by Joanna Rees
The moment was diffused by the arrival through the kitchen door of another man.
‘Who’s that?’ she whispered to Alfonso.
‘It’s Franco Moretti,’ he replied, stiffening as the older man approached. ‘He’s known my father forever. The Morettis and Scolaris go way back,’ he explained. ‘Apart from Mamma, he’s the only other shareholder of Scolari. He doesn’t approve of me.’
Moretti was greeted like one of the family, the sisters kissing his cheeks, but Alfonso stood back.
‘Romy,’ Flavia called. ‘Come and meet Franco.’
Romy went towards the older man and they shook hands. He was tall, with dark brown hair and a neat little moustache. His panama hat completed the look of an ageing matinee idol, Romy thought. They all followed as he walked over to the table, clapped Roberto on the shoulder and took his place next to him.
‘Look who’s here,’ Roberto said, gesturing to Alfonso, and Franco shook his hand across the table. Romy immediately sensed the friction between them, as she retook her place next to Alfonso.
‘You must come to the vineyard on Sunday,’ Franco said. ‘We have an exceptional vintage of the Chianti that you like. You must bring Miss Valentine,’ he added.
‘Oh . . . thank you, but I can’t,’ Romy said, looking between Alfonso and Franco.
‘What?’ Alfonso turned to her as they all sat down. ‘Why not?’
‘I have to go.’
‘Go? Go where?’
‘I meant to tell you,’ she said in a hushed voice. ‘Something’s come up. I have to fly to Peru.’
‘Peru?’ Serena interrupted, placing a platter of grilled aubergines and pine nuts down on the long table. ‘I went travelling there.’
‘I’ve never been,’ Romy said, feeling the force of Alfonso’s stare boring into her. His leg was pressing against hers, demanding an explanation. Roberto and Maria exchanged a look down the table.
‘So, I hear you’re a model,’ Franco said matter-of-factly, looking at Romy, his eyes assessing her. ‘Is that satisfying?’ It sounded as if he just wanted to make polite conversation, but there was a hint in his voice that left Romy in no doubt that he considered her to be just another of Alfonso’s meaningless conquests.
‘It is when I get to influence the campaigns,’ she said. ‘And I’ve been very lucky to have travelled the world,’ she added, looking at Serena.
‘Don’t you think the whole fashion industry is . . . well . . .’ Franco continued, clearly not satisfied with her answer. He waved his hand in the air, ‘. . . silly little girls running about.’
Anna tutted loudly. ‘Franco!’ She made eyes at Romy as if to tell her that she was used to Franco being so provocative.
‘Silly little girls,’ Flavia added, taking her side. ‘For goodness’ sake.’
Romy was touched that they were springing to her defence. She liked being part of their sisterhood.
‘I am not just involved in fashion, although that is an important part of what I do,’ Romy countered. ‘And I would have to argue that it was far from “silly”. Like the Ferragamo campaign I did recently.’
‘Handbags,’ Anna said, winking at Romy and taking her place next to Franco. ‘Expensive ones.’
‘Italians should be proud of their heritage of luxury goods,’ Romy said to Franco. ‘The brands count for so much on the world stage. If you look at the contribution of these designer goods as a percentage of your GDP, then the investment in expensive advertising campaigns really starts to make sense, especially with the burgeoning demand in Asia. The luxury sector represents a huge opportunity for Italy. That’s why your new minister’s tax policy seems to be sensible,’ she added, smiling sweetly.
Roberto nodded, impressed. ‘Is your business in Peru for an Italian campaign?’ he asked.
Romy felt her cheeks burning. ‘No, it’s for British Airways.’
‘Ah, we never use them, if we can help it,’ Roberto said, his eyes meeting Romy’s for just a second. But in that split second of silence, when she should have defended herself and her career, she smiled meekly and Roberto nodded, clearly taking her reaction as some sort of decision.
Romy looked at Alfonso. ‘We’ll talk about it later,’ she whispered, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.
