Under a Siena Sun (Escape to Tuscany Book 1)

by T A Williams

  Lucy nodded. As a story, it made sense and she was genuinely pleased for him that her suspicion of an attempt at suicide had not, after all, been correct. ‘The bullet went right through you. Any idea where it ended up?’

  He pointed back into the dovecot room. ‘That’s it there. I thought I’d leave it as a reminder to myself not to be so stupid another time.’

  Sure enough, she could see a little hole in the plaster just above waist height, right beside one of the windows. Presumably the bullet must have embedded itself in the wooden frame.

  ‘Well, as it turned out, it could have been a whole lot worse for you. You’re all healed up now, I’m sure.’ As far as the bullet wound was concerned. From a brief chat with the orthopaedic surgeon the previous afternoon she now knew that the cruciate ligaments, while a lot better than before, were never going to be able to stand up to the rigours of competitive tennis again. She was impressed at David’s positive-sounding attitude, now that it had been spelled out to him that this signified the definitive end to his illustrious career. Franz Berlin must have worked his therapeutic magic on him and David had come a long way from his morose state when she had first met him back in May.

  She returned to contemplating the view. ‘I could stand here for hours. It’s simply gorgeous.’

  ‘I really do stand here for hours. I think I saw you working in your garden yesterday evening, didn’t I?’

  ‘Wow, your eyesight must be good.’

  Sure enough, her little house and its back garden were just about visible, and she could even make out the darker rectangle where she had been removing weeds and preparing her first flower bed. Beside it was the sunbed she used for short bursts of sunbathing. Somehow, the idea that he had been watching her gave her a little thrill, although if it had been somebody else it might have been a bit creepy, but not him. Somehow she felt confident he didn’t belong to the ‘creepy’ category. This little thrill took her back to the question of how she would feel if it turned out he was interested in her – and free to be interested in her. After all, he was no longer a patient at the clinic so, assuming his wife was out of the equation, there was no legal or moral impediment now. Mind you, she told herself, he had yet to give any indication of real interest in her as anything but a friendly neighbour. Besides, she reminded herself, he was a millionaire and he inhabited a very different world from hers.

  ‘You’ve cut yourself.’

  Startled out of her reflections, she followed the direction of his eyes and saw a trickle of drying blood on the side of her calf.

  ‘It’s nothing. It was probably those thorny bushes outside. You did warn me, but I was too engrossed with the ruin.’

  ‘Stand still for a moment.’

  Before she could stop him, he took a paper napkin from a pile on the sideboard and lowered himself onto his good knee. He tipped a splash of champagne onto the napkin and, holding her leg steady with one hand, used the napkin in his other hand to wipe the blood gently away. The cut was tiny and had already closed and no further blood emerged. She tried to tell herself that it was the bubbles in the wine that made her skin tingle, but deep-down, she knew it was his touch. She took a mouthful of Dutch courage and did her best to sound perfectly normal.

  ‘Thank you. I think this rates as a medical first. It’ll be interesting to see if champagne has healing properties.’ As he rose to his feet, she gave him a little smile. ‘If it gets into the Lancet, I promise I’ll give you the credit.’

  They chatted about history for a while as the sun began to drop towards the horizon and the memory of his touch against her bare leg gradually faded – at least for now. The dog stretched out on the floor at their feet with a heartfelt sigh and was soon snoring. After a while they abandoned the view and sat down on armchairs facing each other but with a chaste two metre gap between them. She mentioned what Margherita had told her about the name of the castle and she saw him sit up in surprise and heard him repeat her words.

  ‘She said it was called the Englishman’s Castle? I wonder…’ He pulled out his phone and scrolled through until he found what he was looking for. ‘Have you ever heard of John Hawkwood?’

  ‘No. That sounds like an English name.’

  ‘It is indeed, although he’s better known over here by his Italian name, Giovanni Acuto. As you must know, acuto in Italian means wily or smart – and he was – but he probably got his Italian name simply because the locals couldn’t get their tongues around Hawkwood. Acuto was as good as they could get.’

