Under a Tuscan Sky

by Karen Aldous

  Hugging the towel tighter around her, she secured the top and attempted to tidy her wet, lank hair before opening the door, letting in a stream of sunlight.

  ‘Buongiorno,’ he said, strolling towards her with a large bundle in his arms. He appeared casual again with stubble on his chin.

  Olivia gripped the towel and at the same time harnessed the fluttering in her breast. ‘Buongiorno,’ she replied, meeting his smile. ‘I thought for a moment you were returning the chest.’

  ‘Sorry …’ he looked at her semi-nakedness ‘… I’ve come at a bad time. I won’t stop. No, these are just the contents. I rang Cesare last night about restoring a couple of carved mirror frames and he mentioned he’d managed to open your nonna’s cassone without damaging it. He was going to ring you but as I was taking the frames this morning, I thought I would drop these off myself. Hope you don’t mind?’ He held a large parcel wrapped in fabric.

  Whilst radiating with anticipation, she gripped her towel tighter suddenly feeling exposed. She opened the door wider. ‘No, not at all. Thank you. I can’t wait to find out what’s in them. Would you mind taking them through to the sitting room? I need to get dressed.’

  ‘So sorry. I can wait here.’

  ‘No, come through.’

  ‘I’m afraid Cesare didn’t have anything to put them in. This blanket, which was inside, seemed a natural choice to wrap them in,’ he said stepping inside and walking past her.

  The rugged cologne emanating from him smelt familiar. ‘Sure.’ She closed the door and followed him in as he sought a space to place it. ‘Oh, I’m still in the middle of sorting stuff,’ she said wishing she had tidied up a bit before her night with Alberto.

  ‘Yes, I can see.’

  ‘Sorry about the mess. It’s not a good impression for a potential buyer is it? Anyway, if you can find some space on the rug – there, maybe?’ She pointed to a clear metre of floor.

  He slanted his head, gesturing to indicate the snugness of space. ‘Yes, we might fit it in there.’

  She sniggered, peered down at the towel, and stepped towards the hall. ‘I’ll make you a coffee. I’ll just run and get changed.’ She saw his face flush before she realized. ‘Oh, Boris. I’ve shut him out.’

  ‘He’ll be fine, probably wants to pee. And please don’t let me stop you.’

  ‘Honestly, it’s no trouble. I won’t be long, and let Boris in when he’s done.’

  ***

  Dressed, and with a tray of coffee, Olivia returned to the sitting room noticing Hugh holding one of a pair of her nonna’s glass vases and turning it upside down, rubbing a thumb along the base.

  He glanced sideways towards her. ‘These are Murano glass and must be worth about five K each,’ he told her.

  Placing the tray on the coffee table before she dropped it, she looked up, her eyes widening. ‘Really?’

  ‘No. Not really.’

  ‘Oh, you had my heart severing ties with its main artery then.’ Olivia grabbed her chest.

  ‘Yes, that’s the reason I don’t say it to old people.’ Hugh squeezed his chin, continuing in a dry tone: ‘They are Murano glass, but I don’t know what they’d fetch. Possibly £500 each. They’re in good condition.’

  Trying to stop herself laughing but unsure what to make of his humour, Olivia returned to the coffee. ‘To be honest I’m not sure what to throw and what to keep. I’m a complete novice when it comes to antiques and would loathe to bin something valuable.’

  Hugh rolled his eyes around the room. ‘No. It isn’t easy, and takes time to get to know what’s what. There’re very few certainties. I suppose that’s what I like about the antique business. Toot or Treasure. I’m not rushing home to the British autumn just yet, so perhaps I can help you clear this lot, at least, sort the wheat from the chaff.’

  ‘That would be useful, very useful. I don’t want to mess up your plans though.’

  ‘How? I mean, if you have items here that you’d rather sell or go to auction, then I’m more than happy to stick around and get you the best prices. And, you could have something here that I know is currently being sought.’

