut straight to her heart and she couldn’t help herself. Stretching out her free arm, she caught him briefly on the forearm with her hand. She gave him a reassuring squeeze before releasing him again.

  ‘Any time you need a shoulder to cry on… or a friend, I’m here, Mark.’

  Chapter 10

  Dinner that night was amazing. Marina drove them further up into the hills until they came to a tiny village – little more than just a collection of a dozen or so houses at the side of the road. A wonky wooden arrow pointed off to the right with just two words on it: La Luna. Marina turned off and they headed up a very bumpy track further into the tree-covered hills. Finally, just as Emma was beginning to wonder if they had somehow got lost, they arrived at their destination. Another even more precarious-looking wooden sign on the gatepost indicated that this rambling old stone building was indeed called La Luna or The Moon.

  Marina swung the big vehicle in through the ancient arched gateway and drew up in what was quite evidently a farmyard. Just in case they might have had any doubts on that score, a noisy collection of ducks and chickens scattered at their approach, clucking and quacking in protest at being disturbed. Emma, quite happily seated beside Mark, with Rich and Sinclair behind them in the back, exchanged uncertain glances with the others. Marina caught her eye in the mirror and grinned.

  ‘It’s all right, this really is the place.’

  ‘You’re telling me this is the best restaurant in Italy?’ Ethan in the front seat didn’t sound convinced. Marina did her best to reassure him.

  ‘That’s what they say. Gianluca, my boss, told me the owner of this place used to be the head chef at the swankiest restaurant in Rome, one of only a handful of restaurants in the whole country with three Michelin stars. He retired up here a few years ago and he only comes out of retirement for a very few, very select customers.’

  ‘I see. Well, hey, that sounds great. I’m honoured.’

  Emma could hear that this had got Ethan intrigued. In fact, from what Marina had told her, the chef was only doing this tonight as a favour to her boss. The fact that he would be catering for a Hollywood great hadn’t cut any ice with him at all. Suppressing a smile, she turned to Mark alongside her.

  ‘Shall we go? I’m feeling quite hungry.’

  As they climbed out, a massive shaggy dog appeared in front of them and stood there immobile, staring at them, clearly suspicious. From the look of it, its pedigree most probably had to include wolf as well as maybe even grizzly bear. It was enormous and it was sporting an impressive set of gleaming white teeth. For a moment, Emma had a sudden horrific image of the world-famous actor alongside her being assaulted and scarred for life by this giant hound. She was just about to risk throwing herself between Ethan and the beast when she felt Mark push past her and walk over to the dog. As he approached it, he dropped to one knee and held out his hand.

  ‘Ciao, bello. Who’s a very good dog, then?’

  To Emma’s relief, the mixture of languages appeared to work. Reassured, the dog took a step forward and buried his head in Mark’s chest, his tail beginning to wag. While the beast was otherwise engaged, Emma took Ethan by the arm and hurried him across to the front door. As they got there, it opened and a matronly lady appeared, wiping her hands on her apron. Seeing the dog, she addressed him in firm tones.

  ‘Rocky, leave the guests alone. Go off back to your bed, or you won’t get any leftovers.’

  This threat worked wonders and the dog trotted off round towards the rear of the house without a backward glance. The lady transferred her attention to her guests.

  ‘Buonasera, signori. Welcome to La Luna. How very kind of you to choose to come and dine with us.’

  She shook hands with each of them in turn. If she recognised Ethan – no longer in his heavy-metal aficionado disguise – she gave no sign of it.

  ‘Do come in please.’

  She ushered them along a corridor and into a fine old dining room. There was only one table in there, and it was set for six people. One wall was covered with framed certificates and awards of the highest order for services to Italian cuisine, all in the name of their host. A massive old dresser held row upon row of cups, shields, bowls and statuettes, commemorating his achievements. Emma caught Ethan’s eye. Clearly, they were in the presence of culinary greatness.

