One Summer in Italy

by Sue Moorcroft

  With a sigh, Sofia closed the volume and handed it back. Though it had given her a wonderful insight into the early life of Aldo with his family, it had also left her sad, as if she’d lived through that turbulent time in the Bianchi family herself.

  Chiara smoothed the cover regretfully. ‘I’m sorry. I wanted to share the pictures of your father as a boy. I didn’t think of … the old story.’ A cleft had dug itself between her brows and she looked sincerely upset.

  Sofia summoned a smile. ‘It was nothing to do with us.’ Except if Gianni had married his first love, Dawn, neither Sofia nor Chiara would be here. It made her reflect on the randomness of life and relationships. Of her links to her family so tenuous; of Amy’s being not what she thought; and Levi’s including a child he didn’t know he had.

  Chiara’s voice broke into her thoughts. ‘I’m afraid I have work I must attend to, but please stay for as long as you like. Perhaps a glass of wine?’ She glanced around as if ready to summon a waiter.

  Sofia jumped up. ‘Thank you, but I think I’ll walk up the hill to look at our grandparents’ old house. You don’t have time to come with me?’

  ‘I wish I did.’ Chiara put down the album in order to embrace Sofia fiercely. ‘I hope to see you again soon. I’m intrigued by my English cousin.’ She laughed. ‘Papà was so astonished to learn you spoke good Italian. It was the first thing he said to my mother after he’d met you. He said he could imagine you staying in Montelibertà for a long time. It was then he began to talk of offering you a role at Hotel Alba.’

  Sofia felt torn. Whatever happened in the future, whether Mia ever treated her with anything other than cold courtesy and whether Gianni could look at her without feeling a double dose of pain, here was one clear and clean link to her bloodline. Her cousin. ‘In some ways, I wish I could. But I don’t think I’ll be in Montelibertà for long.’

  ‘Oh.’ Chiara looked downcast. ‘I was hoping we would get to know each other better.’ She hesitated, trouble clouding her eyes. ‘You won’t leave without saying goodbye, will you?’

  ‘Of course not!’ Sofia gave her cousin a spontaneous hug.

  They exchanged contact details and Chiara issued directions to their grandparents’ old house and promised to tell her parents that Sofia was sorry to have missed them.

  Then Sofia was free to set off further up the hill, negotiating the twists and turns of the streets to a broad thoroughfare in a comfortable neighbourhood of houses gazing out over the town. She found the house she was looking for easily. Being of stone it had changed very little in the thirty-odd years since the photographs in her grandparents’ album.

  She stood for several minutes, gazing into the gardens and imagining her father using trees for goalposts as he played football with his little brother. Then, in their twenties, Gianni bringing home the English girl he’d fallen in love with …

  Tears pricked her eyes. It was a very strange feeling to know herself to be the result of the love of her parents but the pain of her wider family. It was no wonder Gianni had exhibited such mixed feelings towards her and Mia had greeted her so coolly.

  She only emerged from her dark thoughts when she received a text.

  Levi: Are you avoiding me?

  It didn’t lift her mood but the code between people who’d slept together demanded honesty, in her view. She sighed as she replied.

  Sofia: I thought it would be easier all round if I spent my days off away from Casa Felice. I’m sure you understand.

  Levi: Not really.

  She wasn’t sure she understood herself. Self-preservation had prompted her to decline his invitation. She was suffering from a strong sense of how much she was going to miss him and spending another night with him would only make her miss him a hell of a lot more.

  With a last look at Via Salvatore 58, Sofia turned and wandered back down into the town, found a quiet corner in a pavement café and ordered Orvieto Classico.

  She hadn’t come to Montelibertà with the expectation of representing safety to an eighteen-year-old, she thought, but nobody with half a heart could leave Amy to fend for herself. The younger girl stood at a crossroads and Sofia had the ability and knowledge to act like a benign human satnav. Heart and soul, she knew that.

  On her phone she opened a new browser window and went to the same website where she’d found her original job at Casa Felice to begin researching openings at Italian coastal resorts like Rimini and Sorrento. She liked what she saw. High season meant a lot of live-in jobs for experienced wait staff. The listings for multiple openings were all with huge hotels but the advantages of Amy and her being together outweighed the impersonal aspect of working for a big chain.

