One Summer in Italy

by Sue Moorcroft

  ‘And guests can eat from the Il Giardino menu out here at any time?’ she said as she saw him look from the view to his page and back again.

  ‘Correct!’ Benedetta gazed around with satisfaction at the beautiful terrace of stone pavers and wrought iron, flower tubs frothing in every direction. ‘Good. I’ll change your shifts around tomorrow and email your new roster to you.’ Benedetta began to turn away.

  ‘Thank you.’ Sofia hesitated before adding hopefully, ‘Amy’s learning quickly in Il Giardino.’

  Benedetta gave a decisive shake of her head. ‘She’s not experienced enough to come down into the dining room yet.’ She ended the interview with ‘Ciao’, which told Sofia she was now on slightly less formal terms with her boss.

  ‘Ciao.’ Sofia responded. She trained her gaze on the movements of a nearby waiter as if keen to learn, but as soon as Benedetta had bustled back into the hotel she drifted closer to where Levi was making tiny movements of a fine brush, drawn to this handsome biker who also painted Italian landscapes, even if she couldn’t shake her doubts about the attention he paid Amy.

  Her breath rushed into her lungs. His painting was charming – a couple of wispy white clouds against a blue sky, paler where the sky met the horizon. The furthest peak was mistily dark and flat, whereas the woodland on those closer was brought to impressive 3-D life with cunning brushstrokes picking out a row of tall, thin conifers like punctuation marks. Between the trees tiny details brought groups of terracotta rectangles into focus as hamlets and villages. In the foreground a stem of pearly white petunias from one of the pots that punctuated the railing around the terrace gave perspective to the rest.

  As if feeling the weight of her gaze, Levi skewed around in his chair. ‘Oh,’ he said when he saw her.

  Sofia stepped closer, setting aside any antipathy as she gazed on his work. ‘That’s truly beautiful. I feel as if I could step into your painting.’

  ‘It’s a watercolour sketch,’ he said. ‘I’m getting a feel for my subject before I attempt anything on canvas at home.’

  ‘Right.’ She nodded as if she understood the intricacies of watercolour painting. ‘Is this how you make your living?’

  ‘No. My day job is in website development. Painting’s an escape from spending all day poring over pages of code.’ He stuck the brush he’d been using into the darker of the two jars of khaki water beside him, turning on her a challenging gaze. ‘And at least nobody here gets me chucked out, making me feel two inches tall in the process.’

  Though her face heated up Sofia pinned on her most serene smile as she replied lamely, ‘I can’t help it if customers don’t want to be in your photos.’

  ‘You can help pointing out to them what I’m doing.’ Evidently he hadn’t been as oblivious to what Sofia had been up to as she’d hoped.

  ‘True,’ she acknowledged guiltily, wondering why she couldn’t quite get a grip on what kind of man Levi was. Then her eye was drawn to where the early-evening breeze flipped the pages of his pad as if with giant lazy fingers and she caught sight of the view of Il Giardino he must have been working earlier. Centre stage in front of the colourful and busy tables was a slender figure with blonde hair twisted up behind her head and a black dress covered by a white apron. Levi had painted Amy in the act of swooping a tray of drinks down from her shoulder and onto a table. Along with the movement he’d somehow portrayed youth and even Amy’s air of reserve.

  Though a part of the scene, the figure stood out, as if he’d focused hard on getting it just right. It made Sofia feel something – not jealousy, surely? No, more like envy, because there seemed to be something like affection in the careful brushstrokes.

  Gazing at his painting in silence she struggled with herself. She’d been downright rude to Levi last night and then deliberately caused mischief for him today. It couldn’t be because her nose had been put out of joint that even as Levi had been asking Sofia out he’d so blatantly ‘noticed’ Amy? Could it? She knew herself to be naïve when it came to men. Maybe, if he knew her thoughts, Levi would be incredulous that Sofia would mind?

  She cast around for an olive branch to extend, one that might even explain her pissy attitude last night. ‘You know, I feel a bit like Amy’s big sister. If I had a little sister alone in a foreign country I’d want someone to look out for her.’

