The Temptation of Gracie

by Santa Montefiore

  ‘You must be Mrs Burton,’ she said in a thick Italian accent, taking Gracie’s trembling hand in her big, squidgy one and squeezing it gently. ‘I am Ilaria, Mamma Bernadetta’s daughter, and I am here to welcome you to Castello Montefosco. You must be Mrs Cavendish and you,’ she said, smiling broadly at Anastasia, ‘Miss Cavendish.’ Her energy was so effervescent that Carina and Anastasia felt immediately restored.

  ‘Do call us by our first names,’ said Carina graciously. ‘Gracie, Carina and Anastasia.’

  ‘What beautiful names. Now, you must be hungry.’ Ilaria laughed. ‘We are always hungry in the Castello. But there is food and plenty of it.’ She gesticulated to her fulsome body restrained behind the fabric of her black dress. ‘Do I look like a woman who holds back at the dinner table? Now, come, I have cooked a delicious pasta for you. It is Mamma Bernadetta’s own recipe and you will learn how to cook it yourselves tomorrow. Let me give you a feast now so that you sleep well, no?’

  Gracie would have preferred to hide in her room, but she followed Ilaria through the castle to the dining room, propelled by a growing sense of curiosity and wonder. It was just as it used to be. It even smelt the same, of ancient walls and lavender. There was even lavender beneath her feet and every step she took released another whiff of perfume.

  They were shown into a big room with a high, vaulted ceiling, two sets of large double doors and a vast tapestry that took up the entire opposite wall. At the far end was a fireplace obscured by a vast round pot of red geraniums, for it was April and there was no need to light a fire. In the middle of the room was a long table and sitting around the table was a group of people drinking wine and eating Mamma Bernadetta’s pasta. The pasta must have been good because no one was talking.

  ‘Don’t get up or move from your delicious pasta,’ Ilaria exclaimed, patting down the air with her hands to make sure they all remained in their seats. ‘May I introduce Gracie, Carina and Anastasia. They have just arrived from London and are very hungry.’ She pulled out a chair and helped Gracie sit down. Carina’s spirits were much restored by the sight of the wine bottles and Anastasia by the handsome young man at the other side of the table who was looking at her with interest. Ilaria proceeded to walk around the table introducing everyone. She clearly had an astonishing memory and loved to flaunt it. ‘This charming man is called Rex Bryce,’ she said, putting her hands on the shoulders of a man who looked about the same age as Gracie. ‘Rex is from California where he owns a beautiful ranch and produces wine. I think he has very good taste in wine because he has given our wine ten out of ten for excellence. Now this trio of lovely ladies are from Manchester,’ she said, moving on to the young woman with dyed blonde hair, long purple nail extensions and a deep tan, who was sitting on Rex’s left. ‘This is Wendy Knowles,’ she announced. ‘And this is Tiff Beale,’ she added, touching the shoulder of the girl beside Wendy who had very short auburn hair and was wearing a grey V-neck T-shirt with the word ‘Whatever’ emblazoned across the front in silver glitter. ‘And the third of the trio is this lovely creature with angel hair. She is called Brigitte Dunne and don’t call her Bridget unless you want a black eye. We do not like black eyes at Castello Montefosco!’ Brigitte’s ash-blonde locks almost reached down to her small waist. She wore a crop top with a big picture of a bee appliquéd above her breasts, exposing a tanned stomach and the occasional glimpse of a pierced tummy button. ‘They have left their husbands behind to starve while they eat like queens. But fear not, their husbands will grow fat when they return home and cook them the delicious recipes they have learned from Mamma Bernadetta.’ The three young women glanced at each other and laughed with the readiness of people who laughed often and mostly at themselves. Then Ilaria put her hands on the shoulders of the young man who had been looking at Anastasia. ‘And this handsome and charming boy is called Alex Strauss-Jones and he has come with his mother, a little reluctantly he has admitted, because his mother Lauren, who is over there’ – she pointed at Lauren who winced and gave an embarrassed smile – ‘was meant to come with a friend but the naughty friend let her down at the last minute, so Alex has come in her place, rescuing his mother like a knight in shining armour. They are American but they live in London. And lastly, but not least, is beautiful Madeleine who is from Belgium. Her husband, the poor man, is very hungry because Madeleine does not feed him at all. So, she has come to learn how to cook so she can make her husband happy. I can promise you, my dear, that your husband will be very happy when you return home and cook him all of Mamma Bernadetta’s recipes. I make a deal with you. If, after a week, he is still thin and hungry, I will give you your money back.’ Everyone laughed. ‘You have all arrived today, very punctually I might add, and I welcome you on behalf of Count Tancredi Bassanelli. We hope you will enjoy his home and treat it like your home for the duration of your stay. Nothing is out of bounds except the top floor, which is the private apartment of the count. Now eat! And enjoy! Eating and enjoying are the two most important ingredients for your stay at the castle.’

