by T A Williams
She drained her glass and reached for the Chianti. Rich got there first and filled her glass for her. He gave her a little, wry smile and she had a feeling he must have realised what had been going through her head. He topped up his own glass and clinked it against hers and then Marina’s.
‘It’s been a lovely evening. In fact, speaking personally, these have been the best few days I’ve had in years and it’s down to you and, of course, Marina. Thanks, boss.’
Ethan was quick to reach over and bang his glass against theirs and then Sinclair and Mark followed suit. As Mark’s glass clinked against Emma’s she heard him repeat Rich’s words. ‘Thanks, boss.’ There was a pause and then he added five little words so very quietly only she could hear. ‘I’m glad I’ve met you.’
Chapter 11
Next morning they all went for a run along a track though the woods above the hotel. Ethan and Sinclair soon accelerated away, leaving the others in their wake. Emma had a shrewd idea that Mark could have gone with them, but had chosen to stay behind and run alongside her. Behind them, Marina and Rich gradually slowed to a trot and receded into the distance. Soon all Emma could hear was the rhythmic pounding of her own feet as they scuffed through the dry leaves and twigs on the track. Everywhere was terribly dry and notices on gates and fences warned against starting fires. Last night Rodolfo and his wife, who had joined them for a glass of his home-distilled grappa, had told them about the great fire, the previous August, which had come within a hundred metres of La Luna. It was barely mid-June now and the grass was already turning brown. By August, it would be tinder dry.
Although it was still early, the temperature was already high and Emma was soon sweating profusely. As the track emerged from the trees onto a sort of headland overlooking the valley below, she spotted a fallen tree and glanced across at Mark.
‘Feel like taking a break for a minute or two? I’m still burping grappa.’
He grinned back at her and they slowed to a stop. She sat down on the big, old, tree trunk and he took a seat beside her. Stretching her back, Emma surveyed the view as her heart rate slowed once more.
It was a charming scene, looking down the hillside and out across the wide valley floor as far as Pisa and the coast beyond it to the right. It was too far for her to make out the Leaning Tower, but she felt pretty sure she could see the huge white bulk of the cathedral. The distant Mediterranean was shimmering in the morning sunshine and the air was full of the perfume of wild thyme and rosemary. She ran her hands through her hair and glanced across at him. He was sitting quite still, his eyes far away, his expression difficult to interpret. It wasn’t really happy and it certainly wasn’t really sad. In the end she settled for troubled. He must have felt her eyes on him as he suddenly turned towards her.
‘Look at you. You’re barely panting. Do you run every day back in Hollywood?’
‘Not every day, but when I can. I play tennis at least once a week as well and I live in a complex with a pool, so I get a fair amount of exercise.’ A thought occurred to her. ‘So, is there a pool at your lovely hotel in Umbria?’
He nodded. ‘It was only finished and filled a couple of weeks ago, but the water temperature’s been climbing steadily. Hopefully by the weekend it won’t be too chilly.’ His face broke into a little smile. ‘Our main problem at the moment is keeping Carmen out of it. Like all Labs, she loves the water. The trouble is that filtration systems and dog hair don’t mix.’
‘I look forward to meeting the love of your life.’
She smiled back at him, but his smile had gone now. He turned his face sharply away from her and gazed out over the valley before them once more. She sat there, wondering if she should say anything, but uncertain how to begin. In the end, he was the first to speak.
‘They’re wonderful things, dogs. Pure, unadulterated love is what they give you. When I was growing up, after the death of my parents, it was my granddad’s old dog, Tosca – he always named them after characters in opera – who kept me going. I’m sure she realised I was grieving and she stuck by my side like glue. She slept beside my bed – and on it when grandma wasn’t looking – and she accompanied me everywhere.’ He turned his head and caught Emma’s eye for a few seconds. ‘I’m not sure how I’d have coped without old Tosca.’
