by T A Williams
‘Umberto, this wine is delicious. Thank you so much. Please, why don’t you sit down and join me in a glass. It would be nice to have some company.’
Somewhat hesitantly, the elderly man took a seat opposite her and poured himself half a glass of wine. He raised it to his lips, sipped and nodded approvingly.
‘I’m delighted you like our local produce. And have you tried the oil?’ He pointed to the sliced tomato and basil. ‘Here, try one of those.’
Bee did as bid and grunted enthusiastically, her mouth full. Umberto looked pleased.
‘The oil’s made here on the estate and, without wishing to brag, it’s the best oil in Tuscany.’
Clearly, Umberto was not one to hide his light under a bushel.
Bee swallowed before she could answer. ‘Thank you so much, Umberto. The tomatoes are delightful and the oil tastes wonderful. It’s spicy. I can feel it tickling my throat. It’s amazing.’
He looked pleased. ‘Excellent. Everything on the table in front of you was produced here, apart from the mineral water, and that comes from just to the east of us in the Apennines.’
‘Everything’s perfect. I’ll have to be careful not to eat or drink too much.’
‘Nonsense. Good food never hurt anybody, and wine is as essential as bread or water, when it’s good. And, modestly speaking, I have to tell you ours is the best wine in Tuscany.’ His old face split into a grin. ‘And if it’s the best in Tuscany, that means it’s the best in the world.’
Bee found herself grinning back.
After her meal, which had concluded with the most amazing panna cotta she had ever tasted, Bee felt she really should get some exercise, so she decided to go for a quick walk before night fell. It was still very hot, so she took off the wig and left it behind, slipping a silk scarf into her pocket in case she came across somebody. Outside it was still light, although the sun had almost disappeared below the hills, and the sky was filled with busy squeaking birds, swooping acrobatically through the trees in search of insects. She was pretty sure they were swallows, but her bird recognition skills weren’t too hot, so she resolved to ask Umberto next time she saw him. She followed a gravelled path down the far side of the hill and soon found herself on a broad strada bianca, marked by the unmistakable imprints of tractor tyres.
She remembered that she had promised her mother a photo of how she looked, so she pulled out her phone. Mustering a smile, she turned her head slightly to the left, to minimise the view of her damaged left cheek, and took a selfie against the backdrop of the villa on its hill. The mobile signal wasn’t as strong down here as it was at the villa, so she set off up the valley in search of better reception, the track climbing steadily through the vines.
She passed the house she had seen from the window – the Podere Nuovo – on her right, set back a few metres from the track behind a low stone wall. It was a wonderful traditional Tuscan farmhouse with arched doors and windows on the ground floor and an outdoor staircase leading up to the first floor. The windows were framed by old weathered bricks, while the rest of the walls were a mix of bricks and stone, worn by the elements over the centuries. The shutters were the same dusty-green as the villa’s, while the roof was made of old pink tiles. All the shutters were firmly closed and the little patch of front garden was overgrown with weeds and burnt yellow by the sun. Presumably the man who lived here rarely came outside. Clearly, Umberto hadn’t been exaggerating when he said the man was a recluse. Bee felt reassured.
Although her bruised thigh hurt a bit at first, as it warmed up the pain began to subside and she was pleased to find she could walk, not quite as normal, but reasonably well with only a hint of a limp. This boosted her confidence and she found herself beginning to feel happier about the prospect of making a full recovery, at least as far as walking was concerned.
After a while, she spotted a well-trodden path leading off to her right up through the middle of meticulously tended rows of vines. As she climbed, she studied the vines and saw little bunches of hard green grapes already formed, but not even the size of peas yet. Presumably they would grow and turn black as the autumn approached. She glanced around, her head just emerging above the vines. She was the only human being in the midst of all this greenery and it definitely felt a bit spooky. She was used to noise and bustle, not silence, and she did her best to repress her anxiety.
Suddenly, as she continued to climb, her anxiety levels went through the roof.
