Now and Then in Tuscany: Italian journeys

by Angela Petch

  ‘What are we celebrating?’ Alba pulled a horrified expression. ‘Oh my God - you’re not expecting, are you?’

  Anna spluttered on her drink. ‘No, no, nothing like that! I’m celebrating being well.’

  She explained how she’d convinced herself she was seriously ill and how Aunt Jane’s young locum doctor had checked her over, sent her off for tests and then told her she was suffering from an under-active thyroid. ‘I should have worked it out for myself really, because my own mother and maternal grandmother suffered from the same problem.’

  ‘Is it serious? Will you get better?’

  ‘Of course, darling. The doctor took blood tests and he’s very confident of his diagnosis. It explains my tiredness and the reason I’ve put on weight,’ she said, patting her stomach. ‘I’ll have to take tablets – forgotten the name of them, Levo-something or other. But he’s sending all the results for me to give to dottor Renzi. So, cin cin! Literally - good health!’ They touched glasses and Anna topped them both up.

  They were quiet for a while. Anna leant back into the squishy mock leather sofa and looked round the wine bar. It was only 4.30 in the afternoon but, save for a couple of silver haired ladies tucking into strawberry cream teas, most customers were on the wine. She wondered if anybody else was celebrating good news like hers.

  ‘Cocktail hour obviously starts earlier here than in Italy,’ she commented.

  ‘The English like their drink. Last night it turned wild in the Union bar. I felt a real outsider. I mean, I like a glass of wine too and we always have it with our meals at home, don’t we? But last night they were drinking like they were never going to see alcohol again. I didn’t like it.’

  ‘Apart from last night, what do you think of the university?’

  Alba wrinkled up her nose and helped herself to a handful of salt and vinegar crisps. ‘I’m in a muddle.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘I love Newcastle. It’s great - so different from home. I mean - sorry, don’t get me wrong, Rofelle’s fine and everything. But it’s too far from anywhere and every time there’s a party or film or whatever, it means driving down a million and one bends wherever you want to go to: Rimini, Sansepolcro…’

  ‘Everything’s on tap in a city like this,’ Anna agreed, resisting reaching for the snack bowls. She knew once she started on peanuts she wouldn’t be able to stop, and the mirrors in the changing rooms had shown her she needed to start tummy exercises right now.

  ‘Exactly!’ said Alba. ‘I like the idea of studying somewhere like this, but I’m going off doing English or architecture.’

  ‘What would you prefer to study? Italian, maybe? You’d get a place, no problem.’

  ‘No, no, no – not Italian. What would be the sense in that?’ Alba threw up her hands and shrugged, looking so much like her father that Anna wondered why she had never noticed the resemblance before.

  ‘I feel I need to leave Rofelle for a while,’ Alba continued, ‘but where to and doing what, I just don’t know.’

  Anna settled the bill, staggered that half a bottle of ordinary enough wine could have bought a couple of good bottles of Montalcino back home.

  As they pulled on jackets and gathered bags, Anna suggested Alba ditch her university digs and come and share her comfortable B&B room in Jesmond Dene. They took a taxi to pick up her belongings from Ricky Road and Anna sat on the bed in the grubby single room, watching her stepdaughter stuff her toilet bag and change of underwear into her rucksack.

  She pulled open the safety door and helped carry Alba’s bags because her wrist was hurting now the painkillers had worn off. Together they walked through the twilight streets, joining the throng of people hurrying home.

  ‘Your best subject at school was Art and I’ve always thought you were a talented painter,’ Anna said. ‘Why don’t you follow that route, Alba?’

  ‘I do still love my art but I thought Babbo wanted me to do something academic. Art seems so … self-indulgent.’

  ‘That’s a silly thing to say and he would agree with me,’ Anna said, tugging Alba to a standstill, causing a mini pile-up as two shoppers bumped into them.

  As they walked on she advised Alba to follow her heart and pursue her talent.

  ‘But what if I’m no good at it? It’s one thing your own family thinking you’re good at painting. But what if the rest of the world thinks I’m crap? It would be a waste of time and money.’

  ‘What-ifs go nowhere, Alba. And that sort of talk isn’t like you! You’re normally adventurous, a free spirit. What’s up?’

  ‘It’s all so daunting and confusing.’ Anna said, digging her hands deep into her jacket pockets.