There was a catch in his voice and Emma couldn’t resist reaching out and resting her hand on his wrist. ‘It must have been so, so tough to lose your parents. How old were you?’
‘Five, coincidentally the same age as Carmen the dog was last year when my grandfather died.’
His eyes were trained on her hand on his arm. She didn’t make a move, waiting for him to say more, but she had to wait a good long while. In the end, when he finally looked back up, the pained expression had cleared from his face.
‘Thanks, Emma. Now, shall we head back to the hotel?’
She wasn’t sure what he was thanking her for, so she just nodded.
* * *
They left the hotel at just before ten and dropped Ethan, now wearing his wig and a White Snake T-shirt, back at the airport along with Sinclair. Ethan gave her a big hug before climbing out of the car.
‘Thanks, English, that was fun. And thanks for listening.’
‘I’ll always be here for you, Ethan. You know that.’ She and he had spent an hour the previous evening just talking and she got the impression it had helped him work through the remaining doubts he had about his working relationship with Laney. She kissed him on the cheek. ‘See you guys tomorrow. Enjoy Naples.’
As Marina drove out of the airport complex once more, Emma queried her on the day’s plans – more for the sake of Rich and Mark, seeing as she and Marina had already discussed this at breakfast.
‘First stop, Lucca. It’s smaller and a bit less well known than Pisa or Florence, but it’s a lovely historic town all the same.’
‘And it would almost certainly have been on the route of the Grand Tour a hundred years ago.’ Mark clearly approved of the choice.
‘And we’re really not going to Florence?’ Rich was sitting alongside Marina, but he screwed his head round and directed his query to Emma.
She shook her head. ‘Sorry, no, we’re going to give Florence a miss. Too big, too busy, too well known. But, don’t worry, you’ll see it. Marina’s found a little road that winds through the hills outside Florence and from there we should have a pretty good panoramic view of the city.’ She turned to Mark beside her on the back seat. ‘You happy with that, Mark?’
‘You’re the boss, but, yes, I’m sure you’re right. You need quieter places. Tell me, where are you planning on going this afternoon?’
‘We were wondering about San Gimignano, but Marina’s afraid that’s going to be equally crowded.’
‘And she’d be right. As an alternative, we could go to Certaldo. Ever heard of it?’ All three shook their heads. ‘It’s a sort of a poor man’s San Gimignano. Not so many towers, definitely not so many tourists, but a fine old castle and the higher part of town, Certaldo Alto, is an authentic medieval township. And the views out over the hills are spectacular.’
* * *
Lucca was, indeed, a lovely historic town. They parked outside the massive stone and brick walls, clearly built to withstand cannon fire, and walked into the town through a narrow arched gateway. Much of the centre of town was a pedestrians-only area, although they soon learnt to beware of bikes and scooters rattling past over the uneven flagstones that paved the narrow lanes. Mark pointed out that the architecture was a mixture of styles and eras from the Middle Ages to the present day. The road wound in and out among the buildings, opening up from time to time into tiny squares, some punctuated by trees, until they emerged into Piazza dell’Anfiteatro, ringed with mainly cream-coloured three- and four-storey buildings with green louvred shutters. All around were cafes and restaurants with tables out on the square and here they stopped for coffee under a large parasol.
It was almost midday by now and a digital thermometer outside a
chemist’s shop was indicating it was twenty-eight degrees. Emma wondered how much hotter it would get in high summer. She ordered a cappuccino and sat back to enjoy the view. On the way there, she had taken a load of photos and she felt sure the narrow lanes, brick archways leading to hidden courtyards, medieval churches and amazing Renaissance palaces would be well worth including in the movie. Lucca was definitely making it onto the list.
She cast a glance across at Mark who was looking quite relaxed again. They hadn’t spoken much since their run, but she was beginning to get the feeling that maybe she might end up acting as a shoulder to cry on not only for the Hollywood megastar, but also for this man who had suffered a terrible blow as a child which still resonated today. And there was also the matter of how he had reacted last night to her question about finding Mrs Right. Quite clearly, he was still hurting from whatever had happened there. She resolved to do her very best to help him – for his sake but also, maybe, for hers.