There was a sudden movement right in front of her, only a metre or so from her feet, and a sinister-looking yellow and brown snake uncoiled itself and shot off, remarkably quickly, into the next row of vines and out of sight. Bee stopped dead and looked around apprehensively. The idea that she was now potentially surrounded by snakes was seriously frightening. She breathed hard for a few seconds, feeling her pulse beating rapidly, wondering whether to turn tail and flee, before gritting her teeth and starting off again. This time she deliberately stamped her feet on the ground as she walked, keen to scare away any other reptiles before she stepped on them, and she didn’t raise her eyes from the dry earth in front of her for one second.
By the time she reached the top edge of the field, she was a nervous wreck and the thought that she would have to retrace her footsteps through snake-infested territory on her way back to the villa was uppermost in her mind. She stopped as she emerged from the vines and took a few deep breaths until she felt her heartbeat starting to slow. She was very relieved to see that she now had three bars of signal on her phone, so she climbed onto a drystone wall after banging it a few times just in case there were more snakes, spiders or other wildlife hiding in the cracks, and sat down to call her mother. On the far side of the wall was an empty field, but a multitude of cowpats testified to it having been used by livestock very recently. Bee was pleased its bovine occupants had now vacated it. The idea of finding herself in a field with a bull did not appeal in the slightest.
She sent the photo of herself to her mother and then called her. First, at her mother’s insistence, she dictated her address here at Montegrifone with strict instructions not to pass it on to anybody, and then went on to give her an upbeat version of how she was doing. She assured her mum that she would be back to normal and back to England by the end of the summer and that she was looking forward to a complete rest in the meantime. Her mother definitely approved. It would have been nice to invite her parents to come over, but the problems with her mum’s ears meant that wasn’t going to be possible. Instead, Bee promised to call them regularly and to send them lots of photos.
Her mother knew her well enough to sense something in her voice.
‘How are you finding life in the country? I suppose it’s all a bit new to you, isn’t it?’
‘It’ll take a bit of getting used to.’ Bee decided not to mention the snake. ‘But it’s very beautiful. I’m sure I’ll be just fine.’
‘And what about your famous companion? Your father and I can hardly believe it. Fancy you and Mimi Robertson together!’
‘I can hardly believe it myself, mum. To think that I’m here with a household name, it’s incredible. I just hope she isn’t too much of a pain. She’s in a foul mood at the moment.’
‘I expect she just needs to relax. As I’m sure you do after everything that’s happened.’
Bee hoped her mum was right, otherwise this could turn out to be a very long summer.
After the call ended, she slipped the phone back into the pocket of her shorts and rested on the sun-warmed stone wall, trying to summon up the courage to head back into the snake-infested vines again. She ran her hand over her head, feeling a slight softening of the hair. It was about three weeks now since the accident, so maybe it was beginning to develop into more than just stubble, but she knew it would take a long time before it grew back down to her shoulders or beyond. She let her fingers run gently over her scarred face and wondered, yet again, what she would look like at the end of the summer.
She was suddenly roused from
her reverie by the unmistakable sound of footsteps coming up through the vines towards her. If the man got much closer, he would be bound to see her. What if he wasn’t one of the people from the estate? If so, there was just a chance he might recognise her from the television or newspapers and reveal Mimi’s place of refuge. There was nothing for it. She had to hide.
She swivelled round on the top of the wall and jumped down on the far side. As she landed, her left thigh jarred sending a stab of pain up her injured leg, while her other foot landed in something soft. A glance down revealed her worst fears. She had ended up with one foot right slap bang in the middle of a particularly large, soft, fresh cowpat. With a grimace she withdrew her foot and cursed under her breath.
