Second Chances in Chianti (Escape to Tuscany Book 2)

by T A Williams

  ‘Living alone with a dog makes life dead easy. Guinness doesn’t mind if I don’t do the housework, and a bit of clutter around the place doesn’t bother me.’

  Alice had to fight the temptation to sigh with relief. So he did live alone, which presumably indicated there was no wife or partner lurking in the background after all. She felt a surge of excitement. ‘I was telling my mum about you yesterday and she asked if you were a crazy man living all alone with just a dog.’ She realised her mistake too late. Why on earth had she told him she had spoken to her mum about him? Talk about needy…

  ‘I don’t know about crazy, but I don’t mind being alone.’ His tone became more sombre, as he repeated the remark that had surprised her the other day at the cafe in Greve. ‘Compared to some people I’ve come across over the past few years, my own company is far preferable. Besides, you’re never alone with a dog.’

  ‘I can imagine. He’s a great dog.’ She caught his eye for a moment. ‘To be honest, I find I’m quite happy being on my own as well.’

  ‘You’re really all on your own? That surprises me.’ Was this just a throwaway remark or might it be a sign of interest?

  She decided to keep it light and avoid mention of David. ‘I would think it’s par for the course for an art historian – with or without a cardigan.’

  ‘If you say so.’ He headed for the door. ‘Thank you for the collar. Guinness will be wearing it next time we meet. See you, Alice, and thanks again.’

  He gave a low whistle, and he and his dog were off.

  Later that morning she got an email that took her by surprise. It was from Claudio.

  She had met Claudio three years earlier, when she had spent the month of July in Italy researching her doctoral thesis. He was a lecturer in medieval history at La Sapienza in Rome – one of the oldest universities in the world – and she had been out to dinner with him a few times before her return to England. They had corresponded sporadically over the following few months – mainly about academic matters – but then contact had ceased. He was a nice guy and, as he was an expert on the Renaissance, he had helped her considerably. In his email he told her he was spending the hot summer months of July and August in the relative cool of the high southern Tuscan hills near Monte Amiata. He had just seen her photos in the news and wondered if she was still in Tuscany, in which case he suggested meeting up.

  Alice hesitated before answering. On the one hand, it would be good to see him again – to have a bit of company and to be able to talk shop for a day – but she had got the impression three years ago that his interest in her had been more than just academic and she didn’t see him that way. Yes, he was intelligent, yes he was a fairly good-looking guy, but there was just no spark there as far as she was concerned, and she wouldn’t want to build up his expectations only to dash them. Even if so many of the men around her seemed incapable of behaving properly, that was no reason why she should follow suit. Still, lunch with him sounded safe enough and a bit of company would be rather nice, so she replied, telling him she was near Greve in Chianti and asking where he would like to meet up.

  She spent the rest of the day in the ancient city of Arezzo that perched on a steep hillside and boasted a wealth of historic buildings. It took less than an hour to get there by car and she had a most enjoyable afternoon walking around the centro storico. Her first stop was the cathedral, whose fairly plain outside belied the treasures within, and she stayed there for quite some time. After all, it wasn’t every day she was able to study works by greats such as Donatello close up and personal. From there she moved on to the much smaller, but even older, Basilica of San Francesco, where the stunning array of frescoes by Piero della Francesca almost took her breath away.

  Finally, outside in the cloying heat once more, she headed for the quaint sloping Piazza Grande, took a seat at a table under the arches, and ordered a lemon sorbet and a glass of mineral water. From there she had a spectacular view out over the brick-paved square, framed by a stunning array of thirteenth-century buildings that were bristling with arches and crenellations and full of unmistakable Tuscan character. Although crawling with tourists, it was still mightily impressive. In particular, she was fascinated to see the colourful shields of the city’s former rulers mounted on the walls all around the piazza, painted with the coats of arms of local families. She studied them intently but, alas, could see no trace of any wasps.

