by Daisy James
‘Ciao!’ declared the Adonis, before launching into a stream of complicated Italian until he saw the look of bewilderment on her face and switched to English. ‘Hey, you must be Isabella?’
The way her name tripped from his tongue sent sparkles of delight through her veins and when she reached out to shake his hand, her stomach performed a somersault of interest. What was the matter with her! First Luca, now…
‘I’m Gianni Lombardo. Carlotta told me you would be here today.’
‘Hi Gianni, it’s great to meet you. Yes, yes, I arrived last night,’ she said, unable to wipe the stupid grin from her face. ‘Fancy a coffee?’
Ignoring the mountain of furniture piled in a topsy-turvy mess on the terrace for the time being, she led Gianni into the kitchen and poured them both a coffee from the percolator. She swallowed a mouthful of the fragrant brew, pausing to allow its revitalising properties to seep into her veins before sliding into a seat opposite Gianni at the scrubbed kitchen table, pushing a stack of magazines and recipes to one side to make space for her cup. For some reason, Gianni’s presence in the kitchen made the room look even more chaotic!
‘Now, Isabella, what can I do to you?’
‘Pardon?’ spluttered Izzie, wiping a dribble of coffee from her lips.
Gianni waggled his eyebrows suggestively, his eyes resting on hers for a beat longer than necessary, and for the first time Izzie understood Meghan’s reference to ‘come-to-bed eyes’. With a mop of liquorice curls that he flicked from his forehead at regular intervals, and long spidery lashes, he oozed Italian sexuality. His muscular biceps and torso stretched the fabric of his snow-white T-shirt, and yet Gianni didn’t look to Izzie like the sort of person who spent hours in the gym honing his body to perfection. He did, however, frequent the local perfumery because an aroma of spicy cologne hung in the air like a nuclear fallout cloud. A perfectly formed image of a drooling Meghan floated across her vision and she smiled.
‘I think you mean what can you do for me? Actually, I’m glad you asked because…’
‘Did Carlotta tell you that it is I who am responsible for the whole of the Villa dei Limoni estate? The olive trees, the vineyard, the gardens, the plants in the limonaia? Everything blooms as a result of my own hands!’ declared Gianni, a mixture of pride and love suffusing his face. ‘Come on. I’ll give you a tour!’
Without waiting for her to reply, Gianni scraped back his chair, tossed his cup in the sink and strode from the kitchen, motioning for her to follow in his wake. She didn’t have the heart to refuse, so she swallowed her last mouthful of coffee and galloped after him, keen to discover what hidden secrets the villa’s land would reveal in the company of its guardian.
Over the next hour, Izzie was introduced to a menagerie of insects, frogs and birds as well as being treated to an enthusiastic monologue on every aspect of Italian viticulture, horticulture, and the management of olives groves. As they strolled through the kitchen garden, soft leaves caressing her naked shins, she was urged to inhale the intoxicating perfume of the aromatic rosemary and basil, to taste the plump ripe tomatoes, the asparagus and the chard, before coming to a halt at the end of a row of vines that hugged the south facing slope to her right.
‘What are these plants here?’
‘They are carciofi, artichokes.’
Izzie glanced at Gianni, wondering if he was teasing her. ‘Artichokes?’
‘Yes, and these are roses. They’re often planted around the perimeter of a vineyard as a sort of early-warning system against disease. Roses are much more susceptible to mildew than vines, so if they are showing signs of distress we can treat the vines immediately to prevent infection.’
‘Is that what’s happened to these vines?’ she asked, fingering the brittle brown leaves that crumbled when she touched them.
‘No, that’s something else,’ said Gianni, his forehead furrowing with concern. ‘I don’t know what it is. The same thing happened last year to a couple dozen grapevines in the bottom field and I thought my heart would break, and this year it looks like the problem has spread up here.’
Gianni paused to caress a healthy vine leaf as though it were the silky ear of his pet spaniel. ‘I love these vines more than life itself! The grapes are sangiovese and the wine they produce this year will be my gift to the world! I want this vineyard to be my legacy to the valley, but it looks like I might lose another twenty vines this season. I’m devastato.’
