by Daisy James
‘The end of the week, but Luca, I…’
‘Okay, then, I’d better let you get settled in before the guests arrive. Carlotta’s made up the sunflower suite for you and she’ll be over at seven thirty tomorrow morning to help you with breakfast. I’ll see you at nine thirty for the first patisserie course. Ciao!’
Izzie stared at his retreating back, taken by surprise at the sudden turn in the conversation. She had hoped to share a coffee with him, maybe even that he would stay to help her check in the guests who weren’t scheduled to arrive until later that evening. By the time she had recovered her senses and rushed in his wake, the Spider was zooming away down the drive, scattering pebbles like confetti at a wedding.
Chapter Three
The kitchen, Villa Limoncello
Colour: Crumbled biscuit
‘Okay, everyone, hello and welcome to the first session of the Snowflakes & Christmas Cakes course here at Villa Limoncello. As you’ll see from the itinerary in the personalised folders I’ve prepared for each of you, every morning this week either Luca or I will be presenting a tutorial themed around Christmas, starting with the most amazing festive bakes, from both Italy and the UK, which you can then take over to the studio you’ll be using for your choir rehearsals to share with the rest of your group.’
‘We’ll need something to sustain us during the musical marathon Nick’s got planned for us,’ muttered Sofia, who, at twenty-two, was the youngest of the group and had arrived for the baking class sporting a trendy denim jacket and a thunderous expression. She tossed her glossy hair over her shoulder in a practised gesture and fixed her amber eyes on Izzie.
‘So,’ continued Luca, taking up the presentation baton, and looking extremely handsome in his chef’s whites and jaunty black-and-white neckerchief. ‘This morning we’ll be making crumble and custard mince pies and panforte tartlets with fresh figs and a lemon liqueur cream topping. And for those of you who’ve signed up for Izzie’s Christmas crafting sessions on Tuesday and Thursday, you’ll be creating hand-painted baubles using glass from Colle di Val d’Elsa, a local town that produces fifteen per cent of the world’s crystal, and then Christmas wreaths, assisted by San Vivaldo’s floral genius, Francesca Accardi.’
‘It’s really kind of you to add the crafting sessions at the last minute, Izzie.’ Jennie smiled, patting the chunky, multi-coloured necklace at her throat before leaning forward to flick through the folder with her photograph on the front. ‘I’m really looking forward to learning about how the Italians decorate their homes at Christmas and I’ve promised to do a talk for the ladies at my gym and the golf club when I get back home so I’ll be taking extra notes. Oh, no, can you hang on a minute – I’ve forgotten my glasses!’
‘Oh, God, Jennie, hurry up, will you?’ snapped Nick, running his fingers through his lion’s mane of dark bouffant curls, irritation stalking across his face. ‘This is exactly the sort of thing I wanted to avoid! If we start on time, we’ll finish on time, and I want us to meet the others at the studio at two o’clock prompt. There’s not a moment to waste if we want to be note-perfect for the concert.’
Izzie saw Sofia exchange a smirk with Phoebe and Dylan, the other two members in the group – clearly this wasn’t the first time Jennie had held up the proceedings because she’d forgotten something.
‘Don’t worry, I’m sure we’ll finish on schedule,’ said Luca in his most conciliatory tone. ‘Okay, so while we wait for Jennie, can I ask you all to wash your hands, put on your Villa Limoncello aprons, and take your places at the table in front of a set of ingredients.’
Izzie watched the four guests jostle for position at the sink, then exclaim with delight over the aprons that had been hand-embroidered with their names and the motif of a lemon, before selecting a spot at the table. As the group had arrived later than expected the previous evening, after she’d shown them to their suites all they’d wanted to do was take a shower and fall into bed. They hadn’t even taken advantage of the home-made limoncello cocktails she and Carlotta had prepared, although she did notice the look of wistful regret on Phoebe’s face before following the others upstairs.