  ‘So he spent time here in Tuscany?’

  He looked back down at his phone. ‘Yes, after fighting for Edward the Third in the Hundred Years’ War in France, he joined up with a bunch of mercenaries called the White Company and followed them into Italy. He soon became their leader and he developed into one of the most famous and successful soldiers of fortune in Europe during the fourteenth century. He and his men fought for a lot of different masters, but he ended up as the hero of Florence and was even buried there, in the Duomo.’

  ‘And you think this might have been his castle?’ Lucy felt a surge of excitement.

  ‘Who knows? It’s a fact that he was gifted a number of properties during his time in Italy. Maybe this was one of them or maybe he designed it. Nobody seems to know in what year this castle was originally built.’

  They talked and talked, and it was beginning to get dark when he looked at his watch and rose to his feet – using the arms of the chair to assist him, she noticed.

  ‘I’m very sorry, but I have a conference call scheduled for eight thirty our time. That’s the problem with having so many business contacts in the States. It would have been nice to continue our talk over dinner, but the last one of these I took lasted an hour and a half. Maybe some other time?’

  ‘Any time you want to talk, just give me a call. Armando’s got my number. And maybe you’ll come round to my place next time. Don’t worry, it’s very discreet. Your secret will be safe with me. Nobody will know that the New York gangster who’s been hiding here in the villa has been out and about.’

  ‘Is that what people are saying?’ He sounded genuinely astounded.

  ‘That’s what a couple of people in the village were saying.’ She came close to asking the reason why he had chosen to turn his back on celebrity and hide himself away out here in the middle of the country, but she relegated that question to the heap of others to be asked when they knew each other better.

  At the bottom of the stairs he looked out of the door at the gathering dusk. ‘Are you going to be okay walking home on your own? I’ve got this damn conference call but I could ask Armando to give you a lift.’

  She assured him she was fine, resisted the temptation to kiss him, thanked him again, and set off back down the drive.

  Chapter 14

  The following morning, as it was a Sunday, she sat down after a late breakfast and searched the internet. This was for two reasons. One was to read up about John Hawkwood, the medieval mercenary leader, and the other was to check out David Lorenzo.

  She started with the tennis player and it didn’t take long for her to discover the two main reasons why he had been suffering from depression. A feeling of pity spread through her as she read numerous newspaper articles going back over the last three years. First was of course the fact that he had been forced to give up tennis as a result of the knee problems suffered at Roland Garros in Paris, with which she was already familiar. As she had seen first-hand, the effect of this upon him had been crushing.

  Second, and probably even more important, was the fact that his marriage had broken down not long afterwards. His wife had left him, but there were conflicting reports as to what had been the cause of the break-up, although they mostly seemed to agree that it had been his fault. Her feeling of pity for him turned to disappointment. Hypotheses ranged from physical assault to a naked sex romp with a bunch of cheerleaders in Orlando, and she shook her head in disbelief. As a result of the media hounding he had subsequently r
eceived, he had disappeared into thin air and his whereabouts were still unknown, although there was a theory he had left the US for Europe.

  She sat back and stared blankly at the screen. This was all brand new to her – but of course, she had been in the middle of Africa at the time those events had taken place. Could it be that his wife had left him because he had been unfaithful to her? Did this mean he was no better than Charles, Tommy and maybe even Pietro? What was it about men that they couldn’t understand, and stick to, the concept of monogamy? David had really struck her as a decent, straightforward guy, in spite of his initial grumpiness, but, alas, it appeared that this might not be the case.

  Of course, she told herself, there were always two sides to every story and maybe his wife had been the cause of the breakdown of the marriage, but in her eyes, if it turned out he was the guilty party, there was no excuse. Just like Charles, if he could do it once, he could do it again, and she knew she would never be able to trust him if these reports were true – maybe as a neighbour and friend with an interest in history, but nothing more. Mind you, she reminded herself, there was no way she would have felt comfortable hooking up with a multi-millionaire anyway.

