Dreaming of Verona: An enchanting, feel-good holiday romance

by T A Williams

  ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘We just called him Cat. If you’re holding food when you say his name, he appears to recognise it. He’s probably got a different name in each of the households he graces with his presence.’

  He returned to the table with the teapot and mugs and brought a glass milk bottle out of the fridge.

  ‘Real milk? Not the usual stuff out of cartons? How wonderful.’

  ‘I get it from the farmer just up the hill, along with really good wine and olive oil. He’s talking about trying his hand at making cheese next and I’m looking forward to that.’

  Suzie studied him as he busied himself pouring the tea and handing the mugs round. The dark rings under his eyes were still there, but he was looking and sounding quite cheerful and she felt happy for him. After the horror of what he had lived through, he deserved some happiness.

  ‘Right, Alex, show me what you’ve got.’

  He took a seat alongside her and together they began to flick through the pictures. While they concentrated on that, Suzie found herself selected as a suitable resting place by Cat, who wandered across the table towards her, hesitated and then jumped down onto her lap with a thud and set about the usual feline bread-kneading movements with his paws as he softened up her thighs before deigning to lie down on them. She stroked his head and back and he started purring loudly as he relaxed and she did the same.

  By the time she had finished her tea, the other two had completed their browse through Alex’s photos and Suzie vowed to get a look at them herself later on. She hadn’t seen any of Alex’s work yet and she was intrigued to see what her stuff was like. Swilling the last of his tea, Michael stood up.

  ‘Next stop, the studio, if you don’t mind. Alex, I’d like you to do a few sketches for me. Suzie, just make yourself at home – unless you want to come and do some painting as well.’

  ‘I’d love to see the studio, but I’ll leave the artistic stuff to you two. There’s just one problem, though. I’m not sure I’m strong enough to get up with Cat on my lap.’

  ‘No problem.’ Michael reached into the fridge and emerged with a half-empty tin of what looked like pilchards. As he did so, Cat rose to his feet like magic, stretched and jumped surprisingly lightly onto the floor, leaving Suzie feeling a good few kilos lighter. As Michael tipped the fish into a saucer, the cat settled down to what was in all probability his second or third breakfast of the day. Evidently Cat was no fool.

  They crossed the yard to the long building on the other side and Michael unlocked a pair of hefty wooden doors. Downstairs was a jumble of building materials, tools and bits of what looked like two or three different bikes along with two sets of skis. Once they climbed up the old stairs to the first floor, however, things looked very different. Michael’s studio was a single long room with a wooden floor made of wide old floorboards, worn smooth and shiny with age. Huge beams spanned the width of the room every few metres, supporting equally ancient-looking angled timber trusses that in turn supported the roof. A series of windows had been set in the pitched ceiling and the whole place was bathed in light as a result.

  All around were trestle tables, at least three big easels and a low cupboard presumably housing his equipment. The lingering smells of turps and linseed oil filled the air and almost every horizontal surface was cluttered with pots, jars, vases and even a galvanised bucket containing paintbrushes of all shapes and sizes. At the far end of the room, a picture window had been inserted into the gable and the view from here down across the vineyards to the lake and beyond was breathtaking. Directly in front of the window was an old sofa and Suzie headed for it while Michael set Alex a series of tasks. As she walked around the room, she noticed a number of canvases resting against the wall, so she stopped and glanced back.

  ‘Michael, do you mind if I take a look at your paintings?’

  ‘Do, by all means, although most of the stuff there is either old or unfinished or both. If you like I’ll show you some of my more recent stuff later on. In fact, I’ve got Frederika’s portrait over in the house, waiting to be framed, if you like.’

  The paintings were a mixture; all unframed canvases. Some were what looked like early studies for portraits, while others were very different – some abstract, some almost photographic. One painting in particular immediately caught Suzie’s eye. She lifted it from the floor and blew the dust off it. Clearly it had been resting here for some time. She set it on a table against the wall and sat down in a battered old armchair opposite it, letting her eyes roam across the canvas. There was no doubt about it; although it was little more than an initial sketch, it was unmistakably the old house by the lake belonging to Professor Macgregor-Brown. As she raised her eyes to the huge picture window and looked out, she realised she could actually see the roofs of James’s villa and the professor’s house from here. She was gazing out at the stunning view of the lake when she heard a plaintive miaow and looked down.

