Dreaming of Tuscany

by T A Williams

  ‘I hope you don’t mind too much, Bee. If you object, I can easily paint over the left cheek and make it the same as the right. That was my original idea but, somehow, the contrast between untouched and touched appeals to me greatly. I think it gives the painting so much more power, don’t you?’

  Bee had to agree. Somehow he had caught her very innermost thoughts, the internal conflict between her life back in London and how she was here in Tuscany. What struck her most forcefully, however, was how she looked. Yes, her left cheek was scarred, but it was no longer the frightening mess it had been. In fact, if anything, it brought extra humanity to the image on the canvas. With difficulty she dragged her eyes away from the portrait and looked up at him. His expression was uncertain, wondering what her decision would be.

  ‘I absolutely love it, Riccardo. Of course you mustn’t change it. I think it’s a stroke of genius to paint me as I am. What are you going to call it?’

  He looked greatly relieved. ‘I’m still working on that. I was wondering about Gioconda Nuova, but that might be a bit cheesy.’

  Bee smiled. La Gioconda was the Italian title of the painting known elsewhere as the Mona Lisa, whose enigmatic smile was one of the most famous images in the world. Was she herself similarly enigmatic, she wondered?

  ‘Whatever name you give it, I love it. I absolutely love it.’

  ‘And you don’t mind airing your damaged face? After all, that’s the reason you’re here at Montegrifone, isn’t it? To avoid exactly that.’

  Bee nodded absently. ‘No, I really don’t mind.’ Her head cleared and she felt a rush of emotion that threatened to choke her voice. She cleared her throat and did her best to put into words what she was feeling. ‘I’ll tell you this, Riccardo: you’ve done me a favour, a real, massive favour. You’ve shown me what I really look like and it’s not the end of the world. Yes, I’m scarred, but I’m still me underneath. I’ve been scared stiff of the effect this accident might have on my life, but I see now this was just stupid vanity. I’m still me, in spite of what’s happened…’

  She suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to cry that she was powerless to resist, and the next moment she was sobbing like a little girl. She was dimly aware of a pair of comforting arms catching her by the shoulders before she buried her head against his chest and wept her heart out. But, even through her tears, she knew that she wasn’t crying because she was unhappy. Very much the opposite. These were cathartic, purging tears, releasing so many of the fears that had been plaguing her for weeks now since the accident. When she finally recovered enough to lift her head from his chest and step back from his supporting arms, she was smiling.

  ‘Thank you, Riccardo. You’ve helped me more than I can possibly say.’

  * * *

  Luke came to pick her up at nine o’clock on Friday. He was looking very smart in a grey suit, shirt and tie. Bee nodded approvingly.

  ‘This makes a change from shorts and a T-shirt.’

  He smiled. ‘I’m afraid it’s because I’ve got to go and talk to yet another lawyer and this one’s always terribly formal.’ He pointed downwards. ‘You maybe haven’t noticed, but I’ve even cleaned the front seat. Suits and dirty pickups don’t really mix.’

  They headed back up the valley. It was now almost six weeks since she had first arrived here and she was so familiar with everything, it felt almost as though she was leaving an old friend behind. Not for the first time, she reflected on how tough it was going to be when the time came for her to leave for good.

  The drive to Siena took barely half an hour and Luke dropped her by the main entrance to the hospital. She walked in and up the stairs to her appointment with Doctor Bianchi. She was wearing her wig, and nobody recognised her until she reached his office. To her delight, she found Rosa waiting to greet her. She had no hesitation in giving the kindly nurse a big hug.

  ‘Ciao, Rosa. How good to see you again. Thank you again for being so caring and so kind at a time when I was so scared.’

  ‘Good morning, Beatrice, you’re very welcome. You look wonderful now. I’m so happy for you.’

  They chatted for a few minutes until Doctor Bianchi arrived. He also looked delighted to see her. They all went into his office and Bee removed the wig so he could give her a close examination. He took his time, checking her blood pressure, inspecting the cuts, and making sure that all the swelling had gone. He then quizzed her on her general health, particularly interested to know if she had been suffering from headaches, before giving her his verdict.