  Back in the B&B Anna flicked on the little kettle to brew a hot drink for them both. As they sipped Earl Grey and dunked ginger nuts, Anna said she’d come up with an idea. ‘I’ll make a quick phone call and then I’ll tell you about it.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘Just wait and see. Trust me!’

  ‘Okaaaay,’ sighed Alba, flicking through the channels with the remote control.

  Once they’d returned to Rofelle and Anna had thrashed over the idea with Francesco, plans for Alba were finalised. A couple of weeks later, she waved goodbye to all her family at the airport, on her way to Stansted for the first part of her homespun Gap Year. André – Anna’s hairdresser from her England days – was meeting her at the other end with his husband Marcus, the manager of a highly successful Surrey Art Gallery. The couple had been toying with the notion of buying a retirement home in Tuscany since renting Il Mulino and falling in love with the Italian way of life. However they would need to subsidise their pensions with a business and learning Italian was definitely going to be necessary for their idea of running a gallery in their new dream home. So, three months board and lodging in exchange for Italian lessons and part-time help in their Surrey gallery had been agreed with Alba.

  ‘Yes, darling girl,’ Marcus had gushed over the phone to Anna. ‘Absolutely brilliant! Send her to us. We’ll soon find out if she’s got talent in the art department. We shall simply adore having her. Lovely, sweet girl!’

  And André was heard to ask, ‘Has she still got that vile blue hair? We might have to adjust that slightly - always with her agreement, of course.’

  One fledgling was fleeing the nest and embarking on her own life journey, like many others before her, Anna thought as she enveloped her stepdaughter in a hug.

  ‘Don’t forget, if it doesn’t work out, we’re always here for you in Tuscany,’ she said, stepping back to let Alba go.

  They watched her as she snaked away from them through the security queue, waving and blowing kisses each time they caught sight of each other. And then she was gone.

  Returning to the car park, Francesco caught hold of Anna’s hand. ‘I hope she’ll be all right.’ he said.

  She touched his cheek with her free hand. ‘Of course she will, tesoro. Don’t worry!’

  ‘She’s never been abroad on her own. It’s a big step.’

  ‘I know. But it’s what we talked about last night, remember? The time has come to let the first of our chicks try her wings. She needs to go; she’s more than ready. Come on, let’s get these other babies home.’

  Chapter 26

  Anna and Francesco - 2010

  Anna was up first next morning. After she’d laid the breakfast table, she propped an envelope for Francesco against a jar of fig jam. While she waited for the rest of her family to surface, she went outside to dead-head geraniums in terracotta pots dotted round the patio, wondering as she worked how Alba was enjoying her new independence.

  ‘What’s this?’ Francesco called from the kitchen, waving the envelope.

  ‘Open it and see!’ she said, coming in to wash her hands to chop strawberries and bananas for the twins’ cereal. Davide was up too, his curly hair tousled from sleep.

  ‘That’s enough, Davi,’ Anna said as he dipped his knife deep into the jar of Nutella. ‘You’ve more spread th
an bread on your plate.’

  ‘Uffa!’ he grumbled. ‘Without Alba here you’re now going to notice everything we do even more.’ He scraped off some of the thick hazelnut spread and wrinkled his nose at his mother. ‘You’re making me waste food, Mamma. And that’s worse than eating too much Nutella.’

  Anna winked at him and shrugged a very Italian shrug.

  Francesco read out his card: ‘Keep next weekend clear for a child-free Great Escape! Love from a secret admirer xx.’

  Emilia jumped up to read over his shoulder. ‘Can we come too?’ she pleaded.

  ‘It says ‘child-free’. Doh!’ Rosanna said, tugging her twin’s plait. ‘Mamma, you can’t be a secret admirer if we all know your handwriting. Silly you!’ she said.

  ‘Babbo and I are going to have a little break on our own,’ Anna said. ‘There are no guests in Il Mulino this week, so it’s perfect timing. And while we’re away, Aunt Teresa is taking you to Aqua Splash in Rimini. It’s all been arranged.’

  ‘Yay!’ came the chorus from all three children. The twins high-fived and, amidst all the fuss, Davide scooped Nutella back onto his bread.