Ignoring the fate of her sandal for now, she crouched down behind the wall. Her hands flew to her pocket as she scrabbled for the silk scarf to cover her stubbly head, but such was her haste, she only succeeded in dropping that into the cowpat as well and she cursed again. After a few seconds she raised her head gingerly to peer over the wall as the sound of the footsteps on the other side ceased. Unfortunately, as she did so, she must have disturbed a lizard or something as there was a sudden movement right beside her head and she squeaked with fear as the image of the snake in the vines crossed her mind. She recoiled and took a step back, landing in the cowpat a second time and, in so doing, produced a disgusting squelch that gave her away. She immediately heard his voice from the other side of the wall.
‘Hello, Miss Kingdom? Is that you? Umberto told me you’d come up this way. My name’s Luke, I’m the estate manager. I thought I’d come and introduce myself.’
The amazing thing was that he was speaking in perfect English. So Luca was in fact Luke and, patently, he was English.
She straightened up, feeling very self-conscious, and looked back at the wall. She could see a head peering over the top but, with the setting sun directly behind him, his face was in shadow.
‘Hello, good evening. Yes, I’m Beatrice Kingdom.’
She removed her foot from the cowpat for the second time, wincing at the loud farting sound this produced, and rescued the filthy headscarf, holding one corner of it gingerly in her fingers. There was no point trying to put it on now, so there was nothing for it, he would have to see her scars, stubble and all. She took a deep breath and walked along behind the wall until she reached a convenient gate. She stopped there and surveyed her sandal. It was completely covered, along with her foot, and it looked as if she was wearing a single brown ankle boot. To make matters worse, every time she put that foot down, there was a revolting squelching noise. Doing her best to ignore the sensation, she raised the hand not holding the mucky scarf in greeting as he approached.
‘Good evening. I’m pleased to meet you. I didn’t realise you were English.’
He was tall, with broad shoulders and close-cropped fair hair. He was wearing faded shorts and a T-shirt, and his suntanned legs and arms were muscular and strong. As she raised her eyes to his face, she realised that he was a very good-looking man, although he looked unexpectedly troubled. This melancholic expression instantly endeared him to her.
She felt the colour rush to her cheeks as she saw his eyes on her scars and stubble and she did her best to sound relaxed.
‘Sorry about the hide and seek, but I had no idea who you were. You probably know we’re trying to keep all this a secret, mainly for the sake of my companion, who’s trying to stay out of the public eye.’
As she said the words ‘all this’, she waved her hand vaguely towards her damaged face and head and saw an immediate expression of sympathy and empathy on his face. He approached the gate and held out his hand.
‘Hello, Beatrice, if you don’t mind me calling you that. I heard you’d been in the wars.’ Bee took his hand and found herself looking up into his light blue eyes. ‘And I’m only half-English. My father’s Italian, but my mum was from Norwich.’
‘Well, you speak perfect English.’ And he did.
‘Thanks for the compliment, but I know I’m a bit rusty these days. I always spoke to my mum in English as a kid, but then she died and my father packed me off to boarding school in Britain and from there I went to university in Cambridge. I was fluent in English then, but I’ve been back here now for a while and I don’t use it as much as I’d like.’
Bee registered that he would appear to have a good brain. Cambridge university wasn’t within reach of everybody, after all. ‘Well, the result is that you speak it like a native. By the way, please call me Bee, everybody does. And do you prefer Luca or Luke?’
‘Either’s fine, Bee. I was christened Luke, but everybody over here calls me Luca. I answer to both. So, how long are you going to be staying with us? Umberto said until your scars heal, but it looks to me as if you’re well on the way to recovery already.’
Bee gave him a smile.
‘Thanks for trying, Luke, but I’ve got a mirror at home. I know how bad it looks. I’m afraid it’s going to be a long haul but, what the hell? I’m still alive. As for how long I’m going to be here, that’s in the hands of my companion. But seeing as she isn’t talking to me, or anybody, at the moment, I have no idea. I’ll have to start work again in September at the latest.’
‘Where’s that? In Hollywood?’
‘No, I’m a lecturer in medieval history in London. At least that’s what I’ve been doing up until now. The job in Siena was just a temporary—’
She was suddenly on the defensive again as a large black dog came rushing out of the vines behind Luke and charged towards her. Although it was on the other side of the gate, she stepped back apprehensively.
