Dreaming of Italy: A stunning and heartwarming holiday romance

by T A Williams

  ‘Oh, I get scared all right. I’m terrified of snakes. Believe it or not, a rattlesnake even got into one of the studio lots a few years back. The security guys shot it and hung it on the gate. Although it was as dead as a dodo, it still frightened the life out of me. Otherwise, I’m okay with most animals and I’m reasonably okay with heights. I suppose if I’m totally honest, the thing that frightens me most is the idea of getting shot in some random attack or at the hands of some madman. There are an awful lot of guns in the US. Give me a good old English Bobby with his truncheon any day.’

  ‘But you’ve been living in the US for years and, presumably, you intend to stay there at least until you’re running JMGP, so you can’t be that scared.’

  ‘I suppose not, but it’s absolutely terrifying having a gun pointed at you. It happened to me once and the pistol was in the hand of a cop, but it frightened the life out of me all the same.’ She turned her head towards him. ‘Have you ever had a gun pointed at you?’

  ‘Afraid so. You’re right. It’s definitely very scary.’ He didn’t go into any detail as to the circumstances under which the weapon had been pointed at him and she didn’t press him. Instead, she turned the conversation to happier matters.

  ‘Less than a day to wait until you’re reunited with Carmen. I’m looking forward to meeting her. Have you got a photo?’

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He scrolled through until he found what he wanted. He held the phone out towards her and she caught hold of his hand to look at the photo of a very happy-looking black Labrador with a huge branch in her mouth.

  ‘If you scroll back, you’ll see a few more.’

  She did so and found many more pictures of the dog. Clearly, he thought a lot of her but then, of course, Carmen was effectively the last remaining memory of his grandfather. Finally she released his hand and saw him return the phone to his pocket. It had felt good to touch him. Disturbingly good. She glanced at her watch and saw that it was almost eleven o’clock, so she decided to get away while the going was good. There’s a limit to the amount of willpower a woman can summon up, and her hand was itching to grab onto his once more.

  ‘She’s a lovely dog. And I’ll tell her that myself when I see her. Now, I’d better go up to my room. I’ve got to check in with my boss and see if there any messages. Are you coming in?’

  To her surprise, and no little pleasure, his hand found hers in the darkness and caught hold of it for a second or two. She felt a little squeeze and then heard his voice.

  ‘I think I’ll stay out and stare at the moon for a bit. Goodnight, boss, and remember what I said about not working too hard.’

  ‘I’ll remember. Goodnight, Mark.’

  Chapter 12

  Next morning there were grey clouds in the sky and a hint of drizzle in the air. The people in the winery informed them with barely concealed delight that rainstorms were predicted for later on in the day. Although Emma would have preferred wall-to-wall sunshine during her stay in Italy, she didn’t blame them. Anybody could see that the dusty earth and the tiny young grapes were crying out for a good soaking.

  They drove down to Siena on the back roads, stopping off en route to visit a wonderful old fortress in a little place called Staggia. This imposing stone castle with its massive defensive walls dating back to the first millennium appeared to be a bit off the normal tourist trail and they were the only visitors there that morning. A chatty guide showed them round and encouraged them to climb to the battlements at the top of the imposing tower from where they had a lovely view out over the fields and hills of Tuscany and down onto the remnants of the medieval walls surrounding the little town below.

  There was a very old and very quiet feel to the place and Emma had absolutely no hesitation in adding it to her list, as the spot where in the movie Robert and Emily would meet up again after losing contact when her car broke down. By this time in Dreaming of Italy Emily knew she was falling in love with Robert, but he remained impossible to read. Emma found herself sympathising with the Emily character. In her own case, though she knew it was futile, it would have been good to find out Mark’s true feelings towards her. He remained stubbornly hard to fathom. It was as if a veil shrouded his feelings and it was exasperating. Suppressing a little snort, she did her best to dismiss such thoughts and focused on adding peaceful Staggia to her list of locations.