  Olivia glanced up at the ceiling, suddenly panicked. What was she thinking? Spending time with Hugh probably wasn’t a good idea, especially when she was just starting a relationship with Alberto; but it would be a dream to have a personal antiques adviser – some of these pieces could be worth something. ‘I don’t want to rush in and sell everything. I just think if I know what’s what, I can then decide what I want to do with it. I’ll start a list. I have put some Post-its on things I want to keep.’

  He placed the vase gently back on to a large cabinet and turned, his forehead creased. ‘Absolutely. And besides, I can’t appraise everything – that would be impossible – but I usually know someone who can, especially around here. The items are yours to dispose of how you deem fit and I wouldn’t try to influence you. I think it’s best we take each item and dealer on its merit and I’ll make sure you are not pressured or out of pocket.’

  Olivia nibbled for a short while on her bottom lip, then breathed out a sigh and picked up a pen and a scrap of paper. ‘Well, so long as there’s no pressure, it sounds like a reasonable plan.’ She wrote down her mobile number. ‘Here, you’ll need this if you do have any interest or questions.’ She poured two cups of coffee and handed him one. ‘Anyway, I think it’s time I had a look at what’s in that bundle.’

  She squeezed herself on the sofa between a pile of books and a bundle of paperwork she’d saved and brought out from the office. She placed the large bundle on her lap and untied the string holding what she now saw was a green chenille tablecloth and its possessions stacked inside. A musty odour muscled its way up her nose.

  ‘Phew, I don’t think this could have been aired for half a century.’

  Hugh sipped his coffee, craning his neck to see as he perched on the edge of a chair beside the sofa. ‘Perhaps she’d lost the key,’ he said making space for his coffee on the small table between them.

  Unfolding the cloth, Olivia let the pile slide across her lap. Several folded sheets of linen remained at the bottom, and in between were smaller lace items neatly collapsing in front of her, and just underneath, an ornate painted box. With a gust of excitement, she pulled at the clasp on the box, expecting it to be corroded, but as it sprung open, letters and photographs spilled to the floor.

  ‘Oh, sugar.’ She shuffled forwards to grab the contents, still clasping the box and before she could catch her balance, she lost it. Hugh stooped down and gripped her arm to stop her fall. Their heads touched and in front of her, she saw his pupils flare. She blushed, hearing how loud her heart was thumping. ‘Whoa, phew, I thought I was going to land head first.’ Her throat dried and she cleared it. ‘Thank you,’ she said as he lifted her to an upright to regain her composure, but with the box still in her hand and her body twisted they came face to face, her eyes resting on his full plum lips.

  At once, time stood still, his scent misting in the air. She felt the desire spinning inside her. His close proximately felt intimate, and the temptation to kiss him became overwhelming. Pushing a hand against his shoulder, she leaned back. How was this happening? Finally captivated by gorgeous Italian Alberto, and yet simultaneously desiring another man. Heat rose in her cheeks. She took in a deep breath and jostled back on her seat like nothing had happened. She put the box down and knelt to gather up its contents.

  Chapter 11

  Still grappling with confused emotions, Olivia saw Hugh wipe his forehead as he returned to the edge of the chair. He looked at his watch and reached for his coffee.

  ‘Wow,’ she squealed trying to contain the papers and stack them into some sort of orderly pile. Flicking through the first, she saw many addressed to her nonna. ‘Oh, I wondered if they were love letters.’ The idea grabbed her curiosity. ‘But, no, this is from my mum to Nonna and Nonno.’ She looked at the date: May 1976.

  She opened the first
. Hugh squatted on the arm of the chair beside her.

  ‘I may need your help with some of these Italian words.’

  ‘Well, I’ll try. I’m sure we can figure them out between us.’

  Rosalba Bianchi

  Ibiza

  May 76

  Dearest Mamma and Papa,

  I am heady with sangria and sand. We are having the greatest time, going to the beach to swim and splash and play ball. Anna-Marie’s nonna’s home is so close to the beach, right by the rocks and the dunes. I wish you could see it. Although, you will be shocked to learn that ladies go ‘topless’ when sunbathing. They don’t wear their bikini tops. I’ve kept mine on, so don’t worry, so have Anna-Marie and Nicoletta.

