Under a Siena Sun (Escape to Tuscany Book 1)

by T A Williams

  * * *

  The next week was a busy one for Lucy, but she wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. She went on a spending spree that included a second-hand Fiat 500 that had allegedly belonged to one careful lady owner. After seeing the way Virginia had thrown her car about as they raced up to the clinic from Daniela’s wedding, Lucy took this with a pinch of salt, but the Fiat garage offered a year’s guarantee, so she suspended her disbelief.

  She found a lovely old farmhouse table and eight straw-upholstered chairs in an antiques warehouse, along with a fairly battered but solid sofa. She splashed out on a brand-new double bed for herself although she had no candidate for filling the other half of the bed at this moment. Not, she told herself, that this bothered her in the slightest. For now, she just wanted to concentrate on her new house and her new job. There would be time to think of men once everything had settled down. Apart, of course, from Charles. There was no doubt her forthcoming reunion with her former lover rather took the shine off an otherwise alluring future for her, both at home and at work.

  An old wooden bedstead with a new mattress for her guest room cost a lot less than her new bed, but it looked and felt serviceable. She was quite sure her parents would be over to see her before too long and would approve of her not throwing her new-found salary around. Nevertheless, she went on to make a major investment in bed linen, crockery, cutlery, pots, pans, cups and glasses, along with a slick new coffee machine. Her savings took a hefty hit in the process, but she felt sure her amazing pay at the Siena Clinic would soon restore them to their previous level, if not more.

  Everywhere she went, she arranged for the stuff to be delivered to Castelnuovo Superiore the following Monday when she would take possession of the keys.

  She also wasted a considerable amount of time setting up a bank account, getting a codice fiscale which was essential so that she could purchase the house and start employment, and organising the utilities, including setting herself up with a new phone and internet contract. All in all it was a very hectic week but as Moving Monday loomed, she felt confident she had done all that was necessary. Even better, all this activity was having a positive effect on her recurring bad dreams and she hadn’t been woken in blind terror for some time now.

  That weekend saw the return of Daniela and Pietro from their honeymoon in Sicily, looking tanned and happy. They all went out for dinner together in Siena on the Sunday night, along with Virginia and Bruno. Lucy had the impression that Virginia was a bit more tense than the last time she had seen her and she wondered what was bothering her. She hoped there wasn’t trouble brewing between her and Bruno.

  Daniela and Pietro were delighted to hear about her new house. It turned out they also knew Castelnuovo Superiore well and they insisted on coming round the following night with food and wine to celebrate her moving day. Bruno also sounded interested in coming but Virginia, with a shake of the head, told her she regretted they wouldn’t be able to come after all. Daniela and Pietro were also fascinated to hear about Lucy’s new job at the Siena Clinic and the fact that this meant she would now be taking up full-time residence in Tuscany. For her part, Lucy realised she would be able to visit them regularly when the baby was born, and she promised to make sure he or she would be thoroughly spoiled by his English auntie, Zia Lucy.

  Later on, after Bruno and Virginia had left and Pietro had gone off to pick up the car, Daniela demonstrated that she knew her friend very well indeed. She gripped Lucy’s arm and leant close towards her in the darkness.

  ‘So, are you going to be all right working in a private clinic? It’ll be very different from what you’ve been doing for the past few years.’

  ‘I’ve been wondering that myself. Virginia’s father struck me as an honourable man, and my former boss in MSF said the same thing about him, so I’m confident it shouldn’t be too bad. Yes, of course it’ll be different but if Bruno can work there and enjoy it, I’m sure I’ll be okay.’

  ‘So you’re not too worried about the sorts of spoilt patients you’ll find yourself treating?’

  ‘We’ll see. I expect I’ll cope.’

  ‘Well, at least you should be working alongside some nice people. Bruno says they’re a good bunch.’

