Dreaming of Tuscany

by T A Williams

  As she reached the corner of the villa, she heard somebody calling her name and she looked up. Mimi was leaning out of her window on the first floor.

  ‘Bee, I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve just had a call from Joey… Joey Eagle. He’s coming to pick me up in a couple of hours and he’s taking me out for an early dinner. He promises it’s somewhere we won’t be seen. So, please could you tell Ines. Thank her very much, but I’m afraid Joey always does things at the last minute.’

  ‘Of course, Mimi. Have a good time.’ Bee took a deep breath. ‘And give Joey my love.’

  She found Ines on the back step, scrubbing Mimi’s trainers.

  ‘Let me have your shoes, Bee, and I’ll do them at the same time.’

  Bee protested that she could clean her own shoes, but the old lady was adamant and she ended up giving in and slipping off her trainers. As she did so, she passed on Mimi’s news and apologies. Ines looked totally unphased to hear that her meal plans had just been shot down in flames.

  ‘No problem, Bee. The roast hasn’t gone into the oven yet so we can have that tomorrow, unless you’re feeling very hungry tonight.’

  ‘Absolutely not, Ines. I know, why don’t you just do some porcini mushrooms this evening? Maybe with a salad?’ She had a thought. ‘In fact, when you’re preparing the mushrooms, could I come and watch?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Leaving the dog rolling once again on his back in the grass alongside Ines, Bee went back upstairs and analysed the latest developments.

  So, it appeared that Joey was not, after all, coming to the villa for her sake, but for the sake of the beautiful actress. While a considerable relief, it was also just a tad annoying to find herself second best. This same beautiful actress had also invited the man Bee rather liked to dinner in two days’ time. This, too, was a tad annoying. Which left her with… Jamie. Not, she told herself angrily, that she wanted any of them. Or did she?

  She found herself thinking ruefully that her nascent friendship with the glamorous movie star should have come with a health warning: Can seriously damage your relationships.

  Chapter 10

  Ines sliced the mushrooms into strips, dipped them in raw egg and breadcrumbs and then quickly fried them to produce mushroom fritters as a starter. Bee stood beside her with a glass of wine and watched. At her side, eyes trained on the pan, was Romeo. The fact that a dog might be interested in eating mushrooms came as a bit of a surprise, but just underlined the omnivorous nature of this particular dog’s appetite.

  As Ines was preparing the food, Bee heard a high-pitched howl from outside that managed to draw even the dog’s attention away from the food. It was a car’s engine, but no car Bee had ever heard before. Leaving the dog in the kitchen, she went along the corridor to the entrance hall to investigate. Peering through a side window, she saw a spectacular long, low, yellow sports car pull up outside. The driver’s door swung upwards like a bird’s wing and the unmistakable shape of one of the most famous actors in the world climbed out. Reassured, she opened the door to him, even though she wasn’t wearing her wig. To her surprise, as he caught sight of her, he came jogging across and took her in his arms, lifting her off the ground and spinning her round apparently effortlessly.

  ‘Hey, Beatrice, honey. How great to see you.’

  He set her down again, but kept hold of her shoulders, looking intently at her injured face and head. Then, apparently reassured, he kissed her on her good cheek and pronounced judgement. ‘You look a million dollars, Beatrice. And here I was, getting all worked up that you’d no longer be the most beautiful professor I’ve ever met.’ He kissed her again for good measure. ‘I’m so pleased for you.’

  ‘Hello, Joey. It’s good to see you, too.’ And it was. Womaniser or not, he was a nice guy – as Hollywood legends go.

  ‘Joey, darling, how nice of you to come.’ Mimi had also heard the car and had appeared behind Bee.

  Joey transferred his attention to Mimi, but didn’t sweep her into his arms. In fact, Bee couldn’t miss the almost shy expression on his face as he went over to her.

  ‘Hi, Mimi. I’m so pleased to see you looking as good as new.’

  Mimi was looking stunning. A hint of make-up had almost completely concealed the remains of her scratches, and the light summer dress she was wearing was a dream. She looked as if she was about to float away. She bestowed an equally light kiss on each of Joey’s cheeks, and Bee could have sworn he blushed.

