He turned to a watercolour sketch of the same view at sunset. He’d taken dozens of pictures, trying to capture the colours at their best but the camera never saw them as intensely as he did, and he’d dashed off this sketch to capture the evening sky as it turned lilac, falling temperatures creating clouds for the sun to paint dusky pink as it slid down behind a crag.
He closed the pad and sighed.
Painting was uncomplicated. The surface of paper was flat and it was only by brushwork and colour that he created the illusion of dimensions. Real life wasn’t like that. Sometimes it seemed that what you thought you saw bore no relation to the truth. Stephen Webber had been confident he’d fathered three children until he’d noticed an anomaly in Amy’s blood type. The love he felt for Amy hadn’t changed, he’d explained to Levi during that awkward meeting at the Webber family home, but everything else had. Stephen felt diminished in Amy’s eyes, cheated by his wife not just of exclusivity of sexual access but of his place in the family, out of the happiness he’d thought his. Yet the truth had been there, under the surface, all the time.
Levi had tried to be sympathetic but he hadn’t really understood then.
Now he was coming to the end of his odyssey, the weeks when he’d known the privilege of meeting his daughter, he realised why parents were so in love with their kids. Experiencing pleasure in simply watching Amy smile, or feeling leaden when she was unhappy, had taken him by surprise. He’d learned the kind of fear that went with the prospect of losing contact with his child.
Though they’d met only as she leaped into adulthood without a safety net – unless you counted him – he knew her. He might not have changed her nappies or walked the floor with her crying into his neck; he might not have read her school reports or been cross when she’d disappointed him; he hadn’t even had the chance to sit in the audience when she sang in the school choir. But on some fundamental level, he connected with her.
It had taken him weeks to realise that Freya, in order to get what she wanted, had ruined his chance of getting the relationship with his daughter off on the right foot. He didn’t blame Freya. Not now he knew that being a parent was like wearing blinkers. Sometimes, all you saw was your child. Your child. Your child.
He turned to the painting of Il Giardino with Amy’s figure in the foreground. He was more of a landscape painter but he thought he’d caught that little tilt to her chin that hinted that she’d only be pushed so far.
He flicked through to his only other recent attempt at painting a figure. Sofia lying back on the bed, her arms behind her head, one leg slightly bent, looking out of the picture and laughing. For reference – apart from the images burned in his memory – he was using the photo he’d taken on his phone after he’d ‘tattooed’ her. He was fully aware of what trust she was reposing in him by letting him take that photo at all. Many girls wouldn’t allow anything like that in case the phone somehow got into the wrong hands and they found their nakedness on the internet.
The ‘tattooing’ had been fun and gently erotic but hadn’t made it into the painting. He preferred her silky skin unadorned. It was a shame that their intimacy had been compressed into less than twenty-four hours. He hadn’t been anywhere near ready to call a halt.
But he couldn’t think of himself or even of Sofia. He had to think about Amy. That’s what parents did, put their children first.
His heart lifted as it occurred to him that he shouldn’t necessarily view his return to the UK as a full stop to everything. If Sofia and Amy moved on to Spain he could take a quick break in September if Sofia was up for meeting again – and he’d make damned sure he wasn’t a guest at the hotel that employed her. Hopefully Amy would accept that they’d formed some kind of connection and wouldn’t be uncomfortable with it.
Which would mean he could see Amy again too.
Reluctantly, he turned his mind away from that agreeable scenario and stepped through the sliding doors to put down his pad and pick up his phone to call Freya, more out of a sense of duty than because he thought she’d have anything decisive to offer.
Perhaps because their last conversation had been so scratchy, she answered coolly. ‘What’s the news?’
‘Not much, really. She’s made friends amongst the local kids and seems fairly comfortable with things here.’ He decided not to tell her about scaring Davide off. He was beginning to get the hang of dealing with Freya’s nervous agitation and there was no point upsetting her about a situation he’d already resolved.
‘Oh.’ Freya was quiet for several moments and Levi guessed she was weighing up whether to be glad for Amy’s sake that Amy was surviving happily or thinking that a less positive report might have heralded her daughter returning to the comfortable family home.
