Tuscany for Beginners

by Imogen Edwards-Jones

  Belinda adjusts her hat and directs her nose into the air, then places Giovanna's basket on her hip and walks toward the expat table, jauntily covered with Barbara's red-and-white gingham tablecloth. A proud owner of a bottle of Heinz tomato ketchup and three rolls of kitchen towels, the expat table loudly announces itself among the Italians. On close inspection it also has a greater wine-to-water ratio than on the Italian tables. Belinda strolls through the curling smoke toward it, leaving Mary to struggle with the two chairs. Deaf to the world, in elegant slow motion, Belinda's smile is fixed on her face as she feels the apparent gaze of all assembled.

  “Here I am!” she announces triumphantly to the table, as if they had been waiting anxiously all along. “I am sooo sorry to be sooo late. You must have been wondering where I'd got to!” She exhales, as she puts her apparently heavy basket on the table. “It's good to be here,” she says, implying a struggle and a journey, rather than a two-minute drive down the hill.

  “Oh, there you are,” says Derek, with a large glass of white wine in his hand. “Do you fancy a drink?”

  “Oh, Derek, I'd love one,” she says, and collapses into the chair Mary has just arranged at the table. “I'm exhausted!”

  “I bet you are, clearing up after all those prawns,” says Derek, rubbing his expansive stomach. “I tell you, I still feel a bit raw this morning,” he announces. “I don't think I've ever shat like that in my life. I didn't know which end to point where!”

  “How very odd.” Belinda smiles. “I had five or six vol-au-vents and nothing happened to me.”

  “Call yourself lucky!” says Derek. “The only person who's pleased is Barbara. She says she must have lost a couple of pounds overnight. Barb, my love,” he calls down the table, “look who's here.”

  Barbara turns. Clearly she believes she's lost weight because she has dressed accordingly. She is wearing a lemon-yellow scoop-neck top, which demonstrates to the group exactly where her bra and rolls of fat are, and she is zipped into a tight, red knee-length skirt with yellow hearts stitched onto the buttock pockets. She has a long gold chain in her crepey cleavage and matching wedge mules.

  “There you are,” she says.

  “I'm so sorry,” Belinda smiles. “You must have been so worried that I'm so late.”

  “Are you?” asks Barbara.

  “Yes,” nods Belinda. “Very.”

  “Actually, we were more worried about Lauren,” says Bar-bara. “We've been wondering where she is.”

  “Yeah,” says Howard, resting his denim-shirt-clad elbow on the table. “Have you seen her? We're beginning to get a little worried.”

  “Yeah, actually,” asks Jaqui, from the other side of an extremely professional-looking round black barbecue, “do you have any idea where she might be? We've rung the house a couple of times on our mobiles and there's been no reply.”

  “And we've made all this delicious Australian food for her to try,” puts in Paloma. “We were talking about it last night in the car, and she seemed really excited.”

  “Right.” Janet nods. “And she's our representative.”

  “Yes,” agrees Derek, scanning the horizon. “We're all relying on her.”

  “Well, I suppose.” Belinda smiles generously and tweaks her dark hair. “If she doesn't turn up, I'm sure I could—”

  “There she is!” shouts Duran through the barbecue smoke.

  “Where?” asks Derek, searching the crowd.

  “There!” says Jaqui. “The tall, blonde, slim woman coming toward us in white, carrying a tray.”

  “Oh, good,” says Derek, taking a sip of his wine. “Thank God for that.” He stands and faces the length of the table. “Lau-ren's here, everyone!”

  “Hurrah!”A cheer and a ripple of applause starts around the barbecue and travels down the table with Barbara, Howard, and Derek all joining in.

  “Well, thank God,” says Belinda, with heavy sarcasm, sitting back in her seat.

  “I know,” enthuses Barbara. “To be honest,” she says, her lemon-yellow cleavage relaxing on the table, “we were a bit worried that she might not come, you know, after last night. We thought maybe she might be too ill or perhaps we'd put her off.”

  “How very odd,”says Belinda. “I had five or six vol-au-vents and nothing happened to me.”

  “Lauren!” shouts Derek, waving frantically like a drowning sailor. “Coo-ee! Lauren! Over here! Lauren! Here! Hi! Oh, good,”he says. “She's spotted me, she's on her way over.”He sits back down. “Now the festa can begin. Cheers!” He goes to clink glasses with Belinda.