  ‘That sounds promising.’ Though there was one very big black cloud on the horizon as far as her future colleagues were concerned. For a moment, Lucy thought about telling her friend about her discovery that she was about to find herself working with her former French lover, but it was too late at night. She had drunk too much red wine and she really had no idea what sort of impression Charles would make on her again after four years – and after so much hurt.

  Chapter 7

  The move to Castelnuovo Superiore went smoothly and, by the time Monday evening came, Lucy had washed the floors, cleaned the cupboards, and made a start on unpacking bits and pieces into the kitchen units. Vans from the different shops had delivered their goods as promised and with the help a couple of very obliging delivery men she had managed to arrange the furniture in the different rooms. Although she was still surrounded by boxes by the evening, it was already starting to feel like her dream home.

  She stood by the window, admiring the view across the hillside and reflecting upon her good fortune at having found a safe refuge from the war zone while so many of her former patients and colleagues were not so lucky. The stories coming out of North Kivu were truly frightening and her heart went out once again to all the innocent civilians caught up in the slaughter. Unbidden, barbaric images of mutilation came piling back and she had to steel herself not to dissolve into tears. Although she managed to keep her emotions under control, it was a struggle and she found herself in a reflective mood.

  Daniela and Pietro turned up at eight o’clock and the sight of them shook her out of her reverie and helped to cheer her up once more. They brought a roast chicken, salad, ice cream and half a dozen bottles of wine. She gave them a guided tour of the property and they looked and sounded most impressed. They all went up into the loggia where she opened a bottle of Prosecco for Pietro and cold mineral water for Daniela, and they sat looking out as the sunset turned the hills across the valley crimson. She counted her blessings once again as they toasted the new house.

  One thing Daniela said that evening came as no real surprise.

  ‘I think you’ve made another conquest.’ Seeing Lucy’s eyebrows raise, she elaborated. ‘Tommy’s been spending most of his time wittering on about how gorgeous you are.’

  Lucy almost choked on her wine. ‘I rather thought that might happen, but he’s not really my type.’ She caught Daniela’s eye. ‘A bit too slick for me. I don’t see him as Mr Right, somehow.’

  ‘Plenty more fish in the sea. You never know, you may end up with one of the other doctors from the Siena Clinic. You medics do tend to marry other medics after all.’

  ‘Oh, dear God, no.’ Realising that this had come out way more forcibly than she had intended, Lucy ended up breaking the news about her former lover now going to be her future colleague. She had already told Daniela ages ago all about what had happened in Greece, and Daniela had no doubt about what would happen now. Her friend’s tone was sceptical.

  ‘You won’t go back to him. I know you, Lucy Young. He’s in the past and I don’t see you going back to him after he broke your heart. And I certainly hope you don’t.’ She glanced across at Pietro who was wisely staying out of the conversation. ‘If Pietro did the same thing to me that would be that.’

  That night Lucy went to bed with the window open and lay there for a good long while, listening to the sounds of the countryside. Although the village was probably home to a hundred people, maybe more, the only evidence of human activity was an occasional car in the distance and a lone scooter that came whining up the road outside. Hers was the last house in the village and there was just open country on three sides. On her left was another old cottage, but the shutters had been closed all day and there were no lights to be seen. Presumably it was either em
pty or the inhabitants were away or, quite possibly, it belonged to people who only used it as a holiday home.

  As she lay there, listening to what she had first interpreted as silence, she realised that there were noises to be heard after all. Apart from a few creaks as the timbers inside the house settled after the heat of the day, she distinctly heard the scratching of claws on the roof tiles at one point, followed by the hoot of an owl so close by it made her start. There were occasional sounds of rustling from the fields as little – and not so little – animals went about their nocturnal business but, in spite of the solitude, she wasn’t afraid. After living for years in an environment containing spiders that could paralyse you, snakes that could kill you, and armed men who could do unspeakable things to you, this really was heaven. Yes, she thought to herself as she drifted off to sleep, her escape to Tuscany was turning out to be everything she had dreamed of and more.

