There were roses at home on the farm because her mama loved them too. They thrived on the sheep manure she fed them. Annabella wondered how her parents were. She’d only been gone two days and it seemed like two months. One day had been taken up with the long flight to Italy and the other had been consumed by the train journey from Rome to the station in the village, from where she had taken the taxi. And now, here she was.
Mama and Papa weren’t pleased that great-grandpapa had left Casa dei Fiori to her.
“What on Earth was he thinking?” her father fumed.
“You hardly know any words of Italian,” her mother protested to her daughter.
“If you think you can cope on the farm without me, I would like to go,” Annabella told them firmly. “He must have done it for a reason. Perhaps he thought I could be of some use. Perhaps Alessandro….”
“Ah, yes, Alessandro,” her parents had said in unison. Her mother continued shrewdly, “He is a man now. And you are a woman. Perhaps the old man was not so stupid.”
“After all, Alessandro is there all alone now,” her father mused aloud. “His parents were killed in that terrible car accident when he was just a boy. I wonder if dear Tonia is still there?”
When Annabella told her best friend, Sassy and her other pals at the pub in town where they gathered every Friday night, they were excited for her.
“You must all come and stay, when I’ve settled in,” she begged them. “Promise you’ll come. I know the air fares are expensive, but once you get there, you can stay with me.”
Of course they had promised, especially Sassy, who was the local GP and had begun e-mailing an Italian she’d encountered in a chat-room. They corresponded about their common specialty, rural medicine, and were discovering they had other shared interests, too. The others in their group either worked on farms in the district or held down jobs in the town – as teachers, bank clerks, mechanics.
Her head aching from her disappointment at Alessandro’s reception of her, hunger and homesickness, not to mention from the knock she had received, she was unable to sleep. At some stage during the long night, she walked unsteadily onto her balcony and breathed in the clean Tuscan air. Not a light flickered in the valley, nor even in the tiny village up on the opposite hill. And Alessandro must be blissfully asleep after spending the night in Claudia’s arms, for the caretaker’s cottage was shrouded in darkness.
Youth and health on her side, Annabella felt better with the welcome sight of the sun’s first rays streaming into her bedroom. She knew the doctor had wanted her to remain in bed for a few more days, but this was impossible. Annabella was a woman of action.
Dressed in only the T-shirt and brief knickers she slept in, she padded barefoot down the staircase, having taken care not to wake Tonia, the house’s only other occupant, who slept in the room opposite hers. In the kitchen, she made herself some strong black coffee and, while waiting for it to brew, piled a plate full of luscious figs, grapes and peaches from Tonia’s kitchen garden. She carried her trayful of breakfast to the table under the fig tree and sat on the table-top to enjoy her feast, content in the knowledge that it contained virtually no fat.
Emerging from the cottage in yesterday’s rumpled clothes, having been unable to coax life into the archaic hot-water system, Alessandro looked longingly in the direction of his comfortable bedroom in Casa dei Fiori. A room in which his second cousin was probably snoring right now.
But his eyes caught sight of a splash of white under the shady tree and he saw that Annabella was wide awake, her rounded limbs as perfect as pure ivory. She was eating something, he saw, probably a fig. Its juice would be oozing down her fingers, which she would then lick with her usual gusto.
She saw him too, and waved. But Alessandro doubted he would be able to resist touching her if he went too close. Without returning her greeting, he walked in the direction of Villa Claudia. Here, he would be assured of a warm shower and the sort of healthy breakfast health-conscious Claudia favoured. Squaring his shoulders bravely at the thought of his neighbour’s fibre-filled, low-fat cereal and pushed open the low iron gate in the tumble-down fence that separated the two properties.
CHAPTER FOUR
Stung by Alessandro’s latest snub, Annabella sniffed and fiercely dashed hot tears from her eyes. Would he ever forgive her, she wondered. Perhaps she should do as he desired and take a taxi back to the village, then a train to Rome and a plane home to Western Australia. For a few minutes, this was what she desired too, more than anything in the world. To be socialising at the local on a Friday night, making light of her Italian adventure and the surly second cousin whose personality had changed beyond recognition. To be praying for the rains that would ensure a good wheat harvest so her parents and herself could stay on the farm for another year, at least. To stay on the farm. Was that what she really wanted, she asked herself, with brutal honesty.
