Dreaming of Tuscany

by T A Williams

  She didn’t know how to respond to this and decided it would be better to let the subject of his father rest, so she lay back, pretending to snooze. After a while, he got to his feet and glanced down at her.

  ‘Well, seeing as I’m here…’

  Through the safety of her dark glasses she watched him remove his T-shirt to reveal his muscular shoulders and lovely V-shaped back. She averted her eyes rather primly as he slipped out of his shorts and by the time she looked back, he was only wearing his swimming trunks. For a moment she and Romeo exchanged glances and she felt sure the dog had read her mind. This was indeed a very handsome man. The dog distinctly winked, before turning and launching himself bodily into the water, splashing both of them as he hit the surface.

  Luke climbed carefully down the rocks until he could slide into the water. Romeo doggy-paddled happily alongside him and Bee felt a definite twinge of envy, although, from Luke’s grimaces, it was clear that the water in the pool was far from warm. He and the dog had a brief wrestling match for possession of a broken branch that the Labrador won, before Luke rolled onto his back and floated on the surface of the crystal-clear water, arms outstretched, with a blissful expression on his face. Bee’s sense of envy increased and she resolved to bring her bikini one of these days and follow suit.

  After ten minutes or so, he emerged from the pool, accompanied by the dog who showered her with cold water as he shook himself. After the initial impact, the cool sensation was very welcome, although the aroma of damp Labrador wasn’t. Luke towelled himself off and sat down on an outcrop of rock just along from Bee. He smiled at her and she did her best to concentrate on his face, rather than his broad chest and his strong stomach muscles.

  She glanced back at him, pleased to see him looking relaxed. Small talk seemed to be in order, so she tried farming.

  ‘So, what’s happening on the farm at the moment?’

  ‘It’s all pretty much concentrated on the vines now. We’ve been checking the new grapes to see they’re developing well. In a few days’ time it’ll be August and we’ll be spraying them to keep any mould or blight away and then, before long it’ll be September and the vendemmia starts.’

  ‘That must be a very busy time.’

  ‘You can say that again. We tend to work pretty much all the daylight hours, so it’s a tiring few weeks.’ He smiled at her. ‘Still, that’s what we’re all about. Without the grapes we can’t make the wine.’

  ‘And is it looking good for this year? Umberto said hail could be a problem.’

  ‘So far so good. He’s dead right about the hail, but the grapes are getting a lot of sunshine this year, with just enough rain from time to time. If it carries on like this until September and we don’t get any hail, it should be a great year. Fingers crossed.’ He caught her eye. ‘Umberto may have also told you we’re struggling for cash after my granddad’s death. A good vintage will be a big help.’

  ‘He told me. He also said you’ve had art experts looking at the paintings in case you had a forgotten old master hiding away here.’

  ‘There actually is one, you know. Or at least, there was.’

  Bee looked up with interest. ‘What, a valuable old painting?’

  ‘Yes, very. The family used to own an original painting by Simone Martini. You know the name I presume?’

  ‘Wow. Of course I do.’

  Simone Martini was one of the most famous Italian artists of the Middle Ages, responsible for the iconic Annunciation, now hanging in Florence’s Uffizi gallery. A work by him would be worth many, many millions. Bee felt her skin tingle at the thought of such a treasure being anywhere near her.

  ‘When you say “used to own”, what does that mean?’

  ‘It means it’s lost.’

  ‘Lost?’

  ‘Lost, stolen, destroyed… who knows? During the Second World War, in the summer of 1944, the Germans were retreating from Montecassino, south of Rome, and the so-called Gustav Line, to prepared positions north of Florence.’

  Bee nodded. This was not new to her. ‘The Gothic Line.’

  ‘Of course, I’d forgotten you’re a historian. Anyway, my great-grandfather went to great lengths to hide or bury anything of value in the villa for fear of losing it to the Germans, or indeed the Allies as they came up through Tuscany.’

  ‘Sounds like a sensible precaution.’

  ‘It would have been, but for one thing. He didn’t trust anybody else to do the hiding, so he did it himself. All well and good, except that only a few weeks later, he dropped dead.’

