by Romy Sommer
Knowing that Geraldine didn’t like shortbread as well as sugar, I made torta della nonna, grandmother’s cake, the first cake I’d ever learnt to bake right here in this kitchen – a shortbread base slathered in fluffy custard cream, with subtle hints of lemon, vanilla, and pine nuts.
I was just pulling it out the oven when Tommaso’s car pulled up outside. He looked as tired as I felt, so I cut him a slice of the still warm pie, made us both coffee, then sat across the table from him.
‘Where’s your mother?’ he asked.
‘Ettore’s making her work. She’s terrified of him. When I checked in on them earlier she made these big puppy eyes at me to get her out of there.’
‘She obviously hasn’t heard him sing “O Sole Mio” yet – because then she’d know he’s just a softie.’
‘Good point. I’ll ask him to stick to more martial music while they’re here.’
Tommaso laughed again, that lovely deep rich sound I enjoyed so much, and I was pleased he wasn’t still mad at me. ‘What is it with you and your mother?’
I shrugged and changed the subject. ‘You’re back early.’
‘The fire chief’s coming here shortly to present his findings.’
‘Is that usual? Couldn’t they simply email the report through?’
‘We’ve never had more than a small bush fire here before.’ Tommaso shrugged. ‘But it’s been a hot, dry summer, and fires can happen, so I suppose this must be routine for them.’
‘I know losing most of the malvasia nera grape is going to affect the production of the Angelica, but we can turn this to our advantage. With a big insurance payout we can pay back a lot of the winery’s debts. Next year will be a better year.’
He grinned. ‘You’re not planning anything dodgy, are you?’
‘I’ve never done anything illegal in my life!’ I protested. ‘But I’ve spent enough years playing with numbers to know how to make this work for us. But about that loan…’
‘Yes, I know. It’s likely now that we won’t be able to keep up with the payments, with the loss of so many litres of the next bottling, and now the loss of the malvasia grapes. We may lose the fifteen hectares we offered as collateral.’ He laid his hand on my arm. ‘But I’m so grateful to you for negotiating that deal. I’m well aware that the stake we put up was far less than the value of the loan. We’d have lost a great deal more land if you hadn’t re-negotiated such a good deal.’
He wasn’t going to be grateful for long. But I didn’t have an opportunity to tell him more, as the others all piled into the kitchen just then looking for coffee, and the fire chief arrived soon after. He wasn’t alone. Adriano, Beatrice’s policeman cousin, was with him.
I served coffees and pie, and once the niceties were done, Adriano cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. ‘The investigators believe the fire was started deliberately, soon after dark last night. They found a cigarette butt at the place where the fire originated.’
Tommaso shook his head. ‘Carelessness, maybe, but a cigarette butt doesn’t make it a deliberate act.’
Adriano crossed his arms over his chest. ‘The preliminary investigation revealed the use of an accelerant too.’ Our faces must have looked equally bewildered, because he huffed out a breath and leaned forward, resting his arms on the kitchen table. ‘A trail of ignitable liquid was laid to ensure the fire would spread quickly.’
My stomach clenched. That sense of foreboding had just escalated into full blown alarm bells. ‘Who would do that?’
Adriano looked down at his pie, and it was left to the fire chief to deliver the final blow. ‘Maybe one of you, hoping to make some money from the insurance. According to our sources, the winery has a lot of debt, and you filed another insurance claim recently.’
Tommaso and I exchanged a look. He seemed perplexed, but I wasn’t. I had a pretty good idea who their ‘source’ about the loan was. This was bad. Very bad.
‘Tell me one winery that doesn’t have debt.’ Tommaso’s frown was firmly back in place.
‘And we were both at Beatrice’s party,’ I added. ‘You saw us there, Adriano. You know neither one of us could have started the fire.’
‘You could have paid someone to do it.’ Adriano shrugged helplessly. ‘We might never be able to prove who started it, or why. Any evidence might have been destroyed in the fire. But we have called in a specialist arson investigator from Rome.’