  ‘Hello, Cat. Finished your breakfast?’

  In response the big beast jumped effortlessly onto the arm of the chair beside her and from there quickly installed himself on her lap, purring happily as he set about licking his sleek furry coat. She was just settling back under his not inconsiderable weight when she heard Michael’s voice at her shoulder. She glanced up with a smile.

  ‘Looks like you’ve made yourself a friend, Suzie. You’re particularly honoured. It’s quite unusual for him to sit on anybody’s lap, let alone somebody he’s just met.’

  ‘I’ve always liked cats, and dogs for that matter. Maybe he can tell. How’s your student doing?’

  ‘I’ve asked her to do a couple of charcoal sketches; a still life and landscape. She’s only got half an hour to do both of them, so I’ve left her to it.’ As he sat down on the sofa opposite her, she pointed to the painting of the Professor’s house.

  ‘You know what you were saying about it being a small world, Michael? Well, it might surprise you to know that I had lunch in that very house on Sunday.’

  ‘So you know Mack, then?’ He did sound surprised.

  Suzie nodded and explained. ‘I only met him on Saturday, but we pretty soon discovered we share a common interest.’

  Michael’s face broke into a grin. ‘No prizes for guessing what, or rather, who that is. So what’s your connection with Shakespeare?’

  Suzie told him about her studies and her job with the charity and he looked impressed. ‘So it’s Doctor Suzie Cartwright? Complimenti, as they say over here. So you’re between jobs at the moment? What’s on the horizon when this holiday finishes?’

  ‘Not a lot, and to be honest, I’m beginning to panic. The charity was a bit of a one-off, really. We were responsible for restoring damaged manuscripts – you know, resulting from fire, vandalism, flood or even warfare. As you can imagine, it’s going to be difficult to find something similar. The Professor… Mack thought I should try lecturing, but there are very few jobs going round.’ She hesitated. ‘And, to be honest, I’m not sure how good I’d be in front of a class. You’ve probably noticed by now that I do have a habit of blushing at the least provocation.’ To underline what she was saying, her cheeks duly reddened as she spoke.

  Michael gave her a gentle smile. ‘You’d soon get used to it. I’m sure a bright person like you’ll find something and, if you don’t, you can always sit down and write the definitive book on Shakespeare. He’s always popular – especially in a town like Verona.’

  ‘How do you know Mack?’

  ‘I’d come across him on and off over the years via various charities, and then we rented a house he owns in the centre of Verona while all the work was being done on this place here. As a result I got to know him pretty well. He’s got a reputation for being a bit grumpy, but we always found him charming. In fact, I painted a picture of his house as a little present to him when we left. This one here was an early study.’

  ‘What a nice idea. I think he’s a sweetie. In fact, I’m looking forward to hearing from him or even
seeing him again sometime soon. He’s currently reading my doctoral thesis and I’m scared stiff of what he might say. It would be like Rembrandt taking a look at your paintings. Professor Macgregor-Brown is a legend in the Shakespeare world.’

  ‘Well, if you need any moral support when you go to see him, just say the word and I’d be happy to come with you. I haven’t seen him for a while. Is Paolina still looking after him?’

  ‘Yes, and she’s a fabulous cook.’

  ‘If she ever went off and left him I don’t know what he’d do. She’s been looking after him ever since I’ve known him.’

  They chatted about all sorts of things from art and literature to this beautiful part of Italy, but he made no mention of his personal circumstances and she avoided the subject. As and when he felt like bringing the subject up, she knew she would offer all the support she could, but it was going to have to come from him. She found talking to him very easy and she enjoyed his company. From the smile on his face, she definitely got the impression he was enjoying himself as well and she was mildly surprised when he glanced at his watch, looked back towards the other end of the studio and raised his voice.