  Bee gawped. ‘Without revealing where he had put it all?’

  Luke shrugged helplessly and gave her a tired smile. ‘Exactly. A massive heart attack, apparently. Believe me, we’ve turned the whole place upside down, but with no success. We’ve even had divers in the well, but still nothing.’ He corrected himself. ‘No, that’s not strictly true. Umberto and my grandfather did manage to locate some jewellery in the cellar, and I’ll never forget finding a little cloth bag of gold coins underneath a loose floorboard in our house. That’s the Podere Nuovo where my father lives. But we never found the big one.’

  ‘If you did find that, it would solve your money worries, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘And some! We live in hope that maybe it’ll turn up again some day, but I’m afraid it’s a forlorn hope.’ He stretched his arms up above his head and breathed deeply. ‘Still, that’s the way it is and there’s no point in crying about it.’ He glanced across at her. ‘But if you feel like doing a bit of sleuthing, please go ahead. But I don’t hold out too much hope. For all we know, it may even have been stolen years ago.’

  ‘Or if it was hidden in a damp environment like a cellar, it may have rotted away.’

  ‘Don’t remind me.’

  Luke lay back against the warm rock and closed his eyes, while Bee dreamt dreams of discovering a hidden masterpiece. From time to time, she glanced across at him and she knew she really liked this handsome man who lived in such a wonderful place, but who somehow had had such bad luck in his life, losing his mother, his fiancée, his beloved grandfather and, to an extent, his father. She knew she was developing feelings for him, but she knew that this, like the discovery of the Martini painting, was a forlorn hope. Even if he were to get over the loss of his fiancée – and it was clear he was still heartbroken – there was no way a relationship between them could develop beyond a brief holiday romance.

  Enticing as that sounded, she knew she wanted more, and the insoluble problem was that her job, whatever that was going to be, would inevitably call her away from here. Tempting as it might be to give up on her career and settle down here and become a farmer’s wife – although he had given little indication of having anything like that on his mind – she knew that she, like Luke’s fiancée, would want more. As she had told his father, her career meant a lot to her and she couldn’t imagine giving it up – even for Luke. And the more she got to know him, the more she was convinced that the last thing she would ever want to do was to hurt him by getting together with him and then leaving, just as his fiancée had done, particularly at this time when he was carrying such a burden of responsibility on his shoulders for the future of the estate and everybody who worked there. With considerable regret she knew nothing should ever happen between them, much as she might dream about it.

  After a bit, seeing him so relaxed, she decided to risk broaching the subject of Riccardo again.

  ‘Luke, your father invited me in to see his paintings the other day. He’s a very talented artist.’

  She saw his eyes open, but he didn’t respond.

  ‘But the two of you don’t get on?’

  ‘Is that what he told you?’ He kept his voice low, but his expression had hardened.

  ‘No, not at all. He just told me he rarely goes out and hardly ever sees anybody.’

  There was a long pause before he spoke, his voice now little more than a whisper.

  ‘I was only ten, Bee. I lost my mum and then, just w
hen I needed him the most, I lost my dad. He sent me off to England to a very posh, but frighteningly Spartan, boarding school, and that was just about the last I saw of him.’

  He looked and sounded bereft, and Bee could imagine the impression this experience must have made upon a little boy.

  ‘Umberto said something about him having a breakdown after your mum’s death.’

  ‘Who knows? All I know is that he deserted me in my hour of need. I used to come home for the holidays, but his door was always bolted and I stayed at the villa, not the Podere Nuovo which is where I was born and grew up. If it hadn’t been for my granddad, along with Ines and Umberto, of course, I’d have been totally lost.’ He caught her eye. ‘So, yes, you could say we don’t get on.’

  ‘And you don’t intend to try?’

  He shook his head, but made no reply. After a minute or two, Bee decided she had better abandon the subject. She reached into her bag and produced the bottle of now lukewarm water, She offered it to Luke, but he shook his head.

  ‘I’m fine, thanks.’ There was a pause before he surprised her by picking up the subject of his father once more. ‘What’re his paintings like?’

