by Daisy James
‘Buongiorno. Il mio nome è Isabella…’
‘Ah, Isabella Jenkins? From Villa dei Limoni?’
‘Yes, and you must be Oriana?’
Izzie hoped her relief at the switch from Italian to English didn’t show too starkly on her face.
‘I am. Ciao, è un piacere conoscerti, Isabella. It’s great to meet you. I did intend to pop over to the villa yesterday to welcome you, and to see if you needed any help, but I’ve just this minute put the finishing touches to the wedding cake.’
The creator of the fabulously over-the-top wedding cake in Lucy’s photographs was not what she had expected. If Izzie had been working in such a shop, she knew she would be the size of a house. No, the size of a Tuscan farmhouse! The eponymous Oriana possessed the deportment of a runway model and was slender, perhaps a little too slender. But then Izzie had no room to talk about being on the svelte side – having lived off caffeine and toast for the best part of two years, her more truthful friends had told her she was bordering on skinny.
‘Would you like to take a peek?’ smiled Oriana, displaying a set of perfect white teeth.
‘I’d love to!’
‘Vieni. It’s through here.’
Oriana’s figure was even more impressive from behind, her glossy mahogany hair brushing her shoulder blades, her cream jeans hugging every contour like a second skin. She even smelled delicious, a cross between oriental spice and sweet jasmine. As soon as Izzie entered the back room she understood why Oriana’s figure was so impressive – not only was the rear of the shop being used for the intricate art of sugar craft, she spotted a yoga studio through a pair of glazed French doors.
‘Do you teach yoga here, too?’
‘Yes. Fancy joining us for a session?’
‘Oh, I’m…’
Izzie couldn’t remember the last time she had entered a gym; certainly before she and Alex had separated. They’d had a joint membership at the hotel leisure club next to their apartment block and would often meet there for a swim or a workout on the running machine after work, but she’d lost all interest in maintaining her fitness.
‘I’d love that, but I’m only here until Saturday. You know, I’ve always wanted to take up yoga, so I might give it a go when I get back home. I’ve been very lax in my exercise regime, lately, I’m sorry to say.’
‘Sounds like a plan! So, what do you think?’
On the marble-topped bench in the middle of the room stood the most wonderful wedding cake Izzie had ever seen. When she had been shopping for wedding cakes with her sister they had visited several confectioners, enjoying every opportunity to sample the various cakes on offer; from dense fruit cake to lemon drizzle cake, from traditional Victoria sponge to indulgent chocolate cakes. If it had been her choice she would have gone for something simple, but Anna had wanted all three; fruit cake for the top tier which she intended to store to use as a christening cake, the middle tier in Victoria sponge with buttercream and raspberry jam, and the large bottom tier made of rich, gooey chocolate cake that she could slice up and hand out to the children at school. The thought caused tears to spring to her eyes, so she quickly diverted her attention to the masterpiece of culinary artistry in front of her.
‘Oh, wow! It’s… it’s stunning!’
Of course, Izzie had seen the photographs that Oriana had worked from but seeing the cake in all its sugary glory took her breath away. Standing seven tiers tall, it looked more like a piece of Italian sculpture than an edible centrepiece for an intimate Tuscan wedding scene. Each layer was covered in smooth ivory fondant icing and a cascade of pale pink sugar paste roses fell from the top tier to the base. When she looked more closely she saw that interspersed between the roses were tiny ivory butterflies, their wings edged with crystals that glinted in the overhead lights.
‘I’m so pleased you like it,’ said Oriana, beaming with pleasure as she spun on her stiletto heels and disappeared through a doorway to her left, calling over her shoulder, ‘So, that is the pan di spagna, the sponge cake, which can be prepared in advance, unlike the crostata di frutta and the millefoglie which I will bake on the morning of the wedding. We don’t want what you English call a soggy bottom, do we?’