  In an attempt to take her mind off the tennis player, she read about John Hawkwood. He had indeed been a very canny and a very successful general who had led from the front. A description of him remarked upon his broad shoulders and powerful physique. She had no doubt that would have been necessary at a time when the weapon of choice was a longbow or a two-handed sword a metre long which could decapitate a horse or a knight in steel armour. Either of these weapons required considerable upper body strength.

  Over the course of his career Hawkwood had fought for and against the Pope, and for and against most of the warring city-states of northern Italy, before ending up as a faithful servant of Florence. As David had told her, he had been buried in the Duomo in Florence, although his remains had subsequently been returned to England at the express request of King Richard III. A fresco in his honour still stood inside the Duomo and she resolved to take a trip up there to see it one of these days. There was no mention of Castelnuovo, so she returned to her history book through which she was slowly working her way. The facts the author presented were interesting, but he had a lugubrious style and a love of never-ending sentences, so it was proving to be a long, hard grind.

  Before she could read much more of it, there was a knock at the door. She went over to open it and to her surprise, she found Pietro standing there. Without Daniela.

  ‘Ciao, Lucy. Are you free for a few minutes?’

  She kissed him on the cheeks and waved him in, thinking that this was the perfect opportunity to talk to him about Daniela’s suspicions, but he shook his head. ‘There’s something I’d like to show you. Would you mind coming with me? It’s not far.’

  Puzzled, but intrigued, Lucy grabbed her bag, locked the door and followed him out to his car. He drove back through the village, then, just as they left the last house behind, he turned off onto a strada bianca leading to what Lucy now knew to be Margherita’s grandson’s farm. As they bumped along the potholed track towards the farmhouse, she realised that her guess that it might be medieval was almost certainly correct. It was a charming old brick-built longhouse with stables and stalls for animals at one end and the farmer’s accommodation at the other. Sitting on the front doorstep was yet another black Labrador.

  Pietro drew up opposite the farmhouse and as Lucy climbed out, she was greeted by the dog. His greeting was less effusive than the one she was used to receiving from Boris, but his tail was wagging and he looked friendly. His nose hairs were just beginning to turn white and she calculated he was a good bit older. This made her wonder if he might be the father of Boris and the other Labrador she had seen in the restaurant. When he spotted Pietro, his tail started wagging more enthusiastically and he trotted round to jump up against him to be petted. Clearly, this Lab and Pietro were old friends.

  ‘Ciao, Nerone. Have you been a good dog?’ As Pietro patted the dog’s head, the fly curtain at the door parted and a man came out.

  He was tall, with a mop of dark hair hanging around his tanned, stubbly face and almost down to his broad shoulders. He was wearing scruffy shorts and a battered T-shirt that revealed his muscular forearms. Both these and his strong brown legs were covered in a mat of dark hair and Lucy had to admit he was a very good-looking man. As he saw Pietro, his face broke into a smile.

  ‘Ciao, Pietro.’

  ‘Ciao, Roberto.’ With the dog bouncing at his side, Pietro went over to shake hands and make the introductions. ‘This is Lucy. She’s my English friend and she lives here now. She and Danni have known each other since they were kids.’

  Lucy gave Roberto a little wave. He had to be Margherita’s grandson. He came over and extended a welcoming hand.

  ‘Ciao, Lucy. Good to meet you. You’re living in the cottage at the far end of the village, aren’t you? My grandma’s told me all about you.’

  ‘It’s good to meet you too, Roberto.’ She gave him a big smile. ‘I love your home. And what a view!’

  He nodded. ‘I’ve lived here for forty years, but I never tire of it.’

  Pietro cut in. ‘I’ve brought Lucy here to show her what I’ve been making. I’ll just take her round to the barn if that’s okay.’

  ‘Of course.’ Roberto glanced at Lucy. ‘And if you feel like calling in for a glass of wine afterwards, I’ll be here.’

  ‘Thank you. I’ve been meaning to come and buy some of your wine and olive oil. Your gran gave me some of the oil, which is amazing, but I’d love to try the wine.’