  The high ceiling was supported by massive wooden beams with ancient red bricks between them. The floor was paved with lovely old terracotta tiles, worn down by the passage of countless feet over the centuries, and a glazed arch in the end wall provided a stunning view out over the wooded hillside back down to the valley below. The sun was low in the sky and its rays had turned the distant hills a ruby red colour. It was an enchanting place with an inspiring view and Emma had her camera out in an instant.

  As they stood there, admiring the view, another door opened and the chef appeared. He was a jovial-looking man with an impressive paunch and a moustache worthy of a Mexican bandido. He was wearing a pristine white chef’s jacket with his initials embroidered onto the left breast. He smiled as he saw them.

  ‘Signori, buonasera. Mi chiamo Rodolfo. Benvenuti alla Luna.’

  He came round, shaking their hands and slipped seamlessly into excellent English as he told them the history of this place. To Emma’s amazement it was almost six hundred years old and had been in his family for as long as anybody could remember. As he was circulating, his wife appeared with a magnum of Tuscan sparkling wine. The chef informed them that this rosé wine came from Radda in Chianti, just below Florence, and was, in his opinion the best sparkling wine in Italy. When Emma had the temerity to query where Prosecco figured in his estimation he only rolled his eyes and handed her a glass of the rosé. She took a sip and had to admit that it was excellent.

  After the introductions had been completed, Rodolfo turned to the main point of the evening: the meal.

  ‘Do any of you have any allergies? Anything you particularly like or dislike? Vegetarians, maybe?’ Nobody said a word so he continued. ‘Excellent. Well, I hope you enjoy the dinner I have planned for you. When I worked in Rome, my team and I used to go out of our way to produce dishes of almost impossible refinement and novelty. It became a competition, an obsession, to see who could come up with the most bizarre combination of ingredients. I grilled cauliflower and served it with caviar, roasted red peppers and stuffed them with scallops. I cooked pigeon in straw, scampi with aniseed jelly and all manner of other dishes designed to catch the eye of a certain type of diner.

  ‘Now that I’ve returned to my native Tuscany, I’ve come full circle and I let the quality of the raw materials speak for themselves without all the excess. This is food the way it’s been cooked in this part of Tuscany for centuries. Everything you will eat tonight was grown or reared within walking distance of this place, just like it would have been once upon a time. The fish is the exception, but it only comes from the nearby coast and I can guarantee you there are no chemicals, additives or other artificial enhancements in anything on your table tonight. My menu changes according to the seasons and I can promise that what I offer you is genuine, real food.’

  There was a murmur of approval all round. Emma was particularly pleased to see Ethan nodding enthusiastically.

  ‘Tonight, if you’re agreeable, I thought I would prepare some local specialities as a starter, followed by homemade pasta. Tonight I’ve made pappardelle.’ Seeing the expressions on some of the faces –
including Emma’s – he explained. ‘These are broad strips of homemade pasta which I propose serving with a sauce made from smoked ham, porcini mushrooms and truffles from our very own woods.’ He gave them a broad grin. ‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you the exact location where we find these treasures or you would never be allowed to leave here alive.’

  Emma shot another glance across at Ethan to see how this was going down with him. By the look of anticipation on his face, he was impressed.

  ‘And then for the main course, I would propose a mixed platter of grilled meats. I have some particularly good steak, fine little lamb chops and, of course, local Tuscan sausage made by my friend Armando, the finest butcher in this part of Italy. And for any of you who don’t want too much meat, I will grill some seasoned pecorino cheese as well.’ He beamed at them. ‘How does that sound?’

  Unsurprisingly, there was general approval and Rodolfo bowed and withdrew, leaving his wife to top up their glasses, after which she disappeared only to return with a tempting platter of canapés. These varied from tiny toasted squares of the lovely Tuscan unsalted bread topped with homemade wild boar pâté and soft goat’s cheese, to delicious marinated prawns on cocktail sticks and tiny spicy sausages that tasted of rosemary. As they stood there, savouring the food and enjoying the view, Emma found herself next to Mark, so close, she could feel the hairs on his bare forearm against her skin. She took a hasty sip of cold wine and transferred her attention to Ethan.