  In spite of being on her own, she was delighted to find she was untroubled by bad dreams of evil men with machetes that night and slept soundly. Next morning she didn’t need an alarm clock. In fact, she was woken at a quarter to six by not one, but a chorus of cockerels. This, in turn, set the village dogs off and, after lying there for a while, she decided there was no way she was going to be able to go back to sleep so she might as well get up. After another few hours unpacking and tidying, she decided to go for a little walk around the village. This proved to be instructive.

  As she was turning to lock the front door, she heard a voice.

  ‘Buongiorno, Signora.’

  She turned to find herself being addressed by a little old lady who barely reached up to her shoulder. Her hair was white, her clothes a sombre black, but there was no mistaking the sparkle in her eyes or the smile on her face. Lucy found herself smiling back at her.

  ‘Buongiorno a lei.’ Lucy held out her hand in greeting. As the old lady shook it, she waved vaguely towards Lucy’s house.

  ‘Are you living here now?’

  Lucy nodded. ‘Yes, I moved in yesterday. My name’s Lucy.’

  ‘I’m pleased to meet you, Lucy. My name’s Margherita Bianchi. I live in the white house on the corner by the church. But Lucy isn’t an Italian name, is it?’

  Lucy explained that she was English, but that she was about to start a new job here. The old lady nodded approvingly.

  ‘That’s very good to hear. So many of the houses round here are closed up for months on end and only get used in summer by rich Florentines trying to escape from the heat of the city.’ She smiled up at Lucy. ‘Or by foreigners who only come for a week or two. It’s good to know the village will have a bit of young blood.’

  They stood and chatted for a while before the old lady set off up the road, remarkably nimbly, and Lucy headed down into the village. Despite the fact that the first part of the name of the village, Castelnuovo, translated as ‘new castle’, she found no trace of any fortifications. Her historical curiosity was kindled and she resolved to do a bit of research to find out what had been here, if anything. All she found was a sweet little Romanesque church, but with the door locked. Just beyond it, on the corner of a modest-sized piazza, was the village shop. It was open and she decided to do a bit of shopping to help the local business. She walked in through a multi-coloured plastic fly curtain and found herself in Aladdin’s cave.

  The ceiling was low and the walls were lined with shelves all the way up to the top. On these were items as varied as tinned beans, firelighters, shovels, barbed wire and grappa. Definitely the place for anybody planning a siege. Thought of sieges and castles reminded her once more of her resolve to find out more about the origins of the village and she decided to ask the shopkeeper for any information. Pots and pans hung from hooks driven into the ancient beams that supported the ceiling and directly underneath, in the middle of the shop, there was a deepfreeze. This was packed with everything from octopus to ice cream, with joints of meat and skinned rabbits jockeying for position alongside frozen peas, prawns and what looked like home-made lasagne. At the rear of the shop was a long counter heaped with fresh fruit and vegetables and, behind it, a lanky man whose head almost grazed the ceiling. He was smiling.

  ‘Buongiorno, Signora. Posso aiutarla?’

  On the counter behind him was a leg of dry-cured ham set on a metal rack, with a long carving knife lying beside it. Lucy liked the look of that and she asked for a dozen thin slices and then watched as he carved them by hand with the precision born out of many years of experience. While he was working, she asked if he knew the whereabouts of a castle round here and he nodded.

  ‘Up on the hill by the Villa Castelnuovo. There’s not much left there now – just a few old walls and a heap of rubble. We used to play up there as kids, but it’s all private now that the villa’s been restored.’

  Lucy resolved to do her best to go up and see the ruins one of these days. She continued with her spending spree and by the time she left, she had also bought half a big round loaf of unsalted Tuscan bread – he had happily chopped one in two for her – along with a bunch of lovely little fresh artichokes with spiky points, a slab of home-made pâté, a bag of local cherries, a washing line and, just in case, a pack of candles and a big box of matches.

