The Temptation of Gracie

by Santa Montefiore

  They had agreed to meet in the pool house. He had promised he would be there. He had said he would wait for her all night if he had to. As Anastasia hurried down the garden towards the pool, which was hidden away out of sight of the castle, she was too excited to notice the smell of damp grass and pine or to hear the gentle chirruping of crickets. The exhilaration of doing something very naughty made her want to laugh out loud.

  She scampered along the path of mown grass, between bushes of oleander and rose, and the water came into view, a silver mirror in the moonlight, reflecting the stars. The pool house was at the far end, a pretty stone pavilion which looked more like a romantic folly than a place for swimmers to change. She skipped over the paving stones, hoping he would be there. Then she smelt the smoke from his cigarette and her heart gave a little leap.

  The sultry young gardener sauntered out, leaned against the door frame and grinned crookedly. ‘You came,’ he said in a thick Italian accent that made her stomach flip over.

  ‘Did you doubt me, Giovanni?’ she asked, walking up to him. He threw his cigarette into the bushes and wound his arm around her waist, gazing into her eyes with his dark, smouldering ones.

  ‘I happy you came,’ he said in broken English and kissed her full on the mouth. Anastasia had only kissed boys at London parties. They were wet, clumsy kisses by boys with little experience. Giovanni knew how to kiss, how to really kiss, and Anastasia thought she might faint with pleasure. He was masterful, sensual and she put her arms around his neck and moaned.

  They didn’t talk much after that. Giovanni only spoke the most basic English. But it didn’t matter. They lay on the pool cover, which was folded up against the wall and served as a bed, and kissed. Indeed, they kissed all night in the semi-dark and only the silvery light that beamed in through the window knew how much. Giovanni took his time. There was no need to rush. They had until dawn. He slipped his hand beneath her sweater and felt her breasts and Anastasia’s breath snagged in her throat as the unfamiliar sensations took possession of her and made her wanton. Every touch was electrifying. It was as if his hands had a special power and she wanted them to cover her, every inch of her. He toyed with her lips, brushing them gently with his, teasing them with his tongue. He kissed her neck and her collarbone, licked the well at her throat and beneath her ears, and his fingers stroked their way up her thighs and onto her underwear – and she wanted them there – and parted her thighs invitingly. He whispered in Italian, which she didn’t understand, and slipped his fingers beneath her panties. ‘Come sei bella . . . amore mia . . . come sei bella . . . Tesoro . . .’ He caressed her with the sensuality of a man who has caressed many women. He knew how to arouse her and for Anastasia, who had only been groped by schoolboys, the feeling was exquisite. She did not, at that point, give him her virginity, but she gave him her heart. If he took care of that, she would happily give him the rest.

  The following morning, Carina awoke in a panic again. Had she overslept? Was she late for the office? Then she remembered where she was. Without thinking, she reached for her phone. Just as she was about to switch it on, she recalled her resolution. She stared at it, fighting the urge to look at her messages, struggling against her need to be in constant contact with her working world and her deep desire to maintain this feeling of serenity that Italy had given her. Her thumb hovered over the on button. What if she just had a quick look, and turned it off? Would that count? Just a sneaky, hasty, barely-at-all glance? But what if she couldn’t then turn it off? What if one of the messages required a response? She wouldn’t be able to ignore it then. One would inevitably lead to another and down the slippery slope she would so easily fall. She hated herself for her weakness and the tranquillity she had felt the day before began to fade, replaced by something dark and heavy. She removed her thumb. No, she wasn’t going to lose it. She gritted her teeth, swore under her breath, and put the phone back on the table. She had made a pact with herself and she wasn’t going to break it. She would resist the lure of her phone. She rolled onto her back. Once again, the specks of dust caught in the shafts of light coming through the shutters mesmerised her. They were like tiny dancing fireflies and she couldn’t take her eyes off them. That blissful sense of stillness began, once again, to grow.

  Anastasia crept into the room to find her mother awake. Carina turned to see her in the doorway in a towel, her hair wet, her face aglow. ‘Have you been swimming already?’ she asked sleepily.

  ‘Yes, I couldn’t resist. A swim before breakfast. The water is so refreshing.’

