The Temptation of Gracie

by Santa Montefiore

  Gracie was astonished. She had not expected this. ‘Uncle Hans, I want to say thank you, but those properties will only come to me when you are dead and I don’t want to think of you dying.’

  He laughed and stubbed out his cigarette in the glass ashtray on the table, and with his long, elegant fingers, he lit another. ‘My dear child, death comes to all of us, it is just a question of when. If the natural order is maintained I will go before you. Therefore, it is only wise to leave my wealth to you.’

  ‘Have you provided for Mother?’

  ‘Greet?’ He shook his head. ‘She is a complicated woman, my sister. You may wonder why I have not bought a property in London for her to live in.’

  ‘I don’t wonder about that because she wouldn’t want to live anywhere but in the house my father bought her.’

  ‘Correct, but the truth is your mother disapproves of what I do.’

  Gracie was quick to disagree. ‘Oh, she doesn’t. She’s so proud of you . . .’ She remembered her mother reading out his letters to her grandmother and the excited way in which they had discussed him for hours.

  Hans blew out a cloud of smoke. ‘She didn’t want me to bring you to Italy because she knew what I was going to teach you to do. But she couldn’t refuse. She knew I would give you a better life than she could and she depended on me for survival. She only accepts the money I give her because she has to, and she accepts only the minimum. If I had my way she’d be living in Mayfair in a mansion with a maid and a butler, but she won’t have it. I suppose I should admire her. On the other hand, I could condemn her as foolish.’

  ‘She’s proud,’ said Gracie.

  ‘Too proud to know what’s good for her,’ he added. ‘Now, there is another thing I need to talk to you about, something a little more delicate.’

  Gracie couldn’t imagine what that was, but now her fear was gone. She drained her glass, enjoying the light-headed feeling the wine had given her, and looked at him expectantly. ‘Go on,’ she said.

  ‘You work hard, probably too hard for a girl of your age. I have not indulged you with holidays in glamorous places nor introduced you to eligible men. In fact, I have been selfish and kept you to myself.’ Gracie felt a blush spread over her face. ‘That is my fault and I am going to put it right. It is time you started thinking about settling down.’

  Gracie was embarrassed. For some reason discussing romance with Uncle Hans felt awkward. It was like speaking a language that he didn’t really understand. ‘Uncle Hans, I have no desire to get married.’

  ‘Whatever happened to that nice boy Donato?’

  She laughed. ‘That ended a long time ago and he’s married now.’

  ‘You see, I have been neglecting you.’

  ‘Please don’t think that you have. To the contrary, I live here like a princess. You bring me beautiful dresses to wear. I want for nothing. In fact, you spoil me too much.’

  ‘I’m not talking about spoiling you, my dear. I’m talking about finding you a husband. It is my duty as your guardian to secure your future.’

  ‘What if I don’t want to marry? You haven’t married.’

  ‘It is a very different matter when it comes to a man, Gracie. You are clever enough to know that. A woman needs a man and one day I will not be around to look after you.’

  ‘I will have half of your fortune. I think I’ll be more than capable of looking after myself.’

  He chuckled. ‘You are right and much too clever for your own good. Don’t you want to have children?’

  ‘Yes, I would like children one day,’ she replied softly, but she didn’t want to have children with anyone else but Tancredi.

  ‘Then take my advice and let me assist you. We depart for the Côte d’Azur in a week.’

  Chapter 18

  Italy, 2010

  Gracie awoke to the clamour of birds. She lay with her eyes closed and her ears alert and allowed the sound to absorb her. It could have been forty-four years ago, she thought, lying in bed at the top of the tower with Tancredi sleeping beside her. She remembered those dawns when the glow of the rising sun was just a blush on the horizon. The first bird would tweet, a solitary call breaking through the darkness. Then the second followed by the third until the trio of song became a cacophony as the males loudly marked their territory and attracted their mates. It was Tancredi who had told her about the dawn chorus and what it meant, before him she had always assumed it was female birds, going about building their nests. Now she listened to it and felt the melancholy that came with it wash over her.