  “Cheers,” she replies limply.

  Even in the smoky heat of the afternoon, Lauren looks cool and fresh as she walks through the crowd. Head held high, blonde hair swinging about her shoulders, she doesn't weave or dodge her way to the table, so much as glide in a straight line, fellow festa -goers parting before her. Dressed in a short-sleeved white shirt and white jeans, a pair of Gucci sunglasses perched on top of her head, she looks like a woman who travels with her own air-conditioning. She is carrying a large silver platter laden with delicacies.

  Behind her, also in sunglasses, is Kyle. He has on a loose white linen shirt that is half undone and a pair of beige shorts that show off his long strong brown legs. He is also carrying a silver tray, and he searches the table for Mary. He grins as he spots her. She smiles back and indicates her mother with wideopen, urgent eyes. Evidently he takes the hint that perhaps he should not sit next to her, so he stands behind his mother with his tray and two canvas chairs.

  “Hi,” says Lauren, as she puts the tray on the table.

  “Thank God you're here!” exclaims Derek, getting to his feet. “It's the cheese-rolling registration in about twenty minutes, and I was beginning to think you weren't going to represent us after all.”

  “Don't tell me you were looking for a replacement.” Lauren gives Derek's shoulder a little pat. “O ye of little faith.”

  “Oh, no, I didn't mean we were planning to replace you,” insists Derek, flushing with pleasure at Lauren's attention. “I was merely hoping you'd get here sooner.”

  “Well, I'm here now, so you can all relax,” she announces to the table.

  “Hey, Lauren.” Jaqui waves from the barbecue.

  “Hey, girls!” She waves back. “Are you all feeling better after last night?”

  “Yeah.” Paloma nods. “Thanks for all those herbal teas you gave us last night. You're a savior.”

  “No problem,” says Lauren, taking the tinfoil off her plate. “Just so long as I was helpful.”

  “You were amazing,” says Paloma. “Quite how I survived—”

  “Oh, hello, Belinda.” Lauren smiles, looking down to her left. “I didn't see you all the way down there.”

  “Hello,” says Belinda, looking straight up Lauren's nose. “Nice of you to turn up.”

  “Well, after last night,” says Lauren quietly, with a wide smile, “I thought you might do us all a favor and fail to do the same. Belinda,” she adds, with a light laugh and a whole lot more volume, “do tell us the story behind those prawns.”

  “How very odd,” stammers Belinda, with an overcompensating smile that she shoots up and down the table as she looks for allies, “I had five or six vol-au-vents and nothing happened to me.”

  “What sort of explanation is—” starts Lauren.

  “Um, Lauren,” says Mary, standing up next to her mother, “what have you brought? It does look lovely.”

  “They're salmon and ginger kebabs to put on the barbecue,” she says. “I've marinated them a bit, but not quite as long as I would have liked. And Kyle's got a tray of orange and almond Florentine biscuits I made last night.”

  “You made those last night?” asks Barbara, leaning over to smell them. “Mmm,” she continues, jabbing her red-tipped finger to make her point. “They look amazing. But you didn't leave our place until past eleven,” she says. “I'm amazed you found the time.”

  “Well,” says Lauren, “I used to fi
t a lot more into my day than I do now.” She laughs. “A bit of baking is easy compared to what I did before.”

  “Oh, great,” says Jaqui, coming toward the table for some water. “Are those the ginger salmon sticks we discussed last night?”

  “Yes.” Lauren nods.

  “You genius.” Jaqui slaps her on the back. “I can't believe you got salmon around here.”

  “I didn't,” Lauren tells her. “I got it in Florence this morning. That's why I'm a bit late—I had to drive the Hollywood screenwriter into Florence early this morning. He had a breakfast meeting with some celebrity who is holidaying here, and there were no appropriate trains.”

  “Couldn't he use his chauffeur-driven Mercedes with the blacked-out windows?” laughs Belinda, taking a sip of red wine.

  “No,” says Lauren, looking puzzled. “How do you know about that car? He only arrived in it. The day he got terribly … lost?”

  “Yes, well …” says Belinda, looking swiftly at the ground.

  “You drove him to Florence?” asks Mary, amazement writ large across her face.

  “How else was he going to get there?” asks Lauren, with a shrug. “He's an important client. And I do work in the service industry. I'm sure Belinda would do the same, wouldn't you?”