  ‘Maybe I’ll swim today,’ said Carina, stretching her arms and legs.

  ‘You should, if you’re not too busy making calls.’

  ‘I’m not going to touch my phone. I’ve made a resolution.’ Carina felt pleasantly smug. She had been faced with temptation and overcome it.

  ‘Yeah, right.’

  ‘I have! Anyway, you’re on it just as much as I am.’

  ‘Wrong, Mum, I haven’t touched mine since yesterday and I’m not going to.’

  ‘What’s come over you?’ Giovanni, Anastasia thought happily. ‘Italy,’ she said out loud.

  ‘Today, we are going to cook Mamma Bernadetta’s ragù alla bolognese,’ said Ilaria as the guests sat on their stools, pencils poised. Anastasia sat beside her grandmother and Gracie noticed that she didn’t doodle or look at her phone, but listened and wrote notes. Every now and then she grinned at her grandmother and Gracie’s heart inflated with pleasure at the bond that was gradually growing between them.

  Mamma Bernadetta poured olive oil into the pan with a dollop of butter. ‘For ragù alla bolognese,’ Ilaria continued, ‘we use two fats because this is a sauce that cooks for two hours. After thirty minutes the olive oil says he has had enough giving out flavour so the butter takes charge and keeps it alive until cooking is done. They are a very helpful pair of friends. Garlic and onions do not like each other. They divorced, you see, and are no longer speaking. So we never use them together.’ Mamma Bernadetta’s pudgy fingers reached for the diced carrots, celery and onion and tossed them into the pan. The delicious aroma filled the kitchen and Ilaria watched with pleasure as her students inhaled it cheerfully. There is nothing like cooking to bring people together, she thought, observing the group beginning to open up and talk to each other. They are like vegetables in extra virgin olive oil, she mused with satisfaction. Soon they will be old friends.

  In the break, Anastasia and Alex sat on the grass in the sunshine, chatting. After a while Anastasia did a handstand and a forward roll, challenging Alex to do one too. This he declined, but he lifted her onto his shoulders and began to skip in circles while she squealed and put her hands over his eyes so he couldn’t see where he was going. Eventually, they collapsed onto the ground, roaring with laughter. Gracie watched them from the shade where she was sitting with Rex, who was enjoying an espresso. ‘Even the coffee tastes better here,’ he said with a contented sigh. ‘You know, Gracie, I was a little nervous about coming over here and joining a cookery class, but I’m very glad I did. I’ve met some decent folk, like you and your daughter and granddaughter, and I’m pretty sure I’ll go back home and actually cook what Ilaria has taught us. My wife died, you see, and I have to look after myself now.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Gracie.

  ‘It was a while ago, but her passing taught me something important. You can’t control what life throws at you and, boy, does it throw some fast balls sometimes, but you can control how you react. I’ve chosen to react in a positive way. I don’t know how many years I have left, but I’m determined to live them to the full. See the world, learn new things, like cooking. I never was very good at the stove!’ He chuckled. ‘Nothing ventured, nothing gained, I say. Coming here has proven that a sense of adventure pays off.’

  ‘I agree with you,’ Gracie replied. ‘My friends thought I was mad booking in to a cookery class in Tuscany, they suggested I borrow a cookery book instead and learn at home.’

  ‘No sense
of adventure!’ Rex exclaimed, shaking his head disapprovingly.

  ‘I had got into a rut and didn’t even consider climbing out of it until I saw an advertisement in a magazine.’

  ‘Is that how you found this place?’

  ‘Yes. How did you find it?’

  ‘I met a woman who had already been here.’

  ‘So, you knew all about it.’

  ‘I’ve always wanted to come to Italy. I think I’ll head up to Rome afterwards and maybe to Venice. I might as well explore while I’m here.’ He settled his blue eyes on her face and gave her a bashful smile. ‘I hope you don’t mind me asking, Gracie, but are you married?’

  ‘I’m a widow,’ she replied, turning her gaze to the hills. ‘My husband died eight years ago.’

  ‘I’m sorry for your loss.’