He moved on to the main purpose of his call. ‘I’ll be leaving here on Thursday—’
‘But what about Amy?’ she butted in sharply.
Levi took a turn about the room, concentrating on not losing patience. ‘I’m not going to be able to stay with her for the rest of her life, Freya. I know you feel the way she left home was unfortunate, but she is an adult. This hotel can only offer me a room until Thursday. It’s a tourist town and they’re choc-a-bloc in July and August.’
‘Try other hotels!’
‘Amy doesn’t work at other hotels. What excuse am I meant to offer for continuing to turn up here? Anyway, I have to return to my own life. I have a business to run. I’m as concerned about Amy as you but there’s a limit to what I can do.’
‘Damn,’ she muttered. ‘Didn’t you say there’s some older waitress she’s friendly with? Can you ask her to watch over Amy and report back?’
Considering he’d already secured a promise that Sofia would do almost exactly that for as long as was feasible, Levi was unreasonably nettled. ‘I think she’ll contact me if there’s something really wrong. But she might move on herself at any time. And she’s only “older” than Amy,’ he found himself adding. ‘Early thirties. Younger than you or I.’
He turned to where he’d laid his watercolour pad on the bed and flipped it open again at the picture of Sofia reclining on his bed, thick dark hair spilling. He was pleased with the way he’d caught the flow of that.
Freya heaved a long sigh. ‘I take it you haven’t told Amy yet?’
‘No.’ Gently, he closed his watercolour pad, as if he didn’t want Sofia’s likeness to witness this part of the conversation.
‘It would have been better if you’d told her from the beginning.’
Irritation jumped on his back like a goblin. ‘It’s a bit late for you to completely change your mind now! Unless I find a Tardis I can’t rerun time. Do you have anything more helpful to offer?’
‘Not if you’re going to leap down my throat,’ she replied sulkily.
Levi suggested Freya try texting Amy while he was still around to offer support if Amy’s reaction was negative. Freya rejected the idea as too chancy and countered that the only practical way forward was for him to remain at Casa Felice for a few more weeks. ‘I’ve just explained why I can’t!’ Levi ended the call, frustrated by lack of progress.
He gave himself time to calm down by making a cup of instant coffee with the room’s complimentary sachets before ringing Wes to share information on his return to the UK. ‘I’ll ride back through Italy and France – I don’t have to go to Munich this time. All being well I should reach Cambridgeshire at the weekend and be back in the office on Monday. That’s the ninth of July,’ he added, as Wes didn’t respond.
‘Yeah. Great.’
Levi tried to draw him out. ‘How are things? Anything you need to ask me or tell me?’
‘Not much.’
He tried again. ‘Octavia OK?’
‘Yeah.’
Knowing his friend was often moody and taciturn when upset, Levi made his voice softer. ‘Are you OK?’
Wes gave a half laugh. ‘I’m always OK, aren’t I?’
For the second time in twenty minutes Levi said his
goodbyes feeling uncertain and out of sorts. Life used to be simpler. He ran his business, got on well with his friend and business partner, enjoyed his freedom and set his own levels of responsibility. He hadn’t felt a black crow of worry settle on his shoulder whenever he thought about his daughter, and Freya had remained safely in the past, where she belonged.
Opening his laptop, he began to plan his route home. Consulting Maps he divided the route into three journeys of roughly six or seven hours and booked a room for Thursday night at Aosta, just before the Italian/French border, then for Friday night at Reims in France. Finally, he booked himself onto the Calais-Est ferry to Dover early on Saturday.
Soon, his trip would be at an end.
He sifted through that idea a few times in his mind and decided he didn’t like it. Black crows and blasts from the past not withstanding, he felt hollow at the thought of leaving Montelibertà.
Chapter Sixteen
Phew, July! The first of the month arrived with searing temperatures and solid bookings. Sofia and Aurora were run off their feet on Sunday checking guests in and out, housekeeping staff hustled to service rooms for fresh occupants, and Il Giardino was full to bursting with red-faced, overheated tourists. Sofia could only spare the occasional glance through the doorway to see the wait staff working busy tables under sun-baked parasols as she parroted meal times for what felt like the hundredth guest.