  ‘I’m pleased to see that everything’s healed up very well. The fresh air and exercise you’ve been getting have all contributed to returning you to full physical fitness once more. In fact, I wouldn’t mind betting that you’re fitter now than you were before the accident.’

  ‘I’ve borrowed a dog and I’ve been doing lots of walking in the country. You’re right, I do feel really fit. So, what about the scars?’

  He took his time before answering. ‘The scars on your head have all healed well and are already almost completely masked by your hair, so I really think we can forget about them now. As for the scarring to your face, you’ve got a choice. It’s all healing well and I’m sure that in six months’ time all you’ll be left with will be a few pale patches and a certain amount of very faint tissue damage. From a few metres away, you’ll look just like your old self. From close-up there will always be a bit of damage visible, but nothing too unsightly and, of course, there’s always make-up. However, if you like, we could see if we could improve things by some skin grafts and plastic surgery. This would probably involve a couple of operations, but in a few months you should be as good as new.’ He caught her eye. ‘It’s up to you. You decide.’

  Bee had already given a lot of thought as to how she would react to a variety of hypothetical scenarios she had imagined. What the doctor had just outlined had been one of many.

  ‘So you’re saying that with another couple of operations – presumably involving more time in hospital – I could look the same as I did before the accident?’ She saw him nod. ‘Alternatively, in six months’ time, without any more medical intervention, I won’t look perfect, but I won’t look too bad?’

  ‘Better than that, Beatrice. You’ll look almost as good as new, and your face will have gained a lot of character in the process.’ He smiled at her. ‘You will always be a beautiful woman. You already are. It’s just a question of how perfect you want to be.’

  She flushed and smiled weakly at him, her mind busily engaged with weighing up the alternatives. The image of her face as painted by Riccardo came back to her and she began to realise she was almost certain what she was going to do. Still, just to be on the safe side, she decided to take her time.

  ‘Could I get back to you in a day or two? I’d like to think this over a bit first.’

  ‘Of course, all the time in the world.’

  Luke picked her up just before twelve. She had been sitting in the coffee bar at the hospital waiting for his meeting to finish, and during that time she had been turning what the doctor had said over and over in her head. On the one hand, the idea of her face returning to its original state was enticing, although she didn’t like the sound of two more operations. The thought that she could just do nothing and find herself looking almost normal in six months’ time had great appeal, but there was always the big unknown; how would other people react?

  Luke studiously avoided mentioning her visit to the doctor, but he did have a suggestion.

  ‘Bee, how would you feel about letting me buy you lunch? I’d enjoy your company if you haven’t got anything more interesting to do.’

  Bee had to stop and think. On the one hand, she knew she would enjoy spending time with him, but she didn’t want to let things take a more intimate turn between them. The idea, beguiling as it was, of getting involved, only for her then to go off and possibly break his heart again was out of the question. He must have sensed her reservations.

  ‘And, in case
you’re worried about being recognised, I can promise you I’ll take you to a restaurant where you’ll almost certainly be the only foreigner. No fear of bumping into a horde of paparazzi.’ He hesitated. ‘What’s the collective noun for paparazzi? “Horde” doesn’t seem tacky enough somehow.’

  ‘How about a “scum” or a “slick” of paparazzi?’ This wasn’t the problem and she knew it. Still, she told herself, it would be rude to refuse. ‘Well, yes, Luke, I’d love to have lunch with you, but there’s no need for you to pay. I’ve loved spending time at Montegrifone, and with Romeo for that matter. I should be paying for the meal.’

  He glanced across at her and she saw the pleasure on his face. ‘That’s great. But, please, let this one be on me. My treat. OK?’