  Gracie sighed. ‘Thank you. I’ve learned to live with it. I don’t think we ever get over loss, we just accommodate it. It’s like crossing a bridge. You can never go back. You just have to go on only in a different way and accept that life is different. That you’re different.’ But she wasn’t thinking about Ted.

  ‘I’m sure your daughter and granddaughter give you comfort,’ Rex added sincerely. Gracie looked at her granddaughter, who was still lying in the sun talking to Alex, and wondered how much more enjoyable her life would have been had she been close to Carina and Anastasia. She wondered whether the fault had been with her. Perhaps after Ted’s death she should have moved nearer to London. But she wouldn’t have had the money to do that. Perhaps she should have visited, but Carina hadn’t ever insisted and she had rarely made the effort to come down to Devon. Gracie pushed those thoughts to the back of her mind. She did not want to reawaken those feelings of rejection which Italy had managed to eclipse.

  ‘They do,’ she replied. ‘There is nothing like family, is there?’

  The cookery lesson continued until lunch. Wendy, Tiff and Brigitte drank too much wine and entertained the table with their anecdotes. Gracie marvelled at their lack of inhibition and remembered how she had sat listening to Damiana holding forth in the same way, and how she had envied her friend’s ability to amuse and delight. Damiana had been a brilliant mimic, standing up and putting on performances like an actress playing many different roles. How they had laughed as they had recognised themselves in her acts. And she, Gracie, always quiet and watchful and shy.

  After lunch Gracie retreated to her bedroom for a rest. Anastasia disappeared with Alex to the pool, followed by Carina, Lauren and Madeleine who put on their bikinis and lay on the sun loungers, chatting. Madeleine’s skin was already a rich brown colour, which Carina envied. She had freckled English skin that didn’t tan easily. Madeleine was also curvaceous which made her look much more appealing in her bikini. Carina had always wanted to be thin, because thin was glamorous. But now, looking at the Belgian, she wondered whether she had just been brainwashed by fashion magazines and advertising. The truth was she looked scrawny and pale. She hoped Mamma Bernadetta’s pasta would pile on a few pounds – and put them in the right places.

  ‘Do you think we will get to meet the count?’ Carina asked Madeleine and Lauren as she rubbed sun lotion onto her limbs.

  ‘I doubt it,’ said Madeleine. ‘Apparently he keeps himself very much to himself.’

  ‘That’s a shame. I’m rather curious.’

  ‘So am I,’ said Lauren. ‘And the fact that he doesn’t show makes me even more curious.’

  ‘He is very handsome,’ said Madeleine.

  ‘Have you seen him?’ Carina asked, put out that she hadn’t. ‘Have you?’ she asked Lauren.

  ‘No, I haven’t,’ Lauren replied. They both turned to Madeleine expectantly.

  ‘I saw him the day I arrived,’ she told them. ‘He was in the hall.’

  ‘Did he greet you?’ Carina asked.

  ‘Sadly not. He was talking to Ilaria at the other end with his massive dog beside him. I kid you not, that dog is as big as a pony!’

  ‘He was lying down when I saw him,’ Carina laughed.

  ‘If he stands up he’ll scare the living daylights out of you!’ Madeleine took off her sunglasses to clean them on the towel. ‘He didn’t even acknowledge me. He just wandered out as if I wasn’t there.’

  Carina was astonished. ‘I think it’s very rude of him not to speak to you.’

  Madeleine was nonplussed. ‘He’s opened his home to paying guests. It doesn’t mean he’s happy about it.’

  ‘Wouldn’t his business do better if he worked on his guests a little?’ Carina was certain that, with her expertise, she could triple the count’s income, at least.

  ‘Perhaps, but the main attraction is the double act of Ilaria and Mamma Bernadetta. The count skulks about in the background, probably furious that he’s been forced to open his home due to lack of funds.’

  ‘He could always sell a painting,’ Carina suggested. ‘Isn’t his castle full of treasures?’

  ‘Not any more. It was once, I believe,’ said Madeleine. ‘But the family fell on hard times and had to sell a lot of them. The other side of the Montefosco family is very rich, so I’m told.’

  ‘I could give him some advice, you know. My business is in public relations. I’d tell him to get out here and schmooze his clients for a start.’