  Most surprising of all was a book, found on a shelf containing an eclectic selection of dusty books in Italian as varied as War and Peace and 50 Shades of Grey. Unexpectedly, one book was in English and it was entitled The History of Tuscany. It was written by somebody with a Scottish name that she didn’t recognise. She queried what an English book was doing here, and all the shopkeeper could do was shrug. Still, seeing as the book was in English and she had just been wondering about local history, she took it as a sign and purchased it.

  As she got back to her house, she had another surprise. Trotting happily down the middle of the road towards her was a handsome-looking young black Labrador with a smart red collar. Fortunately, in spite of being a big dog, he looked friendly, unlike the packs of near-feral dogs she had learnt to avoid back in Africa. There was no sign of his owner and she wondered if the dog had escaped from somewhere. She was loaded with bags so she ignored him for now and turned to unlock her door. As she pushed it open, she felt a hairy body slip past her bare knees and she found herself with an uninvited, but unthreatening, guest in the house. She set her purchases on the kitchen table and crouched down beside the dog who wagged his tail affably and licked her hand. His nose then stretched towards the table top and she knew he had smelt the ham or the pâté or both.

  ‘So where have you come from, dog?’

  He sat down with a thud and scratched his ear with one of his back paws, his tail wagging and polishing the floor tiles for her as it did so. She checked his collar and spotted a silver medallion. On it was a phone number. She went across to the door and looked up and down the road once more, but there was still no sign of the dog’s master so she called the number. It was answered by a female voice.

  ‘Pronto?’

  Lucy explained where she was now living and that she had found their dog. She heard the lady give an exasperated sigh.

  ‘I’m so sorry you’ve been bothered. Boris is normally very good but he hasn’t been out for a long walk for a couple of days, so he’s probably just restless. I’ll get my husband to come down and pick him up straightaway. Thank you so much for calling.’

  Lucy dropped the phone back on the table and set about putting the food away in the fridge. The dog watched her every move with rapt attention and it reminded Lucy of their old Lab, back when she was growing up. He would have sold his soul for food and she knew it was typical of the breed. Finally taking pity on this one, she offered him a bread stick. He took it delicately, settled down on the floor with it wedged vertically between his front paws and crunched it up. In return she was on the receiving end of a broad canine smile and a sloppy lick.

  Five minutes later she heard a vehicle pull up outside and she went across to open the door. The dog trotted out beside her and, when he s
aw who was driving, ran over and stood up on his hind legs, tail wagging, poking his shiny black nose through the open window of the little white van. The driver patted the dog’s head, climbed out, and came across to where Lucy was standing. He was a friendly-looking middle-aged man with a weather-beaten outdoorsman complexion and in his hand a bulbous straw-covered bottle of wine. These real old traditional Chianti flasks were almost unobtainable these days and Lucy was delighted if it was intended for her, resolving to put it on display somewhere in the house.

  ‘Doctor Young? I meant to come down to see you yesterday, but something came up. My name’s Armando. My wife and I live up at the Villa Castelnuovo. Thank you so much for calling about Boris.’ He handed her the bottle of wine. ‘Ignore the label, this is our own wine from the villa.’

  Getting over her initial surprise that the Labrador belonged to her landlord, Lucy held out her hand. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Armando, please call me Lucy. And thank you so much for this gorgeous bottle of wine, but there was no need. I was thinking about coming up to the villa one of these days to say hello.’

  She saw a shadow cross his face. ‘It’s probably best if you don’t. The owner doesn’t like visitors.’

  So Armando was the hired hand, not the proprietor. ‘Oh, dear, I’m sorry to hear that. It would only have been a courtesy call, but of course I’ll keep my distance.’

  He looked relieved. ‘You can always get me or Fioretta on the number you called. We’ll be only too pleased to help. Is everything all right here? You’re the first tenant we’ve had.’

  ‘Everything’s marvellous and everything works. Can I offer you a glass of wine or a cup of coffee? It’s a new machine and I’m still getting used to it, but it seems to make pretty good coffee.’

  He readily accepted the offer of an espresso and she ushered him and the dog inside. While she made the coffee, he looked around appreciatively.