Arson. I’d read the fine print of the insurance policy. Unless Castel Sant’Angelo could be cleared of any involvement with the fire, the claim would be denied. And without an insurance payout there’d be no silver lining to this mess.
On top of the vandalism and the loss of the malvasia nera grapes, we would be unable to repay our loan. And Tommaso would lose a quarter of his land to Giovanni Fioravanti.
Chapter 28
La famiglia è la patria del cuore
(Family is the heart’s homeland)
‘It wasn’t me who told Geraldine where to find you,’ Cleo protested. ‘It must have been Moira. Why don’t you just send her packing?’
‘I tried, but Tommaso invited her to stay. He seems to think it’s rude of me to throw my own mother out on the street.’
‘You could tell him about her and Kevin.’
I laughed. ‘Yeah right. “I haven’t seen my mother in a year because the last time I saw her she was naked and had her legs wrapped around my equally naked fiancé’s hips” is not a great conversation starter.’ And I didn’t want Tommaso’s pity.
‘It’s the truth, though.’
‘He has enough on his plate. He doesn’t need to be burdened with my parental issues too.’
‘Since when do you care so much what Tommaso feels? Isn’t this the same man you hit over the head with an iron – the man who stole your birthright?’
‘The iron thing was an accident, and it’s hardly my birthright. We’re partners, not rivals.’
There was a moment’s silence on the other end of the phone. I traced the pattern of the crocheted blanket with my finger.
‘You’re starting to sound as if you’re having second thoughts,’ Cleo said.
What?
‘Are you sure you want to leave Tuscany?’ Cleo asked, and my heart stopped its racing. Whew. For a moment there I’d thought she’d guessed what had happened between me and Tommaso. She’d probably tell me I was being foolish, and that I should have my wicked way with him and get laid, the way she’d wanted me to do from the very beginning of this adventure. And I wanted that advice even less now than I did then, because now I might just be tempted to give in.
‘Of course I want to leave Tuscany. Why wouldn’t I want to return to London? Or is there something you’re not telling me – has Kevin replaced me?’
‘Don’t be silly. Kevin would have had you back at your desk weeks ago if HR had let him. Not having you here has made him finally realise what you’re worth. No, I meant that it sounds as if you care about the vineyard and the castello.’
‘Of course I care, but what reason would I have to stay?’
‘What reason do you have to come back?’
‘A home, a job, a future…’ But for once my heart wasn’t in the words. Lack of sleep had robbed me of enthusiasm. Or maybe it was Geraldine’s arrival that had sucked away my enthusiasm. Or maybe the spectre of arson hanging over the property. I rubbed the throb in my temple.
‘You’re so set on this plan you have for your life, that you could be missing something really wonderful right under your nose.’ Cleo sounded exasperated. ‘Why does home have to be a terrace house in London? Why does your job have to be behind a desk? You’ve sounded happier these last few months than I’ve ever heard you.’
‘Even if I wanted to, staying isn’t an option. I have a signed offer to purchase from Florian and Yusuf, and I need their money to pay off the winery’s debts.’
‘Don’t you mean your share of the winery’s debts?’
I picked at a loose thread in the blanket�
�s pattern. ‘No. I plan to pay it all off.’
Silence. Then: ‘Have you gone insane? If you pay off the entire debt with what you earn from the sale of the castello, you’ll have nothing left. You’ll have to stay on as a partner in the business until Tommaso can buy you out. I thought you wanted to be shot of the place?’
I let out a long breath. ‘I can’t let Tommaso default on the loan. It’s my fault the vineyard is endangered. I’ve lost my edge. Arranging a consolidated loan should have been the easiest thing in the world, something I could have done in my sleep. And instead I got suckered.’
Cleo sighed. ‘You haven’t lost your edge. You just didn’t have all the facts. You and I are numbers people. We understand assets and liabilities, not motives and emotions. How can you tell from a balance sheet whether a client is ethical or not?’
Because if something looks too good to be true, it probably is. ‘I should have done due diligence. I should have dug deeper and asked more questions.’ I pulled my shoulders straight. ‘Look, I have to go. I need sleep if I’m going to face Geraldine again in the morning. I’ll let you know what happens.’