Oriana stood in the doorway, her eyebrows raised in question. In one hand she held the most exquisite fruit tart Izzie had ever seen, filled with a mosaic of fresh fruits – raspberries, strawberries, blueberries, kiwi, and mango – all resting on a bed of crème pâtissière and finished off with a sugar glaze. In the other hand she held a chocolate mille-feuille cake, its crispy pastry layers crammed with Chantilly cream, topped with intricately piped lime-coloured icing and finished with pretty curls of lime zest then dusted with cocoa powder. Izzie’s taste-bids sprang into action. She loved lime!
‘Of course, there’ll be the seven graduated tiers of each cake on the day, but I thought you might like a taste test, so I made a sample of both for you to try today. If there is anything you don’t think is right, please just say and it can be amended for Friday.’
All Izzie could do was gape at Oriana. She had no idea that there would be three seven-tiered wedding cakes, and whilst she had absolutely no objection to a taste test, all that mattered was what they looked like! However, Oriana mistook her confusion for concern.
‘Ooops, yes, sorry, I almost forgot.’
And once again she disappeared into the adjacent room, which Izzie realised must be refrigerated, and returned with an ornate silver cake-stand on which a variety of freshly baked cannoli had been artistically stacked; all filled with sweet ricotta and alternately finished with either crushed pistachios or dipped in dark chocolate.
‘Go on, try one! I want to know what you think.’
Izzie selected one of the crispy tubes and bit into it, holding out her palm to catch the flakes of buttery pastry that fluttered from her lips. A myriad of flavours crashed through her mouth; the sharp creaminess of the ricotta, the sweetness of the icing sugar and the crunchy nuttiness of the chopped pistachios, a veritable harmony on the tongue.
‘Mmm, absolutely delicious.’
‘Now taste a slice of the crostata di frutta. All the ingredients are fair-trade and organic, and all the fruit is grown within a ten miles radius of San Vivaldo, so there’s minimal impact on the environment.’
Izzie watched as Oriana cut into the fruit tart and handed her a fork to sample her creation. As expected, it was mouth-wateringly delicious, light and fresh with just enough cream to compliment the zingy flavours of the fruit. It was the perfect alternative to the wedding cake – but, like the cannoli, it wasn’t in the brief.
‘Izzie? Is there something wrong?’
The look of anxiety scrawled across Oriana’s face brought Izzie to her senses.
‘No, no, of course not, everything looks fabulous! It’s just… well, I had no idea about the extra… well, there is rather a lot of cake? Twenty-eight separate tiers, and apart from the sponge cake, everything has to be eaten on the day.’
‘Well, I’ve been told to cater for fifty guests and an additional twenty on top of that.’
‘Seventy!’
‘What? You think there’ll be more?’
‘No! Why would there be more?’
The conversation was suddenly becoming surreal. Izzie saw from the creases in Oriana’s forehead that she was feeling exactly the same – baffled, confused and bewildered. Heat rushed to her cheeks. She knew that Italians loved to indulge in a kaleidoscope of confectionary treats – hadn’t both Carlotta and Luca been at pains to explain this to her? It was just that these extra desserts were unlikely to be featured in the scene. She didn’t want to offend Oriana, but equally she didn’t want her to go to all the trouble of preparing the tarts and mille-feuille unnecessarily, especially as she was clearly interested in keeping waste to a minimum.
‘No, no, it’s just…’
‘The only dessert I haven’t made for you to sample is the vegan cake. It’s an acquired taste but I promise you that it will look j
ust as amazing as all of these, if not more so! I do have a vested interest in that one, after all!’
‘You’re making a vegan cake?’ Izzie heard the words come out of her lips in a mere whisper. ‘How many tiers?’
‘Seven, but don’t worry, I don’t expect it’ll all get eaten, but I’m sure there will be a few vegans or vegetarians in the wedding party, don’t you?’
‘Yes, maybe, possibly…’
As much as Izzie had enjoyed spending time in the confectionary equivalent of Prada, she experienced a strong urge to escape, especially when she saw Oriana glancing at her from the corner of her eyes as though she was concerned for her sanity.
‘Okay, so everything is just perfect, Oriana, I’m sure Brad will be over-the-moon with what you’ve done.’