  When it was over and the racket had died down Gracie sat up. It was five in the morning, too early to rise and yet she didn’t feel tired. She climbed out of bed and walked to the window. She had left the shutters open so that the scents of the garden could waft into her room. Standing at the sill she watched the Tuscan landscape slowly reveal itself as the sun peered gingerly over the skyline, lifting the curtain on the theatre of life. The indigo blue of night-time was gradually replaced by a gentle pink hue, the velvet-green fields and hills emerging out of the mist as the sun rose higher.

  Gripped by an urgent longing to be outside Gracie dressed in a rush, pulling a cardigan over her blouse because the mornings at this time of year were still a little cool. She tiptoed down the corridor and crept out by the library door. The tower stood on the incline like a sleeping sentinel, shirking his duties. She could almost see Tancredi standing in the doorway, a paintbrush in his hand, a smile on his face, a twinkle in his eyes that reassured her of his love and playfully warned her of his intent. But as she passed it she saw only the inky residues of the night.

  She walked down the grassy path towards the chapel, leaving a trail of footprints in the dew. The smell of roses hung sweet and thick in the air and she inhaled it appreciatively. How that smell took her back. How it lifted her spirits, as if it had the power to erase all that was negative inside her. Her step became almost a skip. It was impossible not to feel happy in the midst of such beauty. Even her memories were stripped of their potency and sparkled like the dew. Every corner of this place inspired nostalgia and yet, this morning, nothing made her sad. She felt lucky to have loved, lucky to have lived. In spite of how it had ended she felt blessed to have had another chance to see the castle and to revive something of the girl she had once been. It was like opening a book that is near the end at the beginning again and rereading the best parts. She had come to see Tancredi, of course she had, but she had also come to find the part of herself she had left here, and, in a way, she had found it. She could return to England if not wholly satisfied, pleased at least that she had come.

  She found the chapel unlocked and wandered inside. It was chilly and damp and smelt the same as it had when she and Rutger had catalogued the countess’s paintings. It didn’t look as if anyone had been inside since those days except to clean. The count obviously used the place to store things, for there were pieces of furniture and sealed boxes. She took her time, walking slowly around, running her fingers over the walls, the back of a chair, the surface of a table, rousing the ghosts and watching them come to life with her mind’s eye. She wondered what had become of Rutger. She could imagine him there, his hair curling about his ears, his face wise and intelligent and full of character, looking over the countess’s paintings, eyes gleaming as each new work was revealed. She thought he had been old then but he must have only been in his fifties. Uncle Hans had seemed old to her too, but he had only been in his forties. Now as she approached seventy, forty seemed like the prime of life, and perhaps it had been for Hans. At the thought of Hans the shadows that lingered in the damp corners of the chapel seemed to spread out and envelop her, eclipsing her joy. She put a hand to her heart as a sob rose in her chest. How she had loved Uncle Hans. How she had betrayed him.

  She backed away and bolted through the open door, closing it firmly behind her. Taking a deep breath she tried to expel thoughts of her uncle and recapture something of the magic she had found in the garden. Focusing o
nce more on the smells and sounds of nature she walked on down to the vegetable garden, to the pens where the animals were kept, and there she found Ilaria.

  ‘Buon giorno,’ said Ilaria when she saw Gracie walking swiftly towards her.

  ‘Buon giorno,’ Gracie replied, grateful for the distraction.

  ‘You’re up early.’

  ‘I couldn’t resist the beauty of dawn,’ Gracie said.

  ‘I’m up every morning at five. For me it is the best part of the day. Everyone is asleep. The countryside is slowly waking up. The birds are singing and I am alone in nature. Nature doesn’t even know I am here. It is a secret time, the dawn, before the sun has chased all the elves and goblins away.’ Gracie laughed. She knew exactly what Ilaria meant. ‘You can help me. I’m feeding the animals and saying good morning to the vine.’ Ilaria’s exuberance was like the sun chasing Gracie’s demons away.

  ‘Mamma tells me that you speak Italian,’ she said, pouring bird food into a bucket from a large sack. ‘And fluently.’

  ‘I lived in Tuscany from the age of thirteen to twenty-three.’