  From there, they drove to the beautiful city of Siena. Here, however, things were anything but quiet and peaceful. As they walked from the car park to the gateway leading into the old walled city, the sight of a line of coaches disgorging hordes of tourists gave them a foretaste of what they were to find inside. Sure enough, the narrow roads were filled with people, and even the magnificent sloping main square, the Piazza del Campo, was crowded. They toured the city, taking lots of photos, but Emma was already mentally adding unsuitable alongside the name of Siena on her list when Rich made a sensible suggestion. He had been looking and sounding brighter and brighter over the past few days and Emma was delighted to hear him getting more and more interested in Dreaming of Italy as they went along.

  ‘Why not shoot a scene way up on top of one of the towers with just glimpses of the city over the rooftops? It should be easy to keep the hordes of modern-day tourists down below out of shot and we could even build a mock-up back in the studios for the close-ups or if the scene needs to be longer.’

  Emma agreed enthusiastically and added his suggestion to her list. She also made a note that Rich had come up with it in her confidential report for his father.

  After a light lunch they returned to the car and followed a series of scenic, winding roads through the hills towards the east. Sinister dark grey clouds were gathering more and more as the day progressed and Emma had no doubt the weathermen had got it right.

  As they approached the border between Tuscany and Umbria, Mark took over from Marina as their local guide, pointing out the beautiful town of Cortona high above them, a mass of red roofs sprawling up the hillside. Then, a few kilometres later, they came to the vast open expanse of water of Lake Trasimeno and he told them all about it, such as the fact that the lake had numerous rivers and streams running into it, but none running out. As a result, the water levels could vary considerably from one season, or one year, to another and it had gained a reputation over the centuries for its vicious mosquitoes and, not that long ago, malaria. They stopped for coffee overlooking the lake and, as they did so, the rain started: shower clouds swept across the now steely grey surface of the lake as the winds picked up.

  They had to make a run for the car as the rain became torrential. Fortunately, it didn’t last too long, but they were continually driving in and out of ever-longer showers as they headed up into the tree-covered hills of Umbria. The scenery here was altogether a bit wilder and less cultivated than Tuscany had been, although the stone and sun-bleached brick farmhouses dotting the hillsides looked very similar. Mark assured them that on a clear day they would have been able to see right across to the peaks of the Apennines, but the horizon was swathed in clouds today. Emma hoped it would clear over the weekend so they could get some good photos of what promised to be a very scenic area.

  It was just after four when they finally arrived at Mark’s home. Marina had been following the signs to Gubbio for some time now, down through the hills and into the wide river valley, and it was only when the old town was already in sight on the hillside opposite them that that they turned off onto a much narrower country road leading back up the hill directly opposite. Through the rain it was hard to make out much of the town on the other side of the valley, but Mark assured them it would be well worth a visit when the skies cleared. After five minutes of hard climbing up a winding lane that got progressively narrower, they came to a fine pair of stone gateposts set in a solid ancient perimeter wall made of the local red brick.

  ‘We’re here. Welcome to Villa Graziella.’ Mark sounded glad to be home.

  As Marina turned in through the
gateway, they saw a smart new sign advertising that they had arrived at what was billed as a luxury boutique hotel. Emma glanced across at Mark.

  ‘Looks good. So, tell me, who is or was Graziella?’ Although she felt sure it couldn’t be, an obstinate part of her brain waited apprehensively for him to announce that it was the name of his fiancée, wife or mistress. Silly as the idea had been, she couldn’t help a sensation of relief when he explained.

  ‘She was my great, great, great, and a lot more greats, grandmother. From what the history books say, she was quite a lady, with a terrific depth of culture at a time when women who could read might have been suspected of witchcraft. Some say she was the secret advisor to the Duke of Urbino who was responsible for much of the grand architecture in Gubbio way back in the fourteenth century. Anyway, whether she was or not, she still managed to produce no fewer than eleven children and, if she hadn’t done that, I wouldn’t be here today.’