  The restaurant was roughly halfway between Siena and Montegrifone and Luke hadn’t been joking. It was most definitely off the tourist trail. They had to negotiate a bewildering muddle of narrow lanes to get there and when the road disintegrated into a steep, winding, rough strada bianca, leading up the hillside, it was so bumpy it was just as well they were in the pickup with four-wheel drive. Bee grinned across to him as they lurched through some massive potholes.

  ‘No fear of meeting any Lamborghinis up here.’

  ‘Most definitely not, at least not the sports car type. By the way, any time you want Marco or me to give you a ride in our Lamborghini, you’ve only got to say the word.’ He smiled at her. ‘Not as flashy as Joey’s but far more practical. As for this place, I know Michelangelo, the owner, very well and he tells me the highway authorities keep asking him if he wants them to tarmac the road and he keeps saying no. He’s not the most commercially minded restaurateur you’ll ever meet. He values his privacy more than his bank balance.’

  You could have walked past the restaurant without realising it was there. It was a scruffy-looking ancient stone building that looked more like a run-down farm than a place to eat. Luke drove round the back and, there, everything changed. The car park was already more than half full and this side of the building was immaculate. A series of arched openings linked the restaurant to a wide terrace dotted with tables, many of them occupied. The terrace was sheltered from the sun by a wooden structure covered with vines from which bunches of green grapes were already hanging.

  ‘Outside all right for you?’ Luke climbed out of the car and came round to meet her.

  ‘Absolutely. The view is stunning out here.’

  The tree-capped hills were steeper here than down at Montegrifone, and an unbroken sea of vines disappeared into the depths of a valley before reappearing on the far side again, giving the whole area the appearance of a meticulously planned grid. Here and there were little clumps of pine trees and cypresses and the few uncultivated areas were a mass of poppies and other wild flowers.

  As they walked across to the terrace, an immaculately dressed lady appeared to greet them. As she spotted Luke, her face split into a big smile.

  ‘Benvenuto, Luca. We haven’t seen you for quite a while.’ The lady’s attention turned to Bee. ‘Signorina, buongiorno.’

  Bee gave her a smile and a nod as Luke replied.

  ‘Good afternoon, Francesca. I hope you’re all well.’

  ‘Yes indeed, thank you. Would you like to follow me, please?’

  Bee and Luke were shown to a table in the far corner of the terrace, sheltered from all but the most inquisitive eyes by two massive lemon trees in ornate terracotta pots. The trees themselves were laden with bright yellow fruit. After taking her seat, Bee looked across at him.

  ‘I think the paparazzi would have a really hard time finding us here. It would take a machete just to get a look at the other customers.’

  ‘I took a chance and booked a table this morning, hoping you’d say yes. I asked them to put us somewhere not too conspicuous and they took me at my word.’

  ‘Well, thank you. This is perfectly—’

  ‘Ciao Barone, come stai, carissimo?’

  She was interrupted by the arrival of what was pretty obviously the owner. He was a big man with an even bigger smile on his face and he was wearing an immaculate chef’s uniform, minus the hat. Bee saw Luke jump to his feet and the two men embrace warmly.

  ‘Ciao, Michelangelo. It’s so good to see you.’

  Michelangelo kissed Luke nosily on the cheeks, but didn’t release his grip on his shoulders.

  ‘I haven’t seen you for ages. Is everything all right?’

  Bee saw Luke smile.

  ‘Everything’s fine now, Michelangelo.’ For a second he glanced across at Bee. ‘Really fine.’

  Michelangelo released his hold on Luke and came round the table to shake her hand.

  ‘Any friend of Luca’s is a friend of mine.’ He grinned. ‘And so very beautiful.’

  He stood and chatted for a few minutes and then, after he had gone back to the kitchen, Luke did a bit of explaining.

  ‘Michelangelo and I go back a long way. We went to the same school until my father sent me off to that prison in England. Every summer holiday he and I would play together every day, and we’ve stayed close friends ever since.’

  ‘So he knows your father?’

  ‘And my grandfather, and Umberto and Ines. He’s almost like my little brother.’ He corrected himself. ‘Well, quite big nowadays.’

  ‘I notice he called you baron?’