  With breakfast cleared and the kitchen to themselves, Francesco took Anna in his arms. ‘It’s so good to see you happy again, my darling,’ he said, nuzzling behind her ear. ‘I’ve got my old Anna back.’

  ‘Less of the old, please!’ She kissed him long and deep and he murmured appreciation. ‘Mmm! Pity I’ve got to go to work today. I can think of plenty of other things I’d prefer to be doing.’

  She slapped him playfully and laughed. ‘Right! Especially with children running in and out all day long.’

  ‘I wish you’d talked to me before about your health worries, Anna.’

  She put a finger to his lips, ‘Don’t start again, Francesco!’

  ‘Don’t forget Emilia’s medicine, Teresa.’ Anna said, zipping up the picnic cool bag for Aqua Splash. ‘She needs to take another 5 ml. dose this evening and…’

  ‘You’ve already been through this twice with me,’ Teresa laughed, hugging her sister-in-law. ‘Don’t worry! We’ll be fine.’ Picking up the bag, she turned to the siblings. ‘Come on then, gang! Kisses and hugs all round and then into my pickup, or we’ll be late and miss all the fun.’

  Anna took her time filling her leather weekend bag. Usually packing was a hectic affair. Alba used to do her own but, although the twins and Davide tried, Anna invariably had to sit with them and start again from scratch. She selected a couple of dresses she’d hardly worn. There were few occasions to dress smartly in the mountains. A new silk nightdress, pretty lace underwear, sandals and, at the last minute a bikini, were folded into the bag.

  Despite Francesco’s protests Anna drove. ‘This is my surprise trip,’ she said. ‘You can drive us back.’

  ‘I wanted to plan a trip for you,’ he said. ‘Anyway - where are we off to?’

  Pulling on her sunglasses and adjusting the mirror she told him all would be revealed in due course. ‘Unless I get lost – in which case you’ll have to map read.’

  They drove south via Sansepolcro, stopping for a coffee break on the outskirts of Arezzo. To Anna, the landscape was picture-postcard Tuscany. Fields of sunflowers, olive groves, neat lines of vines and cypress trees punctuated with squat farmhouses with terracotta roof tiles. The kind of clichéd image on labels of Italian food products. It was picturesque in its own way but she found it tame and structured - less natural than the countryside they called home.

  Over coffee and brioches she finally told him their destination, hoping he would be pleased. ‘I’ve booked a two-night stay in an agriturismo just outside San Quirico d’Orcia.’

  ‘Wonderful! I’ve never been.’

  ‘I remember you saying that and I wanted to choose somewhere to explore together for the first time.’

  ‘I’ll drive next,’ he said, ‘then you can enjoy the scenery.’

  ‘I am a little tired. It’s so much hotter down here.’

  She’d planned a straightforward route along the Autostrada but Francesco opened the map and showed her alternative roads further inland. ‘It might take us an hour or so longer,’ he said, tracing his finger south to a town called Lucignano. ‘But we could stop for lunch in this pretty hilltop town. And afterwards loosely keep to the old transumanza route.’ He pointed to a minor road on the map.

  ‘I’d love that. But I told the lady at the guest house we’d arrive at about six o’clock. Is it do-able?’

  ‘Perfettamente!’

  Their lunch was a simple affair - slices of mushroom and artichoke pizza with bottles of water bought from a bar. After wandering round the mediaeval town laid out in a maze of interesting piazzas, they sat under the scented shade of lime trees to eat their snack, preferring to save their appetites for an evening meal.

  ‘This is a little jewel,’ Anna said. ‘There must be hundreds of places like this dotted round Italy waiting for us to explore.’

  ‘This is just the start then, tesoro. We’ll have to take more time-out.’ He pulled her to her feet and she reached up to kiss him. ‘I’m bursting with kisses,’ she said, finding his lips.

  ‘And I’m not complaining.’

  The scenery after Lucignano changed as they entered the undulating landscape of the Crete Senesi, the rolling hills in the province of Siena. At one point, near San Giovanni D’Asso, Francesco stopped the car at the side of the road so Anna could take photos. ‘I need a better camera to capture this view,’ she said, gazing at the unfurling hills. A welcome breeze blew along fields of wheat so they looked like rolls of unfolding yellow fabric. Clouds above were frayed and ragged and, where crops weren’t planted, the hills were ash-coloured and lunar.