  Sofia changed to her messages app and sent Amy a text for when she came off shift to see if she would be free any time tomorrow, Wednesday, thinking they could look at the website together then.

  Aware of time dragging, of being alone, she prepared to while away the early part of the evening over a bowl of pasta while she checked out Città della Pieve on her phone as a good place to take herself the next day.

  Then, with a distinct feeling that being a young and free woman ought to be more fun than this, she wandered back to her accommodation to spend the last of the evening reading.

  The next day, after talking sternly to herself about life being what you make it, and telling herself that if she felt down during a long hot summer in a country she’d longed to visit all her life then she ought to be ashamed, she strode down the hill to catch the bus from where Via Virgilio passed Piazza Roma. She bought a couple of pastries and a takeout cup of coffee and breakfasted gazing through the bus window at alternating woodland, farmland and vineyards until she saw the golds, pinks and browns of Città della Pieve rising above the trees.

  Her research had told her that parts of Città della Pieve dated back to medieval times and, as she strolled beside the wall dating back to the twelfth century, she tried to breathe in the atmosphere of permanence and serenity. People had been living out their lives here, perched up on a hill, since Roman times. As a travel site had informed her importantly, Colin Firth was a resident, although she didn’t catch a glimpse of him as she wandered the narrow streets, trying not to wonder how Levi was filling his time today. She lunched on salad and a glass of wine while she watched the world go by from a table outside a trattoria: groups of old men argued and laughed; small children were chivvied by harassed mothers. The sun was particularly strong within the walls on the hilltop and after lunch Mr and Mrs Tourist seemed to be in the majority, sweating and frowning and turning pink.

  Finally, Sofia gave up trying to pretend she was enjoying herself and took the bus back to Montelibertà. Her object had been achieved – to while away Levi’s last day without giving in to the temptation of phoning him. In less than twelve hours he’d roar off on his motorbike. The only contact they’d have would be the occasional message about Amy, unless Sofia was going to take the giant stride of not only forgetting and forgoing her two-year single-person-travelling plan but presenting herself uninvited on Levi’s doorstep in England to see if he was up for an extension to their one-afternoon-night-morning stand.

  Ignoring the heaviness she felt inside, she showered and changed. She tried ringing Amy but the call went to voicemail so she decided to grab herself something to eat.

  As Levi’s motorbike was absent from the car park, she decided there would be little risk of running into him if she ordered something from Il Giardino to take back to her room. She’d just given her order to Thomas when she spotted Amy emerging from the gate to the yard.

  ‘There you are! I was beginning to think you’d been abducted by aliens.’ Sofia hurried to the edge of Il Giardino to intercept the younger girl as she gained the pavement and turned towards town.

  ‘Oh. Hello.’ Amy looked pale and unhappy, just as she had when she first arrived.

  Sofia was concerned. ‘You OK?’

  ‘Yes.’ Amy began to edge round her. ‘I’m going to meet Noemi.
’

  If she wanted to pursue the conversation Sofia found she had to rotate on the spot. ‘I texted you. I was hoping we could talk—’

  ‘’Course.’ But Amy didn’t pause to firm up arrangements. She hurried on down the hill, her blonde hair flying behind her.

  Left alone, Sofia glanced across at Davide, who was picking up an order at the kitchen hatch. Had he started bothering Amy again? Why hadn’t Amy told Sofia or Levi if so? Or had Levi told Amy he was her father and that was what was making her look so woebegone? But surely Levi would have sent Sofia a message to put her in the picture?

  The evening was warm and Sofia took a couple of bottles of cold beer to go with her calzone and set off for her own quarters, exchanging friendly goodnights with Thomas and Matteo and offhand nods with Davide.

  Levi’s motorbike still wasn’t back in its usual space and she tried to be glad, but the thought that she’d probably already seen him for the last time made her throat ache.

  Head drooping, she scuffed across the utility yard and descended the steps to the staff gate.

  And then a voice came from the shadows. ‘I hate this. It’s as if we’re parting on bad terms.’