  He gave her a little wave of the hand and returned to the house. The dog hesitated, torn between following his master or his friend, before deciding to head back and take up station on the doorstep once more. Pietro led Lucy around the back of the farmhouse to a more modern building. He opened a side door and waved her in.

  ‘That’s it. Over there, under the dustsheet.’

  The room was clearly a workshop. The floor was covered in sawdust and wood shavings and there were numerous bits of new and antique furniture lying around. As Lucy followed Pietro over to the object under the sheet, suddenly everything became clear to her.

  He pulled the cover away to reveal the sweetest little crib she had ever seen. It was made of highly polished new wood and Pietro had sculpted almost every flat surface with bunny rabbits, birds, dogs and cats. It was simply delightful and she knew that Daniela would fall in love with it.

  ‘It’s a secret because I want it to be a surprise. I’ve been making it over the past couple of months. It started out as a project at evening class, but Roberto, who’s an old friend, said it would be okay if I brought it here to finish it off when the institute closed for the summer. What do you think?’

  ‘I love it, Pietro.’ Such was her feeling of relief to learn what he had been doing that Lucy went over and threw her arms around him and kissed him on the cheek. ‘And Danni’s going to love it, too.’

  ‘Lucy, listen, I need your help. Danni’s acting very strange. The way she’s been looking at me over the past few weeks, the things she says, and the things she doesn’t say, I’m beginning to wonder if she’s fallen out of love with me. I know she’s pregnant and that can affect her mood, but I’ve never known her to behave like this.’ He looked up in real anguish. ‘I don’t know what to do, Lucy, honestly.’

  Lucy took his hand and led him over to a bench where they sat down side-by-side. She kept hold of his hand in both of hers as she related everything Daniela had told her and she was delighted to see relief and real joy spread across his face as the significance of her words sank in.

  ‘So she thinks I don’t love her? That’s crazy.’

  ‘That’s what I told her, but she wouldn’t listen. Anyway, now that you know, I really think there’s only one thing for you to do.’

  ‘Tell her everything.’

  ‘Absolutely. And, if you want my advice, I’d t
ake her the crib and give it to her now, even if it’s not completely finished.’ She squeezed his hand a last time before releasing it. ‘She’ll love it and everything will be straightened out. I’m so, so glad for you both.’

  She gave him a hand to carry the crib out to his little car. Together they folded the rear seats down and squeezed it into the back. He then led her over to Roberto’s house where she found she was in for a treat. There, lying in a big wicker basket in the corner of the big old farmhouse kitchen was yet another Labrador and this one had half a dozen of the sweetest little puppies pressed up against her. Nerone, evidently the proud father to this litter of pups, trotted over to say hello again while his mate just lay there and let her tail wag lazily. Roberto looked up from the table.

  ‘I don’t suppose I can interest you in a Labrador puppy, can I?’

  Lucy beamed at him. ‘I would love a puppy, but I just can’t. It wouldn’t be fair on the dog. I’d have to leave it alone all day.’

  ‘You live by yourself?’

  ‘Yes, and I work across the valley at the Siena Clinic. I’m a doctor.’

  After Lucy had spent a lot of time making a fuss of the little dogs and then, reluctantly, handed them back to their mother, Roberto led her and Pietro out and along the front of the building until they came to a glazed arch. In here was his farm shop and he insisted she should taste not only last year’s red wine, but also his new development – a sparkling deep rose-coloured wine that tasted amazing. Lucy had no hesitation in buying a dozen bottles of each, along with a five litre can of extra-virgin olive oil.

  As the crib was now occupying what little space there was in Pietro’s Fiat, she told Roberto she would come straight back in her own car to collect her purchases. He told her not to worry, loaded them into the back of his battered old Land Rover and gave her a lift home with the wine. Before leaving the farm, she kissed Pietro on the cheek and made him promise to text her as soon as he and Daniela had had their talk, and asked him to have a think whether they might like to come out for dinner with her to celebrate.