From Italy With Love

by Jules Wake

  ‘Well that was the weirdest funeral I’ve ever been to,’ exhaled Robert as soon as they stepped out of the church and into the privacy of the shade of the cedars outside.

  His mouth wrinkled in a line of displeasure. ‘And I can’t believe you did that.’

  She sighed. Neither could she.

  Meatloaf’s song had not been written for the organ – that was for sure. Certainly an interesting interpretation. The guy beside them had thought so too, although if he hadn’t started laughing first, she could have held out a bit longer.

  ‘I don’t think anyone else realised,’ he eyed her sombrely, ‘and they say grief does funny things to people.’ He gave her a swift pat on the shoulder. ‘It’s over now. We won’t stay too long at the wake. I suppose we have to go, though I’m not sure it matters.’ He gave a disapproving look around at the people who were all talking a storm.

  She followed his gaze, the two of them tucked away in the shadows away from the main event. For a moment it was like staring down a tunnel at another world, one she was long divorced from. An echo of a former life. Gaudily clad women danced and flitted here, there and everywhere resembling brilliant butterflies. They all seemed to know each other and had no inhibitions greeting and kissing with grace and ease, several times on either cheek, as if sliding into a dance and knowing all the moves – two kisses, three kisses, even four kisses. Everyone seemed instinctively to know the rules. Knowing her, she’d get it wrong and end up in an awkward embrace with a misplaced kiss right on the smacker.

  She huddled closer to Robert.

  ‘We don’t have to go, if you don’t want to, although it would look a bit odd. You seem to be his only living blood relative … here.’ His mouth turned downwards in blatant disapproval. ‘You’d have thought your mother would have made the effort for her own brother.’

  Laurie hugged his arm to her, grateful for his support and ignored a twinge of irritation. Although she felt relieved her mother hadn’t turned up; Robert had never met her.

  Across the crematorium, she caught sight of her fellow conspirator. The sun glinted down on his dark glossy hair, firing up chestnut highlights but his attractiveness was enhanced by the memory of the laughter lines crinkling around those deep blue eyes as he’d tried to hold back his amusement. He scanned the crowd, but his gaze skipped right past her before he returned his attention to the older couple standing with him, bending his head and listening intently.

  ‘Wow.’ Robert voiced his astonishment as he steered through a pair of imposing gate posts and pulled up in front of the house, the circular driveway already ten deep in cars.

  As Laurie looked up at the house, Merryview, a breath caught in her throat and without warning tears welled up. A shocking pull of homesickness tugged at her. If only Miles had told her he was dying. She wouldn’t have stayed away. For a moment she gazed at the house, taking in the sun glinting in the leaded windows and the lichen-stained roof skimming the windows of the upper floor. It felt as if she’d come home. Her eyes traced the progress of the branches of wisteria, tracking across the east side of the house, framing the lower windows.

  ‘You never said your Uncle was rolling in it.’ The words were loaded with accusation as if the information had been deliberately withheld.

  She shrugged. ‘I suppose.’ She’d spent so much time here when she was younger, it hadn’t occurred to her to talk about the size of the house.

  He glanced at her, his eyes suddenly intent. ‘Do you think there’ll be a reading of the will?’

  Robert’s question surprised her.

  ‘Do they still do that sort of thing? I thought it was just in books and films.’

  ‘Would make sense, if all the family is gathered together at one time.’

  ‘Knowing Miles, he would have told them all already.’

  ‘Them? What about you? You’re a blood relative.’

  Laurie swatted a fly away from her face with an irritable wave. ‘I’ve got no expectation from Miles, I haven’t seen him for …’ Guilt stabbed her. She should have seen him. All the excuses in the world didn’t justify her absence.

  ‘What did he do? Apart from constantly sending those crappy postcards.’

  A good question and Laurie couldn’t help but smile. What didn’t he do? Dilettante, bon viveur, raconteur. He’d played a bit of cricket for England, done some commentary, raced fast cars, and collected expensive wine and classic cars. She had no idea how he’d come by his money but he’d certainly known how to spend it.