  We met some new friends at the beach. Anna-Marie’s papa, we call him Papa Rossi, says they are hippies. They do dress funny but are so friendly and sing and play on their guitars. We visited a market today where they sell everything from juicy strawberries to furry donkeys and holey waistcoats. I bought you each a present, but it’s a surprise. Off to a party now.

  Love to you both,

  Rosalba xx

  ‘It’s funny seeing my mother’s real name.’ She picked up the next.

  Rosalba Bianchi

  Ibiza

  June 76

  Dearest Mamma and Papa,

  I hope you are not still angry with me. I love you two dearly and didn’t like leaving you when you were both so upset, but you don’t understand how much I love Steve. He will take care of me, I promise. You have to remember, I am sixteen and grown up enough to know what I want.

  You have each other, and know what it is to love. Now you must not prejudge Steve, and you cannot stop me being with someone I love. You don’t know him and until you do, I wish you would trust me that he is a wonderful person. Please come and meet him soon. He wants to meet you two but we can’t afford the airfare. I want you two to be as happy as I am.

  I won’t get home much I’m afraid. I have spent so much of my savings already getting here, but rest assured I am safe, and Steve is happy for me to stay with him. Steve’s camper van is super cool. He’s painted it in psychedelic greens, yellows, and reds. It’s very homely and clean and he says you shouldn’t worry; he will look after me and we have everything we need. I’m even getting good at the cleaning and washing up, even though I’ve only been here a week.

  Now I’ve begun to settle I will look for work. There are lots of clubs and bars on the island to work in, especially in San Antonio, which we can get to by boat or scooter. Steve works two nights at a club and he says it’s plenty for him to live on. He was surprised I knew how to ride the scooter. I told him about our farm and how Papa taught me.

  Steve is from the city. He grew up in London and says he would have loved to have lived on a farm. He dislikes the city and says London is very dirty and noisy. Here it is very peaceful and clean; that’s why he has chosen to live in Ibiza instead of London.

  I hope you both understand better. I love you both. I’ll stay safe and write every week.

  Your daughter, Rosalba xx

  PS: I call myself Roz now. It’s what Steve calls me. Do you like it?

  Write soon please.

  Love Roz xx

  ‘Oh, dear. This was when she left home to be with my dad. These are fascinating. It gives me a little insight into Mum’s life.’

  Hugh sipped his coffee. ‘This is personal. Shall I just make a list while I’m here … of items?’

  She looked at him distractedly. ‘I’m sure there is nothing here that is too personal. Besides, it’s nice to have someone to share them with.’

  ‘If you’re sure?’

  Unsure if he was just being kind, she curled her lip. ‘A hundred per cent sure if you’re OK for time. I’d really appreciate it. Besides, your Italian is better than mine.’

  He looked at his watch. ‘Yes, fine.’

  ‘Brill.’ Olivia unfolded the next.

  Rosalba Bianchi

  Ibiza

  July 76

  Dearest Mamma and Papa,

  I am very worried to hear you are unwell, Papa. I hope you recover from your virus soon. I’m sure Mamma is taking care of you. I am rushing this letter to you to wish you well. I too have had a sickness. The sun here is very strong and I think it has been exhausting in the heat.

  I painted an old table and chairs this week, which I bought at the second-hand market, and I think I was in the sun too long. I went to my bed for two days, I was so tired. Lindy, one of the other girls, thinks I might be allergic to the strawberries, as we had a glut of them and they were so delicious.

  Anyway, I feel a bit better now. And no, I don’t need the money to come home. I know you said in your letter that you think I will come to my senses about staying here in Ibiza, but Mamma, Papa, I won’t change my mind. It is already made up. Each day, Steve and I become closer and more in love. I am so lucky to have found a man who loves me so much and wants to spend every day with me. I love it more and more every day because of him and each day something new happens; each day is different.

  The island is getting very busy. The height of the holiday season will be here soon. I want to make the most of it. Steve sold five belts at the market this week as well as the four he sold last week, so we bought two chickens. We will trade our eggs for some thread. I’m hoping to learn to make something I can sell myself.