  Heart hammering, she halted.

  Levi stepped out of the shadows, his brows drawn together in a horizontal line. ‘Are we on bad terms?’ he asked.

  She shook her head. ‘I thought it might be easier not to make a thing about saying goodbye.’ Like ripping off a plaster in one go instead of peeling it away slowly.

  ‘It’s not.’ He sounded flat. ‘It feels wrong. Rude. Inappropriate. Hurtful. Dismissive.’ And then, as if she hadn’t got the message the first time: ‘Wrong.’

  The box containing the calzone was warm in her hands. She’d been looking forward to eating it but now just its smell was making her feel queasy. ‘Your motorbike’s not in the car park.’

  ‘I parked around the corner.’

  ‘Oh. Have you sorted out what’s going on at home with your business? Your friend Wes and Octavia?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Have you told Amy the truth?’

  ‘No. But what the fuck have these things got to do with you refusing to see me for the last two days of my stay? If you ask me, that’s no way to say goodbye.’ He moved in until he could rest his hands lightly on her bare arms.

  In a moment of weakness she let herself lean into him and his face moved close to hers. He began to drop kisses on her forehead, her cheeks, her eyelids, the corner of her mouth and then her lips, caressing her with his tongue, his hands moving to cradle the back of her head and the small of her back. She could feel the calzone box squashing against her stomach. The beer bottles chinked.

  ‘Your life’s in England,’ she managed, when he let her up for breath.

  He groaned as he laid his cheek against her hair. ‘And yours isn’t. I get that. But I still wish …’

  ‘That?’

  ‘That things were different.’ Finally he released her, leaving her with lips tingling. ‘I’ll be in touch.’

  ‘OK.’ Aware of his gaze on her she turned and fumbled her way through the staff gate and into her room. But, somehow, the knowledge that she had to get up before six tomorrow wasn’t enough to let her sleep. The room was hot and airless, bugs buzzed outside and Sofia’s mind wouldn’t rest, constantly reminding her that she was living her dream as well as fulfilling her promises to Aldo to travel and live like a single woman. It would be ridiculous to swap that for pursuing a relationship in England that had never even had a chance to get going and might never live up to hope or expectation.

  She’d known Levi Gunn such a short time and in the morning he’d be gone, back to his own life. And out of Sofia’s.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Since the conversation on Monday night when Sofia had said she didn’t want to go to Spain, everything had turned to crap all over again, Amy thought as she climbed up Via Virgilio as if it were Everest. She felt as if there was a big stone in her stomach. Sofia hadn’t said that Amy was invited to go with her wherever she did go.

  What was it with people? Did the whole world have to let her down? Amy had begun feeling OK about Montelibertà and Casa Felice when first Levi, then Sofia, had said they were moving on.

  Levi wasn’t unexpected. It was a shame because it had been good to have a man who kept asking, dad-like, if she was OK. She was pretty sure Davide wouldn’t have shit himself half so much if it had been her or Sofia who’d jumped out in the dark and bellowed ‘Rah!’ at him that night by the staff accommodation – that had been so cool – but Levi was a punter, a tourist, and all guests checked out sooner or later.

  Sofia, though. Amy had tried to tell herself about the age difference … but she knew in her heart she’d expected Sofia to keep her word because she’d provided Amy with something that felt like solid ground when her life had turned to shifting sands. Noemi and Matteo would be off to uni in the autumn. What would Amy do then? She only expected to remain at Casa Felice until mid-September.

  She passed the kiosk, all shut for the night. A cat on a wall mewed at her as if to beg for fuss. When Amy stopped and put out her hand the cat jumped down and vanished into the darkness.

  Amy resumed her trek, blinking back babyish tears that a cat had rejected her along with everyone else.

  The backs of her calves began to ache. She’d worked the lunch shift extended by two hours, which was like an eight-hour power walk balancing heavy weights, then trekked into town only to stand up all night in a bar because it was packed and she hadn’t wanted to be the dweeb who whined, ‘Can’t we go somewhere where they have chairs?’