  ‘Time’s up, Alex.’ He gave Suzie another little smile and stood up. ‘Right, I must go back and see what my student’s been able to produce. If you’re happy here, fine, but if you want to do anything else, like go for a walk or make yourself some tea or whatever, just do it.’

  ‘That’s an idea. Would you like another cup of tea, or something stronger?’

  He grinned. ‘A cup of tea would be great. Artists, as you may know, have a reputation for drinking a lot. I made a decision years ago to limit myself to tea or coffee when I’m working. Otherwise, it’s a slippery slope. Wine and a steady hand don’t mix.’

  After persuading the cat to relinquish her lap for the warm cushion beneath, Suzie left Michael and Alex to their discussions and headed back down the stairs. The door to Michael’s house was unlocked and she reflected how trusting he must be. Mind you, she thought to herself as she filled the kettle, this place was very much off the beaten track so it was unlikely there would be any casual sneak thieves passing by. As the kettle boiled, she wandered round the room, stopping to study the half-dozen paintings on display. One of them, in particular, stopped her in her tracks.

  It was a fine painting of a beautiful, dark-haired nude. She was seated on the floor, resting forwards, clutching her knees modestly, her eyes looking straight at the artist, an expression of such joy and love on her face that Suzie felt a wave of emotion sweep over her. There was no doubt in her mind that this had to be Michael’s poor dead wife and she felt tears in her eyes as she stood there and contemplated the full horror of what had happened to her and her heartbroken husband.

  It was a good while later before she roused herself and reheated the now lukewarm water in the kettle to make the tea. As she loaded three mugs onto a tray and carried them across the yard, one thought was firmly lodged in her head. However much she might feel attracted to Michael – and she couldn’t deny that she did – she felt sure it would be a long, long time before he could possibly even begin to think about restarting his life after something so cataclysmic. The irony of finding herself in an equally frustrating situation to the one Alex faced wasn’t lost on her. Alex was haunted by the memory of James as a childhood friend, while Michael was doubtless haunted by the memory of his one true love. Either way, the result was that neither she nor Alex looked likely to form a romantic relationship any time soon. As she climbed the stairs to the studio she reminded herself with a little sigh that romance wasn’t really her thing anyway.

  Afterwards, she spent a delightful hour walking round the nearby vineyard in the warm sunshine, stopping to chat to an old woman working among the vines. Once Suzie had explained that she was a friend of Michael’s, the lady became very chatty and told her all sorts of interesting facts about the process of winemaking here at Bardolino and insisted she accompany her to her nearby cantina to taste last year’s wine. As they walked back through the rows of vines, she informed Suzie that this year’s grape harvest, the vendemmia, was due to start in a little under a week and she pointed out the bunches of grapes, already looking full and luscious.

  At the cantina, Suzie ended up tasting not only red, but also white and rosé wines, and she had to fight to keep the lady from filling her glass to the brim each time. As for the notion of tasting the wine and then spitting it out, the old lady was having none of it. Wine was made to be drunk, and that was that. As a result, when Suzie got back to Michael’s studio where he and Alex were deep in conversation, she settled down happily on the sofa and drifted off to sleep, accompanied by Cat.

  Michael and Alex broke for lunch very late. In fact, when Suzie managed to extricate her arm from beneath the sleeping cat and consult her watch, she saw that it was almost three. She looked up to see Michael standing beside her and she gave him an apologetic smile.

  ‘Sorry, I must have dozed off after my walk.’

  He smiled back. ‘I have a feeling you might have bumped into Giuseppina or her husband when you were out on your walk. Am I right?’ Michael’s tone was gently accusing. ‘There’s a drop of what looks suspiciously like red wine on your top.’ He grinned down at her as she blinked sleepily. ‘They do make good wine, don’t they?’

  Suzie glanced down and spotted the incriminating red mark on her right breast and, inevitably, felt her cheeks colour as a result. Still, she managed a little grin as she slid the somnolent cat off her lap and stood up. ‘Their wine is far too good, I’m afraid, and I’m just too weak-willed. I can see why you insist on only drinking tea when you’re working – all I wanted to do was sleep. So, how has it gone? What do you think of Alex?’