  Ilaria began to speak in her mother tongue. ‘Then I don’t need to offend you with my bad English.’

  ‘Your English is excellent,’ Gracie said truthfully. She didn’t add that the charm of her English lay in her thick Italian accent. ‘And bad English would never offend me,’ she continued. ‘I think one should be grateful when a foreigner takes the trouble to speak one’s language.’

  Ilaria tossed the bird seed onto the ground and watched the chickens peck it hungrily. ‘You know, I love people. I love to watch them come together in this beautiful place and flower like blossoming trees. That is a great pleasure for me. I have been watching you and your daughter and granddaughter. The three of you arrived closed like winter buds but now you are opening. It is lovely to see. Anastasia in particular is like a beautiful magnolia.’

  ‘She is a very pretty girl,’ Gracie agreed.

  ‘Not just on the outside but on the inside. She has a beautiful soul too. You have to be a little careful though that her mother does not get left in the shade. She needs to blossom too.’

  Gracie frowned. ‘Do you think she’s being left in the shade?’

  ‘I can only say what I observe. I think she might be a little envious of you and Anastasia. You are so alike, you see. Perhaps they need to spend some time together. I think they want to, they just don’t know how to initiate it. They are like those hens over there.’ She pointed to a pair of black-and-red hens who were hanging back from the feeding flock. ‘They want to eat, but they don’t know how to push themselves in.’ She tossed a handful of food further so that some of it landed at their feet. They duly began to peck at it. ‘You see, it only takes a bit of encouragement for them to get going. Now they are feeding and they are very grateful to me. They will feel warmly towards me now. Tomorrow they might even push themselves in to start with. Life is a game. You just have to know how to play it.’

  ‘Perhaps they can go into Colladoro together this afternoon,’ Gracie suggested. ‘I have no wish to go into town.’

  ‘That is a good idea. They can have a cup of coffee, look around the shops. I suggest you visit the town another day. The church of Maria Maddalena was built in the thirteenth century and is very beautiful. I think you will like it.’

  They ambled up the path in the direction of the castle. The sun was now low in the sky but shining brightly, burning away the pools of mist that lingered in the valleys. As they neared the castle Gracie noticed someone sitting above them, on the bench on the terrace where she had sat with Anastasia the night before. As she looked closer she saw that it was Tancredi in a hat and sunglasses, gazing out over the hills. Her heart stalled and she touched Ilaria’s arm to detain her.

  ‘There’s the count,’ she said.

  Ilaria followed the line of her vision. ‘Yes, he likes to sit up there in the early morning with his dog. He likes to enjoy the secret dawn too, before the sun rises and nature notices him.’ She began to walk on.

  ‘Would you introduce me?’ Gracie heard herself ask and it was as if someone had taken over her body and asked for her. Her voice sounded strange and otherworldly, but quite determined.

  ‘He does not feel comfortable meeting guests,’ Ilaria said and there was a determined edge to her voice as well.

  ‘But I’d love just a moment, to tell him how beautiful his home is and how grateful I am that he has allowed us to enjoy it too.’

  Gracie willed him to look round. She stared at him, silently begging him to turn. And then, as if he heard her voice in the depths of his subconscious, he turned. Gracie knew then that Ilaria was left with no choice now but to introduce them.

  ‘Good morning, Count Bassanelli,’ Ilaria said, raising her voice so he could hear her. The count looked down at them for the path along which they were walking was a little way below the terrace where he sat, separated by a stone wall exhaling puffs of purple campanula.

  ‘Good morning, Ilaria,’ he said. But he didn’t acknowledge Gracie, or raise his hand as he had done that afternoon on the balcony. Gracie felt invisible and the determined person who had suddenly taken her over withdrew, leaving a hurt old woman, afraid even to speak. ‘How are the hens?’

  ‘Very hungry this morning. May I—’

  ‘And my pigs?’ he went on.

  ‘La Fabiana is expecting her litter at any moment.’

  ‘New life. That always pleases me.’

  ‘Count Bassanelli, may I introduce Signora Burton.’