  ‘If he’s angry and resentful, he’ll put them off. Much better that he hides away so no one sees him.’ Madeleine laughed throatily. ‘Counts are two a penny in Italy anyway,’ she added. ‘I don’t think it’s such a big deal.’

  ‘Still, it’s strange that he goes out of his way to avoid us. What’s he hiding, do you think?’

  ‘A temper!’ Madeleine laughed.

  Anastasia swam up and down the length of the pool, aware that she was being watched. Alex lay on the lounger, dozing in the sunshine, but Giovanni lurked about the roses pretending he was working. She could feel his eyes following her as she swam, then, when she climbed out and walked over the hot stones, she felt his stare burning through her bikini. Her mother was deep in conversation with Madeleine and Lauren. Alex had his eyes closed. So she looked at Giovanni directly and gave him a small, seductive smile. He shifted his eyes towards the pool house and returned her smile. Anastasia’s skin prickled all over in anticipation. She tossed her head back and set off towards the folly with a purposeful step. If anyone were to see her they would assume she was making for the changing room.

  A moment later she was waiting in the shadows, quivering with excitement at the prospect of a stolen kiss and the danger it posed. She could hear her heart thumping in the silence and put a hand on her chest to stifle it. ‘Pssst!’ She turned to see Giovanni’s face at the open window behind her. ‘Vieni qua, bella,’ he said and it didn’t matter that she didn’t understand the language for she understood what he wanted. He reached for her through the window and wound his hand around her neck. He murmured something else in Italian then kissed her. Anastasia’s whole body was aroused and she longed for him to climb into the room and touch her all over. But the wall separated them, making the stolen moment even more thrilling.

  ‘You come, tonight?’ he asked and she nodded. ‘I wait.’

  ‘As soon as my mother is asleep, I’ll come,’ she said.

  He grinned. ‘Bella!’ Then disappeared into the garden.

  Chapter 12

  Anastasia wanted to hear more about her grandmother’s past, but when she stepped onto the terrace at teatime Gracie was already sitting at a table with Lauren and her mother with pots of tea and lemon cake. The three of them looked like they were enjoying themselves and Anastasia did not wish to interrupt them. However, she was disappointed. She longed to have her grandmother to herself so that she could tell her about her budding romance with Giovanni. Even at seventeen Anastasia knew that Latin men were, by reputation, very unreliable, but she was sure that Giovanni was different. She itched to share her excitement with someone and she sensed that her grandmother would not disapprove and would give her sound advice. It didn’t occu
r to Anastasia to tell her mother. She had never had that kind of secret-sharing relationship with Carina. The kind of relationship where the daughter confides in the mother and the mother gives the daughter guidance. Carina was always too busy for that – and too engrossed in herself. Had her father been here she might have confided in him, however. But he wasn’t. So, she kept her secret to herself.

  Rex was at a table with Wendy, Tiff and Brigitte. He was like a fox in the henhouse, Anastasia thought, ruffling their feathers with his flirting and making them laugh. She didn’t feel like joining the hens or the fox. She was about to go back inside when Alex walked out. He gave her a big smile. ‘There you are,’ he said. ‘I’m going into town. Fancy joining me?’

  Anastasia was delighted. ‘I’ll go and get my bag,’ she said and hurried to her room to retrieve it.

  When she returned, the two of them set off down the avenue of cypress trees side by side. Crickets were chirruping in the undergrowth and small birds played about the branches. The sun was still hot but the light had turned a soft, grainy pink. There was a languid air to the afternoon, as if, with the sun’s gentle descent, time had slowed down to a peaceful meander. Anastasia’s blue toenails shone against her green flip-flops as she stepped over the stones towards the big iron gates. She felt excited to be leaving the property and venturing into Colladoro. Alex and she had settled into an easy friendship. It was as if they had known each other all their lives. He was just the sort of boy her mother would love her to date, she thought as she searched for Giovanni in the gardens. She peered through the trees, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, knowing he was out there somewhere. It gave her a shiver of pleasure to think of him watching her, perhaps, and being a little jealous as she wandered off with Alex.