  ‘I’ve just been telling her how much promise I see in her work. I need you to back me up here, please. She’s accused me of bullshitting her and I swear I’m not. Come and take a look at what she’s produced. I think she’s really got something.’ He swung his head round towards Alex. ‘Alex, you have to believe me – you’re good.’

  Together they walked back up to where Alex had been working and Suzie surveyed the two charcoal sketches and one painted canvas. Michael was right. Alex really was good.

  ‘Blimey, Alex, these are great! Really. No bull. I love the still life in particular. You’ve got the curve of the glass and the ripple on the surface of the water down to a T. Quite amazing.’ She looked at Michael. ‘So, maestro, what’s your advice? Should she sign up for a painting course?’

  He nodded vigorously. ‘No question. In fact, I’ve just been trying to persuade her to enrol for a full year and do the diploma course. She’s good enough and it’ll add so much to her art. I reckon I should be able to convince them at the Academy to take her, even if they say they’re full. And she doesn’t even need to worry about it being in Italian – they speak all languages there.’

  Suzie looked at Alex. ‘That sounds very positive. Are you going to do it, Alex?’

  ‘I’d love to, you know that, but there’s just one teensy-weensy little problem: my father. If he wasn’t prepared to let me go to art school in England, imagine how much he’s going to hate the idea of letting me go to one overseas.’

  ‘But surely it’s your decision, Alex?’ Michael sounded as bewildered as Suzie had been before Alex had explained the weird dynamic of the Tedburn family. ‘Would you like me to talk to him? Tell him how good you are?’

  Alex hung her head and Suzie reached out to take her by the arm and give her a little shake.

  ‘Michael’s right, Alex, if you’re that good, you need to take it further. Talk to your dad and maybe he’ll see sense. And, like Michael, I’d be happy to talk to him as well if it helps.’

  ‘I don’t think it would help, but thanks for the offers. You don’t know him like I do. Once he’s made up his mind about something – like the fact that I’m a lazy waste of space – there’s no changing it.’ She looked up at Michael. ‘Thank you so very much, Michael,
for taking such a lot of time and trouble over me, but I’m afraid it’s almost certainly been a waste of time. He’ll never say yes.’

  Chapter 12

  They got back to Verona in the late afternoon and although Alex did her best to get Michael to let her buy him a slap-up meal to say thank you, he excused himself, pleading an important prior engagement. As they watched him drive off again after dropping them at their hotel, Suzie felt an acute sense of loss. She glanced across at Alex.

  ‘Nice guy.’

  ‘Very nice. I’ll say this, Suzie, you’ve got very good taste in men. Impeccable, in fact.’

  ‘A fat lot of good it’s going to do me.’

  Together, they walked into the hotel and took the lift up to their rooms. As they got there, Alex announced her intention of having a little lie-down to give her time to think. Suzie on the other hand had already had a snooze today so she decided to check her emails and then go for a walk around Verona. The result of the email check was disappointing. She had applied for an interesting job a few weeks back and she was saddened, if unsurprised, to find an email from the British Museum Archive informing her that the position she had applied for had been awarded to somebody else. She knew enough about how these things worked to wonder whether they had already had a candidate in mind all along, but it didn’t help. With a sigh, she deleted it and headed back out of the door.

  She walked around the city, doing her best to let the beauty of the town offset her disappointment. She made her way through the centre to the old castle and the handsome bridge leading away from it across the river. The bridge itself was for pedestrians only and was crowded with a cosmopolitan mass of them. It was lined on both sides by the characteristic splayed red-brick crenellations found on fortresses all over this part of Italy. Suzie paused in the middle, looking out over the wide sweep of the River Adige, its waters a milky brown colour, and wondered if anybody had fought a real battle here. She recalled there had been ferocious fighting in the First World War just a bit further to the north and the east of here. And then, towards the end of the Second World War, the retreating Germans had blown up all of Verona’s bridges. As a result, although skilfully rebuilt, the present-day bridges were all replacements. It might look like a delightful quiet tourist destination now, but this whole area had seen more warfare over the years than most places.