  ‘Your father’s? Wonderful. Anybody can see what a talented artist he is.’

  She wondered if she should mention the fact that he was painting her portrait, but decided against it for now. Instead, she threw it back to Luke.

  ‘You must have seen his work, haven’t you?’

  ‘I saw some of his paintings when I was little, but I don’t remember much about them. A few months back I checked him out on the internet and I saw some of his later stuff. You’re right, he’s a very good artist. Pity he wasn’t a better father.’

  The fact that he had taken the trouble to check his father out sounded promising but, for now, Bee decided to let the subject drop. She took a big swig of water, returned the bottle to the bag and pulled herself to her feet.

  ‘I’d better get off home and take a shower. If the weather carries on like this, I think I’ll come armed with a bikini next time.’

  She was pleased to see a smile return to his face.

  ‘You really should. The water’s cold because it only emerges from the rock a few metres further up, but you soon get used to it and they say it has medicinal properties. You never know, it might help your wounds to heal.’ He caught her eye. ‘Although you’re looking so much better already. When are you going back to London?’

  ‘Some time later in August. It depends on Mimi. I’ve got an appointment at the hospital next Friday and I’ll see what the doctors say.’

  ‘The hospital in Siena?’ Bee nodded. ‘How are you getting there?’

  ‘I’ll drive up in our little Fiat. Umberto says parking can be a problem so I’ll set off early.’

  ‘What time’s the appointment?’

  ‘Around ten o’clock in the morning, I think. I thought I’d leave about nine, or even earlier.’

  ‘I’ve got to be in Siena at ten-thirty on Friday. My meeting shouldn’t last too long. I could give you a lift there and back if you like. That way, you’d have no trouble parking.’

  ‘Are you sure? That would be lovely, thank you.’

  ‘When you get back home, just text me the exact time of your appointment. Have you got my number?’ Seeing her shake her head, he reeled off the number and she keyed it into her phone.

  ‘Thanks, again, Luke. That’s very kind. Now I think I’ll head back to the villa.’

  ‘I would accompany you, but as soon as I dry off, I’ve got to go on up the valley and check on something.’ He caught her eye. ‘Don’t get too excited about this, but one of the boys said he found a deer carcass that looked as if it had been mauled by wolves. That’s a bit too close for comfort, so I’m going to check.’

  Bee’s eyes opened wide. ‘Just be careful, please. I’d hate anything to happen to you.’

  He smiled at her. ‘So would I, but it’s very unlikely. They only operate at night and I’ve only ever seen one in the last four years, and it ran off as soon as it saw me. I’ll be fine.’

  ‘Like I say…’

  ‘I’ll be careful. Promise. Anyway, I’m glad I came for a swim. I’d been putting it off for too long. I enjoyed doing it and I enjoyed seeing you. It’s stupid to put off doing things just because of a few bad memories. Life goes on, Bee. I’ve got to remember that.’

  On an impulse she leant down and kissed him on the cheek.

  ‘I’m glad you came.’

  As she straightened up again she heard his voice, sounding quite emotional.

  ‘Thanks, Bee. Thanks a lot.’ He hesitated for a moment and she heard him clear his throat. However, when he continued, he sounded almost normal again. ‘Do you want to take Romeo with you?’

  Bee glanced down at the dog who was stretched out, comatose, on the rock.

  ‘I’ll be fine. You hang onto him. He is your dog after all…’

  ‘He belongs to the whole place, really, so any time you want him, just whistle.’

  Bee had never been very good at whistling, but she smiled at the two of them and headed back home.

  Chapter 16

  The following morning, Bee put on a tank top and went down to Riccardo’s house to model for him. As she walked down there, she found she had a companion. A large black shape emerged from the vines as Romeo came back from his morning tour of the estate. After making a fuss of him, Bee carried on to Riccardo’s house, the dog now trotting alongside her as if she were his mistress. She found Riccardo waiting at his front door.

  ‘Hello, Riccardo. Look who’s come with me. Have you two met?’

  ‘I’ve seen him around, but we’ve never been formally introduced.’