  Levi looked gently mystified by this turn in the conversation. ‘I only have a brother, but likewise.’ He met her gaze unflinchingly and Sofia suddenly felt he wouldn’t be able to look her in the eye like that if whatever he felt for Amy was a threat.

  Was Sofia justified in setting herself up as judge and jury? Amy seemed quite at ease with Levi, yet she’d recoiled from Davide from the first, which suggested she had perfectly good instincts. So far as Sofia knew, Levi had never made the least move on Amy.

  Further, Sofia admitted to herself, her own experience should tell her that Levi understood the meaning of the word ‘no’ and could hear it with good grace. She felt uncomfortably guilty of jumping to conclusions.

  ‘I’ll leave you to your painting then,’ she said, having not the least idea of how to explain her thoughts and feelings to him without making herself look more of an idiot than he probably already thought her.

  He smiled politely. ‘It would be nice to get the last of the light.’

  She smothered a sigh, hyper-aware that she was still missing the wild one-night stand from her single woman’s CV. And Levi was so big and firm and golden … but out of bounds, even if she hadn’t killed any interest from him stone dead. Turning away, she headed for the stairs at the side of the terrace resolving to visit a couple of bars down in the town tonight where some of the thirty-something locals hung out. Maybe her English/Montelibertà accent would seem exotic to them and she could have a bit of an adventure with a Stefano or a Marco or a Tonio.

  Once she’d let herself into her room she threw off her uniform and stood under the shower for several minutes, letting the cool water wash away her discomfiture along with the heat of the day. When she got out, she promised herself, she’d wriggle into the tight red dress she’d bought from Autograph last autumn because it was reduced. She’d be daring with her makeup, creating smoky eyes and a kissable mouth. She’d stuff thirty euros in her smallest bag and take herself off down into the town. Other women did it. Maybe by midnight she’d have gone home with the greatest talent she could find.

  Ignoring the facts that she was having trouble imagining herself behaving that way, particularly when she was on breakfast shift on the terrace tomorrow, she stepped out of the shower and dried herself before stepping into her prettiest underwear.

  But before she could start her makeup she heard a tentative knock on her door. ‘Sofia? Are you there? I’ve got the creeps.’

  ‘Amy?’ Covering up with a thin robe, she opened the door. ‘Are you OK? What’s creeping you out?’

  Amy hugged herself, smiling sheepishly as she stepped into Sofia’s room. ‘I’m going to sound pathetic but I keep thinking someone’s tapping on the fly screen on my window.’

  Sofia, imagining being eighteen years old, away from home for the first time and building up fearsome scenarios in her mind, replied bracingly. ‘I bet it’s that damned climber that grows like a Triffid all along this so-called staff garden. Shall we grab scissors from the kitchen and hack it back? Then it won’t be able to reach your window.’

  Amy’s expression relaxed. ‘Do you think that’s all it is? I feel stupid now. You weren’t going out tonight, were you?’ she asked belatedly, gazing at Sofia’s red dress on its hanger.

  Sofia’s hand passed over the red dress in favour of a T-shirt and a pair of shorts. ‘Not tonight. I’ve got to be up for the breakfast service tomorrow,’ she said, blithely abandoning her plans. It wasn’t much of a hardship when her heart hadn’t been in them in the first place.

  Chapter Seven

  On Friday, Levi enjoyed a leisurely lunch in Il Giardino. Amy took his order for cold beer and a small por
tion of pasta, giving him a friendly grin. ‘Having a good day?’

  ‘Great,’ Levi answered. ‘I plan to paint in the garden this afternoon.’

  ‘Enjoy!’ And she whisked off, ripping his order from her pad, looking much more confident about her job than when Levi had first met her. Davide was on duty too but Amy seemed to have taken to ignoring him as much as working together allowed, which seemed an excellent tactic.

  Levi enjoyed a second beer then vacated his table to allow a young Italian couple to sit down. He went into the hotel to collect his painting kit and then down the many flights of stairs necessary to reach the garden. The sun was blazing when he settled down, the valley spread out before him. Soon he was absorbed in trying to capture the delicate arc of lavender stems in the foreground of the painting he was working on.

  A couple of hours drifted by, until his phone rang. ‘I’ve got something to tell you,’ Wes said as soon as Levi had laid his brush down to answer the call.