  A look of surprise darkened his face. Gracie thought suddenly that he had recognised her for he looked so mortified, just like he had the first time they had met when he had failed to acknowledge her in the chapel. Her heart gave a hopeful leap. ‘I apologise, signora, how very rude of me. I hope you are enjoying your stay and making yourself at home in my castle.’

  Gracie didn’t know what to say. There was no sign of recognition on his face. She couldn’t see his eyes because they were hidden behind his sunglasses, but she knew, from the polite, impersonal smile, that he did not know her. ‘Very much, thank you,’ was all she could mutter.

  ‘Come, we must leave you to your quiet time,’ Ilaria said, setting off up the path. He raised his hat and gave her a charming smile, but it was too late. Gracie was deflated. The magic of the morning had gone, robbed by the man who had once made every morning magical.

  Carina awoke to find herself alone once again. She was astonished that Anastasia, who could barely drag herself out of bed before midday when at home, was getting up at the crack of dawn and going for an early morning swim. She had suggested she go with her, but it was such a pleasure luxuriating in bed and having nothing to do but wander down to a delicious breakfast and then sit listening to Ilaria’s commentary while her fabulous mother cooked. She hadn’t expected to enjoy herself quite so much.

  Four days without her phone, well three because the first one didn’t really count as it was only half a day. Carina was pleased and proud of her restraint. She wasn’t so pleased, however, with the way her relationship with Anastasia was going. If she couldn’t join her for the odd lap around the pool she had to find something that she could do with her. She could take her into Colladoro and buy her a dress, she mused. Or go for a bicycle ride. She could borrow a couple of racquets and play tennis – she had seen Rex and Alex enjoying a knock-up the day before, but she wasn’t very good at tennis and neither was Anastasia. Aside from those ideas she wasn’t sure what to do with her. One thing was for certain, she couldn’t sit across the table and talk to her, because she hadn’t a clue what to talk to her about. She couldn’t imagine what Gracie was telling her and was more than a little jealous that, whatever it was, it enthralled her. Nothing she could say would hold Anastasia’s attention. The girl wasn’t interested in her business and no child wants to talk about school work (especially not Anastasia who didn’t care whether she got an A or a C in her A levels).

  At length sh
e got up and went downstairs for breakfast. She didn’t have long before the cookery lesson began and judging by the empty tables, she was the last down. She helped herself from the buffet and ordered a cup of strong coffee then sat gazing out over the rolling landscape. The hills filled her with serenity and peace and she sat there savouring the feeling. Savouring the sense of time passing slowly, of not having to rush, or take a call, or write something down; of just being, in this exquisite place, and not wanting to be anywhere else.

  Carina drank her coffee, ate her fruit and watched and listened and relished this new way of living. Eventually, she had to leave in order not to be late for the cookery lesson. She found everyone except Wendy, Tiff and Brigitte on their stools, chatting as they waited for Ilaria to commence. She was surprised to see Anastasia, bright-eyed and smiley, chatting to Gracie, who looked oddly subdued. Perhaps she had a bad night, Carina thought, wandering over to find out. ‘Morning,’ she said, looking at her mother with concern. ‘Are you all right, Mum?’

  ‘I’m fine, why?’ Gracie answered, consciously injecting some liveliness into her voice.

  ‘You look tired.’

  ‘No, she doesn’t,’ Anastasia cut in. ‘She looks lovely.’

  ‘I don’t mean she doesn’t look lovely, darling. She just looks like she didn’t have a very good night.’

  ‘Your mother’s right. I didn’t sleep very well,’ said Gracie diplomatically.

  ‘Maybe you’d like to come for a walk with me later?’ Carina said, but Gracie shook her head.

  ‘No, I’m going to lie down after lunch. You should take your mother into Colladoro, Anastasia. I hear there’s a lovely old church and lots of shops and cafés.’

  ‘That’s a good idea,’ said Carina, her voice a little too animated to fool her wily daughter.

  Anastasia screwed up her nose. ‘Maybe,’ she replied and Carina sighed and left to find her stool next to Lauren.

  Gracie whispered to her granddaughter, ‘Darling, I think your mother would like to spend some time with you. Why don’t you go for a bike ride or something? She’d love that.’