It was towards the end of her shift when she became conscious of two people watching her. She was listening to an elderly lady’s story of how her coach broke down on a day trip to Rome but her eyes were drawn from the lady’s gently wrinkled face to the watchers. With a shock, she realised it was Gianni Bianchi and a young woman, probably three or four years younger than Sofia. When her gaze rested on her uncle, he scowled.
When the lady went off to browse the leaflet stand in search of more entertainment, Gianni and the young woman approached.
‘Buon giorno,’ Sofia said tonelessly.
Gianni, smart in a suit with a white shirt but no tie, didn’t bother to return the greeting. He glared at Sofia. ‘So, you have snubbed me. I extended a hand to you but you have shown plainly where your loyalties lie. I would have apologised for my hasty words but now I see there is no point.’ He turned upon his highly polished heel and stalked out with his nose an impressive distance in the air.
Blankly, Sofia watched him go. What had just happened? Gianni was obviously furious all over again but she hadn’t the least idea why. Seeing Aurora sending her a questioning glance while she stapled a card receipt to a check-out sheet, Sofia shrugged, hoping it looked as if she didn’t mind being publicly berated by one of her nearest living relatives. ‘Sorry. My uncle.’
Aurora raised an eyebrow. ‘I know who Gianni Bianchi is.’ Her glance slid to where the young woman still stood gazing at Sofia. The young woman wasn’t smiling but she wasn’t scowling either. She looked to be about twenty-four.
Sofia had little choice but to acknowledge her. ‘May I help you?’
The young woman tilted her head slightly. ‘Will you talk to me? I’m Chiara Bianchi. Your cousin.’ Chiara didn’t look like Gianni. Not only was there was no trace of hostility in her eyes but she had a longer face, a slightly-too-large nose and a firm jaw.
Though she felt a spark of interest that a member of her family was promoting the idea of a normal conversation, Sofia began to say that she needed to get on with her work. But then curiosity took over along with a trickle of excitement. ‘My shift ends in fifteen minutes.’
Chiari stepped back to glance through the doorway to the outside. ‘I see my father has waited for me. We will meet you in Il Giardino.’
Sofia had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. ‘I hope he can control his temper this time.’ She made no attempt to simplify her vocabulary. Chiara’s English was impeccable.
One corner of Chiara’s mouth twitched. ‘I’ll suggest it.’
Sofia didn’t rush to end her shift promptly. She dealt with two keycards that had stopped working – probably through being shoved in the same pocket as a mobile phone – and then became embroiled in helping an American lady who’d come to Montelibertà to meet Italian relatives and had left it to the last minute to decide it would be a good idea to learn the Italian for yes, no, please, thank you and sorry. Could Sofia please write it down for her?
But, finally, the time came for her to sign out of the computer system and hand over to the next shift. Sofia collected her bag from the back office and, squaring her shoulders, sauntered outside, pausing to let her eyes adjust to the bright sunlight. Thomas, Paolo and Noemi were the wait staff and Gianni and Chiara were seated at a table in Paolo’s section. As Sofia joined them she slipped her jacket over the back of her chair and sat down without waiting to be invited. When Chiara courteously asked if she’d like to order a drink she chose tea to make herself seem as English as possible, though she loved all forms of the delicious Italian coffee Chiara and Gianni already had before them.
Paolo pretended to grumble, ‘Inglese, Inglese!’ when he took the order but at the same time gave her a big grin and a wink that made her grin back.
Once he’d headed off, Sofia turned to her cousin and uncle enquiringly. It was they who’d called this meeting so she didn’t see why she should begin the conversation.
Chiara spoke first. ‘My father and you have made an unfortunate start but we would like to talk to you.’ She hesitated. ‘We are all family.’
‘Of course.’ She kept her tone cool. To say that she and Gianni had made ‘an unfortunate start’ probably qualified for understatement of the decade. Sofia flicked a glance at Gianni and, to her surprise, she saw that he was looking slightly sheepish.
‘Perhaps you’re aware that we do not often come to Casa Felice,’ Chiara went on, fiddling with a sachet of brown sugar that lay in the saucer of her coffee cup. ‘We are competitors. My father and Signora Morbidelli are not friends. It’s for this reason that my father spoke harshly when he saw you behind the reception desk.’