The peppery taste of a fresh Tuscan fig still lingering on her tongue, the gentle Italian sunshine warming her body, the magnificent view over rolling hills and wooded valleys thrilling her imagination, she knew that what she wanted more than anything in the world was to stay right here, where her heart and soul belonged. She adored her parents and her friends, but Casa dei Fiori had always felt more like home to her than the dry, flat paddocks of her father’s farm. And it wasn’t just because her second cousin was part of the scenery. She loved the villa and its estate because it was in her blood to do so, just as it had been in the blood of her Italian ancestors for centuries. And her great-grandfather had known that as surely as if she had had the name of his property tattooed across her forehead.
Annabella remembered sitting under this very tree with him thirteen years before. The sun was setting over the hills and the church bells in the medieval village high up on one of the slopes were ringing out across the valleys. Alessandro had been in the nearest city, Siena, for three long days, helping his school-friend, Mario’s, family, prepare their horse for the Palio and his little second cousin was missing him.
“We’ll see him tomorrow, cara,” great-grandfather had assured her. “Your parents and I are going to meet him in the Campo in Siena for the big horse race. I have asked Tonia’s husband to polish the old Bentley specially for the occasion. You haven’t seen my pride and joy yet, have you?” He’d chuckled as he explained that he bought the car after the war and was never quite sure whether it would actually get them to their desired destination. “But, in this part of the world, it’s a joy to break down in the road. One merely luxuriates in the sunshine and relishes the scenery until help comes.”
He’d smiled then and lovingly enfolded her against his big, cigar-scented chest. “I don’t need to tell you that, do I, piccola Annabella? You love Tuscany. I can see it in the way your green eyes light up and in the way you savour everything Tonia puts on your plate. You have come alive in the few days you have been here. When you first arrived from Australia, you were pale and your hair and eyes lacked sparkle. Italy has suffused you with joie de vivre. You really are a de Rocco, through and through. I cannot tell you how proud I am of you and how glad I am that I finally persuaded your mother, my grand-daughter, to bring you to me. If only my estate were a little more financial – then I would make sure I saw you every summer.”
The old man’s eyes misted over then and Annabella protested, “But great-grandpapa, you will see me again, I promise!”
Alas, it wasn’t to be. Neither side of the family could afford the fares for a follow-up visit and Annabella was never to see her beloved great-grandfather again after those first glorious weeks with him. How wonderful it had been to watch the thrilling Palio with Alessandro and the old man!
The Bentley was gracious for a change, and had got them to Siena without mishap. Annabella had sat in the front, between the chauffeur, Tonia’s long-gone husband, and her great-grandfather. Her parents had stretched out in the back and they’d all enjoyed the hour-long drive into the city, past sunflower fields about to burst into ye
llow bloom, past green rows of vines whose grapes were becoming heavier and sweeter by the day, through avenues of cypresses and fields of silvery olive trees. Every so often the old man would point out a particularly good fattoria, or wine estate, where the vintage was, he said, always spectacular. High up on forested hillsides, the wide-eyed child who was Annabella caught sight of crumbling villas whose walls were kept together merely by a tangle of wild roses and wisteria. She imagined the beautiful ladies who must have lived there once, perhaps sitting outside in the sunshine on their balconies, looking out over the very scenery she was enjoying. In her mind’s eye, she could see the dashing men who came calling on them and wondered what had become of their descendants now that their lovely little palazzi were in ruins.
When they finally scrambled out of the fine old car as close to the Campo, or central square of the city, as Tonia’s husband could park it, they immediately walked through the winding, shady lanes and alleys to where they’d arranged to meet Alessandro, who managed to procure for them all a superb vantage-point from his school-friend’s own palazzo, which commanded a 180-degree view of the ampitheatre-like Campo.
