by T A Williams
After persuading Jeeves to relinquish the pool and then taking evasive action to prevent him from soaking her as he shook himself, she rubbed him dry with the same towel she had found at the castle the previous year before calling everybody out to the loggia. Today there would be ten people for lunch as Beppe and his wife, along with Rita and her husband, had also been invited. Chris had fired up the barbecue and while he started grilling a mountain of meat, prawns and cheese, Rachel filled the glasses with Beppe’s wine made with the grapes they had all helped to pick this time last year. Part of the deal when selling the castle had been that Beppe would continue to look after the estate for the new owners and Sophie and Rachel would get three damigiane of wine each year for the next ten years. Over a hundred and fifty litres of wine a year added up to almost half a litre a day, every day, if Sophie felt like drinking it, but so far she had been pacing herself. Although now firmly set on the road to becoming a professional writer, she had no intention of going down the Hemingway trail.
Knowing that most Italian men didn’t consider a meal a real meal unless it included pasta, Sophie had made two massive steaming dishes of lasagne and she set them on the table for people to help themselves once they had finished their starters. The antipasti consisted of sliced ham, salami and a salad of fresh porcini mushrooms – found by Chris and her in the wooded hills to the north of them – mixed with rocket leaves, slivers of parmesan, lime juice and extra virgin olive oil. While everybody was digging in, she went over to the barbecue with a plate of salad and salami to share with Chris. She nibbled his ear and received a little kiss in reply.
‘Ciao, bella.’ His Italian classes were paying off. And they needed to. He had just heard that he was going to be heading up a brand-new branch of his company, specialising in medieval art and artefacts. Although this would be based in Rome, he would travel all over Europe and would be able to do a lot of work from home. And home would be here with Sophie.
‘Ciao, bello. How’s the food coming along?’
‘Somehow I get the feeling our four-legged friend’s going to do very well out of today’s meal. You certainly haven’t under-catered. These steaks alone would feed all of us and then some, without adding the sausages, prawns or all that cheese.’ He gave her a quick peck on the lips. ‘All well with the antipasti?’
‘The table’s gone very quiet and that’s always a good sign. Here, I’ll feed you some salami and porcini.’ She fed him bit by bit and took a few mouthfuls herself while he continued with his cooking. She leant against him, savouring the moment. On her other side a slightly damp hairy body leant against her, nostrils flared upwards in the direction of the tantalising odours emanating from the grill. When Sophie and Chris reached the end of the salad she held up his glass to his lips so he could take a mouthful before taking a sip herself. Yes, no question, it really was good wine.
‘Shall I go and fetch you some lasagne?’
He shook his head. ‘I think I’ll skip the pasta course. Having seen what’s coming next, I don’t think I’d have room.’
‘Then I’d better go back to the others. We did invite them after all so I’d better put in an appearance at table.’
‘Of course.’ She was just turning away when she heard his voice. ‘Soph, can you reach into the bag over there for me?’ He nodded towards an anonymous little brown paper bag lying on the stone slab that served as a table alongside the barbecue.
Sophie reached in and pulled out a little square box, wrapped in silver paper and tied with a red bow. She gave him a puzzled look.
‘I thought you’d already given Rachel a birthday present.’
‘Yes, but this is for you.’
‘A present? For me? It’s not my birthday for another six months or so, so why…?’
He grinned at her. ‘Stop asking questions and just open it, would you?’
She undid the bow and tore off the paper to reveal a slightly battered black velvet box. She glanced up at him. ‘Is this what I think it is?’
‘Just open the blooming thing, would you?’
She opened the box and inside she found an absolutely beautiful antique gold ring. Mounted on it was a little cluster of diamonds around a deep green emerald.
‘Now listen, Soph. I want you to know that there’s no pressure. Just because the others are all going legit, I’m riotously happy to just keep living with you any way you want, so you can wear it on any finger you like. In fact, if you don’t like it, you don’t have to wear it at all.’
Sophie suddenly felt sure she was going to cry. She struggled to speak. ‘It’s gorgeous, Chris. Where did you get it?’
‘I bought it at our big jewellery sale last year.’
Sophie took it out of the box and turned it over and over in her fingers, seeing the sunlight sparkle and flash as she did so. ‘I thought your big jewellery sale was usually at Easter.’
‘That’s right, April.’
‘April last year, not this year?’ She could hear the incredulity in her own voice. ‘I was still in London then, moping about and looking like a tramp. Are you saying you bought this for me way back then? Are you sure it wasn’t for some other woman?’ She was sure she knew the answer, but she gave him a smile as she said it just in case.
‘It was for you. I was all set to throw caution to the wind and ask you to marry me when you got the letter about inheriting the castle and announced you’d be leaving for Italy.’
‘And you never said anything? Why wait until now?’
‘I wanted the moment to be perfect. Here, now, in the sunshine, just you, me and good old Jeeves, with our friends just over there, strikes me as about as good as it gets. But I meant it about there being no pressure. Like I say, stick it on any finger or hang it round your neck if you like.’
She was still smiling, although she could feel the first of many happy tears already running down her cheeks. ‘Let me get this straight: are you asking me to marry you, Chris?’
‘Erm… yes, if you’ll have me.’
She slid the ring onto her finger and wiped the tears from her face. ‘Of course, I’ll have you, you idiot.’
And she kissed him.
At her feet, a cold wet nose nudged her leg. Jeeves knew a happy ending when he saw one.
Acknowledgements
With warmest thanks to my editor Emily Bedford and all the lovely people at my publishers, Canelo. Special thanks also to my friends Laura Bambrey and Elaine Brent for being kind enough to read the book and comment. Much appreciated and very helpful.
About the Author
T.A. Williams lives in Devon with his Italian wife. He was born in England of a Scottish mother and Welsh father. After a degree in modern languages at Nottingham University, he lived and worked in Switzerland, France and Italy, before returning to run one of the best-known language schools in the UK. He’s taught Arab princes, Brazilian beauty queens and Italian billionaires. He speaks a number of languages and has travelled extensively. He has eaten snake, still-alive fish, and alligator. A Spanish dog, a Russian bug and a Korean parasite have done their best to eat him in return. His hobby is long-distance cycling, but his passion is writing.
Also by T.A. Williams
Chasing Shadows
Dreaming of Venice
Dreaming of Florence
Dreaming of St-Tropez
Dreaming of Christmas
Dreaming of Tuscany
Dreaming of Rome
Dreaming of Verona
Dreaming of Italy
Escape to Tuscany
Under a Siena Sun
Second Chances in Chianti
Secrets on the Italian Island
Love from Italy
A Little Piece of Paradise
First published in the United Kingdom in 2021 by Canelo
Canelo Digital Publishing Limited
31 Helen Road
Oxford OX2 0DF
United Kingdom
Copyright © T.A. Williams, 2021
The moral right
of T.A. Williams to be identified as the creator of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781800323827
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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