The Summer Villa: a feel good summer novel about friendship, love and family from the international bestselling author

by Melissa Hill

  It’s a magical part of the world with transformative powers.

  I’ve also included some fun money. You need a break before you start your brand-new venture and, I hope, brand-new life. I’m sorry I won’t be there to see your transformation, but I’m pretty sure you’ll do me proud.

  I wish you all the best in your future, Annie. I hope you’ll remember me, and maybe one day do something good for someone else who might need it.

  In the meantime, enjoy La Dolce Vita.

  Felicity

  Annie’s eyes misted afresh as she read the words the older woman had written. How had someone who barely knew her, really, seen something in her that no one else did? She took a chance on her, a chance that no one in Annie’s life had ever taken, before except her dad. Yet Felicity had done even more – she’d invested in her.

  ‘You won’t regret it,’ she whispered she looked down at the coast of Italy. ‘I promise you won’t.’

  ‘Did you say something?’ The lady seated next to Annie gave her a strange look. She was in her late sixties, with mostly grey hair and small framed glasses. She wasn’t smiling. In fact, Annie had been sure up until the moment she spoke that she was sleeping.

  She blushed. ‘Sorry, I was talking to myself.’

  ‘Maybe next time speak more softly,’ the woman muttered. ‘I was trying to sleep.’

  ‘Sorry,’ she repeated with a little grin, as she slouched down in her seat and turned her gaze back to the window.

  She wondered what Italy would be like. She had never been on a foreign holiday before; hell, she had barely travelled outside of Dublin.

  How would she get on in this strange new place?

  Chapter 13

  By the time they landed at Naples airport Annie was completely lost.

  She didn’t speak a word of Italian, and her head was completely muddled by the fast-moving crowds and general hubbub, but thanks to the English exit signs she was able to find her way to the baggage claim and out of Arrivals.

  ‘You want taxi?’ a lightly accented voice called out.

  ‘Yes. I need to get to a place called Villa Dolce Vita.’ She read out the address written on a piece of paper. ‘Do you know it?’ she asked hopefully.

  ‘Positano?’ the man repeated. ‘But of course. It is a long journey, though.’

  Annie smiled as she said words she’d never before had the privilege of uttering: ‘I can pay.’

  The driver was a maniac, she was sure of it. She’d never seen anyone weave in and out of traffic at such a pace, and for most of the drive – as he wound along roads that were so narrow and high she was certain they would drop off the side and go hurtling to the ground on every turn – her heart was in her mouth.

  She was relieved and elated when they finally arrived at the villa and she could see the back of yer man. Though he was nice, in fairness. He had great English and didn’t seem to bat an eyelid at her non-existent Italian.

  She supposed they were well used to tourists in these parts and it made her feel immediately at ease. Until they’d hit the road, that was.

  The accommodation Felicity had chosen was surprisingly underwhelming. Granted, many of the houses around here looked fairly ancient and crumbling, but huddled closely on top of one another – as if fighting for space all the way down the mountain to the bejewelled sea – they looked like a pile of colourful kids’ blocks with their pastel colours and terracotta roofs. The effect was startling.

  The house looked to be situated just on the edge of a big town, and Annie could see lots of blue-and-white beach brollies and sun loungers laid out on the beach a little further along the coast, beneath all the houses and buildings, which was where the main action must be.

  Annie supposed the crumbling buildings thing was the kind of old-world Italian charm that tourists seemed to love.

  For her part, she couldn’t wait to hit the beach and then visit some of the local watering holes – though from her vantage point, as she stood beneath the shade of a lemon tree and stared down at the water below, it was going to be one hell of a climb down to get there.

  When she went into the house, dragging her suitcase behind her, a smiling woman introduced herself as Valentina. Annie immediately wondered if this was the good friend and villa owner Felicity had mentioned, but in broken English the woman told her that no, she was just there to do some cleaning and the occasional meet and greet.