Then Maria brought out the dish of spiced pumpkin pasta that she and Romy had made that morning, and the conversation moved on. She listened to Roberto tell Franco about his meeting last weekend in Vienna and how he’d bumped into Thea Maddox. Her name rang a bell. Hadn’t that PR girl, Bridget, mentioned her once? Wasn’t she from the Maddox corporation?
‘She’s certainly a good-looking girl,’ he said, with a chuckle, ‘but she’ll never amount to much. The Americans are too hard-nosed for the likes of her.’
‘He had a son, though? Maddox?’ Franco checked.
Roberto nodded and said something Romy didn’t catch, but she felt Alfonso stiffen. It was clear that his father assumed that Maddox’s empire must be safe in the hands of his son, but not in the hands of his daughter, and Romy caught the inference. Roberto was very clear in his desire for Alfonso to join the family business – sooner rather than later.
Of course, Alfonso had mentioned it before – his father’s insistence on the Scolari business being passed from father to son – but Romy hadn’t really thought it was very serious until now. As far as she knew, Alfonso was focused on his driving career for the foreseeable future, but Roberto and Franco didn’t seem to share that view. And as they tried to draw Alfonso into talking about business, Romy could feel him getting more and more wound up.
She took the first chance she could to leave the table and join Alfonso in the kitchen after the main course. So much for not eating too much before the campaign.
‘So what’s the story with you and Franco?’ she asked.
‘Nothing.’
‘Really? You seem very annoyed by him. I thought he was supposed to be an old family friend?’
Alfonso looked bashful, then he puffed out his cheeks. ‘If you must know, there’s history between me and him.’
‘What kind of history?’
‘Just . . . there was a thing between me and his daughter once.’
‘He broke her heart,’ Flavia chipped in, piling the plates up on the counter. ‘She’s never got over it. Neither has her father.’
Romy stared at Alfonso, who looked embarrassed at being exposed by his sister.
‘It wasn’t my fault.’
‘What? Someone forced you to be unfaithful, did they?’ Flavia asked, enjoying her brother’s discomfort.
‘Will you leave me alone,’ Alfonso said, flicking her with a tea towel. ‘I had to get out of it. I couldn’t have lived with that . . . ’ He gave Flavia a knowing look, then added to Romy, ‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘You couldn’t have lived with what?’ Romy asked.
Alfonso shrugged. ‘She had big nose, OK?’ he said, looking at Flavia and Romy. ‘Now leave me alone,’ he told Flavia, before grabbing Romy’s hand and pulling her out through the door.
He didn’t stop, running with her through the gap in the box hedges towards the far vegetable garden.
‘Hey, wait up,’ she said. ‘Where are we going? There’s still dessert.’
‘I’m fed up with them,’ Alfonso said, ‘and all their boring talk of business. I just want to be alone with you.’
Romy stepped forward and put her hand on his face. ‘What’s wrong. Why are you so upset?’
‘Angelica Moretti was the reason I left in the first place. I just felt they were forcing me into something I didn’t want to do. So I broke off the engagement.’
‘You were engaged?’ Romy asked. She was surprised by how jealous the news made her feel.
‘So shoot me,’ Alfonso said, throwing out his arms. Then he marched off.
‘Where are you going?’ she asked, following him.
‘To get away,’ he answered.
‘Hey,’ she said. ‘Don’t take it out on me
. I didn’t know about it, that’s all. I don’t care. It’s nothing to do with me.’
‘I told you when we met that I don’t like discussing the past,’ he said.
‘But maybe we should, if stuff is going to come up,’ she said. ‘Especially if it’s going to upset you.’
He stopped and turned to her.
‘OK then, let’s do this. Tell me, what’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?’ he demanded.
Romy felt the colour rise in her cheeks. Earlier in Maria’s kitchen she’d felt compelled to tell the truth, but now, out here, she felt on slippery ground. There was no way she could tell Alfonso any of the truth about her past. Besides, her gut instinct told her that he wasn’t really upset about the past at all, but about the future. He was reacting like this because he didn’t want her to leave.