  ‘So, would you like to come in for a drink or are we going straight off?’

  ‘I’ve only got the Lambo for a few hours, so shall we head straight off? The place we’re going’s only a short drive from here.’

  Before returning to the car, he caught hold of Bee again and gave her another kiss.

  ‘So long, professor. See you again soon, I hope.’

  ‘Bye, Joey.’

  As the sexy sports car nosed its way back down the drive, Bee returned to the house. Umberto, alerted by the unmistakable howl of the engine, was waiting on the doorstep.

  ‘What’s a Lambo, Umberto?’

  He gave her the sort of look school teachers normally reserve for their very slowest pupils.

  ‘You’ve never heard of a Lamborghini, Bee?’

  Comprehension dawned. Bee had indeed heard the name, but this was the first time she had seen one in the flesh.

  ‘Got it. So, the perfect low-profile car if you’re taking a film star who doesn’t want to be recognised, out for dinner.’

  ‘My thoughts entirely. We can only hope he wasn’t tailed by the paparazzi.’

  They went back through to the kitchen where Ines had just finished frying the mushroom fritters. She pushed the plate across the table towards Bee.

  ‘Want to try them?’

  Bee picked up one of the still-warm slivers of mushroom and nibbled it. It was exquisite. She looked across at Ines and her husband who were watching her curiously.

  ‘Come on, you two, do have some. They’re wonderful.’

  The elderly couple helped themselves to pieces of the porcini and nodded approvingly. Umberto gave Bee a smile.

  ‘There’s nothing better than eating something you’ve grown yourself or found by yourself.’

  Bee nibbled a few slices, loving the crispy texture of the outside compared to the soft inside, and then had an idea.

  ‘Have I got half an hour before dinner, Ines?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Are you going somewhere?’

  ‘I thought maybe I could take a few of these mushroom fritters down to Riccardo in the Podere Nuovo.’ She saw them both look up in surprise. ‘I’ve met him a couple of times now and I said I’d go back and see him again.’

  Umberto and Ines exchanged glances.

  ‘He’s been talking to you?’

  ‘Yes, he was a bit grumpy at first, but he’s gradually softening up.’

  Ines’s expression changed from surprised to pleased.

  ‘That’s very good news, Bee. We’ve barely been able to get a word out of him for ages.’

  ‘Years…’ added Umberto.

  ‘Who is he? Is he hiding away like Mimi and I are doing?’

  The elderly couple exchanged glances again, before Umberto answered.

  ‘Riccardo Negri is the son of Baron Cosimo Negri, my former employer and lifelong friend, who died last year.’

  Now it was Bee’s turn to look surprised.

  ‘So Riccardo is now Baron Riccardo?’

  Umberto shook his head. ‘Not really. Italy’s been a republic since just after the Second World War and aristocratic titles have no validity here any more. Some people still use them, but Riccardo’s not one of those. No, he’s just plain Signor Negri these days.’

  ‘And he now owns the estate?’

  Umberto hesitated. ‘Not exactly. It’s complicated.’

  Once again, Bee got the impression she was intruding on personal matters so she hastily changed the subject.

  ‘Well, if you don’t mind, I
’ll just pop out for half an hour with a few of these bits of mushroom.’

  She toyed with the idea of putting on her wig, but, given that Riccardo had already seen her without it, she stayed as she was. It was a hot evening and she was much more comfortable without it, even though she still felt a bit self-conscious about the stubble on her head. Armed with the plate, she walked the few hundred yards to his house and was delighted to see him sitting under the olive tree once more. She went up to the gate and called out to him.

  ‘Riccardo, good evening. I was wondering if you wanted to try some mushrooms I found this afternoon?’ As she spoke, she kept her fingers crossed that he would be in his friendlier, rather than his irascible, mood. Luckily it was the former.

  ‘Good evening, Bee. Do come in.’

  She went across to where he was sitting and set the plate down on the bench beside him. He looked down with interest.

  ‘Porcini?’