After last night’s feast, they just opted for a light lunch. The men bought focaccia sandwiches while Emma and Marina just settled for ice cream cones, and they continued their walking tour of Lucca, returning to the car around mid-afternoon. From there, it took less than an hour to get to Certaldo, which was situated in the first rows of hills rising up on the southern side of the valley of the River Arno. The hills themselves were dotted with olive groves, vineyards and the ubiquitous Tuscan mix of umbrella pines and tall, slim cypress trees. At first Certaldo didn’t seem like it was anything special, until they turned off the main road and made their way up to the old part of town that Mark had described; up at the top, it was charming.
Leaving the car by the side of the road, they walked around the little hilltop township, admiring the ancient buildings, mostly constructed of wonderful old rose-tinted bricks, some with the render peeling off the walls. Beneath their feet, the narrow roads were paved with red bricks laid in herringbone fashion, giving the place an almost magical feel. They looked into the castle, admired the medieval town hall and stopped at an observation point to look out at the view. As Mark had said, it was terrific from up here and they gazed in wonder over the red roofs of the town below and beyond them up across vineyards, olive groves and fields towards San Gimignano itself, clearly visible on top of the distant hill. The silhouette of the iconic towers was unmistakable and Emma had no hesitation in adding Certaldo to the growing list of suitable locations on her phone.
Rich and Marina went off to get drinks while Emma and Mark sat down on a bench shaded from the sun by a massive old tree, and gazed at the view. After a minute or two of silence, he turned towards her with a raised eyebrow.
‘So, the ice maiden, eh? Are you really so wedded to your work?’
She gave him a wry smile. Ever since Ethan had used the expression she had been asking herself if she really was that cold, that aloof. She certainly didn’t want to give anybody that impression, but she knew she could sometimes be a bit single-minded, a bit dismissive.
‘I must admit I didn’t know they called me that – mind you, that might just be what Ethan calls me – but I suppose there’s some truth to it.’ She paused to shoot him a cheeky glance. ‘For the sake of accuracy, not the “maiden” part, but I’ve been in the company for twelve years now and I can honestly say I’ve enjoyed virtually all of it. They work me hard and I suppose I have to hold my hand up and add that I work myself hard, maybe to the detriment of my personal life.’ She turned more fully towards him. ‘But I only do it because I enjoy it. As for the “ice” thing, I really try not to be cold towards anybody, but I must admit that dating’s been pretty low on my agenda for a good long while now. As for the queue of men all round Hollywood, that’s just Ethan. You know what they’re like, these film stars – always exaggerating.’
Mark held her eye for a moment before looking away. ‘You want to know something? I reckon he was serious when he said he was in the queue… at the head of the queue even.’
Emma stared at him blankly. ‘You’re joking, surely? Yes, I see Ethan often. He’s contracted to our studio. We talk and spend time together, but there’s no way he’d ever be interested in somebody like me, not when he’s got millions of women all over the world just dying to jump into his arms, not to mention his bed.’ The more she thought about it, the more ridiculous it sounded.
‘Don’t you believe it? You’re beautiful, you’re very bright and you’re a genuinely nice person. Any man would be lucky to have you.’
For a moment she thought about querying his use of the term ‘any man’. Might that also include him? But, instead, she found herself taking issue with his choice of vocabulary.
‘That’s the point, really. I don’t want to be “had” by any man. I’m my own woman and I choose my own partners.’
‘Sorry, of course I didn’t mean “have” in the sense of “possession”. Anyway, apologies again, I didn’t want to intrude. It just interested me that you appeared to be rejecting a Hollywood heart-throb.’
‘There’s no need to apologise, but I think you’ve misread the signs. My relationship with Ethan isn’t like that.’ She looked him square in the eye. ‘And it never will be.’