  ‘Not a bad view, eh, Ethan?’

  He turned back from the window and smiled at her. ‘It’s amazing. The whole place’s amazing. And I love the fact that the chef’s going to give us real food, rather than the airy-fairy crap that turns up all too often when I go out to eat. Did you know? In a restaurant in London the other day they tried to tell me it was forbidden to drink beer with their refined food. That’s what the pretentious little cock of a headwaiter called it. Refined my ass!’

  Emma giggled. ‘And how did that end up?’

  ‘We left. Sinc and I got a takeaway and a six pack. Had it in my hotel room and loved every minute of it.’

  A few minutes later, the antipasti arrived and they all sat down. Emma put Ethan at the head of the table and she sat on one side of him, Marina on the other. Rich sat down next to Marina with Sinclair alongside him and this rather neatly meant that Mark ended up next to Emma.

  The first dish to arrive was a massive wooden board bearing slices of freshly hand-carved cured ham, surrounded by apricots that had been gently cooked in some sort of sweet wine. The combination of tastes was amazing. Alongside this was a selection of local salami, among which Emma particularly loved the finocchiona, a cured sausage flavoured with fennel. There were dishes containing olives, little onions and baby mushrooms in thick, green, aromatic olive oil. There was also Rodolfo’s take on the traditional Tuscan bruschetta. Instead of slices of bread, he used grilled polenta and topped the slices variously with mushrooms, tomatoes, chicken livers, goat’s cheese and pâté.

  To drink, they were given bottled water and two anonymous straw-covered flasks of red wine. There were no labels and when asked, Rodolfo’s wife just winked, tapped the side of her nose with a finger and told them it was made by a friend of Rodolfo’s. It was absolutely exquisite.

  As they moved onto the pasta course, which was sublime, Emma decided to slow down and try to fight the temptation to have a second helping. She felt pretty sure there would be a mountain of grilled meat on its way very soon. Instead, she glanced sideways to see how Mark was doing. He and Rich had been chatting across the table and she listened in. They were talking about Mark’s home in Umbria.

  ‘Yes, it’s old all right, Rich. The tower’s medieval although the rest of the villa was built at the end of the seventeen hundreds, but underneath are the foundations of an eleventh-century fortress with walls over two metres thick. Probably just as well as we’re in a seismic zone in Umbria and there are regular tremors. You maybe heard of the big one back in 1997 which caused a load of damage around Assisi. Hopefully the villa’s solid enough to withstand a quake.’

  ‘Wow! And that’s where you’re going to spend the rest of your life?’

  ‘I honestly don’t know. I’ve turned it into a hotel, just like my granddad wanted, but I’ve kept the old stables for myself. I’m going to have to be involved with the hotel at least for the first few years until everything’s bedded in. I’ve employed some good people, so hopefully they’ll soon be up to speed. So theoretically, in a few years’ time, I could move anywhere.’

  Emma decided to join it. ‘What about going back to the UK? Is that an option?’

  He turned towards her and she felt those blue-grey eyes lock onto hers. ‘Maybe, but I’m in no hurry. If I decide to become a student all over again, I’d probably see if my old college at Oxford might want me. Otherwise, there are some very good universities here in Italy. We’ll see.’

  Emma took a mouthful of wine before risking her next question.

  ‘And what would Carmen think about relocating to England?’

  He laughed. ‘She wouldn’t mind, I’m sure. But I’d need to get her a passport first.’

  ‘Really, she doesn’t have a passport?’ So, presumably Carmen wasn’t Spanish, but home-grown in Italy. ‘Hasn’t she been outside Italy?’

  ‘She hasn’t been outside of Umbria.’ Seeing the expression on Emma’s face, he went on to explain. ‘She comes from just a couple of kilometres away in Gubbio. She belonged to my grandfather and now I’ve inherited her.’