Alessandro didn’t hide his delight at seeing her after their brief separation and scooped her up into his arms. He carried her like a princess to the grand house from which they’d later watch the race. As soon as their great-grandfather pulled imperiously on the bell-chain which hung beside the massive oak front door of the palazzo, Alessandro’s friend, Mario, threw open the door and welcomed them warmly. “This must be the little lady who has stolen my friend’s heart,” Mario laughed, his eyes twinkling at Annabella. “He talks of nothing but you and now I can see why!”
Alessandro said, “Come and let me introduce you to Mario’s family! They’re dying to meet you. They’ve heard all about you.”
With the teenage boy effortlessly carrying the child up the stairs to the big balcony where chairs were already ranged and refreshments being served, the old man and her parents followed, Annabella’s father helping Tonia’s husband to negotiate the steep stone steps.
Alessandro deposited his load in triumph on a throne-like chair in the middle of the balcony.
“This is my Annabella,” Alessandro said proudly. “And her parents, George and Lucia. And of course you know my great-grandfather.” Turning to Annabella’s parents, he said, “Uncle, Aunt, I would like you to meet Signor and Signora Ferri, who are Mario’s parents and whose house this is. Their horse, Fulmine, whose name means lightning in English, is racing in the Palio this evening.”
While the newcomers were being helped to drinks and antipasto and encouraged to take the best chairs on the balcony, Alessandro continued his commentary for the benefit of the visitors: “The Ferris are an ancient Sienese family and their colours are maroon and yellow. You will see Fulmine soon. Mario and I have been grooming him all morning and he looks fabulous. He’s jet black and his coat is so shiny, Annabella, you could see your freckles in it.”
They all laughed at this and he went on, “You see the thousands of people down in the Campo now? Some are tourists but most are residents of Siena’s contrade, or districts. They’re here to cheer their own district’s horse on and they get here well before the event’s due to start because they want to make sure they secure the best vantage spots. They’re happy to wait here all day, having lunch and chatting, until sunset. The horses will race around the square, on the packed dirt track, and the winner will be awarded the Palio, which is an old, old banner that has been fought over for longer than anyone can remember. We’re all very lucky to be up here because sometimes it’s dangerous down on the cobble-stones, with all the galloping and the excitement.”
“Can’t I ride Fulmine?” Annabella had begged, looking up first at her second cousin, then Mario, then beseechingly at her parents, great-grandfather, the Ferris and even the chauffeur.
They all laughed, she remembered, much to her chagrin and Signor Ferri told her that even Mario wasn’t allowed to ride in the Palio until he was eighteen, although he too had been nagging to be allowed on the black stallion’s back instead of his older, married brother. Despite not being able to ride the beautiful horse, Annabella had enjoyed her day, especially when, at the end of it, she was plied with sugar lumps to feed to Fulmine when, wild-eyed and frothy with sweat, he was led to the palazzo and rewarded for his efforts, although he’d missed out on the banner. She somberly promised Mario and his family she’d return to Siena in the not too distant future and that she’d again watch the spectacle from their balcony.
Annabella was roused from these happy memories by Tonia calling her.
“Bella!” she was shouting, “Bella!”
Annabella climbed down from the table-top on which she’d been day-dreaming and called back to Tonia, who informed her that Doctor Esposito had come to check on his patient. “But, Signorina,” the housekeeper added sternly, puffing slightly after having rushed from the villa, “You’d better make yourself decent before you show yourself. You must have a dressing-gown, no?”
Annabella shook her head, blushing furiously. Did even Tonia think she was too plump, in just her knickers and T-shirt, to be seen? Taking pity on her embarrassment, Tonia drew her into her arms and said reassuringly, “I’ll run and fetch you Alessandro’s gown. He left it hanging on the back of his bedroom door. I know he won’t mind you wearing it.” And, before Annabella could protest, she was rushing off again, leaving Annabella to wish, yet again, that she was as slim and tanned as her rival, Claudia.