Izzie didn’t know what to say after such an impassioned speech about viticulture. She wasn’t sure, but she thought she saw tears collecting at the corners of Gianni’s eyes. At home in Cornwall, her parents loved tending their garden, even more so now as a way of soothing the intensity of their grief, but horticulture had never interested her, nor Anna. She and Gianni walked in silence back towards the house, each dwelling on their respective troubles, until they arrived at the handsome stone wishing well.
‘Is this ornamental or an actual working well?’
‘Oh, it’s a real well. Until twenty years ago it was the villa’s only source of water. Now the house is connected to the mains, but I prefer to use the well for the garden and the vines, and the plants in the glasshouse. This water comes straight from the hills, so there’s none of the harsh chemicals you’ll find in tap water, and it’s what makes my grapes the best in the area!’
‘Well, it’s really charming. I think I might clean it up a bit, give it a lick of paint.’
She saw Gianni roll his eyes, but she ignored him, her mind scooting to the possibility of throwing a coin into its depths and making a wish. If she invested in three coins, did that mean she would return to Villa Limoncello? Was that something she wanted?
She and Gianni continued towards the house and came to a stop next to the raised dais that housed the white-domed gazebo where Brad intended to film the ceremony. Izzie could easily envision the six columns entwined with white muslin, interspersed with fresh white roses and finished with ribbons floating in the breeze like angel’s wings. In her mind’s eye she could see the white-painted chairs in rows on either side of the red carpet with posies attached just as the brief had stipulated. It really was an idyllic place and it was a perfect choice to showcase an authentic Italian wedding – if you angled the lens away from the dilapidation of the villa’s façade.
‘So, I can see that nature is your passion. I feel the same way about interior design.’
Or she had, she thought, until the director of fate stepped in and numbed her creativity.
‘Oh, yes, I love working on the land, watching the seasons change, appreciating the fruits of my labours, but my true passion is music. My dream is to become an opera singer!’
And without skipping a beat, Gianni launched into an ear-splitting rendition of O Sole Mio as if to prove his talent. As the shock and urge to giggle subsided, Izzie realised he was actually very good.
‘Maybe I will sing at the wedding? Maybe my talent will be discovered and I will be asked to perform at La Scala!’
‘Maybe, maybe… So, is everything outside in hand?’
Izzie glanced at the tennis court, wondering why it had been left to fall into such disrepair. It was the only area of the grounds that let the side down, but that wasn’t a problem. She would think of something she could use to hide its scruffiness from straying eyes and lenses.
‘Certo che si! The rest is for you to worry about.’
‘Yes, worry being the operative word! I’ve only ever staged an interior before. I have to confess that it’s all a bit daunting.’
‘Ah, but with Carlotta on board you’ll have nothing to worry about! Oh, apart from one thing!’ Gianni shoved his hands into the front pockets of his shorts, his lips curling into a mischievous grin that caused his eyes to sparkle like a naughty schoolboy.
Despite having just met him, Izzie felt like she had known him for ever. Some people, no matter where or when your paths crossed, were just on the same wavelength as you. Yet, despite her initial reaction, althou
gh he was extremely handsome, friendship was the overriding emotion that bubbled inside her, not sexual attraction. However, she knew for certain that Meghan would go weak at the knees at first glance.
‘What’s that?’
‘Well, Carlotta is famous in San Vivaldo for two things. First, she is a fantastic cook, with an armoury of recipes handed down from her mother and grandmother and, if you are not careful, she will feed you until you burst! A visit to her home can often stretch into a ten-course banquet and an extended waistband.’
‘I think I’ve already experienced some of this. What’s the second thing?’
Gianni’s dark eyes widened and his lips stretched into a beaming smile.
‘What?’
‘You had better watch out, Izzie.’
‘What do you mean?’
Her stomach gave a lurch of alarm. Oh God, just when she thought a slice of culinary luck had been handed to her on a silver platter! Why did there always have to be a ‘but’?
‘Gianni!’