  Carina had already helped herself to wine, because it didn’t seem to be the sort of place where waiters hovered to serve the guests, and she was now feeling quite sociable. She resolved not to touch the pasta or the bread, but she would eat the salad which looked as appetising as a salad could look. Anastasia tucked into her pasta and revived instantly like a wilted flower that is given water. Gracie, who never drew attention to herself and certainly didn’t expect anyone to give her any, sat quietly, sipping her wine and eating the pasta, which was a classic tomato and basil recipe, but far tastier than anything one would find at home, and listened to the conversations around the table.

  The three girlfriends, Wendy, Tiff and Brigitte, were very excitable. They appeared to be in their early thirties and were clearly thrilled to be there. They chatted away without inhibition, fuelled by large glasses of wine, cigarettes (which they left the table to smoke on the terrace), and a general exuberance, telling the guests all about themselves and infecting them with their irrepressible joie de vivre. The old man, Rex, was quiet like Gracie, and listened to the girls’ chatter with an amused look. He had a wise face, Gracie thought, the kind that reflected a patient and philosophical nature. He wore a khaki safari jacket with lots of pockets, an open-neck blue shirt, which emphasised his bright, china-blue eyes, and suggested, from the deep crow’s feet at his temples, many a hot day squinting into the sun.

  Madeleine, it transpired, was from the Flemish side of Belgium. Indisputably beautiful with lustrous sugar-brown hair to her shoulders, radiant, suntanned skin and a friendly, open face, she looked like she was in her early fifties but Gracie deduced from her hands that she was probably ten years older. She sensed, too, a strong character in the determined line of her jaw and in the strength of her features, but she was gracious enough to hold back and allow the younger women to take centre stage, watching them with her green cat’s eyes and clearly enjoying their banter. Lauren had begun to talk to Carina. They looked about the same age and the same sort. Gracie predicted they’d make good friends and was relieved that Carina might find a kindred spirit and consider the effort of coming to Italy worthwhile. Lauren’s son Alex kept looking at Anastasia, which didn’t surprise Gracie in the least. He had scruffy brown hair, striking grey eyes and an intelligent, alert expression. She wondered whether Anastasia would find him attractive. Anastasia seemed too engrossed in her food right now to notice, or perhaps she was just playing it cool.

  Dinner was soon over. No one had spoken to Gracie, other than to welcome her, which was a relief because she wanted to be left alone to tackle her memories, which were stirring from their long sleep and coming at her out of the shadows. Ilaria and the young man who had carried their bags into the hall showed the guests to their rooms. Carina and Anastasia were together in a spacious bedroom with twin beds, brightly coloured quilts and shuttered windows.

  Once in the privacy of her bedroom Carina called Rufus. ‘We’ve arrived,’ she announced, si
nking onto the bed. ‘And the Wi-Fi works beautifully so I don’t have to be out of touch. Such a relief!’ Anastasia took a selfie, making sure Carina was in the picture, and posted it on her Facebook site above the caption: Sharing a room with Mother! LOL.

  Gracie was next door, in a similar room. As soon as she was alone she threw open the shutters. The walls were thick and she leaned on the sill, closed her eyes and breathed in the scents of the garden. She could smell the grass, the pine and the lavender. The night was dark but the creatures were busy for there were rustlings in the undergrowth and the chirruping of crickets was loud and constant. She longed to lie on the lawn and look up at the stars.