She eyed the dog warily. She had had a bad experience with a big dog back in her childhood and, although it hadn’t bitten her, she had been badly frightened by it. Since then, she had always done her best to avoid them wherever possible, even friendly looking Labradors like this one.
‘You’ve not met Romeo yet, have you? He’s only a youngster and he’s always pleased to meet new people.’ Probably noting Bee’s hesitation, Luke added, ‘He’s quite harmless, I promise.’
Gritting her teeth, Bee stepped forward and reached down to pat the dog’s head as it poked through the slats. He had a fine set of gleaming white teeth, but the tail at the other end was wagging, so she took this to be a good sign, but she hastily removed her hand and stepped back again once she had touched his cold, wet nose.
Luke leant on the gate from the other side. As he did so, Bee saw both man and dog sniff suspiciously and glance downwards. She shook her head ruefully as she explained.
‘In my haste to take cover when I heard somebody coming, I’m afraid I jumped right into the middle of some cow poo. And then, to make matters worse, I dropped my scarf in it as well.’
Luke smiled, a friendly, open smile that took years off him. ‘It brings good luck. And, besides, you can’t live on a farm without stepping into all sorts of things. Don’t worry. The shoe and your scarf will clean up. Let Umberto or Ines have them when you get home and they’ll sort them out.’
Bee wasn’t so sure that her brand new, very expensive sandal would recover, but she made no comment. Instead, she turned the conversation to more important matters.
‘Luke, can I ask you something? On my way up through the vines, I saw a snake. Do you think it was poisonous?’
To her considerable relief, he shook his head. ‘No, there are no poisonous snakes around here. Maybe up in the woods, but they’re very rare. Was the snake you saw a sort of yellowy-brownish colour?’ She nodded. ‘It was just a grass snake. Quite harmless.’ He smiled at her and, as he did so, she felt herself smiling back. There was no getting away from it: she was enjoying his company, even if the subject was reptiles. ‘It was no doubt far more scared of you than you of it.’
‘That’s what my mum used to tell me about teenage boys.’ Bee saw him smile again. ‘If that’s the case, that snake must have been absolutely terrified, because I was scared stiff. I’ve lived in the city al
l my life and I don’t really have much experience of nature.’
The dog was still sniffing the air around her foot and Luke looked down at her sandal once more.
‘There’s a spring a bit further up the hill and a stream runs down the side of these vines. Why don’t we go across there and you can wash your foot off in the water?’
‘That sounds like a great idea.’
Bee let herself through the gate, keeping a watchful eye on the dog as she did so. Together they walked across the top edge of the vineyard to where a little stream, barely a foot wide, ran down parallel to the rows of vines. The water was clear and remarkably cold, and it soon cleaned the scarf, her foot and her shoe, at least well enough to look less disgusting and to get her back home without squelching too much. When she had finished washing everything as best she could, she sat down beside Luke on the edge of a metal drinking trough to allow her foot to dry a bit. The dog settled at their feet, mouth open, tongue hanging out, panting like a steam train. Bee glanced sideways at his master.
He really was a good-looking man and quite evidently bright, and she couldn’t help feeling unexpectedly attracted to him. For somebody who had had no interest in men for a good few months now, this was surprising, inexplicable and really rather annoying. She did her best to transfer her attention from him to her surroundings. Some way below them, she could just make out the pink roof tiles of the villa in the failing light, but otherwise there was little sign of human habitation. She breathed deeply.
‘This is a lovely spot, Luke. Tell me, who owns it?’
He had to pause for thought before replying. ‘It used to be Baron Cosimo, but he died last year and since then it’s become a bit complicated.’
There was something in his tone that made Bee realise she was maybe straying into affairs that didn’t regard her, so she changed the subject. ‘It’s very beautiful and very remote. It’s probably going to take me a while to get used to the solitude.’