  Bee smiled. ‘Riccardo, this is Romeo. Romeo, Riccardo. Say hello nicely.’

  The dog wandered affably through the gate to where Riccardo was standing and paused at the step, tail wagging hopefully. After a moment’s hesitation, Riccardo emerged and bent down to give the Labrador a stroke. He was leaning on his stick and Bee could see how uncomfortable it was for him to bend over. Still, she was pleased to see him make friends with the dog. When all was said and done, Romeo was Luke’s dog, so this had to be a step in the right direction as far as a rapprochement was concerned.

  Bee joined them on the front step. By now, Romeo had rolled over onto his back and Riccardo was crouching down to scratch his tummy. When the time came for him to straighten up again, Bee saw how heavily he was resting on his stick, so she grabbed him by the other arm and helped him to his feet.

  ‘Your leg playing up again today, Riccardo?’

  He nodded. ‘To be honest, it’s my hip. I saw the doctor yesterday and they’re going to give me a hip replacement some time soon. The sooner the better as far as I’m concerned.’ He shook her hand and nodded approvingly at her choice of top.

  ‘Thank you for wearing this. It’ll be perfect. Come in and we’ll get started. What about your four-legged friend here? He belongs to Umberto, doesn’t he?’

  ‘He spends a lot of time at the villa, but he actually belongs to Luke and he has the run of the valley. I’m surprised he hasn’t come calling before. He’ll probably come in where it’s cool and sleep, if you don’t mind. Otherwise we can leave him outside and he’ll wander off to see somebody else.’

  At the mention of his son’s name, Bee saw Riccardo flinch, but the moment quickly passed and he ushered them both into his studio. As Bee had predicted, the dog soon stretched out on the cool terracotta tiles as Bee took up position on a stool in front of the easel.

  ‘Here, Bee, I wonder if you’d mind putting this on?’

  She looked up and saw that Riccardo was holding a heavy gold necklace that she recognised from the painting. As she clipped it behind her neck, she queried its provenance.

  ‘Is this real gold? It’s heavy enough.’

  She saw him nod and she was very impressed.

  ‘Wow, it must be worth a packet.’

  ‘It belonged to my
wife.’

  His tone was very sombre and she saw the same expression of sorrow on his face that she had observed from time to time on his son’s, making the family resemblance even more evident, and she wondered why she hadn’t noticed sooner.

  ‘It’s beautiful.’

  ‘Thank you. I’m glad you like it. I bought it for her with the proceeds of the first of my paintings to be sold in the States. I bought it from a New York antique shop. Ironically we subsequently discovered it’s Italian, maybe even Tuscan. It either dates back to the Renaissance or it’s a very good nineteenth-century copy. Either way, it’s old.’ He picked up a paint brush. ‘Now, if you’re ready, let’s get started. Try to keep fairly still, but don’t worry too much. If you have to scratch your nose, just try to resume the original pose again afterwards.’

  Bee was there for the best part of two hours altogether and the dog slept the whole time. She and Riccardo exchanged a few words, but he was obviously concentrating hard and she didn’t want to disturb him. As it was, it gave her time to think and, once more, she found herself reviewing her life, wondering what sort of reception her scarred face would receive back in London and how she would feel to leave this wonderful place… and its inhabitants. Before coming here, she had feared being lost in a green wilderness, but instead, she had made some wonderful and lasting friends and she really felt at home here now. Yes, it was going to be tough.

  Once he finally declared himself satisfied, Riccardo called her over to take a look at the result of his morning’s work. Bee stood up, stretched, and walked across to see for herself, removing the heavy necklace as she did so. What she saw came as a considerable surprise. The face beneath the wonderful head of hair was without doubt hers, but he had painted it as it really was now, scars and all. It was a stunning piece of work and the expression he had managed to create was at the same time poignant and hopeful. Without taking her eyes off the picture, she asked him why.

  ‘Riccardo, I thought you were going to give me… her my face as it used to be. How come you’ve left the scarring?’

  Part of her was dismayed at the sight of the scarring while, deep down, she found herself seriously questioning whether that mattered. At least it was a true and honest representation of her, no holds barred. She heard his voice.