‘I smacked another model once,’ she told him. ‘I got into big trouble for that.’
‘But she deserved it, right?’
‘Absolutely.’ She paused, biting her lip. ‘And what about you?’ she asked.
‘OK, so I’ll admit it to you – there have been many women. But I don’t regret it. If I were to tell you about them all . . . ’
‘What?’
‘You’d be jealous.’
‘How do you know I’d be jealous?’
‘You’re a woman.’
‘I see.’
He checked for her reaction. ‘All I’m saying,’ he clarified, ‘is that it’s best if we don’t discuss our sordid pasts. They are not relevant to us. Agreed?’
‘Fine by me,’ Romy replied.
‘Come on then. I have to show you this,’ Alfonso said.
He grabbed her hand and set off at speed again. He pulled her down the path through the garden, Romy’s senses filling with the scent of night jasmine, as she tried to process this latest exchange.
She wished she could stop, go back, clarify what had just passed between them, but as usual Alfonso was speeding ahead, moving on, always racing, racing. He would always be like that. So what if he’d shut the door on his past and didn’t want to discuss it with her? After all, wasn’t that just what she’d always done?
He was right, Romy decided. They shouldn’t discuss it. Any of it. Any of the dark secrets that haunted her at night. They were the past. What relevance did they have to her now? In the warm night air Romy felt exhilaration rushing through her as she ran to keep up. Alfonso had set her free. Free of her past. And it felt wonderful.
They came to a wall at the end with a gate in it and Alfonso opened it for Romy to let her pass.
They walked on in silence, until the trees gave way to a field and farm buildings in the distance.
‘Where are we going?’ Romy asked, but Alfonso just tugged at her hand.
‘Nearly there,’ he said, their shadows long in the tall grass.
They stopped by the trees and he pushed aside a branch for her to step through. On the other side, the land fell away and the view over the valley was breathtaking, the ancient town on the hilltop opposite shrouded in shadows from the huge orange-yellow moon low in the sky behind them.
An owl hooted. She watched the headlights of a car snaking up the hairpin bends to the town in the distance, blasting tunnels of silver onto the mauve hills. She stared up at the stars twinkling close above them. She’d never been somewhere so magical.
‘I had my first fight there,’ Alfonso said, pointing down towards the bottom of the field.
‘Did you win?’
‘No. They were much bigger than me. But then I beat them in a go-kart race.’
Romy had a sudden image of him as a small boy and how he must have been, and her heart contracted with love.
‘Romy, don’t go tomorrow,’ he said.
‘But I have to. I promised.’
‘Then unpromise. Stay here. With me. I will talk to Nico. I will explain why he can’t have you.’
He put his arms around her, then leant forward and kissed her.
‘And why’s that?’ she asked.
‘I have something I want to ask you, and I can’t ask you if you go.’
‘You can ask me anything,’ she said. ‘Why not now?’
‘Because I want to ask you to marry me,’ he said. ‘In fact, what am I waiting for? I am asking you to marry me. I love you like crazy, Romy. So will you? Will you be my wife?’
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
February 2000
Thea was enjoying the drive north from the airport in Cape Town. After the snow in Manhattan, this Mediterranean climate in South Africa was wonderful. She checked the map on the passenger’s seat once again, but she was still heading in the right direction towards the Franschhoek valley to the west of Stellenbosch.
As she pressed the button on the tortoiseshell dashboard, the roof of the Porsche glided up and away. Then, making sure her iPod was docked properly, she turned up the playlist, her favourite Oasis song ‘Wonderwall’ coming on, reminding her of her old friend Ollie from college, who’d been into that whole Britpop scene. She remembered the mews house they’d shared in Chelsea and how he’d played Blur all the time.
She wondered what he was doing now. The last she’d seen of him was when she’d seen him in Blood Brothers in the West End a few years ago, when she’d been on a short stopover in London. She’d meant to go backstage and congratulate him, but she’d been crying so hard by the end that she’d had to hail a cab back to her hotel.
But there was nothing wrong with feeling nostalgic, she thought. Not today. Not when she was finally here and on her way to see Johnny.