  When she got home again, she was feeling quite hungry, as she had skipped lunch, so she decided to treat herself to dinner at Giovanni’s restaurant. As she was walking across the piazza on her way there, her phone bleeped and she saw that it was a message from Claudio. He was offering to drive over to see her. When she got to the restaurant, she checked whether they were open at lunchtimes and sent him a message telling him any day was good for her and suggesting they meet here at the restaurant at noon on the day of his choice. That way he wouldn’t actually be coming into her house and this would help to keep things a bit less intimate, just in case he was still keen on her.

  That evening, to her relief, there was no sign of Conrad Chesterfield or his family in the restaurant and she enjoyed a fine dinner of grilled trout accompanied by a wonderful mixed salad. At the end of the meal, even though she had had a sorbet in Arezzo, she allowed herself a silky-smooth panna cotta, topped with fresh strawberries and blueberries. By the time she walked back home across the square, she was feeling happy and relaxed. Matt was beginning to thaw and David and Richie were gradually receding into distant memories, and she felt an increasing sense of calm. As she watched the antics of the bats wheeling around the orange streetlights, she reflected yet again that her decision not to head back to Hollywood had probably been the right one. Why trade this sort of peace and quiet for the bright lights? It didn’t get much better than this.

  Or rather, the only way it could get better than this would be if a certain someone were to show a bit more interest. And whether that would happen or not was still anybody’s guess.

  Chapter 17

  She met Claudio a few days later. He was already waiting outside the restaurant when she got there and he beamed as he caught sight of her.

  ‘Ciao, Alice. It’s great to see you again.’

  She went up to him and kissed him on the cheeks, then stepped back and studied him more closely. He now had a close-cropped beard and different glasses, but he still looked very much the same as the last time she had seen him three years earlier.

  ‘Ciao, Claudio. It was lovely to hear from you. Thanks for coming to see me.’

  They went into Giovanni’s restaurant and sat down outside, in the garden. It was another hot day, but the sky was overcast and she wondered if bad weather might be on the way. Not that she could complain – she had only had a couple of wet days in over two weeks. They chatted about her life and his and he congratulated her warmly on getting her doctorate before giving her his big news.

  ‘I’m getting married in September.’

  Alice looked up with interest. ‘Congratulations. And who’s the lucky girl?’

  He went on to tell her all about his bride-to-be and Alice told him how happy she was for him – not least as this now removed any fear that he might have been harbouring amorous intentions. As a result, it was a lovely relaxing lunch and at the end of it she invited him back to her house for coffee and a chat. They sat on the bench in the garden and spent a happy hour or more talking about medieval history, and she mentioned the enigma of the shield with the wasps on it. To her delight, she spotted a flicker of recognition on his face.

  ‘On a diagonal stripe, you say?’

  ‘Yes, on a field of deep red. The wasps are a gold colour and the stripe blue.’

  ‘Give me a moment.’ Claudio pulled out his phone and busied himself for a few moments before giving a grunt of satisfaction and passing it across to her. ‘Look familiar?’

  It certainly did. There could be no doubt about it – the red background, the stripe, the insects – yes, this was th
e same one. She nodded emphatically.

  ‘That’s it, I’m sure.’

  ‘I thought it sounded familiar.’ Claudio took the phone back from her and explained. ‘I knew I’d seen it before. It belonged to the Vespucci family. The wasps are a play on the word vespa, wasp in English. Does the name Amerigo Vespucci ring a bell?’

  Alice’s eyes opened wide and she nodded. ‘The man who gave his name to America?’ She hesitated. ‘I never did know whether he discovered it or whether that was down to Christopher Columbus.’

  Claudio laughed. ‘Academics have been arguing about that for hundreds of years – or at least the naming part of it. Forgetting for a moment that it’s pretty certain the Vikings, cod fishermen from Europe and maybe even the Chinese got there first, it’s generally accepted that Columbus discovered what he thought was the Spice Islands in 1492, even though what he had in fact found was the Bahamas. Subsequently, he made it as far as Cuba, but he only actually reached mainland America in 1498 – and that was Venezuela. Although there’s a public holiday in his name in the USA, the fact is that Columbus never set foot in North America.’