  Emma couldn’t believe what she was hearing. ‘You inherited her?’

  ‘That’s right. He died quite unexpectedly and she was left all alone at the age of five.’ He picked up his glass. ‘Now she’s mine and I love her to bits. Granddad was a great opera fan. That’s why he called her Carmen. She’s a very, very good dog.’

  ‘Dog…?’ The penny was taking an inordinately long time to drop.

  ‘She’s a Labrador, a black Labrador. I’m sure she’ll like you. She’s got a thing for pretty girls.’

  ‘Haven’t we all?’ Rich glanced sideways at Marina. ‘What about you and dogs, Marina? Like them?’

  ‘Definitely, although I prefer ones that are a good bit smaller than Rocky the giant beast out there.’ She glanced over at Emma who had just about recovered from the shock of discovering that the love of Mark’s life had four legs and a tail. ‘What about you, Emma? Are you a dog person?’

  ‘I love them. We always had a dog at home, but since moving to the US I haven’t been able to get one.’

  Marina leaned towards Emma. ‘Why’s that? Doesn’t your partner like them?’

  ‘Partner?’ Ethan joined in with a broad grin on his face. ‘Marina, this is the ice maiden you’re talking to here.’

  As Emma felt her cheeks flush, Ethan elaborated for the benefit of the whole table. ‘Back in LA there’s a queue a mile long of hopefuls who’d just love to take her out, but all she thinks of is work.’ He gave Emma a little wink. ‘I’ve been at the head of the queue for years.’

  Emma felt sure this wasn’t true, although it was nice of him to suggest it. She knew her relationship with him didn’t go beyond friendship but as for the ‘ice maiden’ thing, this came as a bolt from the blue. Surely people didn’t really think she was that cold and unemotional. She took a swig of cold water and queried it with him.

  ‘Ice maiden? Really? Who says that?’

  He was still grinning, but now he even managed to look a little bit embarrassed – he was a very good actor after all. ‘Oh, just people. No, of course you aren’t icy. Everybody loves you. I love you but, let’s face it, the job comes first with you.’

  ‘Well, maybe that’s because I like my job so much.’ She glanced across at Rich and summoned a grin. ‘Now, don’t you go telling your father that or he’ll make me work even harder. But I’m not really one of those boring people who just lives for her work… am I?’ The idea that her colleagues thought of her as distant and a
loof was disconcerting.

  Rich grinned back at her and, at her side, she heard Mark’s voice.

  ‘There’s more to life than work. That’s personal experience talking. Trust me.’

  As she returned her attention to him, another thought crossed her mind. Yes, he had revealed that Carmen was a dog, but that didn’t necessarily mean that there wasn’t a special someone waiting for him back in Umbria. She took another sip of red wine and decided she had to know.

  ‘So, what about you, Mark? Did you manage to balance your private life and your work? Did you find your Mrs Right?’

  In an instant, a cloud flashed across his face and his eyes suddenly dropped to the table top. She could have kicked herself. This had obviously been a question too far. Then, while she was desperately trying to think of a way out of the mess she had just created, he looked up again with those hypnotic eyes, the upset in them all too visible.

  ‘I thought I had, Emma, I thought I had.’ She saw him take a deep breath and she very nearly reached out to offer him a consoling hug, but she restrained herself as he added in clipped tones. ‘But I’m afraid it ended in tears.’

  Fortunately, at that moment, Rodolfo’s wife appeared bearing a huge terracotta dish piled high with grilled meat, cheese and snake-like coils of sausage, all surrounded by what looked like thick, multi-coloured crisps. These turned out to be slices of potatoes, sweet potatoes, carrots, beetroot and some sort of turnips, quickly fried so the outside was crispy, while the inside remained soft and very, very tasty. Everybody started speaking at once, blown away by the sight and scent of the feast before them, and the moment passed. Emma slipped a glance sideways towards Mark and saw him smiling once more as he explained to Ethan just what delicacies were before them.