  ‘Oh?’ Holding his phone to his ear with his left hand he picked up his thinnest brush, mixed up the palest grey he could imagine and touched it down one side of a stem, instantly creating light and depth. He cocked his head to one side to admire the effect. ‘What?’

  ‘It’s something about Octavia.’ Wes sounded as if he was trying to be casual.

  Levi’s brush froze in midair. ‘Oh, shit. What?’ He hadn’t even checked the website today. Had she screwed it up?

  ‘It’s nothing bad,’ said Wes stiffly, obviously not appreciating the ‘Oh, shit!’ part of Levi’s response. ‘It’s nothing I’m obliged to tell you, but I thought I ought to in the interests of transparency and because we’re friends.’

  ‘Right.’ Levi breathed slightly more easily. ‘Sorry, mate, I didn’t mean to leap to the conclusion that it was negative. What is it you want to share?’

  Silence.

  ‘Wes?’

  Wes sounded defensive. ‘I thought it would be a good idea to tell you that Octavia and I are a thing.’

  ‘Oh!’ All attention now on his conversation, Levi spun the simple sentence around in his mind in an effort to make sense of it. He wanted to snort, ‘What? In a couple of days?’ But Wes was being weird. Octavia was odd and maybe Wes was catching it. ‘Thanks for telling me. How long’s this been brewing up?’

  ‘Not long,’ Wes answered. After a pause he added, ‘I’m sorry if I’m stepping on your toes.’

  Levi almost dropped the phone. ‘Stepping on my toes?’

  Wes cleared his throat. ‘Octavia explained you’d been on a date and had been texting.’

  ‘But I told you it wasn’t a date. Or only in her mind—’

  ‘I phoned to congratulate her about taking on Dick’s pages. She said could we meet to talk about it and suggested dinner. We really hit it off but, as I say, I’m sorry if I’ve trodden on your toes.’ Wes hummed and hawed before adding in a rush, ‘It sort of turned into dinner and breakfast. And I know what you’re going to say,’ he hurried on before an astounded Levi could react. ‘I know it’s not like me. I’m more of your cautious type so far as women are concerned. It just sort of happened. And, it was the night of my life, to be honest. The only fly in the ointment was that this morning Octavia did this big sighing thing and said she hoped you wouldn’t be hurt. Her version of what happened between you isn’t quite the same as yours.’

  He paused as if to let Levi speak, but he was so astonished at this development that he couldn’t find the words.

  ‘Anyway,’ Wes went on. ‘I’m saying sorry if I need to say sorry, because Octavia insisted that I should clear the air with you. But, as the saying goes, “we just couldn’t help ourselves.”’

  ‘Right,’ said Levi blankly, watching a fat bee hover indecisively between two lavender heads then sink down to land on the largest. If he could have chosen someone for Wes to take on as a freelance and then jump into bed with, Octavia would have been at the far end of a very long queue. ‘You’ve taken me by surprise,’ he admitted, because he felt he had to say something and What are you THINKING?, however heartfelt, seemed inappropriate. ‘But my feelings aren’t hurt. Are you sure—’

  ‘Phew!’ Wes laughed. ‘I’ll be sure to tell Octavia. How’s everything going out there? Have you achieved your goal yet?’

  Levi gave up. Wes and Octavia were adults and if Wes was as happy as he sounded he probably wouldn’t appreciate Levi pointing out that Octavia was lying to him. ‘Getting that way. If things go on as they are I’ll be able to telephone Freya and tell her Amy’s doing OK. But I haven’t decided—’

  ‘Gotcha. Speak soon then.’ And Wes ended the call.

  Levi put away his phone and gazed at his painting, his appetite for it now absent. Was Octavia simply bizarre enough to angle for dinner with every man she met? And then pretend there was more to it?

  As he sat uneasily, turning things over in his mind, he became aware of a sound reaching him over the lavender-scented air. It sounded like a woman singing, punctuating her song with loud clicks.