  Tricia, one of the other girls, said she will teach me macramé in exchange for two eggs a day. Apparently, the macramé waistcoats sell very well. I’ve seen some. They are long sleeveless cardigans and slip easily over a T-shirt or blouse without making you too hot, so great for this weather. Will write soon, meanwhile, stay well.

  Love Roz xx

  Their story was beginning to unfold before her.

  Rosalba Bianchi

  Ibiza

  July 76

  Dearest Mamma and Papa,

  Glad to hear you are better, Papa. The whole place is going crazy here. It is jammed with holidaymakers now. Some of the girls look so beautiful. I’ve decided I want to look just like them.

  A new group have arrived. One of them is a famous singer. I watched and listened to her. So out there. Her legs bronzed, she wore jeans torn from her thighs, and a shirt tied up round her chest, showing a brown belly. Her hair was down to her waist and bleached by the sun, with a band around her forehead. Her voice was beautiful. She was beautiful. Another girl, older, behind her – a backing singer I suppose – sang without a bikini top on and tapped a tambourine. It was so sexy. I suppose you will think it wild but it’s the scene here.

  Many of them still wear the kaftans that were popular in the Sixties. Lindy says they are bohemian and with the round sunglasses look like real hippies. Like the men with their long hair and beards. They are so grown up compared to Tomas.

  I now see why Anna-Marie’s family come to stay early. They are very close to the hippy beach and it was Papa Rossi’s family home long before the hippies moved in, apparently. Some of the holidaymakers are very inconsiderate. It’s not so much bringing their bright-painted camper vans over on the ferry from the mainland, but some of them are leaving rubbish like gypsies.

  Steve says it’s the dropouts and druggies that give them all a bad name. I think he means that these visitors work all year and come for two weeks so they go silly and don’t care about leaving a mess. They drink and then leave bottles and cans everywhere and they smoke tobacco or weed, which makes them silly and drunk. He says the mayor will have to remove them.

  Personally, apart from the rubbish they deposit, I don’t think they are as bad as some of those skinhead boys over in the towns. We’ve heard that in some of the clubs of San Antonio, the holidaymakers get really rowdy. Anyway, you must be getting bored and I’ve run out of paper again.

  Love to you both,

  Roz xx

  Olivia smiled. ‘She really was such a hippy.’

  ‘They were enjoying life,’ Hugh said.


  Picking up the next, Olivia crossed her legs on the sofa, keen to hear more.

  Rosalba Bianchi

  Ibiza

  Aug 76

  Dearest Mamma and Papa,

  Happy Birthday to you, Mamma. I wish I could be with you to celebrate. I’ve missed you this week. I got sunstroke again – and sunburn. Steve took me on a boat trip around the island. We stopped at Ibiza town, San Antonio, and Portinatx. It was so nice to see more of the island. It’s very beautiful, but now I’m all chalked with calamine lotion.

  I don’t know why I get sunstroke. I’ve never had sunstroke before. Lindy said it might be because I had my hair in plaits and the sun had got to the back of my neck. I bought a necklace and she wound it through my long plaits, then pulled tiny strands from the front and side hairline, like the other girls. It looked really lovely but obviously exposed my neck to the sun. I will have to be careful in future.

  Some good news: my hair is looking better. Although much darker than many of the British and Dutch girls here, it is beginning to be bleached by the sun and the tips are going lighter. I want it to go lighter still, so I will have to ask them how they do it. I heard one girl say she rubs lemons on hers. Not sure about that!

  Anyway, you’ll be pleased to know I’ve now made three macramé waistcoats. I’m getting really fast and making matching hairbands and belts, but the sitting down is making me put on weight. I enjoy it though and can even take it to the beach. I sat on the rocks whilst Steve was fishing the other morning. I was so hot; I couldn’t sleep. The cool early breeze was refreshing and I took a straw hat – one of Steve’s fishing hats. I kept my feet in the water. They’ve been swelling like puffer fish.

  I do have a tan like the other girls now, though, and I’m using sun cream. You won’t recognize me when you see me. And you won’t believe some of the things I’ve been eating.