  While outside looked gorgeous with all the flowers and the trees and the amazing view, inside the place was a bit of a dive, to be honest – very old, though in fairness, spotlessly clean, thanks to Valentina, Annie guessed.

  And when the Italian woman led her to a dark, poky bedroom upstairs that was about a quarter of the size of her flat back home, she was a bit disappointed.

  She’d had visions of cocktails out on the balcony over that lovely sea view, but at least it was nice and cool in there, and so small she knew she wouldn’t have to share her room with anyone, which was a major plus.

  There were a few other people already staying there; a German couple on their way out had greeted her politely on arrival, and Valentina introduced her to a small group of French backpackers eating lunch in the kitchen area, where there were so many mismatched tiles and creaky-looking pieces of furniture that Annie had to laugh.

  Again, the language barrier was a slight problem but she got the sense that everyone pretty much did their own thing in places like this. The students did give her a helpful heads-up on a couple of hotspots in the town, though, which she planned on checking out later.

  She wasn’t going to waste too much time on pleasantries or making friends. Not when the sun was still high in the sky and the little pool outside looked so inviting.

  Thanking Valentina for her impromptu tour, she trudged her suitcase back up an ancient wooden staircase to the room.

  Unpacking wouldn’t take long; the only thing she needed just now was her swimsuit and she’d put that in her carry-on luggage, just in case. She’d heard enough stories about lost luggage and she wasn’t about to find herself in a foreign country with nothing.

  The water in the pool was cool but a welcome relief from the afternoon heat, as she dived straight in and swam from one end to the other. It wasn’t much of a length, just a small rectangle on the edge of the terrace overlooking the bay, but boy, was it bliss.

  She lingered by the edge now, looking through the chipped wrought iron railings dripping with pretty pink flowers, out over the side to the colourful buildings tumbling down from the green of the mountains to the water below.

  ‘OK, I could get used to this,’ Annie mused happily as she ducked back under the water and swam across to the other side.

  By evening she was ravenous, and finding some bits and pieces in the fridge, courtesy of the French students, who’d told her to work away (or at least she hoped that’s what they meant) since they were leaving the next day, Annie cobbled together a light meal of pasta and tomato sauce with crusty bread.

  After that, she got ready to head out on the town, choosing a strapless black dress that showed off her freshly spray-tanned skin, though she had a nice little sun-kissed glow from the pool earlier, which made it look really natural.

  She opted not to bother straightening her hair for a change; in this heat it was probably a waste of time and would end up frizzing anyway, so instead she just tied it up in a loose bun and let a few black tendrils frame her face.

  Same for make-up, which would also surely melt off in the humidity, so she kept it basic, with just a smear of bright red lipstick to finish the look.

  There. Annie admired herself in the mirror. The dress lifted her boobs and really made the most of her curves, and putting on a pair of silver sandals, she felt pretty confident that she could hold her own with any Italian glamour-puss.

  She wasn’t sure how those heels would hold up for the long walk back up the hill, but first things first. She couldn’t wait to find out what the social life in this place was like. It
was a popular holiday resort so she guessed it would be hopping.

  Annie wasn’t sure what she was expecting when she walked into Music on the Rocks – the late-night bar actually cut into a cave the students had told her about – but what greeted her was a scene like so many she’d encountered back home.

  A room full of people, pulsing music, a neon bar and crowds of happy revellers. Her dress clung to her body in all the right places as she shimmied her way around the dance floor towards the bar, the short hem brushing sexily along her thighs to the beat.

  She saw him the moment she reached the bar.

  Tall with mussed-up dark blond hair and green eyes, the colour of the sea. His cheeky smile was like sunshine the moment their eyes met.

  Annie tried to pretend she hadn’t noticed him, but the moment her eyes drifted in his direction, there was the ocean looking straight back at her.

  His eyes were like deep pools that she wanted to dive right into. He didn’t look Italian and seemed to be with a large group of lads, so she wondered if he was a tourist too.