‘Brad?’ Again, puzzlement floated across Oriana’s dark features, but she recovered quickly and laughed. ‘Oh, yes, yes, of course, the guy who’s organising everything. It’s really very generous of him, isn’t it?’
‘Well, erm, yes, yes it is…’
Izzie averted her gaze, pretending to scramble in her bag for her notebook as her thoughts twisted through a labyrinth of perplexity over Oriana’s strange behaviour. Why wouldn’t Brad be organising everything? Then it dawned on her, Oriana must be referring to the fact that everyone had been invited to enjoy the food that was being prepared for the reception scene when the filming was over. Nothing would go to waste – although she took issue with Oriana’s assessment of the numbers expected. According to her calculations, there would be five people in the bridal group, a handful of supporting actors to stand in as the wedding guests, then the film crew, who Meghan had told her usually consisted of Brad and four or five others.
‘You will let me know if there’s anything I can do to help, won’t you? It’s a huge enterprise that you’ve taken on, at the last minute as well, and I have to say that you are a lot calmer about everything than I would be! This is the most exciting thing to happen in San Vivaldo for a long time. My sister is coming over first thing on Friday morning to help me get dressed and do my hair and make-up, and I’ve even treated myself to a new pair of shoes.’
‘Your… hair and makeup?’
Oh, God, it was worse than she thought. Was Oriana hoping to be part of the filming?
‘I know, it’s a bit excessive,’ she laughed when she saw the look of astonishment on Izzie’s face. ‘My friends think I’m crazy, but why shouldn’t I want to look my best? I might not get another chance to meet a real-life celebrity couple!’
‘True…’
‘Of course, I can completely understand why there’s so much secrecy surrounding the whole thing. I mean, who wants the most important day of their lives interrupted by a horde of fans desperate to score an autograph. It’s just that I usually like to meet with the bride and groom before their big day to chat through their likes and dislikes, to get a feel for their personalities, and maybe spend an afternoon with the family doing a taste test. I know Francesca who’s supplying the floral arrangements feels the same way. Like me, she’s had to deal with everything via email. It’s really not the way we Italians like to do our weddings! I mean, what bride doesn’t want to choose her bouquet in person?’
Izzie stared at Oriana, confusion swirling around her mind. Why would the actors playing the bride and groom be remotely interested in talking about what were, in essence, the props of a scene?
‘Oriana, I think there’s been a misunderstanding…’
‘What sort of misunderstanding?’
‘The wedding at Villa Limoncello isn’t a real wedding. It’s a film shoot – Brad, the guy who emailed you, he’s the director. The bride and groom are actors, they’re not actually getting married.’
Now it was Oriana’s turn to stare at Izzie with bewilderment.
‘I don’t think so, Izzie. Hang on, I’ll show you the email.’
Izzie felt like she was an unsuspecting bystander in an Italian comedy show, and that anytime now a bunch of people dressed in harlequin costumes would leap out of the cupboard and yell ‘surprise!’. Except they didn’t, and when she read the email Oriana had pulled up on her phone, the surge of shock was so powerful she had to fight to breathe.
‘Oh my God! It’s a real wedding! Of course it is! What was I thinking? Oh my God!’
Izzie’s jaw hung loose and her heart pounded out a staccato of incredulity and disbelief. She was vaguely aware of her new friend taking hold of her arm and gently guiding her towards a huge scarlet bean bag in the yoga studio before offering her a bottle of water. Pressure squeezed her temples in a vice-like grip as the full realisation dawned.
What was the matter with her? Was she so wrapped up in her own little bubble that common sense didn’t get a look in? What was she going to do?
If she were honest, all she wanted to do was run for the hills, but that would mean letting everyone down and she couldn’t do that. This had been her mistake, and Meghan’s; no one else had thought the wedding was a film shoot, which, with the benefit of hindsight, had perhaps been a conclusion they shouldn’t have jumped to. Indeed, nowhere in the paperwork had there been anything to suggest this was anything other than a wedding – one she only had three days to pull off!
‘Why didn’t anyone tell me?’