‘Just promise me you won’t kill her.’
‘I promise. At least not where there are any witnesses.’
The kitchen was at its best in the mornings, before Ettore arrived for work and while my house guests still slept. Alone, with the dawn chorus floating in through the open windows, and the scent of warm bread filling the air, I felt able to face anything without committing murder. Well, almost anything.
There was just one thing I wasn’t able to face, and that was Tommaso if he found out who I’d signed the consolidated loan agreement with. Yes, it was cowardly. But after tossing and turning all night, I’d decided I’d rather be a coward than lose Tommaso’s respect and his friendship. Because if he ever found out, then he’d know as certainly as I did that Giovanni Fioravanti was responsible for both the vandalism and the fire.
Without proof, there was no point in even opening that can of worms.
I’d just pulled a second tray of bread rolls out of the oven when Geraldine swanned into the kitchen, dressed in a gauzy black negligee, with her blonde-and-mauve curls sleep-tumbled.
‘Doesn’t this place have an electric kettle?’ she grumbled.
I’d long since stashed the electric kettle in the pantry. It was a waste of electricity when the stove was already hot. ‘There’s fresh coffee in the moka pot,’ I said.
I set the baking tray on the table-top, the scent of the fresh-baked bread filling the kitchen with homely warmth.
Geraldine sniffed. ‘That smells divine, but oh my word! Just the sight of so much gluten makes my tummy ache.’
‘Then just as well it’s not for you.’
Geraldine hadn’t been gluten intolerant until it became fashionable.
She poured a mug of black coffee then sat at the kitchen table, her chin in her palm. ‘Look at you, all chained to the stove like a real domestic goddess. Who would have thought my hotshot corporate daughter would turn out to be so domesticated?’
I had to be. Someone had to be the grown up and cook the meals and do the laundry. I drew in a steadying breath and concentrated on moving the star-patterned semelle rolls from the baking tray to the wooden box with the Rossi trattoria logo. Then I returned to the apples I’d been peeling before the timer pinged. It was the season for apples, so this month there were apples in everything I made. Next month would be blackberries, which were still hard and pink and inedible now.
‘Though maybe domesticated isn’t really the right word either.’ Geraldine surveyed me while she sipped her coffee. ‘You never do anything halfway, do you? Instead of enjoying your vacation like a normal person, you have to turn it into a cottage industry.’
If something is worth doing, it’s worth doing well. John always used to tell me that. I focused my gaze on my hands. ‘Maybe because, unlike you, I don’t just want to drift through life. I like having a purpose.’
Geraldine barked a laugh. ‘We all have a purpose. But you’ve always been so driven. You must have gotten that from your father, because you sure as hell never got it from me.’
I couldn’t help myself. ‘No, no one would ever accuse you of being driven. You just float from one self-indulgent impulse to the next. Thailand one month, Sweden the next. Haven’t you ever wanted a home?’ Or a family? Or me?
Geraldine didn’t rise to the bait. She smiled, almost sadly. ‘And haven’t you ever just wanted to be happy? All those things you’ve chased – top marks in school, the high paying job, the fancy flat, the man in a suit – did any of them make you happy, or did they just bring you stress? Are they what you really want, or are those the things the world says you should want?’
Here we went again with the hippie anti-commercialism rant. I’d heard it often enough over the years. I started chopping the peeled apples, more viciously than usual. ‘There’s more to life than the pursuit of pleasure. We all have responsibilities.’
Weren’t mothers supposed to encourage their daughters to get good marks in school and sensible jobs? Mine had to be the only mother who encouraged her daughter to be reckless. ‘Security makes me happy. Knowing where I’ll be tomorrow makes me happy. Knowing I can pay my own way without relying on anyone else makes me happy.’
‘And so you tie yourself down and become a slave to a desk or an oven?’ Geraldine shook her head.
‘I am not a slave! I’ve never been more free than I am right now. And I am happy!’ I sucked in a deep breath, staggered by the sudden revelation.
Cleo was right: I was happy here. Happier than I’d been in years.
