Under a Siena Sun (Escape to Tuscany Book 1)

by T A Williams

  ‘Ciao, Lucy, fancy seeing you here. You’re looking wonderful.’

  She turned and discovered, to her surprise, that it was Tommy. She summoned half a smile and deliberately held out her hand instead of kissing him on the cheeks. She hadn’t heard any more from him since they had bumped into each other and had coffee together well over a month ago, and she had been coming round to believing that he had got the message that she wasn’t interested in him as anything but a friend. She was wrong.

  ‘Ciao, Tommy. It’s good to see you again. How do you know Franz?’

  ‘I’ve only met him for the first time tonight, to be honest, but I’ve known Antonio for years. He and I were at school together and his company did the interior design for my sister’s apartment and he’s very good. Are you going to use them for your house?’

  She shook her head. ‘No, I’m fine with it as it is.’ She held out her glass and clinked it against his. ‘I love the place.’

  ‘I thought of you last week.’

  ‘Oh?’ She braced herself for something romantic.

  ‘It was the Palio di Provenzano and it occurred to me that you might enjoy watching the next one with me. The paper I work for is organising a party in an apartment right on Piazza del Campo on Palio day in August. If you’d like to come to that one, I could fix it.’

  The two Palio races were the highlights of Siena’s year. Horses representing the different contrade, the wards or districts of the city of Siena, were raced bareback around the main square by jockeys dressed in traditional bright team colours. These races were some of the oldest and most famous historic events in Tuscany and they always took place twice a year on the second of July and the sixteenth of August. Although she had been in the crowd at one Palio many years ago, at the time she had hardly been able to see anything and her lasting memories were of deafening noise, a crush of people and the overwhelming reek of sweaty horses – and humans – in the air. Seeing it from above did sound rather good, but she knew it would not be a good idea to humour Tommy.

  ‘That was a nice thought, but I went to see the Palio some years ago, thanks. All a bit too claustrophobic for me.’

  ‘Well, if you change your mind, the next one, the Palio dell’Assunta, is only just over a month away. Let me know if you’re interested.’

  They stood and chatted for a while until he asked her to have dinner with him yet again and, after a lot of pushing from him and a good bit of hedging from her, she finally ran out of excuses and decided she had to say yes. He did work with her best friend after all, and she didn’t want there to be any bad blood between them. She told herself afterwards she was just being sociable and trusted he would realise this wasn’t a real date – besides, he had said he could tell her all about Castelnuovo Superiore, seeing as his aunt and uncle lived there.

  * * *

  Sunday was another very hot, sunny day and she decided to go for a walk in the morning and then take refuge in the shade after lunch. She followed a slightly different path up through the olive groves until she found herself once again at the fallen tree where she had stopped for a banana the previous month.

  History repeated itself. She had only been there for a few minutes, sipping water from her bottle and admiring the view, when she heard familiar paws running towards her and turned to see Boris the Labrador.

  ‘Hello, dog. Haven’t they mended the fence yet?’

  This time he managed to scramble up onto her lap before she succeeded in shooing him off. There was no doubt he liked his new chum, even though this time she wasn’t bearing a banana. As she was bending down to scratch his tummy, she heard footsteps and glanced up to see a tall figure walking towards her, limping slightly. Even in the shade, she recognised him immediately and it came as a major surprise.

  Boris’s reclusive master and her landlord was none other than David Lorenzo, the tennis champion. She stood up and realised this was the first time she had seen him on his feet and he towered over her – and she wasn’t short.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Lorenzo. Boris and I have just been renewing our acquaintance.’

  He stopped and looked genuinely surprised. ‘Doctor Young? And you know my dog’s name?’

  Keen to keep the conversation light, Lucy decided to tease him. ‘He told me. I bet you didn’t know I speak Labrador.’

  She was delighted to see a hint of a smile on his lips and there was no getting away from the fact that beneath his normal air of gloom, he was a very good-looking man. He had a fine head of dark hair, a strong clean-shaven chin and, as she had already noted at the clinic, his body was very well-honed. He reached up and slid his sunglasses onto his forehead and she saw that his eyes were an attractive deep blue colour, although the dark rings beneath them were still there.

  ‘A woman of many talents – not only speaking English and Italian, but Labrador as well. Good morning to you, Doctor Young. Fancy seeing you here.’ Although his tone was formal and reserved, he sounded noticeably less grumpy than during their previous encounters. She decided she had better explain about Boris.

  ‘I found him walking down the road outside my house when I first moved in and I phoned Armando who came to pick him up. So, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t speak dog after all.’

  Comprehension – and considerable surprise – dawned on his face. ‘So you’re renting the old cottage. And you’re going to buy it as well, or so my lawyer tells me.’

  ‘It was love at first sight, I’m afraid. Everything about it’s just perfect. Please don’t tell me you’re going to change your mind.’

  ‘No, I’m keen to sell, so if it suits your needs, then go for it. As far as I’m aware the papers are all going through.’

  There was a momentary pause and she did her best to keep the conversation going before he decided to go off and leave her. Just why she wanted to keep talking to him was something she would ponder over the days to come. She glanced down at the dog sprawled across her feet.