‘Didn’t you speak to Brad before you came out here?’
‘No, he’d already left for a shoot in Bali, and Lucy, his PA, was laid up in hospital and I didn’t want to bother her with a list of never-ending questions. I spoke to his wife, Rachel, but she’s got so much on her plate with being pregnant and organising the children, as well as trying to sort out all Brad’s admin stuff that I suppose we just got our wires crossed. I mean, he’s a film director, my friend Meghan’s helped him out on shoots plenty of times before. Oh my God, I’m going to kill him!’
‘Well, at least you know now,’ said Oriana, her eyes filled with sympathy and kindness.
‘What about Carlotta, or Gianni, why didn’t they say anything?’
‘Maybe, like me, they had no idea about the mix-up.’
Izzie thought back to her afternoon with Gianni and realised that Oriana was right. The only hint there had been that perhaps something was amiss was when she had said she was leaving for London as soon as the words ‘it’s a wrap!’ had been declared. No wonder he had looked at her askance. Why hadn’t she pressed the subject, but then, why should she have? Then another even more embarrassing thought occurred to her and her face flooded with heat.
‘So, are you telling me that everyone in San Vivaldo knows about the wedding?’
‘Well, not everyone. Only the actual wedding guests and the suppliers like myself, and, as I said before, we’ve all been told to be discreet until the ceremony and reception are over which is why we don’t know who the bride and groom are and our only contact with them is through Brad to ensure their privacy. I’m so sorry, Izzie, I wish I had realised sooner…’
‘It’s okay, it’s not your fault,’ smiled Izzie, as her brain reconnected to its modem and the scrambled jigsaw began to reassemble. ‘But this makes things so much harder. Set design is sort of what I do for a living – albeit for only a handful of viewers – or it was until recently, and if something isn’t perfect the first time around, it can easily be adjusted and filmed again. But that isn’t the case with a real wedding, is it? You only get one chance to get it right!’
Nausea began an insidious journey from her stomach, through her chest, and into her throat as she contemplated the challenge ahead. She was no wedding planner, and despite being involved in the arrangements for her sister’s wedding to Matt, this was a totally different scenario. The bride, or groom, or both of them, were clearly good friends of Brad’s, but they were also celebrities, according to Oriana, although she reminded herself that as their identity was being kept a secret she couldn’t know that for sure.
After refusing another glass of water, she waved goodbye to Oriana, and made her way to where she’d left the Vespa,
her head spinning with what she’d just learnt. However, as she kicked her leg over the saddle, the strongest emotion swirling through her veins was a concoction of embarrassment and annoyance.
Had Luca realised her error? If he had, then she was upset with him for not telling her. If he hadn’t, she had never been so mortified in her life and she would try her absolute best to make sure that their paths never crossed again!
Chapter Ten
The swimming pool next door
Colour: Quintessential turquoise
By the time Izzie arrived back at the villa, it was midday and the cicadas were building up to an orchestral crescendo. She wheeled the Vespa into the outhouse and went in search of Carlotta to confess her mistake, to make sure she had everything covered now she was aware of the situation, and then to spend some time amending her ‘to do’ lists and daily itineraries. The more she thought about it, the more ridiculous she felt for not realising sooner, but she was able to comfort herself with the fact that Meghan, too, had thought she was overseeing the arrangements for a film shoot. She was desperate to talk to her friend, to have a good giggle over their misunderstanding, but she needed to speak to Carlotta first.
‘Carlotta?’
She poked her head around the kitchen door, but the room was empty and the note she had left for her that morning was still on the table. She returned to the terrace, noting the absence of her bicycle, and a ripple of concern wriggled through her chest. Where was she? She grabbed her mobile and scrolled through her contacts for Carlotta’s number, but when she called there was no reply.
She left a voicemail asking if everything was okay, then took a seat at the table beneath the pergola, relishing the veil of serenity Villa Limoncello seemed to radiate. Looking across the gardens towards where the wedding would be held, she understood exactly why the venue had been chosen for a couple to exchange their vows. The wedding photographs would be amazing!