  Now she had to walk back again and the uphill slog wasn’t made any easier by her carting along a sackload of negative thoughts. She tried to do what her dad – Stephen – always suggested and think positively.

  She could go to Germany or the UK, where she knew the language, and get a proper job. That was positive. She had money because she’d been paid in euros all the time she was here and she was almost shocked at how much was in her account.

  Or she could even go home, wait for the resits and finish her exams. The thought crept into her head like a puppy hopeful of a fond reception. She was homesick again. It was gnawing at her stomach, hanging from her heart, burning behind her eyes. Sometimes she wanted nothing more than to go back to the sturdy family home in Neufahrn. She could almost imagine the train journey back, changing twice, then in ten hours or so pulling into München Hauptbahnhof. She could be home in Neufahrn an hour later. She thought about ringing Stephen or Kris – Louis would probably already be in bed.

  Even … well, she could even ring her mum, couldn’t she?

  She’d been so angry for so many weeks but now she’d talked to Dad the thought had been nagging at her that never forgiving her mum meant never seeing her mum. Deep inside herself she knew she couldn’t do that, especially as it would probably mean not seeing Kris or Louis either, or at least not until they were old enough to travel independently. And Louis was only twelve now.

  As if reading her mind, her phone rang. She scrabbled for it in the tiny bag she wore crosswise across her body. Kris the screen said. A tiny warm feeling began in her heart as she answered. ‘Hey. What you up to?’ There was a bench nearby and she dropped down on it, lifting her hair off her neck as a light breeze stirred the warm air.

  ‘Umm, yeah.’ Kris seemed to be having trouble deciding what to say.

  Amy could imagine him rubbing his fingers through his hair, which grew in a cowlick at the front. He’d always tried to flatten until recently, when he’d had his hair shaved at the sides and spiked up at the front.

  ‘Yeah, what?’ She laughed. ‘What’s up?’ Then her stomach twisted into a little knot of misgiving. ‘Are you OK?’ Kris was only usually tongue-tied if he had to confess to a broken window or getting caught out at school.

  ‘Umm, yeah,’ he said again. Then in a rush, ‘Mum and Dad were having this crazy argument tonight. Really loud, so I could
hear what they said.’ He paused.

  ‘That’s crap,’ Amy said, making her voice encouraging. Stepping back into her role of big sister made her feel a surprising amount better. Until the day the truth had boiled over her family, removing layers of skin, she’d rarely heard her parents argue. Certainly not in the bellows-of-rage way. ‘Was it, like, dead upsetting? Was Louis upset?’

  ‘He’s on a sleepover.’ The words seemed to be coming to Kris more easily now. ‘Thing is, Dad was really angry all over again and Mum started shouting back. And … well …’

  ‘What?’ Amy’s hair tickled her face as the breeze tried to get it to play. She swept it back.

  Kris took an audible breath. ‘Umm, yeah. Dad said it was driving him insane, that Mum had lied all this time. They were talking about your … umm, like, you know, your real …’

  An icy hand grabbed at Amy’s insides. She tried to keep her voice steady. ‘My real dad?’ Just saying it hurt like hell, reminding her that she wasn’t who she thought she was, that she didn’t really have any right to call Stephen Webber ‘Dad’ at all. She wasn’t even ‘Webber’ herself, when you thought about it.

  ‘Yeah.’ Probably relieved to have her put it into words first, Kris went on all in a rush. ‘And you know what, Amy? He came here to this house!’

  ‘What? When? How could he?’ Amy felt frozen with horror. ‘He couldn’t. Mum had a thing with him before her and Dad got married, before we moved to Germany.’

  ‘But he’s been here and talked to Mum and Dad, not long after you left,’ Kris insisted. His voice had become hoarse as if he was trying to talk loudly for emphasis at the same time as staying quiet because he didn’t want to be overheard. ‘Dad told Mum that he knew why she’d invited him but it had been torture. He asked her if she’d been in touch with him all these years and she denied it.’

  ‘But she’s in touch with him now?’ Amy’s voice had dwindled to a whisper. She tried to throw her mind back. Hadn’t she demanded to know who her real father was? And her mum had just said he was someone she barely knew. Some bloke she’d met on a hen night.