  ‘That’s right. Ines prepared them and I got her to check them first. I promise I’m not trying to poison you.’

  For the very first time she spotted what might have been an attempt at a smile from him. He reached down with his fingers, picked one up and tasted it.

  ‘Absolutely excellent. Thank you. Will you join me for a glass of champagne while we eat these wonderful mushrooms together? You know where the glasses are.’

  ‘Thank you, Riccardo, that would be nice.’

  Bee left him there and let herself into the house. As she walked down the corridor to the kitchen, the smell of oil paint was even stronger than before and, on an impulse, she paused by a half-open door and glanced inside. She found herself looking into what was quite evidently an artist’s studio. There were canvases stacked around the wall, but the painting on the easel in the middle of the room stopped her in her tracks. It was a portrait, head and shoulders, of a woman.

  And the woman, without question, was her.

  He had painted her with a magnificent head of long brown hair, piled up in an intricate pattern, held together by old-fashioned pearl-tipped pins. Around her neck was the vague outline of what would probably become a necklace. There was still a lot of work to be done before the painting would be finished, but the likeness was already remarkable. She stood there, rooted to the spot. It was more than a bit creepy that a man she barely knew should have chosen to paint her – and so remarkably accurately as well. At least, she told herself, he had painted her with her clothes on, but still… Why or how he had chosen her was beyond her, and she would have loved to stay and study it more closely, but she didn’t want him to know she had been spying, so she hurried into the kitchen and helped herself to a wine glass.

  Back outside, she took her usual seat on the edge of the well and watched as he removed the champagne bottle from a bucket at his feet and poured. As he replaced the bottle in the ice, she wondered about querying his choice of subject for his latest painting, but decided to bide her time and queried his choice of wine instead.

  ‘So, is this a special occasion, or do you drink this stuff all the time?’

  She saw him hesitate, before responding. ‘To be totally honest, it’s my birthday today. I normally don’t remember, and nobody else does, but remarkably this year I did, so I thought it merited opening something a bit special.’

  Bee couldn’t miss the expression of regret on his face, so she leant forward and clinked her glass against his. ‘A very happy birthday to you, Riccardo. I’m glad I could share it with you.’

  ‘And thank you for the mushrooms. It’s been a long, long time since I tasted porcini – a birthday present!’

  They sat and sipped their champagne and ate the crispy mushroom fritters. The sun had dropped below the hilltop behind them and it was very pleasant sitting there, looking up at the swallows as they swooped over them, collecting insects on the wing. The birds produced rowdy high-pitched screams as they did so and their aerial antics were like watching fighter planes involved in a dog-fight. Against the deep blue, almost purple, of the evening sky, it was a compelling spectacle. After a bit, Bee decided to risk doing a bit of digging.

  ‘So, I see you’re an artist.’

  She had to wait quite a while before she got a response. Finally, he looked across at her and his eyes caught and held hers.

  ‘So, you’ve seen it?’

  Bee flushed. ‘Yes… I’m sorry, I wasn’t snooping, honestly. The door was open and I just glanced inside.’ She took a mouthful of wine and felt the bubbles fizz on her tongue. ‘It’s really, really good. But why me? Did you work from a photo or what?’ Maybe he had got hold of a copy of a newspaper with her picture in it.

  He shook his head. ‘I’ve been blessed, or cursed, with a memory for images. I painted from memory.’

  ‘After seeing me so briefly?’ Bee was amazed. ‘Are you famous? Should I have heard of you?’

  He ignored the question. ‘So you like it?’

  ‘I love it, Riccardo. You’ve got me to a T. But I still want to know why you chose me.’

  He dropped his eyes to his wine glass and just mumbled. ‘It still needs a lot doing to it, but I’m glad you like it so far. As for why I chose you, that’s easy. I’ve always loved beauty, in whatever form I can find it.’

  ‘Looking like I do, I would hardly call myself beautiful.’

  ‘Superficial.’ He didn’t raise his eyes from his glass. ‘The scratches on your face are superficial. They’ll soon pass, but your underlying beauty will remain.’