  “Oh, absolutely,”says Belinda, after another sip of wine. “I'm back and forth to Florence all the time.”

  “You see?” smiles Lauren, her slim finger whipping between her and Belinda. “Exactly the same.”

  “I could have sworn I heard you say you hadn't been to Florence in years,” Howard pipes up at the other end of the table. “You said that it was too hot and too full of tourists, and that there's nothing much to see.”

  “Did I, Howard?” asks Belinda. “Are you sure it was me? I know things get a little confusing for you at times, what with all the wine.”

  “Belinda!” says Derek, looking shocked. Howard's fondness for drink is never a subject for conversation, particularly in front of Howard.

  “Well, whoever said it was wrong,”says Lauren, taking a canvas chair and unfolding it next to Derek. “There's plenty to see in Florence, isn't there, Belinda?”

  “Oh, I agree,” says Belinda, suddenly feeling on firmer ground. “There's so much art. Art everywhere you look. You breathe it in. As an artist, it really is one of the places I love most. There's David. ”

  “David,” repeats Lauren, starting a list. “Go on.”

  “Um, David, ”says Belinda. “And, um … David … and the lovely things that they've got in the Uffizi that are just too numerous to name.”

  “Like?” asks Lauren.

  “Oh, God!” says Belinda, flapping a hand in front of her face. “Where to start?”

  The table stares, waiting for her to hold forth. “Where to start?” she says again. “There are so many—”

  “Giotto, Titian, Raphael, Michel—” begins Lauren.

  “Angelo.” Belinda nods.

  “Leonardo—”

  “Da Vinci,” adds Belinda.

  “Anyone else?” asks Lauren, pausing to look at Belinda.

  “Phew,” she says, puffing out her cheeks. “Can't think.”

  “Caravaggio, Rubens, Van Dyck, Rembrandt …”

  “Yup, that's right, all of them,” agrees Belinda.

  “Correct,” says Lauren. “All of them. Who else?”

  “Isn't it time you went to register for the cheese rolling?” asks Belinda.

  “Oh, absolutely,” says Derek, getting up. “Come along, Lauren, we need to go to the cup tent over there.”

  As Lauren leaves the table, accompanied by Derek, Belinda is left with Mary, while Kyle hovers in the background. Since Howard is ignoring her, and Barbara is chatting with Duran, Belinda decides to join the other Australians at the barbecue.

  Gathered around the fire, Paloma, Jaqui, and Janet prod with various types of tongs, drinking their glasses of wine. They are all charmingly forgiving of Belinda for poisoning them, and go on to explain the delights of the marinated lamb they are cooking and the all-encompassing deliciousness of Donna Hay cuisine.

  “She's Australian, you know,” says Paloma, poking a lamb kebab.

  “Really?” says Belinda, in an effort to be jolly.

  “Yeah.” Paloma nods. “All the best chefs are Australian.”

  “Right,” says Belinda.

  “It's because we've got the best ingredients in Australia, isn't that right, Jaqui?”

  “Oh, yeah,” says Jaqui, wielding her tongs with life learned dexterity. “Really fresh.”

  “That's right, ever so fresh,” says Paloma, tossing her waistlength dark hair. “It's the lifestyle. The lifestyle's really great in Australia. Have you ever been?”

  “No,” says Belinda.

  “Oh you should,” continues Paloma. “It's great.”

  ack at the table Kyle spots his chance. Without saying a word, he takes Mary by the hand and leads her silently through the crowd and a haze of heat and smoke. Guiding her behind the cup tent, he finds a small oak tree and pushes her up against it.

  He starts to kiss her. Like a starved man, he runs his lips all over her face as he consumes her mouth, her cheeks, and her eyes, covering them in hungry kisses. His hands are around her waist, and he starts to glide his soft fingers up under her T-shirt, lifting it over her breasts toward her shoulders. He puts his hands under her bra and cups her bosom, burying his head in her cleavage and running his tongue between her breasts as he tries to taste every inch of her. Mary can hardly breathe. Her head leans against the tree. Her eyes are closed, her mouth open in ecstasy, the tip of her tongue touching her top lip.

  “Kyle,” she whispers.