Within minutes, Tonia was back, a maroon silk kimono held lovingly over her arm. She helped Annabella into it and the young woman was suddenly overwhelmed by the unique male scent of her second cousin – a smell of cigars, an occasional indulgence on which he blamed their great-grandfather, horses and sun-warmed basil.
“Are you all right?” Tonia asked concernedly. “I hope you haven’t a fever – you’re shivering.”
“I’m perfectly well,” Annabella snapped. Then, realizing she had been rude, she quickly added, “Perhaps it’s just that I’ve been lazing in the sun so long that the shade feels cold.”
“As long as it’s not that bang on the head making you sick,” Tonia said. “Now, come inside and let me help you up the stairs to your room. Dottore Esposito is in there already, taking a coffee on the balcony.”
Annabella entered the bedroom shyly, keeping the wrap tightly around herself. The happy memories of a different, loving, kind, fun Alessandro coupled with the sensuous feel of his silken garment against her skin made her feel unsettled. She longed for him to be nice to her again, but she knew she wanted more than the friendship they had enjoyed so long ago. Much, much more.
The doctor stood and approached her, immediately concerned by her pallor. But, on taking her blood pressure and pulse and listening to her heart, he was satisfied she was on the mend after the knock on her head. “Perhaps you simply need another coffee,” he said. “Tonia’s made enough for two, in case you wanted some. Come and take it with me on the balcony.”
He held the chair out for her and poured the fragrant liquid, adding sugar and cream before taking his place opposite her and pouring more for himself.
“It’s so lovely here,” Annabella said, knowing she’d never tire of this view, even if she grew as old as her great-grandfather.
“Yes, it’s a beautiful place,” the doctor said. “But what of your country? That must be beautiful too.”
Annabella nodded then said, “In a different way. I love Australia, but this feels like my home.”
“I have a friend in Australia. Like me, she is a country doctor,” the doctor said. “I hope to go there one day, or perhaps she’ll come here.”
Before Annabella could reply, she caught sight of her second cousin in the garden below. He was, she supposed, heading for the big cypress tree under which she’d first seen him again, grappling with the rows and rows of figures, for under his arm he carried the old books in which their great-grandfather had kept all th
e estate records. But, before he could begin to climb the ivy-clad stone steps that led to his makeshift office, Claudia too noticed him. She was, Annabella saw, standing on her terrace, lifting two smallish dumbbells up and down so that the hard muscles in her sinewed arms flexed visibly. With one of the dumbbells, she waved to Alessandro and he waved back. Then, putting both the weights down, Claudia ran to the railing of her terrace and called something to him which Annabella couldn’t hear. She saw him nod, run over to her and plant a long kiss on her neck, never taking his hands from the log books.
Seeing the stricken look on her face and guessing by following the direction of her gaze what had caused it, the doctor said, “Annabella, would you do me the honour of accompanying me to the Palio tomorrow? It’s the second of July, one of only two days in the year on which it is run. I haven’t lived in Tuscany long so I’ve never seen it before and I can think of nobody I would rather enjoy it with.”
Annabella bit her bottom lip to prevent the tears spilling. She hadn’t realized the Palio was so soon. Smiling bravely, she nodded and told the doctor she would indeed like to see the horse-race with him.
The doctor leaned across the table and rested his hand kindly on her shoulder. Just at that moment Alessandro broke away from Claudia and headed for the table under the cypress, his eyes unaccountably drawn upwards to his old bedroom. He took in the intimate scene. Annabella in his silk dressing-gown, its neck falling open to reveal the snowy expanse of her throat, the shared coffee, the gentle smile passing between the man and the woman.
Inexplicably angry all of a sudden, he knew he’d be unable to concentrate on the accounts today. He’d been planning to make an inventory for the new heiress so she knew where she stood. But he couldn’t face any of that now. Instead, having placed the old books on the steps, he lifted himself agilely over the wall that separated Casa dei Fiori from Villa Claudia.
Loving Venus (Sally-Ann Jones Sexy Romance) Page 4