  Bee was amazed. She sat there for a minute or two, wondering what might be going on in this elderly man’s head while he stared blankly downwards. At a loss for words, finally she repeated her question.

  ‘The world’s full of loads of women who look much better than me – scars or no scars – so why me?’

  He must have realised by this time that she was sounding alarmed and he looked up, a benevolent and apologetic expression on his face.

  ‘Beauty isn’t just on the outside, Beatrice. It may surprise you to know that you’re the first person in a very long time who has spontaneously taken an interest in me. The fact that you’ve come here this evening with the mushrooms just confirms I was right in my initial assessment of you. You are a beautiful person, whatever your mirror may tell you at the moment. But look, if you like, I can paint over it. It was just something I felt compelled to paint, but I wouldn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable in any way. Just say the word and it’s gone. Sic transit gloria mundi.’

  ‘Of course not, Riccardo. You can’t destroy something as wonderful as that. No, please finish it.’ She reached over with her glass and clinked it against his once more. ‘Thank you. Seriously, I take it as a really huge compliment.’

  ‘Only if you’re sure.’

  He lapsed into silence once more. Bee gave him a minute or two to say more, but finally realised she would have to make the running in this conversation.

  ‘Do you think I might be able to see the rest of your work some time? Would you mind? I’d really like to.’

  She had another long wait before he answered.

  ‘If you want to. There’s not a lot of new stuff. To tell the truth, that portrait of you is the first new canvas I’ve started for months.’ The note of regret was back in his voice, but she saw him rally. ‘But you really need to see them in daylight. Why don’t you come back some time when the sun’s out?’

  Bee told him she would drop by to make an appointment in the coming week.

  ‘I’m really looking forward to seeing your paintings.’

  And she meant it.

  * * *

  Dinner was delightful. Along with the mushroom fritters, Ines had prepared a salad of raw porcini and Parmesan, accompanied by slices of freshly carved ham and, of course, the wonderful Tuscan unsalted bread. Afterwards, Bee couldn’t resist some of Ines’s homemade meringue ice cream, which was amazing. After dinner, she settled down in the lounge to watch a DVD from the collection on the shelves in there. She deliberately avoided any o
f the numerous films starring Mimi Robertson and opted for an old black and white movie starring Marilyn Monroe instead. It was about three quarters of the way through when she heard the howl of the Lamborghini outside. She glanced at the clock and was surprised to see it was barely ten o’clock. Seconds later, she heard the front door and a few moments after that, the sound of the car departing. Mimi appeared at the lounge door. Alone.

  ‘Hi, Bee. What’s this? Some Like It Hot? I love this movie.’

  She took a seat on the sofa alongside Bee and they watched the end of film together, laughing at the comedy and marvelling at Marilyn’s amazing dress. As it finished and the credits rolled, Bee looked across at Mimi.

  ‘So, did you have a good time in the Lamborghini?’

  ‘Yes, surprisingly good. In fact, I was quite sorry he had to shoot off again so early. You know what he did? He knew I didn’t want to be seen, so he took me for a picnic. He had a wicker hamper, a blanket, even a tablecloth. He drove up to an observation point on one of the higher hills and we sat under a couple of umbrella pines, drank champagne, ate cold lobster and watched the sun go down over Tuscany.’

  ‘How romantic!’

  Mimi avoided commenting. ‘You know what I was thinking? How wonderful it would be to live here.’ She saw the expression on Bee’s face and elaborated. ‘Not all the time, of course. For work reasons, I’d still have to be based in LA, but can you imagine having a little place hidden away in the backwoods like this? A bolthole to disappear to.’

  Bee nodded in agreement, although Mimi’s application of the adjective ‘little’ to this place was a stretch, and she couldn’t resist doing a bit of stirring.

  ‘Maybe with a handsome film star or a hunky farmer waiting for you?’

  Mimi looked across at her and grinned. ‘Like your hunky farmer?’

  ‘My hunky farmer?’

  ‘It’s pretty obvious you’ve got the hots for him.’ Mimi laughed out loud at the expression of stupefaction on Bee’s face. ‘And I get the feeling he might well feel the same way about you. Why d’you think I invited him to dinner?’