Sofia looked at Gianni directly. ‘You have an objection to me working here? But you saw me working in Il Giardino before.’ She didn’t blush at the memory of cursing at him. He’d earned it.
Stiffly, he nodded. ‘I offer you a job at Hotel Alba, the Bianchi hotel, and you do not even consider.’
Sofia gasped. ‘Like f—!’ She paused to allow Paolo to place her tea in front of her while she erased the four-lettered response from the tip of her tongue. ‘I received no such offer,’ she said instead, trying to subdue a fiery lick of temper.
Gianni glanced at Chiara and she took over for him, her voice soothing. ‘When Signora Morbidelli ended your employment he was embarrassed about his part in the argument. Later in the day, he returned and asked Signora Morbidelli to tell you to contact him. He would make sure you had a job at Hotel Alba.’
Gaze darting back and forth between two pairs of brown eyes so like her own, Sofia didn’t even try to hide her scepticism. ‘That seems an odd consequence of an altercation that included my parents and myself being insulted in a variety of ways.’
Gianni glanced at Chiara and said in Italian, ‘Perhaps now is the time for me to speak to Sofia alone.’
Chiara hesitated, but then nodded, so Sofia guessed this eventuality had already been discussed. Too curious to do anything but bid her cousin a polite farewell, she sipped her tea while Gianni frowned down at his coffee cup. When he’d checked that his daughter was safely out of earshot he asked, ‘Do you mind if we speak in Italian? No? Thank you.’ He paused to take a deep breath. ‘I apologise. I was rude and harsh. I picked on the subject of money to lash out at you to disguise the real source of my anger and pain. Chiara knows what lies beneath that, what I’m going to tell you, but it’s better that she does not have to listen.’ He glanced at Sofia and then away. ‘Forgive me. This is very difficult.’
Sofia’s heart stepped up its beat as she watched his throat working. What on earth could be coming?
&
nbsp; ‘Aldo was my big brother,’ he began huskily. ‘I loved him. I tried to be like him. He was a good man with many friends. Girls liked him too. But when he fell in love with Dawn …’ He stopped again, taking up a paper napkin and blowing his nose vigorously.
Realising that Gianni, for all his bluster, was both upset and trying to tell her something important, Sofia murmured, ‘Wait one moment,’ and hurried to the bar to grab a jug of water and two glasses. Back at the table, she poured a glass and stood it at his elbow.
He drank deeply, murmuring, ‘Grazie mille.’ He put down the glass and met Sofia’s gaze for seconds before he spoke in a voice filled with pain. ‘I loved Dawn first. The beautiful Englishwoman. She came to our house as my girlfriend. I wanted my parents to meet her before I asked her to be my wife. Instead, she and Aldo …’ He paused to drink again, muttering, ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Wow,’ Sofia breathed, stunned. She watched moisture gather in the crease beneath Gianni’s eyes. ‘I had no idea. Papà has never told me.’
He tried to smile. ‘I loved them both. Aldo tried not to fall in love with her. He was tormented. He said to me, “I have betrayed you” and I said, “Yes, you have.” But you cannot choose who you love or I know Aldo would have chosen another woman. But, imagine!’ He swallowed hard before beginning again. ‘Once Dawn realised her feelings for Aldo she told me the truth – she didn’t cheat behind my back. She was very sorry, I know. But I was young and hurt and so angry I thought I might die.’ He managed a faint, self-deprecating smile. ‘I was even more dramatic then than I am now. Hard to believe, eh?’
Detecting a much greater resemblance to Aldo now in the hint of roguishness in his eyes, Sofia’s heart turned over. Tremulously, she managed to summon an answering smile. ‘It would be rude of me to call you a liar.’
His smile broadened before fading once more. ‘I told Aldo I would never speak to him again as long as I lived. I said I hoped Dawn left him broken-hearted and found a more honest man. I said he didn’t deserve her.’ He winced, a bleak, faraway expression in his eyes. ‘The situation caused great distress in the family. My parents were torn between their sons. Aldo told my parents that he and Dawn would live in England. She had only been passing the summer here in Montelibertà and had a good job waiting for her at an English university.’
One Summer in Italy Page 16