  Luke smiled again. ‘He always does that just for laughs. The only baron was my grandfather. That’s all over now.’

  ‘Well, I think it sounds very grand. To be honest, seeing as Italy is a republic, I didn’t think there were many aristocrats left.’

  He smiled. ‘You’d be surprised. Italy’s not like France, you know. Nobody chopped any heads off, not even Mussolini. Poke about in the old castles and villas all over Italy and you’ll run into more counts and princes than you can shake a stick at. And barons are two a penny. But that’s all gone now. We’re all just plain Signore and Signora these days, and that suits me just fine.’

  The meal was predictably excellent. They started with a local speciality: slices of polenta, mixed with pieces of local ham and rosemary, fried in olive oil, and eaten with wild boar pâté. Luke chose lasagne with courgettes as his pasta course, while Bee had a fresh artichoke salad, and then they both had lamb chops grilled over charcoal as their main course. A bottle of red wine with no label appeared on the table and it was every bit as good as the Montegrifone wine.

  As they ate, they chatted about everything from grapes to medieval history, but no mention was made of Luke’s father, at least for now. After a while, Luke enquired gently what the doctor had said and Bee related the two choices she had been given.

  ‘I told him I needed a bit of time to think about it and that I wanted to talk it through with friends first. Can I ask you what you think I should do?’

  ‘Firstly, thanks for including me among your friends. Second, it’s got to be your decision and yours alone. Don’t let yourself be pressurised by family or colleagues into doing something you don’t want to do.’

  He took a mouthful of cold mineral water as he hunted for the right words.

  ‘If you want my honest opinion, all I can tell you is that you are one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever met, and I mean as you are now. And I say that even though you’re here alongside Mimi Robertson. Ask yourself whether you need to go through yet more surgery when you already look stunning.’

  Bee felt herself flush with embarrassment.

  ‘Thank you, Luke. That’s so sweet. I’ll tell you something: I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about my appearance over these past few weeks and I’ve finally realised that what counts is what’s beneath the surface.’ She took a deep breath and decided to take a chance. ‘I was at your father’s house yesterday and he really brought it home to me.’

  She saw him look up in surprise, but she decided to carry on.

  ‘He asked me to model for him – just my face – and to my amazement he painted me as I am, scars and all.
It really got me thinking and the more I do, the more I’m coming round to deciding I’m not going to go through with any more surgery. This is the new me now. Take it or leave it.’

  ‘It’s your decision and yours alone but, for what it’s worth, I’m with you on this. I’m sure you’re doing the right thing.’ There was a pause before he continued, a note of surprise in his voice. ‘It’s good to know my father’s managed to be helpful to somebody at last.’

  Chapter 17

  As the long, sunny days continued and the stifling heat of August gripped Montegrifone, Bee’s yoga continued to improve, her scars continued to fade, Mimi learnt her lines and they both managed to relax. She and the movie star were by now becoming ever closer friends and they talked about everything, including Luke. Bee repeated her rationale for not wanting to embark on a relationship with him, beguiling as this might appear, for fear of breaking his heart and hers in the process, and Mimi queried her decision.

  ‘That’s what you’ve decided, even though I’m sure he’s crazy about you?’

  Bee shook her head. ‘I think he likes me a lot and I certainly like him, but from what Umberto has said, he’s got too much on his plate at the moment and he’s still bleeding from his fiancée’s departure.’

  ‘But he took you out to lunch and you say he turned up at the swimming pool. Surely that’s a sign that he’s moving on?’

  Bee nodded slowly. ‘I suppose so, but, to be completely honest, it’s as much out of self-preservation as anything else. I feel convinced that if I let myself fall for him – and I know it wouldn’t take much – I’ll find it impossible to leave him when the time comes, so bang goes my career. Would I be prepared to give that up? What worries me is the thought that I would almost certainly end up like his fiancée – isolated and bored – and it would all end in tears.’ She took a deep breath. ‘No, better to keep him at arms’ length. For both of our sakes.’