  ‘And Amerigo Vespucci?’

  ‘There’s just as much myth and mystery surrounding him. He was born in Florence, and went off to work in Portugal and then Spain as an explorer and cartographer. Nobody knows for sure how many times he went to the Americas, or if he ever reached North America, although that looks highly unlikely. But he was the first to speculate that what had been discovered might be a whole new continent. His maps were used by a German cartographer called Martin Waldseemüller, who published his definitive world map in 1507 and was the first person to coin the name America. He did this out of respect for Amerigo Vespucci, and it stuck.’

  ‘And do you think Vespucci might have lived in the Chianti region?’

  Claudio shook his head. ‘I doubt it. I’d have to check, but I’m almost certain he spent most of his life in Spain and he died there. Maybe some descendant adopted the coat of arms and settled in Chianti some years later. If I find anything else, I’ll be in touch.’

  Alice beamed at him. Her academic interest had been tickled by this mystery and she decided to do her best to discover the truth of it. It occurred to her that Conrad Chesterfield, as an American, would no doubt be fascinated if it emerged that his Tuscan villa had such a connection with the origins of his home country.

  It was a lovely afternoon and she enjoyed Claudio’s company and had a great time talking about her chosen subject. When the time came for him to leave, she accompanied him up the road to the piazza where he had left his car, gave him a warm hug and kissed him on the cheeks, wishing him well for the future.

  There was just one problem.

  As she stood there, watching him drive off, she happened to glance back in the opposite direction and saw the unmistakable shape of an old Land Rover pull out of a parking space outside the bar and disappear around the corner. Although it was a hundred yards away, she got the distinct impression that the driver’s eyes met hers for a second before hastily looking away. She stood there blankly, wondering if Matt had seen her kissing Claudio – albeit chastely on the cheeks – and whether he had jumped to any conclusions. The rational part of her brain told her it didn’t matter anyway, but the less rational side was immediately seized with frustration that she might, unwittingly, have convinced him that she had found another man. She shook her head in annoyance.

  That evening there was another storm, complete with spectacular flashes of lightning and deafening claps of thunder, and she sat in her lounge, reading the book that Millie had left her – the misogynistic The Playboy and His Women. She couldn’t avoid the uncomfortable parallels she found herself drawing between the behaviour of the selfish hero, Justin – with his cynical and predatory attitude towards women – and so many of the men she had met in her life, starting with David and Richie, not to mention Harry. Grudgingly, she had to admit that the book was well-written and, while the subject might be unpalatable, it was a fair reflection of much of her experience so far. But now, she told herself with a flash of self-awareness, was she maybe behaving just like that towards Matt? She knew she had been obsessing about him, just like the character in the book, so might this just be lust? Was the fact that she felt her heart flutter every time she saw him just a hormonal reaction or could there be more to it than that?

  The question continued to occupy her mind on and off all night. The noise of the storm kept waking her up and, whenever she did, she was almost immediately assailed by these same thoughts. Finally, somewhere around the middle of the night, the storm stopped as suddenly as it had started and she fell asleep, not waking until almost nine o’clock.

  She rolled out of bed and glanced out of the window. Puddles filled the back garden, and she could hear the persistent sound of water dripping from the eaves and the gutters, which had overflowed. The patch of sky directly above her, however, was now cloudless and bright blue once more. It felt blissfully cool in comparison to previous days, so she went downstairs, made herself a cup of tea and set off on her morning run before the temperature climbed once again.

  As she crossed the piazza, she looked over towards the bar but saw no sign of Matt and his dog, so she headed up past the villa, constantly having to swerve from side to side to avoid the streams of water running down the road after last night’s downpour. It was a sparkling clear day after the rain and she relished the relatively fresh air at this time of the morning. It felt good to be alive. The only downside was the fact that she saw no trace of Matt or Guinness on her way up and, even though she jogged along the gravel track at the top as far as the gates to the tower, it was without success. She wondered whether he had been put off by the scene involving her and Claudio or if, quite simply, he had just not felt like coming out.