  As she inhaled the night air Gracie began to feel a tingling inside her body, down every limb, right to her fingertips and toes, as if she was becoming aware of the inner self that remained always the same, untouched by time. It was only the outside that had changed, she realised; her skin that had aged, her bones that had grown brittle, her hair that had lost its lustre. Inside she hadn’t changed at all. She was still Gracie.

  The following morning Carina opened her eyes to small beams of light leaking through the gaps in the wooden shutters. She watched them a moment as they caught little specks of dust and made them glitter. The sight was mesmerising and it was a long moment before she remembered where she was.

  Her first thought was of the office and she panicked that she might have overslept and missed something important, but then she remembered that Italy was an hour ahead, which gave her some breathing space. She turned over and reached for her phone. It was only eight-thirty. She gave a sigh of relief and turned her attention back to the specks of dust and was lost once more in their hypnotic dancing.

  Anastasia stirred in the next-door bed. Like all teenagers, if Carina left her to sleep she would not emerge until lunchtime. Aware that they had a cookery lesson to attend, which wasn’t Carina’s idea of holiday fun – she’d rather have lain by a pool in her bikini – she climbed out of bed and went to open the shutters. It was then that she heard the chorus of tweeting. It was loud and vibrant and didn’t sound real, Carina thought. It sounded like those meditation tracks therapists put on during massage treatments in spas. She pushed open the shutters. The light was so bright she had to shield her eyes.

  ‘Mum!’ came a cry from the bed behind her. ‘I’m sleeping!’

  Carina didn’t respond. She was staring at the most beautiful sight she thought she had ever seen. Everywhere she looked there were flowers. Heaps of purple bougainvillea, cascades of white and pink roses, indecently large gardenia bushes, and the smell, oh the smell, it was heavenly. Beyond the cypress trees and umbrella pines were hills, roly-poly velour hills and lush valleys, disappearing into the mist as far as the eye could see. The sight of such splendour caused something to snag inside Carina’s chest. She put her hand there and sighed. A long, drawn-out sigh. The sort of sigh she never had time for in London. But now she inhaled deeply and let out a groan, which disturbed the sleeping Anastasia and induced her to demand again that her mother close the shutters.

  Carina ignored her. She stood at the window and savoured the view and the bouquet of smells rising to her window from the garden below. The sun was warm on her skin, penetrating her chest and filling the place where the snag had now become a gentle tug. Oh, she had missed this, she thought to herself. Living in a damp, grey city, she had missed colour and sunshine and beauty; yes, she had missed beauty. For the while that she stood there she did not think about the office, or her clients, or anything else. She relished the glory in front of her which had hijacked her senses and caused tears to sting her eyes. And she did not want it to stop.

  Carina had been standing there quietly for some time when Anastasia joined her sleepily. ‘I’m hungry,’ she complained and then she looked out of the window. ‘Wow, this place is awesome!’ she said, waking up with a jolt. ‘Clever Granny to have found it.’

  ‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ said Carina.

  ‘Let’s go to breakfast,’ Anastasia urged. ‘Do you think they’ll have pancakes?’

  Chapter 6

  When Gracie came to their room, Carina and Anastasia were ready. Carina noticed at once that her mother’s cheeks were pink and her eyes were bright. In fact, her eyes were strikingly pretty, Carina thought. A good night’s sleep had clearly done her the world of good. She looked very different from the pale and fragile woman she had been the day before. ‘Have you seen the view?’ Gracie asked.

  Carina smiled in rapture. ‘It’s paradise,’ she replied.

  Anastasia nudged her mother. ‘Come on, Mum. I’m starving.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Gracie and she followed her daughter and granddaughter down the corridor towards the smell of freshly baked pastries wafting up from the dining room downstairs.

  A buffet was set up on the table where they had eaten dinner the night before, but the pair of double doors were now wide open, leading out onto a wide terrace where some of the guests were already enjoying breakfast. Terracotta pots of red geraniums were placed at intervals along the top of the balustrade, and jasmine and rose entwined playfully as they climbed the castle wall. The three women walked out to find a table and discovered that it was not only they who had been affected by the beauty of Castello Montefosco. Madeleine, the Belgian, looked up from her coffee cup and smiled cheerfully, showing off a set of dazzling white teeth. ‘Isn’t it a stunning morning,’ she said in a thick Flemish accent, which reminded Gracie of her mother. ‘I feel like a new person today.’ At another table Alex, the handsome young man who had come with his mother, was spreading jam onto a croissant.