  ‘Tell me, why did you call him Boris? Has he got Russian roots?’

  As she asked the question she remembered that Armando had mentioned that the dog’s owner had moved into the house some years earlier with his wife. Maybe she was Russian. However, considering he was a tennis player, the answer should have been obvious.

  ‘Armando got him for me from a local farmer who breeds Labradors and all the pups in that litter had names beginning with B. Armando said he chose him specially because the name would remind me of an old friend – Boris Becker. Heard of him?’

  ‘Of course, but I didn’t know he was part-Labrador.’

  ‘Not that I’ve heard of, but it wasn’t just that. I liked the idea of a name that would be the same in Italian and in English.’

  There was another pause and before it could become awkward, she decided to turn the conversation to his wound.

  ‘How’s your side feeling now?’

  ‘That’s doing just fine – it’s barely noticeable now – but unfortunately I’m having more trouble with my knee. I must have overdone things a few days back and I’ve been paying the price.’

  ‘I saw you limping. That’s tough. Cruciate ligaments can take a long time, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Tell me about it! It’s been almost three years now and still there’s no light at the end of the tunnel.’ The frustration in his voice was all too clear.

  ‘I took a look at your records a few weeks back and I can see the problem. All I can tell you is that you’re in very good hands. Doctor Saeed is an exceptional orthopaedic surgeon. If anybody can help you, he can.’

  If he was surprised at her interest in him, he hid it well and gave no response. Keen to move the subject to less contentious matters, she decided to try history.

  ‘I understand you have a medieval castle alongside your house.’

  ‘I have the ruins of a medieval castle alongside my house, but there’s precious little left. Half the houses in the village have been built with stones scavenged from the castle over the centuries
. In fact, if you check out the back wall of your cottage, you’ll find that a lot of it’s stone, not all brick like most of the houses in this part of Tuscany.’

  This was developing into by far the longest conversation he had ever had with her and she was happy for him. Communication with others is everything when dealing with depression. ‘I hadn’t noticed. I’ll take a look this afternoon.’

  ‘So, are you a historian who moonlights as a surgeon?’ There might even have been a lighter note in his voice.

  ‘The opposite. I’m a surgeon all right, but I’m also fascinated by history.’ For a moment she wondered whether she could ask his permission to check out the ruins for herself, but decided this might be too much, too soon. Besides, apart from being a patient, he was presumably still married, not to mention from a different financial stratosphere. She would do well to keep her distance. She could see he wasn’t completely comfortable with her either, so she kept the conversation light and general. ‘That’s probably why I fell in love with the cottage. And, apart from being a lovely place, it’s perfectly positioned for me to get to work at the clinic.’ Another thought occurred to her. ‘By the way, have you had a chance to mend the fence? I phoned Armando ages ago when I spotted it.’

  ‘Thank you for that and yes, it was all fixed last month. The only way out for Boris now is through the side gate I’ve just come through and so far he hasn’t worked out how to unlock it.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘And now he and I have to go.’ He turned away, but stopped and looked back. ‘And thank you for what you did for me, Doctor Young. I don’t think I ever said thank you. You’ll have to excuse me.’

  ‘You’re very welcome, besides it was Bruno who did most of the work. And do, please, call me Lucy, seeing as we’re neighbours.’

  ‘That’s good.’

  He gave a low whistle and set off on his walk again, his dog running ahead of him.

  As she watched him disappear into the trees, she found herself thinking back to their brief conversation and, in particular to the two words he had used right at the end.

  Had he been commenting on the fact that she had told him to use her first name, or that she was buying his house, or was it about the possibility that they would see more of each other as a result of being neighbours? Though they had originally met under strained circumstances, she now felt sure she would like to see more of him – and not just because of his friendly dog – though she would have to be careful not to let things get too intimate. It would be awful if his wife were to react as Virginia had reacted when they had first met. The last thing Lucy wanted was a jealous woman living next door to her. So, she told herself sternly, she would do well to add David Lorenzo to the list of men with whom she knew she should never get involved. This simplified life, but she couldn’t help a feeling of disappointment.

  Chapter 11

  Back at home, she made herself a sandwich and spent the afternoon out in the relative cool provided by the shade of the loggia. After a little snooze, she picked up her history book once more. She had been reading it bit by bit and she was now well into the turbulent history of this region and the regular squabbles, or worse, between Siena and its neighbours – most notably Florence – but also wars that involved larger powers such as Spain and even the Holy Roman Emperor, based far to the north in Bohemia. The Middle Ages and the Renaissance had been a time of great cultural achievements in the little republic, but also the time when so many fortresses and watchtowers had been built. There was no doubt the castle here had been designed with defence in mind. It was just a shame so little was known about it.

  Her reading was interrupted by a knock at the front door. She closed her book and went over to the balustrade to look down onto the road. It was the elderly lady she had met on her first day here. Lucy gave her a little wave.

  ‘Buonasera, Signora Bianchi.’