She felt a buzz of excitement, wondering how her surprise visit would turn out. She’d thought about writing to Johnny many times, but she’d been so busy and, as the months had gone on and his address on a Post-it note in her leather organizer had started to annoy her, she’d booked a flight on a whim and decided to surprise him. That way Johnny wouldn’t be able to make a fuss of her or, worse, make an excuse not to see her. And with a long-overdue week of holiday in her diary, Thea couldn’t think of a better place to come than South Africa.
She’d read that the Leveaux estate was amongst the spooky-sounding Drakenstein Mountains, but as the afternoon sun started bathing everything in a golden glow, Thea couldn’t help but think what a lovely place this was. As she arrived in the foothills, she knew she ought to carry on and check into the nearby Stellenbosch Country Club, but when she saw a sign for the Leveaux place, she was so excited that she decided to go there straight away.
As she turned off the main road, the private road to the estate was shaded with trees, just like the driveway to Little Elms had been, Thea thought. Glossy brown stallions cantered next to her in the green fields. Further up the slopes, rows of vines stood out in neat rows. According to what she’d found on the Internet, Marcel Leveaux had cultivated the upper slopes of the ranch into a vineyard as a hobby, seven years ago, but the wines were receiving so much attention that they’d become almost as famous as the stud-farm his wife ran.
Way ahead in the distance were brick buildings that were painted a bright white, but with the clock tower above, they looked as reverential as a church against the green fields and slopes. They must be the stables, she thought.
Thea parked in the car park near the white ranch building and stepped out of the car, feeling immediately hot and uncomfortable in her jeans. She shielded her eyes against the glare of the low sun and, looking round at the ranch, felt her heart fluttering with nerves.
She’d called ahead and said she was from a feed company and would be dropping in, so she knew that Johnny would be here, but now she wondered whether this really would be the surprise reunion she hoped for. Well, I’ll see soon enough how he’s going to react, she thought, plaiting her hair as she walked towards a man on the stoop to ask him for help.
Johnny Faraday was inside the stables, leading a glossy black stallion that was at least seventeen and a half hands high over the hay-strewn floor. Thea stood in the doorway, watching as he finished
brushing the beast’s impressive flank, before producing an apple from the pocket of his green jacket and talking quietly, as the horse gently nuzzled it from his hand.
Well, well, well, Johnny Faraday hadn’t changed at all, Thea thought, recognizing his manner with horses, as if she’d been with him in the stables only yesterday. It had been fifteen years since she’d seen him last, she realized, but the years had been kind. Johnny’s tanned face was more lined, but just as she remembered it.
He stopped when he saw her standing in the doorway. He raised his hat, then wiped his forehead on the back of his hand. It was another so-familiar gesture that it made a small laugh bubble up inside Thea. She saw him looking at her, trying to make the connection, trying to work out why he recognized her. She bit her lip as he walked over to her.
‘Thea?’ Johnny said, as if he could hardly believe his eyes.
‘Surprise,’ she said, with a shrug.
‘Oh, my . . . ’ Johnny said.
And as he burst into laughter and hugged her, Thea realized that it had all been worth it. The insecurity of coming here – all her doubts. She should have known everything would be all right.
It wasn’t long before Thea felt as if she’d been at Leveaux for days rather than hours. She happily agreed as Johnny offered to take her up to the vineyards for a wine-tasting, keen to show off the place now that she was here.
There was a small restaurant at the wine cellar, and soon Thea and Johnny were sitting on the wooden veranda with several tasting glasses, sampling a board of the house snacks that were selected to go with the wines.
Way below, the paddocks were fading into the cool evening. Thea sipped the delicious Sauvignon Blanc and sighed. She licked her fingers, having just enjoyed a delicious mouthful of cheese on crusty French bread.
‘Do you remember the jumps in the paddock in Little Elms?’ she asked Johnny. ‘I can remember every detail as if it were yesterday.’
‘You were so competitive,’ Johnny laughed. ‘You did it all to impress Michael.’