  ‘Nope,’ she scolded herself, turning away with a bottle of water for the dance floor. ‘Not going there.’

  She’d decided not to drink tonight; not to drink too much while here at all, really. She didn’t want to end up doing the same in Italy as she’d been doing back home, getting trashed and ending up with strangers.

  She was on her own in an unfamiliar country after all, so she needed to keep her wits about her.

  Annie loved to dance. It was like a mania that started at her hips and took over her entire body. She couldn’t help it. It was the most liberating thing you could do, at least in her mind, and it was something she indulged in whenever she could.

  One moment she was on her own, giving it socks on the dance floor, and the next she could feel a presence behind her. Annie turned to find the guy from the bar behind her, his body dangerously close to her own.

  ‘Mind if I join you?’ he asked in perfect English.

  She turned to him with a grin. ‘Ah, you are a tourist.’

  ‘I wasn’t sure if you were,’ he admitted with a small chuckle. ‘I’m glad because I’m absolute crap at Italian. I was just taking a chance.’

  He was verrrry cute.

  ‘Glad you did,’ Annie replied flirtatiously as she turned her back to him and continued to dance. His hands reached her hips then as he joined in and Annie found herself having to repress the urge to lean into him.

  Take your time, girl. Take your time.

  The music played on and they continued to dance, chatting intermittently as they did. He was a Brit and he and his mates had just arrived the day before. This was also his first night out on the town.

  Annie felt a slight thrill when she told him she was travelling alone and not on some girlie holiday; it made her feel sophisticated and mysterious – someone who did her own thing and controlled her own destiny.

  Which of course she was now, thanks to Felicity Finch.

  She wasn’t particularly interested in pointless chit-chat, though, not when there was dancing to be had instead.

  A song she really loved came on, and she twirled in his arms, losing herself in the thrill and romance of the electrifying music and being in a foreign country, dancing with a handsome stranger.

  ‘What’s your name?’ he asked eventually.

  ‘Annie,’ she shouted above the music, as one of his friends appeared alongside him.

  ‘Harry, we’re moving on, mate. You coming?’

  She smiled. Harry suited him. And now that she thought of it, he even looked a little bit like his princely namesake in England.

  He looked at her, seemingly torn, but Annie just waggled her fingers and wandered away. ‘See you again, maybe.’

  She was pretty certain she would.

  Chapter 14

  Then

  ‘Yes, I will take you to Villa Dolce Vita. But since you are hungry, maybe first I take you to the best restaurant in Positano?’ offered the taxi driver Colette found at Sorrento train station. ‘If you are hungry, trust Jacopo – I know the best places.’

  He had a huge gap between his front teeth and his moustache covered half his upper lip as he smiled, yet it wasn’t Jacopo’s appearance that disarmed her. It was his effusive demeanour. Taxi drivers didn’t smile at you in England. They barely turned around to look at you. You were just a fare and they were just a means of transport. Seemed Italians saw things differently.

  And Colette was indeed famished. The train journey from Naples had taken longer than she’d anticipated and while she was rapt by the magnificent winding coastal view as they travelled, she wished she’d thought to grab a sandwich back at the station.

  But in all her excitement about being here – in Italy – she’d completely neglected her stomach.

  ‘OK,’ she answered politely. He looked friendly and certainly didn’t seem like the kind of person who would take unsuspecting British tourists off into the mountains to maim and bury, she joked to herself with an ironic smile

  This was all so new to her, though. The furthest from home she’d ever travelled was across the channel to Paris for a day. This was Italy. Fortunately, she did have one advantage, however: she knew conversational Italian.

  Colette’s obsession with romantic languages had begun as a child. She loved stories of ancient Rome and the Italian cadence was so beautiful and lyrical she wanted to learn the language.

  She eventually did as part of her studies at university and had hoped to spend time abroad once she’d saved enough money, but her mother’s failing health had prevented that. Now, she was finally getting to see the country she’d spent all these years dreaming about.