  ‘Wheeling and dealing,’ she laughed, repeating Miles’ words. Only now did she get it. He’d meant it quite literally.

  Robert’s mouth wrinkled in displeasure. For a brief disloyal moment, it reminded her of a prune. Unfair; he just liked things to be clear-cut and precise. He didn’t do riddles. Regret pinched at her. He probably wouldn’t have got on terribly well with Uncle Miles.

  ‘He bought and sold classic cars. He would take commissions from wealthy people to go and find a specific classic car. You know … the last Ferrari designed by Enzo.’

  Robert looked even blanker. Of course he did.

  ‘Enzo as in Enzo Ferrari.’

  She’d forgotten she even knew that. Like pinpricks of light through dark cloth, snippets of knowledge lit up her memory. Dots suddenly joined in ever-expanding memories. Facts she’d forgotten she knew. How could she have forgotten how much time she’d spent here in the holidays as a child? During the battleground of her parents’ divorce this had been her second home.

  ‘Oh,’ Robert sounded distant. ‘Do you want to lead the way?

  Stepping over the threshold was like snagging the trip wire of a booby trap, and a thousand more memories exploded in her head. In some ways nothing had changed in the huge airy entrance hall. Dappled sunlight still poured through the bank of leaded windows, just as it had every summer when she’d come to stay. The wicker baskets filled with piles of traditional green Hunter wellies; a size in there for everyone. The solid dark oak staircase looked as formidable as ever, the burgundy patterned carpet snaking down the middle held in place by brass stair-rods. The sight of the stack of Racing Posts, so high an avalanche was surely imminent, brought memories tumbling, stirring a lump in her throat almost choking her.

  For a moment she could hear the sound of hooves thundering down on turf. York Races, just down the road. She’d forgotten that. The memory crystalized in her mind bringing with it the smell of horses, the crowd roaring on their favourite and the magpie chatter of touts shouting their odds. For a moment she faltered, as if caught between two worlds and then became aware of her surroundings.

  An impassive waiter guarded the entrance to the grand hall, balancing a tray of wines, champagne in tall flutes, white in cut crystal and red in glass balloon goblets.

  At least she could guarantee the quality of the wine today. When was the last time she’d tasted decent wine? Taking a glass from the waiter, she motioned to Robert to join her. He was still taking in the hall.

  ‘Are you sure you want that? It’s a big glass. Drinking at lunch time? Is that wise?’

  ‘Probably not but what the hell … it’ll be good. I guarantee it.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Definitely. Miles knew a thing or two about wine. Taste it.’ She took a deep sniff, poking her nose right into the glass and then swirled the wine around.

  Robert pulled a face, making it quite clear he thought she was being pretentious, and took a tentative sip. His brows drew together and begrudgingly he said, ‘Very nice.’

  ‘Chateau Lafite. ’64.’ She had no idea how she knew that but she just did and although she didn’t mean to sound smug, she couldn’t help the small flicker of pride that she knew what it was.

  ‘’64 eh? Yeah right, Laurie. More like Tesco’s finest.’

  ‘No, it is.’

  A sceptical expression crossed his face. ‘What do you know about wine?’ he scoffed.

  Her brief moment of confidence faded for a second before
reasserting itself. ‘It was Miles’ favourite.’

  ‘Ah, so you don’t know for sure. You’re just guessing.’

  She faltered; maybe she was. See, that’s what showing off did for you. It had been a long time. It probably wasn’t the ’64, although she did think it was Chateau Lafite. She took another healthy slurp, savouring the gorgeous rich berry flavour. Definitely had that distinctive earthiness to it.

  ‘She’s right, actually.’ The deep, gravelled voice belonged to Mr Handsome from the church. The brief wink he shot her as he lifted a glass from the tray turned her stomach inside out. Blood rushed to her face and she prayed she wasn’t blushing. Just those movie-star good looks − they were overwhelming, that was all. With an ironic toast he took a cheerful glug and disappeared into the crowded room beyond.

