by Karen Aldous
‘It’s an impressive piece. Nineteenth century?’ he asked.
‘I’m not sure of its age exactly. It was my nonna’s. She died recently.’
Hugh raised an eyebrow as he sucked in his breath. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. It was possibly her mother’s then, grandmother’s even. It’s beautiful, a little damage here and there, but …’
‘I know. I’m thinking of having it restored. It’s one of my favourites, which I’d like to keep.’ She pursed her lips. ‘You seem quite knowledgeable.’
He stood back and folded his arms, sliding back sleeves of what looked like a cashmere sweater. ‘I’m in antiques. I’m a dealer. That’s why I’m seeking a base in Tuscany.’
‘Oh, right. That must be an interesting job?’
‘Yes, I’m a sucker for the antique and flea markets around here,’ he said, his tone more casual, ‘and they often come up trumps for furniture, even pieces of art occasionally. I know a brilliant restorer here too, if you need one. Not far from here either. He would do a great job on this.’ He gave the side of the chest a closer inspection and wiped his little finger along a bead of wood.
Enthusiasm brimmed from his eyes and Olivia licked her lips with cautious hope. ‘Maybe you could leave me his number?’ she said.
Hugh raised an arm and swept a wedge of his hair through his hands. ‘It might be better if I speak to him first. It’s just that he’s getting on a bit and is choosy about what he takes on.’ Lifting his phone from his trouser pocket, he scrolled down. ‘I’ll see him later, so you could give him a call tomorrow.’
Olivia clambered with excitement to the sideboard and opened a drawer. The bridal chest, or cassone as Nonna would call it, had always intrigued her. When she was young she remembered Nonna telling her it was a special box because it contained all the gifts for a bride from her husband and his family, including clothes and jewellery.
Nonna had shown her inside it once. All it contained was linen and lace household items. No beautiful jewellery or clothes. It was such a romantic idea though, and one that had captured Olivia’s imagination when she was just seven years old. As she riffled through the drawer for the pad and pen, she turned at the patter of footsteps nearing.
‘Ah, Signor St. James.’ Signor Ricci trotted into the room swiping his damp brow. ‘You’ve met Signorina Montague I see.’
Hugh held out his hand to the Italian agent. ‘Yes, I’m delighted to say.’
Standing by with pen and pad in hand, she said, ‘Olivia, or Liv. It’s easier. Yes, he arrived on time after all.’ Hugh passed her his phone and she took the restorer’s number. ‘What’s his name?’
‘Signor Nasino, but he’ll prefer Cesare.’
‘Thank you. You two need to get on. I’ll leave you to it, and I’ll pour you a coffee, Signor Ricci.’
‘Thank you, yes. I’ll finish the photos later.’
Olivia left them chatting in the sitting room and Boris comfortably snuggling close to the heat of the fire.
Not sure where to place herself, after making the third cup of coffee for Signor Ricci and delivering it, Olivia picked up her own and took it through to the study. There, at least, she could have another look for the chest key. She sat down behind the desk, looking out across rows of vines that climbed the hillside under a now hazy sky. It was a shame because the brightness from the sun added such a romantic charm to the place, but the thought of someone taking her nonna’s house made her skin prickle.
Her mind switched to the brief but often fun times she’d spent as a child with her mum and Italian grandparents, as well as Gabriella and Nico and several workers on the farm. She remembered especially the Whitsun break, when – after her mamma had gone home – she and Chiara would continue their stay at Nonna’s and help thin the vines. Those days were long and drenched in sunshine and laughter as Nico and the local lads – Giuseppe, Manelo, and Tom – mocked her not only because she was only allowed scissors, but being so small, she could only just reach the bottom leaves.
But she’d had so much freedom there, however brief her stays were. She’d felt like she had wings, like a bird; she’d been able to take flight and run around with no concept of time, rules, or routine. Even up to their twenties, she and Chiara continued their visits and spent lazy days in just jogging bottoms and T-shirts. No rigorous discipline or racing to get somewhere like her life in London. They were days when she could be herself – casual and pleasurable days. Her Italian nonno Angelo was so laid-back compared to her grandfather Ronnie in London.