  ‘I can highly recommend the buffet,’ he said. ‘It’s hard to restrain oneself!’ He smiled at Anastasia and she smiled back shyly, but said nothing. He looked older than the boys she was used to.

  ‘Why don’t you go and take a look,’ Carina suggested to Anastasia. Gracie noticed the young man’s indecision while his knife hovered over his croissant. He looked as if he was about to accompany her but then thought better of it.

  As Lauren appeared with a bowl of fruit Gracie slipped away to find a table. Like everyone else, Lauren had been touched by the magic. Her eyes gleamed and her smile was that of someone who has slept deeply and woken to find that her cares amount to nothing. ‘How did you sleep?’ she asked Carina. ‘I haven’t slept so well in years!’

  ‘Wonderfully well,’ Carina replied. ‘That looks good,’ she added, glancing at Lauren’s breakfast.

  ‘Ilaria has just been telling me that they grow all their own fruit and vegetables here at the Castello, and raise their own poultry and pigs. She says we can wander around the herb garden later and pet the animals. Isn’t it glorious!’

  ‘I don’t know how I’m going to resist the carbs,’ said Carina, pulling a face.

  ‘Me neither,’ Lauren agreed and it was apparent to both women that they had found a kindred spirit in their fight against carbohydrates.

  ‘But we will,’ Carina said firmly. ‘We can give each other strength.’ The two women laughed and Carina was thrilled to have found a soulmate. She hadn’t expected that. She had expected to be bored by a lot of elderly people.

  Carina stopped to talk to Rex, who was at a table on his own, drinking coffee and reading the news on his iPad. ‘I feel like I’ve woken up in heaven,’ he said.

  ‘But then you read the news!’ Carina replied with a grin.

  Rex frowned and put his iPad down. ‘You’re right. I’m not going to switch it on again.’ He turned his eyes to the hills and sighed, as if expelling the negativity he’d just absorbed. ‘I’m going to tune out and enjoy the view. And what a spectacular view it is too.’ Carina had barely noticed him the evening before, but with thick silver hair and a wide face he was undoubtedly handsome. The deep lines that fanned into his temples were attractive and his eyes were startlingly blue, like Spode china. She imagined him galloping across the plains on his ranch in America, which gave him a Paul Newman kind of glamour. He must h
ave been a real ladies’ man when he was young, she thought.

  She joined her mother, who had already chosen a table and was sitting gazing at the view with a beatific smile on her face. A moment later the young man who had taken their luggage and showed them to their room the evening before appeared to ask if they would like tea or coffee. Carina asked for a double espresso and Gracie a cup of tea with milk. When Anastasia returned with a plate full of pastries, she informed them that the young man was Carlo. ‘It’s a family business,’ she said, sitting down and placing her phone on the table in front of her.

  ‘But where is the count?’ Carina asked. She made it her business in London to meet the important people, she might as well do the same here. Gracie dropped her gaze. ‘I’ll ask Ilaria when we’re going to meet him,’ Carina continued. ‘He must greet his guests, surely?’

  At that moment the three Manchester ladies spilled onto the terrace in a flurry of squeals and laughter. ‘They’re drunk on beauty,’ said Gracie and Carina laughed. Anastasia grinned, unused to this new, lighter version of her mother.

  ‘I think we all are,’ Carina agreed.

  While they enjoyed breakfast, Anastasia took photographs and posted them on her Facebook site. Carina sent off some emails. Gracie just enjoyed the panorama. She didn’t want to be anywhere else in the world but here.

  After breakfast they were shown to the kitchen where Mamma Bernadetta awaited them. The room itself was as old as the castle, but it had evidently been modernised for the business of the cookery school. In the middle was a large island with a white marble surface. On the marble were ten clipboards with paper, ten pencils and ten white aprons embroidered in red with the words Mamma Bernadetta’s Cookery School and ten white stools placed around it.