  Rich turned around and surveyed Mark with renewed interest. ‘You can trace your ancestry back seven hundred years? Wow, all I know is that my father’s grandfather was a wool merchant in Kiev at the time of the Russian Revolution and his name was Miroshnychenko. When he and his family emigrated to New York, the immigration official at Ellis Island shortened it to Miros, but that’s as far as it goes.’

  Emma was equally awed by Mark’s story. ‘And you wouldn’t believe how many Taylors there are in England. So does this mean you’re of noble blood, Mark? Should I be curtsying every time we meet?’

  He gave her a broad grin. ‘That’s all in the past. Italians don’t do noble titles any more. We’re a republic, and republics and nobles are mutually exclusive. No, I’m just plain old me.’

  While they were chatting, Marina was following the gravel track as it wound its way through a dense wood composed of a spectacular variety of trees, from oaks to umbrella pines, hollies to palms, as they gradually gained even more height. Finally, after at least several hundred metres, they emerged from the wood and found themselves in a wide, open, nearly flat, parking area overlooking the valley below. A massive sweeping stone staircase led up from there to one of the most beautiful houses Emma had ever seen. The photos on Mark’s phone hadn’t done it justice. This place was stunning.

  As Marina turned off the engine, all they could hear was the drumming of the rain on the roof of the car, and they all just sat and stared.

  It was built in three distinct layers on the sloping hillside. The first layer was a terrace, surrounded by decorative balustrades and classical style statues. No doubt from there, guests would have a spectacular panorama across the valley towards Gubbio, which clung to the steep slope on the opposite side. Leading off this terrace was the entrance to the ground floor. This whole part of the structure was made of light-coloured stone and composed of a mixture of arches and pillars. The doors themselves – tall enough and wide enough to get a coach and horses through – were adorned with masterful whirls and curls of carved and gilded wood, with modern glass doors fitted inside.

  Above this was the main body of the house, arranged over two floors and covered in gorgeous ochre-coloured render, the windows highlighted by aquamarine, louvred shutters. Finally, from the very centre of the building rose a massive tower, built of wonderfully weathered ancient bricks. This was clearly very old and had almost certainly performed a defensive function back in the Middle Ages. The lower windows were little more than arrow slits, with larger, arched windows up on the top floor from where the views must have been amazing.

  Emma gaped at it in awe.

  ‘Will it do?’ Mark’s voice sounded maybe just a little bit hesitant and she was quick to reassure him.

  ‘Will it do? It’s perfect. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite like it. And to think we’re going to be staying here…’

  ‘I’m glad you like the look of it. The interior’s been completely revamped so hopefully you’ll find that to your liking as well.’ He looked relieved. ‘So, remind me, what happens here in the movie? Didn’t you say the heroine gets sick?’

  Emma nodded. ‘She develops a raging fever and they fear for her life. Don’t forget this would have been before Alexander Fleming and the discovery of penicillin. People really did die of a high temperature back then. The old governess also contracts it and it falls to Robert, who’s a friend of the marquis who owns the place, to help look after both of them. There’s what should be a real tear-jerker of a scene, where he believes Emily has died and this, more than anything else, makes him realise the depth of his feelings for her.’ She gave Mark a smile. ‘Fortunately she gets better very quickly and they’re ready to move on after a week.’

  ‘And the governess?’

  ‘She survives as well and she now understands that Robert isn’t an evil gold-digger or a rapscallion just trying to have his wicked way with Emily, and her whole attitude towards him changes for the better, so that when they leave, it’s with a smile on their faces.’

  ‘So this is the place that puts a smile on everyone’s face. Well, let’s hope it does the same to you guys and to your famous guests. Look, here’s Claudio.’

  He pointed through the windscreen and they saw three figures hurrying down the steps towards the car, carrying umbrellas. The first to reach them was a tall man in a very smart dark suit. Claudio the manager certainly looked the part. Beside him were two staff members, also immaculately turned out. All of them were smiling.

  ‘Ciao Claudio.’