  As he walked off her eyes were drawn to his long lean figure, his butt outlined in well-fitting denim.

  ‘Tosser,’ said Robert, shaking his head. ‘Bet he knows even less about wine than you do. Come on, I hope there’s some food to soak it up.’ He put his arm across her shoulders and steered her into the crowded room.

  She’d definitely drunk more wine than was sensible on an empty stomach but hadn’t been able to help herself and even now the third glass slipped down far too nicely. It had been lovely catching up with Penny, Livia and Janine and sharing lots of happy memories which she’d completely buried. Robert kept flashing her questioning looks across the room, as if she’d turned into some raving alcoholic, but luckily he’d been cornered by Norah pressing more sausage rolls on him.

  She smiled to herself, taking another sip of the Lafite. Sophisticated in the wine department, yes, but Uncle Miles had had a decided preference for proper man food. His rants on vegetarians were as legendary as his views on eating salad, which he likened to committing food crime. She could imagine he’d been quite specific about today’s menu, judging from the sideboard running the length of the dining room loaded with plates of good old-fashioned Cornish pasties, the pastry glistening with egg glaze, pork pies sliced to reveal solid pink insides and flaky sausage rolls, crisp enough to scatter dust motes of crumbs in the air.

  The assembled glitzy gathering certainly seemed to be enjoying themselves from the sound of the animated buzz of chatter and laughter rippling through the room. Very Uncle Miles. Of course he’d want everyone to be happy. It seemed a lifetime ago that she’d stayed here, taking up residence every school holiday until that awful summer her mother left Dad. Then everything had changed. Dad wouldn’t let her come and stay anymore. He blamed Miles for encouraging her mother to hanker after this kind of lifestyle and for allowing her to meet the man she ran off with. Rather unfair, thought Laurie, as Dad knew as well as anyone what his wife was like. Laurie blamed Miles for something far worse.

  Overwhelmed by the bleakness of her memories, a sense of panic rose up. Without saying anything to Robert, who thankfully was engrossed in conversation with another couple, she let instinct guide her toward the door, weaving between the maze of outstretched hands bearing glasses and plates.

  Instead of turning left out of the salon to the nearest downstairs loo, a rather grand commode affair, she turned right and crossed the hallway passing the staircase and keeping a careful eye on her wine so as not to spill a precious drop. She’d forgotten the treat of a truly delicious wine.

  Tempted as she was to slip up the wide flat stairs, she walked past ignoring the impulse to check the polish on the banisters. Once, long ago, she’d helped to clean and polish the wood – by sliding down them a on a towel. Uncle Miles believed in multi-tasking long before it had become a universal catch phrase.

  She crossed the hallway, skirting the kitchen and ignoring the enticing smells of hot food. The sound of her footsteps on the flagstone floor was overpowered by the clatter of cutlery and the slamming of oven doors. Ducking through a series of wooden doorways, she passed the pantry, the laundry room and the mud room. The final door led out into the brick paved courtyard, the herringbone pattern embellished with vivid green moss.

  Despite the balmy air, to her relief, there was no one out here. It would’ve been easy to stay there taking deep steady breaths to push away the hangover of emotion but instead she was drawn to the stable block.

  The stables had been renovated with care to ensure that the essence of the house was retained. The wooden beams were still in place and the brickwork old, but huge, plate glass, modern windows replaced the draughty stable doors and the roof had been insulated to keep out the damp and the cold. High-tech security guarded the contents which replaced the old horse-power with the new – the engine. The key pad next to the heavy wooden door was a more recent model than she remembered.

  It wouldn’t be the end of the world if she didn’t go inside, she could still press her nose up against the windows and peer inside.