His eyes twinkled, and she relaxed a little. Clearly Gianni enjoyed winding up the gullible.
‘Carlotta is our village’s unofficial matchmaker.’
‘Matchmaker?’ That had been the last thing she had expected him to say.
‘Si. She possesses an instinctive understanding of a person’s character, of their hopes, their desires, and their flaws too, and then she matches them to their perfect partner. One way or another, she has been involved in introducing many couples and, to her credit, every one of their partnerships have lasted. You don’t have to take my word for it. Ask Paolo and Carina – their third child is due next month, there’s Alessandro and Camilla who got married just six weeks ago, and Flavio and Elisabetta who have just announced their engagement. So, if you don’t watch out, Izzie, you will have a ring on your finger before you board your plane back to London.’
With a splash of unease, Izzie recalled Carlotta’s scrutiny of her that morning when she thought she was analysing her slender silhouette. Could she have, instead, been flicking through her Rolodex of available men within a fifty-kilometre radius of San Vivaldo for a potential introduction to the new arrival? God, she hoped not!
‘Oh, don’t worry about me, Gianni. I’m definitely not here to dabble in any romantic dalliances. I don’t have the time, or the inclination, for love at the moment. I prefer to spend every spare second I have sourcing new fabrics, tracking down accessories and…’
She paused when she saw Gianni twist his face at her well-rehearsed dismissal of love in favour of work commitments, and his reaction reminded her of the way Meghan also rolled her eyes when she refused to double-date. She’d uttered the same rendition of ‘no time for dating’ so many times over recent months that it trotted off her tongue easily. However, for some reason this time, standing there in front of Gianni, she heard her words more clearly than she had before. How sad she sounded, how cheerless, how boring! Why had she allowed her life to become devoid of romance? But she knew the answer to that question only too well.
‘Anyway, Carlotta won’t have time to sprinkle me with her magic potion, or whatever it is she does to cause people to fall in love, because as soon as the words “it’s a wrap” have been declared, I’ll be flying back to London.’
Gianni scrunched up his nose in confusion and Izzie decided to head him off before he travelled any further down the road of the ups and downs of the dating game in Tuscany.
‘What about you, Gianni. Have you succumbed to Carlotta’s matchmaking skills?’
To Izzie’s surprise, Gianni’s expression morphed into one of despondency and she chastised herself for forgetting that external appearances could be deceptive and that everyone, no matter how jolly and chirpy on the outside, had something gnawing at their heart and she resolved to offer Gianni a listening ear.
‘Oh, Gianni, I’m sorry. That was rude of me. I…’
‘So, the delivery has arrived at last!’ exclaimed Gianni, striding away from her, keen to move onto a different subject. ‘Why didn’t Luca stay to help set everything up? Need a hand?’
‘Thanks, Gianni. That’s the best offer I’ve had all day!’
‘Where do you want to start?’
‘If we could take these boxes, and those packages over there containing the table linen, into the kitchen, I’ll check everything against the inventory later. I think we should make a start on setting out the chairs over by the gazebo.’
‘Sure, no problem. I’ll move the quad bike and be with you in a minute.’
‘Grazie, Gianni.’
Izzie exhaled a long sigh, and, not trusting Gianni – who had just crashed his quad bike into the outhouse door so forcefully that the door was now hanging from its hinges – she carried the box containing the crystal into the kitchen herself. When her eyes fell on her faithful colour-coded clipboards, she experienced a welcome resurgence of her craving for an orderly approach to the tasks in hand. She grabbed the sheaf of paperwork that included the illustrations of the seating plan and made her way to the gazebo where Gianni was waiting for her, surrounded by a battalion of white chairs and wreaths of coiled fairy lights.
‘Right, I’ll make a start on dressing the columns with this muslin, if you wouldn’t mind setting out the chairs – five rows of four on either side of the carpet, each chair must be ten centimetres apart. Here’s the ruler.’
‘The ruler?’
‘Don’t look at me like that.’ Izzie giggled at the comedic disbelief on Gianni’s face, grateful that this time the anally-retentive specification had originated from Brad and not her. ‘Sorry, that’s what the brief stipulates. Look!’