  ‘Ah, there you are, Lucy. I’ve brought you a little housewarming present.’

  Lucy hurried down and opened the door to find Signora Bianchi carrying an unlabelled wine bottle.

  ‘Here, Lucy, I’ve been meaning to give it to you for weeks and weeks now, but I keep forgetting.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘I’m afraid I forget a lot of things these days.’

  Lucy took the bottle from her and thanked her profusely. ‘Can I offer you a cup of coffee, or tea, maybe?’

  ‘That’s very kind of you. If you’re sure it’s no trouble, I’d love to try a cup of real English tea if you have one. I went to London many years ago and I still remember the tea I had there.’

  ‘Of course, and do sit down, Signora Bianchi.’ Lucy gestured to a chair.

  ‘Please call me Margherita. Everybody in the village calls me Margherita.’ She sat down at the kitchen table while Lucy filled the kettle. ‘You’ve got this place looking so welcoming. It’s good to see it lived in once again. It’s been empty since the war, you know.’

  ‘That’s what Armando told me. You know… Armando from the villa.’

  ‘Of course I know Armando. I know everybody around here.’

  ‘Have you lived here long?’

  ‘Eighty-seven years, my dear. I was born here and I have no doubt I’ll die here.’

  As Lucy put the kettle on, a thought occurred to her. ‘Can you tell me anything about the castle up by the villa? I’m interested in history, you see, and I’m trying to find out about it.’

  Margherita shook her head slowly. ‘Not very much. You know it’s ruined, I suppose? All I know is that when I was a little girl, my grandfather used to call it the Englishman’s castle, but I never did find out why he called it that.’

  Lucy registered the information. That really was interesting and it just stimulated her historical appetite to find out more. While the kettle came to the boil, she dug in a cupboard for a packet of biscuits and put them on the table alongside the wine bottle Margherita had brought. It was only then that she realised that this didn’t contain wine after all. The stopper was a small, wedge-shaped cork that barely sealed the top. She picked the bottle up, held it against the light of the window and tilted it, realising that it was full of oil, no doubt precious extra virgin olive oil. Setting it down again she returned her attention to Margherita.

  ‘Is this local oil you’ve brought me? That’s awfully generous of you. You really shouldn’t have.’

  ‘Not at all, Lucy, you’re very welcome. It certainly is local and it’s produced by my grandson. He took over the family farm when his father, my son, was killed in a terrible accident five years ago.’ The elderly lady’s voice almost broke. ‘A runaway tractor crushed him to death.’

  ‘How awful.’ Lucy bent down and squeezed Margherita’s shoulders. ‘I’m so sorry for your loss. Was he your only son?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’ She crossed herself and wiped away a little tear. ‘He was my only child.’

  ‘And your husband?’ As Lucy asked the question she had a feeling she knew what the answer was going to be. She was right.

  ‘He’s passed away as well, but at least he reached a good age before he died.’ But then, just as Lucy feared her guest might be about to dissolve into tears, the old lady straightened her shoulders, took a deep breath and looked up. ‘But life goes on. My grandson, Roberto, is a fine boy – and the spitting image of his father. He’s a great consolation to me.’

  Lucy went back to the kettle which had come to the boil. ‘And he farms around here?’

  ‘Yes, you must have seen the farm. Just off to the left as you come up the hill into the village. Fattoria Le Querce; you can’t miss it. You should drop in on Roberto one of these days and say hello.’

  Lucy instantly recognised the farm from the description. She had often admired it. It looked like another very old, maybe even medieval, building and it was in a great position, no doubt with panoramic views of the valley below.

  ‘I certainly will. Does he sell wine as well? I keep meaning to stock up.’

  ‘Oh yes, and our vines are the best in the area.’ A look of pr
ide replaced the sorrow on the old lady’s face. ‘Even better than the vines up at the villa. Although I heard from Armando that the American has made him plant new ones.’

  Lucy pricked up her ears. This would appear to show that David Lorenzo’s presence here wasn’t as secret as he might have hoped. She did a little bit of digging. ‘Have you met him, the American?’

  ‘Nobody has.’ Margherita lowered her voice although they were the only people within a radius of a hundred yards or more. ‘Do you know what I think? I think he’s a New York gangster on the run.’

  Lucy smiled at the thought as she made the tea. ‘I actually did meet him and his dog briefly this morning and I’m sure I can confirm that he isn’t a gangster and, from his accent, he isn’t from New York either. By the way, I take my tea the traditional English way with a drop of cold milk. Is that how you like yours?’

  ‘That would be lovely, thank you – with two spoonfuls of sugar, if you don’t mind.’

  As they sat and chatted, Lucy learned more about the village and, seeing as she was pretty clearly in the presence of the fount of all wisdom as far as Castelnuovo Superiore was concerned, she quizzed Margherita about the house next door.

  ‘It’s all locked up. Do you happen to know who it belongs to?’

  ‘Florentines…’ There was a dismissive note in Margherita’s voice. ‘When old Signor Scandicci was alive, he was often here, but now it’s passed to his son, we rarely see him. He never married and he works at the university, I believe.’