  Mark jumped out and shook him warmly by the hand. As the others followed, they were handed umbrellas and shepherded up the steps towards the terrace and the shelter of the front door. As Emma handed her soaking umbrella to another smiling staff member and went in through the glass doors, she saw Mark suddenly fall to his knees in front of her and she rushed forward in concern.

  She needn’t have been concerned.

  ‘Ciao bella gioia. Come stai? Ciao Carmen, it’s good to see you.’ As Emma’s eyes focused, she realised that he was hugging a very happy – and presumably bilingual – black Labrador; the dog’s whole body wagging along with her tail while she nuzzled into her master’s armpit, emitting contented little canine whines as she did so.

  ‘Emma, Rich, Marina, come and meet Carmen.’

  Mark glanced up over his shoulder and Emma could see his eyes gleaming. She hadn’t seen him with such an expression of happiness before and, if anything, it made him look even more desirable – and for the first time in her life she felt jealous of a Labrador.

  They were introduced to the dog who was very pleased to meet them, but it was clear where her main affections lay.

  Emma couldn’t fault the dog’s taste.

  After saying hello to Carmen, Emma stood up and took a good look around. They were standing in what was now the main lobby of the hotel. The floor was made up of slabs of polished marble, alternating red, white and black, in a sort of checkerboard pattern, and the walls were hung with mirrors in ornate gilt frames. Over to one side was the reception desk with, behind it, another welcoming face, this time a very pretty dark-haired woman probably still in her twenties.

  ‘Would you like me to show you to your rooms?’ Claudio picked a handful of keys off the desk. ‘Or would you prefer a cup of tea first?’ His English was excellent and his smile was infectious as he caught Emma’s eye. ‘You are English after all, and tea is traditional, isn’t it?’

  Emma smiled back at him. ‘Could I do both? Maybe see my room and then come back downstairs for a cup of tea?’

  ‘Of course, Signora Taylor. And your colleagues?’

  Emma looked across at the others. ‘Marina, what time’s Ethan due in?’

  ‘Six thirty. And it’s barely half an hour from here to Perugia airport, so I don’t need to leave until six, or a bit before. Do you want to come with me?’

  Emma would have been quite happy not to go out in the car again, but she wondered if Ethan might be expecting her to be at the airport to greet him. At the same time, she couldn’t
help remembering Mark’s conviction that Ethan might even have a thing for her. Maybe she should let Marina go on her own, so as not to give the actor the wrong idea. For the first time in ages, she found herself really stumped. Normally she was very logical in her decision-making. Suddenly, since she had arrived in Italy, she was a different person. No, she immediately reminded herself, like it or lump it, the fact was that this new uncertain Emma hadn’t started upon arrival in Italy. It had started upon meeting Mark for the first time when her knees had turned to jelly. As she was still trying to work out what to do, Rich gave her a helping hand.

  ‘Why don’t you take it easy, boss? I’ll go with Marina.’ He grinned as he switched into his English accent. ‘When one is English, one normally does like a cup of tea in the afternoon, doesn’t one, what?’

  Emma couldn’t help laughing out loud. ‘One certainly does, Rich. All right then, if you’re sure, I’ll take it easy.’ For Ethan, being met by the son of the big boss, who would in all probability become the future head of the studios in his turn, would surely more than compensate for her absence at the airport. She checked her watch. ‘Anyway, it’s only half past four now so we can all take it easy for a while. Marina, are you sure you’re okay to drive? Not too tired?’

  ‘I’m fine, thanks, but I might have a little lie down for half an hour.’

  Emma turned back to the manager. ‘Then it’s settled. If we could see our rooms, please, and then those who feel like a cup of tea, or whatever, can meet me back down here. Those that want a rest, please do, and we’ll meet up when Ethan gets here.’ Somehow she didn’t expect to see Marina or Rich again until later on. Although they were being very discreet, she had little doubt that there was something going on there. From the smiles on both their faces, it wasn’t doing either of them any harm, so Emma kept on turning a Nelsonian blind eye.