Hugh St. James certainly had that laid-back appeal – young as he was – and could potentially make a good owner. He had a gentlemanly manner, but a casual quality about him she liked. She thought him well suited to country living. He was certainly alluring.
She rubbed her chin. Alberto also had a gentlemanly manner, but not one she could imagine fitting on a farm. He was more cosmopolitan and enjoyed the city. Not that he was looking to buy the farm like Hugh.
One thing was troubling about her about Hugh, however, and that was why he would want to take on the farm. Surely another business would be too much if he was running his own antiques business and going back and forth to England. She took out her phone and swiped the screen to create a new list: ‘Questions for potential buyers’.
Chapter 7
Impressed by the property and what he had seen of the owner, Hugh kept his countenance as he said goodbye and left Signor Ricci and Olivia Montague. He drove back down the hairpin bends and on to Cesare’s before returning to his apartment rental in Arezzo.
He had made it clear to the agent, Signor Ricci, that he was only interested in purchasing the run-down farmhouse, or villa as the agent and family called it. Buying the complete business would not only break his budget, but it would also be far too much work to take on. Signor Ricci had been adamant he should go along and view it, suggesting that vendors are just as fickle as buyers, and that the seller of the villa was sure to appreciate every option available.
As much as Hugh would love to own acres of vineyards and olive groves, the price and commitment were too high. After seeing the Villa Elena, however, it was now going to be a torment if he couldn’t have it. It was perfect. It was beautifully situated and would make a wonderful base, plus it had potential and would safeguard his investment.
He could gradually carry out the renovations to make a wonderful home for the future should he decide to stay. There were so few worthwhile options available in his price range in the area. He just had to hope that there was little demand and that Signor Ricci could persuade the owner to consider his.
After meeting Olivia Montague, however, he was pleasantly surprised. He’d imagined an elderly woman with red-dyed hair for some reason, but this woman was such a sweet thing, had just lost her grandmother too, which made him a little uncomfortable imagining that the agent was quite possibly now informing her of his proposal.
He felt rather silly. Clearly she wanted to cut and run from the whole thing and just take a few of her grandmother’s personal things. And that chest was certainly intriguing. Cesare, he was sure, would relish the opportunity to work on it.
***
As promised, Alberto arrived at her door Tuesday evening, lifting Olivia’s spirits immediately with his magnetic smile and his dark sunglasses. As he lifted them, she at once felt breathless. He pulled her close and pressed his lips lightly on hers, and the harrowing day she’d spent sifting through her nonna’s belongings was soon forgotten; but she was forced to tear her mind from the demands of her body. She lured him out the door and locked it.
‘We should go,’ she told him, ‘or I may never get to see Florence.’
‘I agree,’ he said sitting his glasses back into position and opening the car door for her. Subtle tones of ginger and grapefruit joined forces, wafting in the air as he got in to the driver seat and started the car. The pleasure she received from inhaling his alluring scent alone made her so grateful that she had come
to Italy.
What a welcome distraction Alberto was from clearing out and distributing Nonna’s things into their destined piles. She hadn’t realized the extent of the task, nor the sadness it evoked. As much as she tried not to think about Nonna’s death, this task, she was convinced, was creating more grief.
After making small chat on the journey, Olivia recognized Florence immediately from pictures as Alberto parked the car on the south side of the Arno. She was sure she had come to the city when she was younger with her mamma, but was unable to recall the occasion. Alberto took her hand, leading her along a tree-lined road before taking her through the narrow, cobbled streets lined with artisan workshops. It wasn’t long before he was serenading her across the beautiful Ponte Vecchio.
Passing the plethora of sparkling jewellery shops, Alberto squeezed her hand. ‘So many exquisite items, but this jewel you must see. Close your eyes.’
Brimming with excitement, Olivia did as she was told, gripping tightly to his hand. Reaching the central arches of the medieval bridge, Alberto led her to the railing. Hugging her from behind, he lowered his face beside hers. ‘Open.’