  “Mary.” He comes up to kiss her plump lips. “I can't cope with not seeing you anymore.” He leans his forehead against hers, tracing the outline of her mouth with his thumb. “Come away with me,” he says, both hands cupping her chin now as he stares into her eyes.

  “I'd do anything for you,” she says.

  “Let's leave, then,” he says, his dark eyes flashing with arousal and defiant energy.

  “Let's leave the two of them to their petty fights, and stupid social one-upmanship, and you and I run off together.”

  “I can't,” says Mary, pushing him back.

  “You can.” He kisses her again. “You can do anything with me. Anything.” He kisses her yet again. “Anything.”

  “God, Kyle,” she runs her hands through his ruffled hair, “you almost make me believe you.”

  “You should believe me,” he declares with youthful certainty. “I love you. It's as simple as that. I love you. And I'll do everything in my power to make you happy.”

  “What did you …” asks Mary, her mouth dry, her lips parted.

  “I love you,” he says again, a large smile on his handsome face. She smiles. Her face flushes. “Of course, I love you,” he says again.

  “No one has ever said that to me before.” Her eyes water.

  “Come on,” he says, kissing her eyelids. “Don't be sad.”

  “I'm not,”she says. “You make me the happiest person in the world.”

  “Then run away with me.” He seizes her hand.

  “I can't.”

  “You can,” he insists.

  “We can't,” she says. “Let's get back before we are missed.” She smooths down her T-shirt, and tucks her hair behind her ears.

  “I'm never letting you go, you know that?” says Kyle. “We're meant to be together. I knew that the first time I saw you standing outside your house, waving, dressed only in your underwear. I thought you were the most gorgeous thing I'd ever seen.”

  “A large T-shirt and my underwear,” she corrects.

  “Oh, I know.” He grins. “Nice butt.”Taking her in his arms and kissing her again, he says, “I do really love you, Mary, you know, never forget that.” Mary smiles and kisses him back.

  They wander back to the table through the crowd. Neither of them is in a hurry, their footstep
s slow, their hold on each other tight. Just as they come in sight of the red-and-white checked cloth, they split up and approach from different angles, Kyle waiting a couple of minutes before making his arrival.

  “Ah, there she is, Belinda,” says Barbara as Mary approaches. “We were going to send out a search party for you, Mary!”

  “Sorry.” Mary sits down next to her mother. “I went to the loo and there was a terrible queue.”

  “Really?” asks Paloma. “It was all right when I went a couple of minutes ago. No one there at all.”

  “Well, you must have just missed the rush.” Mary can smell the tang of Kyle's citrus aftershave on her skin.

  “I do hope you haven't been talking to Kyle,” Belinda hisses out of the corner of her mouth. “You know how angry that makes me and how much you hate to see me like that.”

  “No,” says Mary, playing with her knife and fork.

  “Ah! Kyle,” says Lauren. “I don't suppose you've been to the bathroom as well?”

  “What?” says Kyle, doing a very good impression of being puzzled. “No, I went to check the place out. The Bianchis have a table over there.” He gestures to it. “Those guys who run the supermarket are on another. The whole village, plus a hundred or so other people I've never seen before, is here.”

  “Sounds rather like your party,” laughs Belinda from across the table.

  “I understand you've brought your own picnic,” says Lau-ren. “Afraid someone might poison you after last night?”

  “No actually.” Belinda smiles. “I wanted something real and rustica and tuscano for the festa, but having seen all those Aussie delicacies …”She chortles, trying to endear herself to the other end of the table.

  “Tucker's on the table!” declares Paloma, dropping two large white serving dishes from quite a height onto the table. “Rose-mary and garlic lamb marinated overnight and cooked in son jus in that one,” she points, “and grilled veggies in that. We've got some lemon and chili chicken still to come. Tuck in while your tucker's hot.”

  “Yeah,” agrees Jaqui, now looking distinctly sweaty at the barbecue. “Go for it!”

  “Well, I suppose I'd better get my rustica picnic out.” Belinda is trying to contain a sudden rush of saliva in her mouth. She bends down, picks up her basket and takes off the white tea towel. Everything has been individually packed in silver foil. “Mmm,”says Belinda as she unpacks six peaches. “Lovely.”Next she comes across a large silver sachet. “Ooh,” she says enthusiastically. “Broad beans.” She lays a fistful on her plate. Next up is a small packet. She opens it. It's white, solid, and square. “In-teresting.”