  Francesco pointed to a huddle of white dots on a far hill. ‘A small flock,’ he said. ‘What a timeless scene! Just imagine thousands more sheep trailing down this road. It would have been a rough strada bianca in the time of bisnonno Giuseppe, their hooves stirring up dust like thick smoke.’

  It was approaching six thirty when they pulled into the parking area at Agriturismo Girasole. The location at the edge of town with its pretty stone buildings was even better than Anna had imagined. The owner showed them to their room in a former hay-loft. ‘This is for your exclusive use,’ Signora Leonetta said, indicating a tiny kitchen area and stylish sitting room with a sofa covered in fresh white linen. She pointed to a log-burner in the corner. ‘But you won’t need that,’ she laughed. ‘Tonight it’s very afoso – this sultry weather means we’re in for a storm.’ She showed them the switch for the ceiling fan and indicated the wrought-iron spiral staircase disappearing into the roof space. ‘Your bedroom is up there - and your bathroom.’

  ‘It’s beautiful!’ said Anna.

  ‘Very comfortable! And what time is dinner?’ Francesco asked.

  Signora Leonetta frowned. ‘I am so sorry, signori, but the kitchen is closed tonight. My cook is ill but there’s an excellent ristorante in town. And I can book you a taxi – on the house – as we have let you down.’

  ‘How far is it?’ Francesco asked.

  ‘A fifteen minute walk.’

  ‘Then we’ll walk,’ Anna said ‘and work off all the calories from our meal.’ She patted her tummy and the signora laughed.

  While Francesco collected their luggage from the car, Anna climbed the winding staircase to explore where they were going to sleep. The bed was king-size and positioned opposite a wall-to-ceiling window overlooking vineyards that climbed towards the town walls of San Quirico d’Orcia. The golden light of sunset bathed the scene.

  Francesco returned with the case and placed it on the luggage rack before coming over to stand next to Anna. ‘This is a good find, tesoro! It’s stunning.’

  ‘I’m so pleased you like it.’ She twined her arms round him. ‘Shall we have a quick change and then wander up to the old town for dinner? I’m quite peckish.’

  They walked through the bustling tourist town hand in hand until they found the restaur
ant. “Da Maria” was down a narrow cobbled street behind the imposing seventeenth century Palazzo Chigi. They opted to sit at a table outside and decided on the menu of the day, quite happy not to have to make choices themselves and they weren’t disappointed. It was delicious homely food with starters of colourful crostini topped with peppery tomatoes, basil, mushrooms, local cheeses and cold meats, followed by a plate of homemade tagliatelle sprinkled with shavings of truffles. Afterwards there was a main course of a selection of roast meats with oven-baked aubergines and peppers.

  ‘I think we’ll splash out on good local wines to go with our meal,’ Francesco decided, choosing white Pitigliano and a red Morellino of Scansano.

  ‘This is nice,’ Anna said after the waiter had left them alone. ‘I don’t know why we haven’t done this before.’

  Francesco took her hand and kissed the palm. ‘We’ll make time to do it again.’ He gazed up at her. ‘Anna?’ She knew what was coming and withdrew her hand, busying herself with opening a packet of breadsticks. ‘Don’t spoil it, Francesco!’

  ‘I’m not going to let you retreat into that shell of yours. Please try to explain why you didn’t tell me what you were going through with your health.’

  ‘I’ve said I’m sorry. Leave it!’

  ‘You push me away when you’re like this. We should be able to talk.’

  She ran her fingers through her hair. ‘You know what I’m like.’

  ‘Yes, I do. And I should have probed more, but…’

  ‘…life takes over with four children and jobs to think about and there’s never any time and we end up talking in shorthand.’ She sat back while the waiter went through the procedure of opening a bottle of Morellino, pouring a dash into Francesco’s glass and waiting for his verdict. Francesco nodded his approval and the young waiter deftly poured wine into both their glasses without spilling a drop, before disappearing into the restaurant.

  Anna tasted the potent wine and leant back in her chair. ‘I promise to confide in future,’ she said. ‘But it’s still hard for me to open up. You know what my childhood was like – the big age gap between me and Harry and Jane and my parents rowing all the time. I was left on my own so much and that’s how I learned to cope with stuff - by being quiet and getting on with it by myself.’