Olivia gasped with delight, and she felt Alberto grinning at her reaction. Together, they soaked in the setting sun and its reflection on the Arno river.
‘This is beautiful,’ she said smiling up at him amid the glowing saffron hues. ‘Simply stunning. And an extremely pleasant end to what’s been quite an emotional day.’
‘Good, I am pleased it’s distracting you. The whole city is captivating; I never tire of it. Visitors should always return in the evening. It is special, but they go home after the museums close and miss the evening atmosphere. On Thursday, I’ll take you to see the Duomo. Tonight, we’ll eat and forget everything else,’ he told her.
‘I have an appointment with the cabinet restorer on Thursday morning, but I’m free in the afternoon.’
‘Magnifico! We can come in the evening again too. You know, you are driving me crazy and I cannot work very well. I keep thinking about you.’
Feeling the heat in her cheeks, she raised her head, lost for words. He was so easy and comfortable to be around, as though they’d been friends for ever. Wouldn’t this be the perfect opportunity to admit to him how crazy he made her feel? Or would that turn him off? Finally she said, ‘I’m flattered but I wouldn’t want to be responsible for making your business suffer.’
‘I’m hoping all this adrenaline you’re creating will make me function on a higher level; hopefully it will speed me up, lift my spirits as well as my business. Being around art helps too. If something captures my imagination, I’m completely fired up.’ Alberto stopped in the Piazza della Signoria, holding her near. He tilted his head and held her gaze for a few seconds. He stroked her face and pecked her lips gently before cupping her face. ‘I am flattered you want to spend time with me, but as soon as you’re ready, I would love my family to meet you too. I’ve already told them all about you.’
Olivia’s face drained of colour. This was too soon. ‘Well, I’m not ready yet.’
‘No, of course.’ He took her hand. ‘Come, we’re nearly there.’
The instant she walked in the door, a bouquet of herbs combined with tomato and cheese streamed to her nostrils. Peering around the high-beamed ceiling of what was a compact space, and noting a mixed display of old photographs and art on the wall, Olivia followed the waiter to a table at the rear of the Osteria Restaurant. It appeared to be the only free table, which she considered a good sign, observing the smiles and laughter around the small room. A light, warm aura danced in the air.
‘For you,’ the waiter sashayed before her, extending an arm out to a chair.
‘Grazie mille, Tommaso,’ Alberto said. ‘Magnifico.’
Right behind them another waiter appeared with two chilled glasses of sparkling Prosecco, which he placed on the table in front of them.
Tommaso handed them each a menu and expanded the choices with the night’s specials.
Olivia listened, trying to make up her mind from the delicious choices. Although relaxed and impressed by the intimate ambience of the restaurant, her limbs continued to tremble in Alberto’s presence and her stomach didn’t feel readily receptive to digestion.
Alberto lifted his glass as the waiter handed them their menus. ‘May I suggest the Osso buco.’ He kissed his bunched fingers. ‘The veal is braised with love and vegetables. It is amazing, especially with the local Chianti.’
‘Sounds wonderful, so long as I just have the zucchini salad starter and not pasta,’ she told Alberto, mesmerized by his hugely seductive eyes.
‘It’s an excellent choice,’ he said as the waiter took their order, then reaching out for her hand, he caressed her fingers. ‘Oh, you began to tell me about the furniture you want to restore. It sounds interesting.’
Trying to focus on his question, rather than his eyes and his touch, Olivia imagined Nonna’s bridal chest in her mind’s eye. She explained to Alberto how it had enthralled her for so many years, not only because it was a beautiful item and a bridal chest, but because since those early years – when her nonna had shown her the linen and lace – it had been permanently locked. This made it mysterious too, as when she had persistently asked Nonna for the key, Nonna told her it was lost.
She then told him of her plans to bring it back to its former glory. ‘It’s intricately carved but still has a rustic charm, which I think would sit perfectly at the bottom of my bed in my bedroom at home, and considering it must be over a hundred and fifty years old, it’s in pretty good nick.’