  Curiosity aroused, he washed his brush and closed the lid on his palette, then stood to stroll up the slope, past a couple of olive trees, tracking down the sound to one side of the terrace and a shabby wooden gate he hadn’t noticed before. On the other side of it he found Sofia, looking very much off-duty in black shorts that clung as if in joy at finding themselves touching such a good part of her. In her ears were earbuds and in her hand a big pair of scissors. A flourishing vine dominated almost every available support in the vicinity and she was making an attempt at taming it, judging from the carpet of clippings beneath her feet and the neatness of the growth where it had been tied to two uprights. As she worked, she sang softly in Italian, insects buzzing companionably around her as if they thought they were her backing group. The slow, gentle song made her voice sound especially sweet. She blinked hard, pausing to wipe a tear from her cheek with the sleeve of her T-shirt.

  Though she always seemed inexplicably tetchy where he was concerned – which was a shame – Levi recognised a private moment when he saw one. He was about to creep away when she shifted position and caught sight of him. Visibly startled, she dropped her scissors, which narrowly missed her toes. ‘Fu— for crying out loud!’ she squeaked, dragging her earbuds from her ears. ‘Why are you lurking there?’

  Levi lifted his hands to signal he came in peace. ‘Sorry! I heard you singing.’ And then, because the opportunity to leave unobserved had passed and the evidence of her tears still glistened on her face he felt compelled to put aside her occasional snarkiness. ‘Are you OK?’

  She lifted the hem of her T-shirt to blot her eyes, affording him a glimpse of a taut abdomen before she let the fabric fall. ‘Yes, thank you,’ she sniffed, managing a tremulous smile. ‘Amy and I began cutting back this monster vine last night and I’ve worked my shift today so I thought I’d finish off and tidy up. I was listening to an Italian radio station and a song came on that Dad used to sing – Solo Tu. Apparently my parents considered it “theirs” and used to smooch to it.’

  ‘Then I’m sorry I interrupted.’

  She gave him another watery smile, stooping to pick up the fallen scissors. ‘It’s OK. I promised not to be sad after he’d gone.’

  Because she didn’t appear to be doing a great job of keeping that promise, Levi found himself saying, ‘I’m on my way to Il Giardino for coffee. Fancy joining me? Maybe a shot of caffeine will help.’

  She studied him for a moment before she nodded. ‘That’s kind of you. Thank you. But off-duty staff aren’t meant to hang out with guests so I’ll meet you there and conveniently find a vacant seat at your table. I need to wash the green stuff off my hands anyway.’

  Waiting for Sofia to join him at a table in Amy’s section of Il Giardino he had time to order a bottle of cold water and a couple of glasses. He was just beginning to wonder if Sofia had had one of her lightning changes of mood and wasn’t going to turn up when she appeared, cleaned up and changed into a cotton skirt. H
e rather missed the short-shorts. However changeable she’d been towards him she always looked amazing.

  Amy sailed up the aisle between tables, beaming. ‘Finished the breakfast shift, Sofia? What can I get you both?’

  Sofia ordered cappuccino and Levi Americano and, perhaps to counteract the hot drinks, they also selected an ice-cream each from the cabinet behind the bar. Sofia chose a chocolate-hazelnut combination called bacio, which she said meant ‘kiss’. Levi chose limone, the translation of which he could work out for himself.

  ‘Amy seems a bit happier now,’ he observed, when she’d served them with tall glasses of ice-cream and moved on to another table.

  Sofia sent him one of her searching looks before glancing at Amy and nodding. Then she turned the conversation. ‘So what’s going on with you today? More painting? I was impressed with what I saw yesterday.’

  He took up his spoon, ready to broach the three scoops of ice-cream with a tube-shaped wafer stuck jauntily in the top. ‘I was. Then I was distracted by an awkward phone call.’

  She was already digging into her bacio. ‘Nothing too awful, I hope.’

  He watched the way she ate the first taste of ice-cream, half-closing her eyes as she savoured it. Today she seemed back to the friendly, approachable woman she’d been on Monday evening when she’d asked to share his table – before greeting his suggestion they go on somewhere together like a deadly insult. Curious to see if he could complete a conversation with her without prompting the same result, he decided to try to engage her. ‘I’m not sure. Maybe you can give me an objective view? I’m not sure if I’m imagining something that isn’t there.’

  Her eyebrows lifted. ‘Go on.’ She took another spoon of ice-cream and did the savouring thing again. It was damned distracting.