Izzie pointed to the drawings that looked like they’d been crafted by a professional architect. However, she had no intention of confessing to Gianni that it was her addiction to order and precision that had resulted in the added detail of placing sticky tape on the floor of the dais where the bride, the groom, the best man and the two bridesmaids would stand when the vows were being exchanged.
Gianni rolled his eyes at her but set to work without complaint whilst she studied the photographs and step-by-step directions on how to drape the fabric around the columns, create and attach the rosettes to the chairs, and where to hang the fairy lights. On occasion she was tempted to divert from the brief, to introduce her own touches of bridal embellishments, and whilst the upsurge in creativity gave her a warm feeling in her heart, she decided to adhere to the instructions.
‘Where do you think Carlotta is, Gianni? I thought she would be back at the villa by now?’
‘Ah, but it’s Monday.’
‘Ye…es?’
‘It’s market day. She and Vincenzo usually grab a fortifying coffee before embarking on a frenzy of extreme haggling. You should see them together – the stallholders have no chance!’
‘Vincenzo? Is that her husband?’
‘No, not her husband. Carlotta’s husband died over thirty years ago just two years after they were married.’
‘Oh, that’s so sad. Poor Carlotta, to lose her husband so young. I assume they didn’t have children? She hasn’t mentioned a family.’
‘No children, but she’s been an amazing sister, aunt, friend and confidante to almost everyone in the village. She is universally adored, as is Vincenzo who is a maestro forager and grows the most amazing organic produce that Carlotta uses to create delicious banquets for visiting holidaymakers in the area. Can you keep a secret?’
‘Of course!’
‘Well, everyone is hoping that one day Carlotta will apply her legendary matchmaking skills to her own situation. It’s like everyone knows they are in love with each other apart from them! Now, if they did decide to get together that’s a party I would definitely not want to miss.’ Gianni ran his fingers through his mop of curls and laughed. ‘Enough of the village gossip – and not a word to Carlotta or Vincenzo, okay?’
‘Sure!’
‘So, what’s next?’
‘The paintwork on that cha
ir is chipped,’ said Izzie, indicating the chair at the centre back of the line-up. ‘I think I saw a pot of white paint in the outhouse, do you think you could touch it up whilst I finish off the sweeping up the leaves, and then we’ll call it a day?’
‘Sure,’ smiled Gianni, strolling down the red carpet with an exaggerated swagger.
Working in tandem, they managed to transform an already handsome garden gazebo into a fairy-tale venue which conformed exactly to the vision in the brief. Izzie decided to take a few photographs to email to Brad to reassure him that things were on schedule – despite the lateness of the delivery. She took her time, keen to get the best shot, until Gianni came into view, an open paint pot dangling nonchalantly from his index finger looking like a young Michelangelo. Perfect, thought Izzie, remembering her promise to Meghan.
‘Hey, Gianni, smile!’
She raised her phone and waited for him to swivel on his heels and attempt to strike an impressive ‘strong man’ pose to show off his bulging biceps for the camera, completely forgetting that he was still holding the paint tin and sloshing a generous splash onto the red carpet.
‘Argh!’
Izzie shot forwards, relieved Gianni of the paint, and began to pat the carpet with an off-cut of the white muslin she’d been using to the decorate the gazebo.
‘Spiacente!’
‘It’s okay, don’t worry. Look, if we just cut off the last metre of carpet and have a nine-metre aisle instead of a ten-metre aisle, I’m sure no one will be any the wiser.’
She hoped, crossing her fingers behind her back.
‘Buona idea!’ beamed Gianni, producing a lethal looking pen knife.
‘No! Hang on, I’ll get the scissors. It’ll make a cleaner line.’
When they’d washed away the final dribbles of the paint and covered the area in a few pebbles, Izzie decided it was time to call it a day before any more accidents happened. Anyway, it was almost seven o’clock and streamers of violet and peach stretched across the sky and the swallows were busy rehearsing for the overture of their evening symphony.