Alberto’s eyes twinkled. ‘I think so, yes. It is very good idea. And you’ll need to fill it with beautiful things for our future. Olivia, I’ve never met anyone quite like you. You must sense how I feel already. I really believe I’m in love with you. In fact, we should get married. Will you marry me?’
Clutching her chest with one hand as if trying to slow her heartbeat, Olivia blushed. Surely he didn’t mean it. She suddenly felt like Cinderella: one minute sweeping and scrubbing old floor tiles and boards and the next, meeting and possibly marrying her handsome prince. Alberto was a huge contrast to the other men she’d met. Nonna must have been guiding her to him. They seemed the perfect match. She adored him too, but whether that was love, she couldn’t tell. She needed to play it cool; however, she didn’t want to scare him off.
‘But we hardly know one another. I need time. Do you usually propose to women so fast?’
Looking down at her hand and swiping her fingers with the thumb of one hand, he twisted his mouth and pursed his lips. ‘I never propose to women. I’ve only now proposed to you, Olivia,’ he told her. With his other hand clenched against his breastbone, he fixed his eyes back on her. ‘It is here that I know: you are the one. Be sure, one day I will take your hand.’
Ill-prepared for such a mammoth revelation and wondering if this amazing man was for real, Olivia picked up her wine glass and glugged wine nervously. Their plates still seemed full. Neither could finish the sumptuous meal but Olivia finished the last drops of the fine Chianti wine Alberto had chosen and wiped her brow.
‘Is it me or is it hot in here?’ She grabbed her water glass.
‘It is hot. We can get gelato in the street. I’ll get the bill and we’ll take a walk. It is cooler out there now and darker. Florence is so magnificent at night. It will charm you.’
‘Fresh air and a stroll around Florence – what more can a woman want? As lovely as it is here, I think the wine has gone to my head.’ Olivia, feeling thoroughly spoiled, poured herself another glass of chilled water as Alberto paid the bill.
***
Olivia couldn’t recall such a blissful evening. Alberto was enchanting and answered many of her questions about his life and career. She learned that he was an excellent scholar and entered university at the Design School in Milan a year earlier than most, having completed his secondary education before any of his classmates.
T
hen, spurred on by his professors, he completed his masters with distinction, knowing exactly where he was heading with his own electric car designs. He was vehemently determined they would be as eco-friendly as he could make them.
He had investors and family opening their wallets before he was twenty, and after many trials and tribulations he’d had to overcome, like any worthwhile endeavour she imagined, he’d created one of the most successful electric cars on the European and world markets. A reputation he was currently building on.
‘Your parents must be so proud,’ Olivia said, catching her breath as they climbed a hill.
‘Yes, but they installed the genes and I suppose the drive. My sisters and brother are very hardworking too. One of my older sisters is a lawyer, a partner specializing in family law; the other is rising to the board of a bio-pharmaceutical company specializing in cancer and oncology drugs. They both have beautiful children and my mamma helps with the childcare. My younger brother is following in my father’s footsteps. He’s into econometrics, or economic statistical methods to you and me. He’s now a director for a bank and an adviser on its supervisory board. He is getting married next year.’
‘That’s impressive. What a lovely family. I feel quite humbled. A mere osteopath.’
Alberto laughed. ‘You heal – what work is more vital? To help and heal another human being on a personal level is incredible, so tell me more. I want to know more about you. We sit here.’
They sat on a bench at the Piazzale Michelangelo, Olivia grasping and capturing the sight with eager eyes.
‘Phew, wow. What a view.’ She gazed around at the panorama of the city. ‘Oh gosh, there’s not much at all to tell you. I was brought up by my grandparents in London. They were caring and lovely, but old. Even when I was young they seemed so old. The only person close enough to call a sister is my friend Chiara, who you would love, by the way.’ Olivia paused with a slant to her head and an affectionate smile. ‘Her family are from Italy, near Verona. I visited there once.’