  But then, as she was almost back home again, just where the road entered the village, she heard a vehicle behind her and turned to see the Land Rover coming towards her, with man and dog in it. Her heart gave that same flutter of attraction, lust or whatever it was, as he came to a halt alongside her.

  ‘Good morning, Matt. I’m a bit later than usual today. Hi, there, Guinness.’

  The jubilant Labrador, proudly sporting his new collar, stood with his front paws on the top of the door to say hello, while his master looked up at her.

  ‘Couldn’t sleep because of the thunder?’

  ‘Pretty much.’ She didn’t tell him about the thoughts of him that had been plaguing her. ‘But it’s cleared the air wonderfully.’ That’s the way, girl, she told herself, talk about the weather. That’s what we English do, after all.

  ‘All I can say is I’m glad I had a lightning conductor installed. The tower’s pretty exposed up there. Feel like a coffee? Guinness and I would enjoy your company.’

  The idea of a coffee with Matt did sound good, although dripping with sweat wasn’t necessarily the look she would have chosen. Then a sudden thought struck her and she shook her head, patting her thighs to highlight the lack of pockets in her running shorts. All she had was a tiny pouch with just room for her house key.

  ‘I can’t, I’m afraid. I’ve come out without any money.’

  ‘Leave that to me. A cappuccino and a doughnut, isn’t it?’

  ‘Well, thank you yet again, that would be lovely, but I can’t let you keep on paying.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it.’

  She jogged along after his car and by the time she got to the bar, Matt was already sitting outside at a table, while Rita bustled about with a cloth, wiping everything dry. Guinness made a terrific fuss of Alice and then stretched out happily underneath the table. She knew there was something she had to do so, as soon as Rita had brought them their coffees and a doughnut for her, she launched into it.

  ‘I think I saw you yesterday afternoon. Sorry I didn’t have a chance to chat, but I had a visit from a good friend from Rome. He’s a lecturer in medieval history and he was very helpful to me when I was researching my thesis
.’ Was that an expression of relief on his face? Surely not?

  ‘He must like you a lot to drive all the way from Rome to see you.’ That definitely sounded like fishing.

  ‘He’s on holiday in Tuscany and he came to tell me he’s engaged to be married in September. We had lunch together and then talked history all afternoon.’ Confident she had got the message across, she reached for the doughnut. As she did so, a black nose materialised at her side and rested on her thigh, while a pair of mournful brown eyes stared longingly up at her – or more precisely, the doughnut. ‘Is it all right if I give Guinness a bit of doughnut?’

  ‘By all means. He gets loads of exercise, so he’ll just run it off.’

  Matt leant back, and Alice sensed he was relaxing more and more in her company. They chatted for half an hour but he still didn’t talk about himself much, except to tell her that he had a ‘little place’ in London, but that the tower was now his permanent home. He made no mention of a job, but it was clear he must have a regular income from somewhere. She wondered where his money came from but didn’t think it appropriate to press him on it.

  After a bit, she decided he had relaxed sufficiently for her to do a little digging. ‘So why come to Tuscany, Matt?’

  ‘I needed a bit of peace and quiet, and I was getting fed up with London.’

  ‘But you could have gone anywhere, surely?’

  ‘Yes, but my mother’s Italian and, seeing as I spoke the language reasonably well, Italy seemed like a logical choice. I’d been to Tuscany before and loved it. As a place to escape to, this region seemed an ideal choice.’

  ‘Why buy yourself a tower? Isn’t that a bit extreme in terms of getting away from it all?’

  He smiled gently. ‘I’d been going through a funny time in my life – it’s complicated but I was feeling a bit stressed, a bit harassed, so I suppose the idea of a fortress was just what I needed at the time. Like I said, it was a sort of escape for me.’