  Before she could get any closer she realised there was someone inside, a shadow moving with furtive purpose. The dark shape skimmed through the cars, their smooth aerodynamic shapes collected in the gloom, like a pod of exotic whales. The Aston Martin, a Rolls Royce Phantom, the Ferraris, a Lamborghini, she ticked off those she remembered. Her Uncle’s passion. The shadow stopped close to the plate glass at the end of the gallery, reaching up to the cupboard that she knew housed all the car keys. A beam of light pierced the dark like a lighthouse with a brief flash and then it clicked out as the shadow leaned into the cupboard and then withdrew again.

  The figure then moved back to one of the cars in the garage, circling an area, stopping periodically as if weighing something up like an art critic in a gallery. Laurie frowned and took a thoughtful sip of wine. If the person in there was supposed to be in there, why hadn’t they put on the lights? Should she raise the alarm? The collection was extremely valuable. But then whoever it was clearly knew the access and alarm codes.

  Hamstrung by indecision, she stepped back into the shrubbery which skirted the stables. She watched for what seemed like ages but the shadow, the height of which suggested male, stayed in the same part of the garage. It was difficult to see but as her eyes adjusted she could just make out a reverent hand being run over the bonnet of the car he’d appeared to have staked out. The car door was opened and whoever it was hunched down and eased into the drivers’ seat, leaving the door open.

  Who was in there and what were they up to? At the very moment she’d decided to slink back to the house, the man got out of the car, threw up his head and strode back through the other cars. Even without the ambient light that cast a quick strobe across his face Laurie recognised his silhouette, the mane of long curls, the broad shoulders and his loose limbed walk. As he carefully closed the door behind him, she heard the chink of keys as she watched him weigh them up in his hand before slipping them into his pocket.

  With nowhere to hide, she backed into the shadow and bumped into one of the wisteria branches trailing across the wall; there was an eggshell crack of fragile glass and she froze. A few shards of the handsome balloon tinkled on the floor leaving her holding the stem and the fractured glass. The tall shadow paused briefly and looked her way. She held her breath, her heart suddenly pounding. It felt so fierce that she could almost imagine he could hear it. Stupidly she closed her eyes as if shutting out his image might make her invisible. A mistake because then all she could focus on was the soft crunch of footsteps on the brick-paved ground and for a horrible moment she thought he was heading towards her. A pause. And then silence. If he could see her now, she’d look really weird with her eyes squeezed tightly shut but then if she opened them, she’d have to face him. Feeling more stupid and awkward than she ever had in her life, she kept her eyes shut. Just as the silence threatened to swallow her up, she heard his steps retreating as he turned back towards the house.

  Catching a breath, her relieved sigh puffed out into the night air. It would have been so embarrassing to be caught. And why couldn’t she have just called out hello? What a nice evening? Isn’t it hot inside? Instead she’d acted like
a complete idiot and made it look as if she were spying on him, like a horrid suspicious family member. People behaved badly when inheritance and money was at stake. She hated that he might think she was mercenary enough to worry about such things. Her mouth twisted, she knew all about probate and the murky things families thought when they believed they were owed something.

  Of course if he knew her, he’d have known she had no claim on Miles nor wanted anything from him, except perhaps for one last postcard. The incredibly valuable collection of cars and the properties scattered across the world would belong to her aunts now or once probate had been sorted. Miles was fair though, no doubt he’d sorted everything out to everyone’s satisfaction.

  ‘Enjoying the wine?’

  The voice interrupted her reverie and she stared up at him, her cheeks turning pink. She’d just managed to snag a new full glass of the Lafite, abandoning the broken one out of sight in the laundry room on her way back in. Had he heard that tell-tale tinkle of glass? Did he know it was her? Was he about to challenge her on it?

  He lifted an eyebrow while she struggled to think and speak before finally managing a squeaked, ‘Yes’.

  If only she could have come up with something wittier or clever to say. Ever since she’d followed him back indoors, her eyes kept straying towards him. The vibrant coloured shirt stood out in the room; it was impossible not to notice him. He seemed to know everyone and the women all seemed to know him. He’d charmed his way around the room.

  For a moment he held up his glass, tilting the wine in it in consideration. Any minute now he was going to say something. Her stomach clenched with nerves.