‘Message received loud and clear, boss. Okay. So, if you’re turning down the sexiest man on the planet, then that means there’s no hope left for any other man on the planet. We’re all doomed.’
She rather liked the fact that he had used the pronoun ‘we’ and she rather regretted being quite so sharp with him. But then, she told herself, maybe it was for the best: there was no future for her with Mark, given that they would soon be on opposite sides of the globe, and the sooner her heart and her brain started operating on the same wavelength, the better. She gave him a smile.
‘Nobody’s doomed, Mark. Right now, the fact is that my job means more to me than any man.’
‘Any man?’
‘That’s the way it’s been so far.’
At that moment, Marina and Rich returned with bottles of water and the conversation turned to more practical matters. Emma wasn’t sure if she should be sorry or relieved.
‘Our hotel for tonight’s right in the heart of the Chianti region, south of Florence.’ Marina glanced across at Rich. ‘But I promise you’ll get a good view of Florence on the way there. The hotel’s actually an agriturismo on a working wine estate. Have you come across those?’
Mark was quick to explain. ‘Think bed and breakfast, often very upmarket bed and breakfast, sometimes with dinner, but on a farm, or at least out in the countryside.’
This sounded rather good to Emma and she realised it might work for the movie as well. ‘In the movie, as they’re on their way from Florence to Siena by road, the car taking Emily and her governess breaks down and they have to spend the night in a rat-infested country inn. This agriturismo should fit in fine.’
If there were any rats in the agriturismo where Emma and company spent the night, they were without doubt some of the luckiest rats in Italy. The place was very luxurious, very comfortable, scrupulously clean and in a delightful position, their bedroom windows looking right out over the rolling Chianti hills. On the way there, Marina had been true to her word and had taken them along a series of narrow roads through olive groves and vineyards to the south of Florence, driving right in towards the city as far as the hills directly above the River Arno. They saw the roofs, cupolas, towers and domes of Florence, laid out like a model below them, but didn’t venture any further into town. More photos were added to the pile but Emma had no regrets at leaving out this internationally recognised World Heritage site which, she knew, would be even more crowded than Pisa.
The hotel had a swimming pool and Emma spent a happy hour there before going inside for a wonderful long bath, emerging feeling energised and refreshed. She met up with the others in the bar downstairs before dinner for a glass of the excellent wine produced here on the estate. The walls were covered in old black-and-white photos of men and women harvesting the grapes onto horse-drawn carts
. Rich suggested taking photos of some of these photos to help the costume department. Emma was impressed and told him to go ahead, mentally adding this little sign of initiative to the secret report she was preparing for his father.
That evening, after an excellent dinner, Marina and Rich stayed inside to chat to the owner, while Emma and Mark went for a little walk along a track at the rear of the hotel. From there they had a wonderful view down over the rows of vines, laid out with mathematical precision, clearly visible in the light of an almost full moon. Night had fallen by now and as they strolled along, Emma started to see little flashes of yellow light in the darkness, where fireflies flew among the vines. Above them somewhere an owl hooted, close enough to startle her, and she instinctively reached out and grabbed Mark’s arm. As she realised what had caused the noise she hastily removed her hand and apologised. He turned towards her and chuckled.
‘Any time you want me to defend you from an owl, just say so. But if it’s a wild boar, I may not be so obliging. I was talking to the owner and he told me they’ve had a lot of trouble with them. They dig up the vines and cause a lot of damage and, if you get in their way, they can be dangerous. We’ve had them around the villa too.’
‘And I thought knights in shining armour were fearless.’
‘Not this knight. I pick my battles.’ There was a momentary pause before he added something that puzzled her. ‘At least I do nowadays.’
‘You used to be fearless?’
‘I think the word you’re looking for is reckless. But I learnt my lesson. Anyway, enough about me, what are you afraid of? Not a lot, I would guess.’
She thought about probing him on what he had meant, but decided against it. He had obviously decided to change the subject. She did her best to answer his question honestly.