  Jacopo was like something out of a cartoon as he took her huge suitcase and hefted it into the boot of the taxi. Colette now wondered if she might have over-packed, but again she had never travelled before. What did you pack for three weeks in Italy? She’d put in everything she could think of, just in case.

  As the car wound along the coast, Jacopo continued to amuse her with stories of his passengers. She asked him to intermittently chat to her in Italian so she could get her feet wet again with the language.

  It had been some time since she’d been able to practise and she wanted to test herself before she interacted with the locals. Turned out she still remembered a lot.

  ‘The best restaurant in Positano’ was, apparently, a tiny trattoria tucked down the end of a nondescript lane that looked to be in the middle of nowhere.

  Jacopo led her inside a place called Delfino and introduced her to whom Colette guessed must be the proprietor, a stout woman with black hair interspersed with streaks of grey, who spoke a mile a minute.

  One moment she was behind the counter listening attentively to Jacopo, and the next she had Colette swept up into a warm bear hug.

  ‘Any friend of Jacopo is a friend of mine,’ she proclaimed in Italian. Colette realised he must have conveyed that she spoke a bit of the language. ‘I am Mama Elene. I fix a wonderful meal for you. You sit over here,’ she instructed, leading her to a small table outside on a rear terrace that opened up to breathtaking waterfront views framed by a brightly tiled church dome.

  It was … heaven. Everything she’d dreamed about and more.

  Colette curled her red hair around her finger as she looked out across the quintessentially Mediterranean landscape, while the warm Italian afternoon sun beat down on the parasol above.

  Mama Elene was making her a shot of espresso while she mulled over the menu. Everything looked so delicious she didn’t know what to try. She wanted to sample it all.

  Thankfully the effusive Italian woman was more than helpful in that department. She set the espresso before her and promptly made her suggestions.

  Having settled on her order, Colette sipped her drink and watched people on the myriad streets and laneways below.

  Were all Italians so effortlessly stylish? The women who passed by were so impeccable turned out that it mad
e her regard her own attire with a frown. Tousled Italian locks blowing seductively in the breeze also didn’t compare to her hair in its neat but rather severe bun.

  She tended to keep things casual with her jeans, floral blouse and ballet flats. Noelle was always telling her she had to try and make more of herself, but Colette was never sure what exactly was expected. She wasn’t the type to wear short-shorts or revealing clothing in summer like her sister. She just liked things simple.

  Simple was safe and with all the turmoil in her life over the past few years, safe was exactly what she needed.

  It wasn’t long before Mama Elene was bringing out her primi choice: arancini. The fried cheese and rice balls were crunchy on the outside and gooey rich on the inside.

  On the first bite, a string of cheese stretched from Colette’s mouth to the remnants on the fork. She chuckled as she caught the runaway strand, looking up just in time to find a pair of dark eyes boring into her gaze.

  A handsome Italian man of about her age was standing at the espresso counter nearby, his face propped on an elbow as he leaned against the dark wood.

  His pristinely ironed shirt clung to his muscles, the pale blue colour accentuating his olive skin. With his jet-black hair and nonchalant hooded gaze, he looked like a character on the cover of one of those classic romance novels – dark and smouldering personified.

  Colette couldn’t help but stare.

  ‘Luca!’ Mama Elene sang out as she emerged from the kitchen, another plate of food in hand. She smacked a kiss on his cheek as she rushed past him on her way to Colette’s table. ‘Where have you been?’ she heard the older woman ask in rapid Italian. ‘And how’s your mama?’

  This time a portion of steaming bruschetta appeared on the table as Colette sat silently listening to the exchange between the two.

  ‘I’ve been busy,’ Luca answered distractedly, still staring in Colette’s direction. Or maybe it was just out at the view, she couldn’t tell. Still, she could feel a flush rise automatically up her neck and looked down at her food, doing her best to avoid making eye contact for fear of being drawn even more into the conversation.