Wiping my hands on my apron, I moved to the pantry to buy myself a moment alone to process the thought. Here, I lived according to my own timetable, not chasing the next train, the next meeting, the next client. Like a true Italian, I’d got that work-life thing down to an art.
But it was more than that. I was happy here because I’d done it all for me. Not to impress anyone. Not to win accolades, or to earn my father’s love, or to make myself good enough for people to want me. Perhaps for the first time in my life, I hadn’t been trying to please anyone but myself. I’d done what Geraldine usually did.
I leaned my forehead against the shelf where the heavy antique iron now sat. Carmelo the antique dealer had offered me a really good price for that old iron, but I hadn’t been able to part with it.
Did I want to stay? Sure. Who wouldn’t want a low-pressure job doing what they loved? Who wouldn’t want their own castello in Tuscany? And a gorgeous man with laughing grey eyes?
But I couldn’t have any of those things. By signing that loan agreement with Tommaso’s greatest rival, I’d given up any chance at my own happiness. I had to sell the castello and go back to my job in London, because if I didn’t, Tommaso would lose everything he loved most. And I was not going to let that happen.
No, I wasn’t like my mother at all. I wasn’t going to follow my impulses or do whatever I liked, no matter who it hurt. As always, I was going to be responsible and practical, and get on with what needed to be done.
‘Are you okay in there?’ Geraldine called.
‘Fine. Just fine.’ I grabbed the box of bran I sometimes used as a substitute for bread crumbs, and returned to the kitchen, plonking the box down in front of Geraldine. ‘It’s not gluten free, but that’s about the least fattening thing you’ll find to eat in this house.’
And then I set about cooking the biggest fry up I’d ever made, with olive oil, bacon, fat Italian sausages, eggs from the Rossi farm, tomatoes and zucchini I’d grown myself, and porcini I’d foraged in the forest between the castello and the winery. I even fried slices of the bread I’d made that morning.
‘I’ve died and gone to heaven,’ Per said, rolling into the kitchen half an hour later, still rubbing sleep from his eyes.
I offered him coffee, and a plate loaded with as much fat and gluten and cholesterol as any one person could manage. And when
we were joined by Ettore and Tommaso soon after, I gave them each a heaped plate too. Silence fell over the kitchen as they all tucked in. All except Geraldine, whose bowl of milky bran had been abandoned still half-full. I smirked. It was the little pleasures that made life bearable.
It was Ettore who discovered that Per had been a plumber before he was a dive instructor and set him to work installing the marble sink I’d bought in Grosseto. Then, leaving Geraldine to continue removing wallpaper and scrubbing down walls, he volunteered to drive into town to buy paints. When I offered to go with him, he waved away the offer.
‘But shouldn’t I be there to choose the colours?’
For a moment, he looked exactly like the terrifying ex-con I’d first met. ‘I choose the colours.’
I didn’t dare argue.
Since I had no desire to work anywhere near my mother, I instead tackled the next chore on my list: bottling tomatoes. Birds had already begun to attack the tomato patch, and I needed to harvest the fruit before I lost any more.
Once I’d brought in my little harvest, I washed the store of jars Nonna had kept for preserves, packed the tomatoes into the jars, and crowned them with basil leaves. Then I capped and sealed the jars and set them in boiling water.
There was no feeling more satisfying than setting jars of preserves to cool in the pantry. I’d take them back to England, so I’d have the flavours of Italy to get me through the winter months. To help me hang onto what I’d found this summer.
‘Did you know that tomatoes aren’t indigenous to Italy?’
I spun at the voice, my hand over my thumping heart. ‘You need to stop sneaking up on me like that!’
‘I’m not sneaking. I came to offer my help, if you need it.’
‘Don’t you have work to do at the winery?’
Tommaso shrugged. ‘It’s just a waiting game now, until the grapes are ready for harvest. Until then, I’m all yours.’
My heart thumped in a completely different way, as if it had skipped a beat. ‘So where are tomatoes from?’
He grinned. ‘South America. They were introduced to Europe by the Spanish conquistadors.’