Izzie had wondered why Phoebe had chosen to travel all the way from York to Tuscany in a sharply cut business suit, complete with crisp white blouse and four-inch stilettos, but she was even more surprised to see that she had stuck with her sartorial preferences for that morning’s cookery course, wearing another smart outfit: a jacket in a gorgeous cerise tweed fabric with three-quarter-length sleeves and braided cuffs, twinned with a beige silk vest top and matching pumps. Her pale blonde hair was salon-fresh and twisted into an elegant updo, her make-up flawless, and she wore a slender silver watch which Izzie suspected cost more than her monthly rent. She wondered if Phoebe was in the fashion business, a thought that caused a ripple of fear to shoot the length of her spine after what had happened at their Painting & Pasta course in July.
But no matter what she thought of Phoebe’s choice of attire and accessories, they were run-of-the-mill compared to what Dylan had arrived in the kitchen with strung around his neck like an oversized medallion. Thankfully his guitar was now slumbering like a favoured pet in the chair next to the back door, basking in the sunshine whilst its master worked on his baking skills. She had warmed to Dylan straight away – he seemed the most laid-back of their five guests with his artistically torn jeans, crumpled grey T-shirt and Converse trainers. He was also the only one who hadn’t flashed worried glances in Nick’s direction every time he opened his mouth to speak.
‘Sorry, sorry,’ gasped Jennie, scooting back into the kitchen, her bejewelled glasses bouncing from a thick gold chain at her chest as she took the last remaining space next to Nick.
‘So, do you think we could get started now?’ snapped Nick, tapping his watch with a conductor’s baton he’d produced from the inside pocket of his paisley waistcoat as if he were a sergeant major rallying his wayward troops. Izzie supressed a giggle. With his exuberant wardrobe choices and loud booming voice, he looked, and sounded, like Brian Blessed’s zany younger cousin.
‘Okay, let’s begin with the panforte tartlets, shall we?’
There was a murmur of consensus and all eyes turned to Luca.
‘So, first of all I want you to scatter a selection of nuts onto your baking trays. We have almonds, hazelnuts, pistachios, cashews and walnuts, so choose those you like the best, then we’ll roast them in the oven whilst we get on with making our sweet shortcrust pastry.’
As Izzie had expected, Jennie was the most accomplished baker, whipping up a batch of pastry within minutes, wrapping it in clingfilm and leaving it to rest. With her choppy chestnut hair flicked up at the sides to reveal neat pearl earrings and an oversized canvas bag that seemed to house everything a Girl Guide could ask for – including a fully stocked first aid kit that came in useful when Sofia managed to burn her finger removing her nuts from the oven – she was clearly the maternal glue that held the choir together.
‘Have you finished already?’ sighed Phoebe, her hands covered in a gloopy mixture that resembled porridge rather than pastry. Rosy red dots had appeared on her cheeks, and wayward strands of hair sprouted from her formerly elegant chignon which she swept away with her forearm.
‘Having raised two ravenous boys, I can rustle up a batch of pastry with my eyes closed,’ laughed Jennie, moving over to help Phoebe so that Luca could continue to talk a panicking Dylan down from a flour-infused ledge. Izzie would have giggled at the expression on his face if he hadn’t looked so absolutely petrified.
‘My aunt Rosa says Doctor Harmer’s surgery is run with military efficiency since you took over as their receptionist, Jennie,’ said Sofia, getting aggressive with her pestle and mortar to crush her roasted nuts.
‘That’s very kind of her, Sofia. I always say that organisation is the key to a happier life. I think I might have met my match, though – these folders are fabulous, Izzie. I might photocopy your instruction cards and hand them out at our next
WI meeting, if you don’t mind.’
‘No problem.’ Izzie smiled, watching Jennie deftly roll out her pastry, cut it into perfect circles and line each of the twelve wells in her baking tray.
‘Right, next we make the filling,’ said Luca, picking up a small silver pan to demonstrate which ingredients went into the mixture. ‘First, we melt the butter, sugar, honey and chocolate over a low heat, then we add the beaten egg, orange zest, chopped fresh figs and the spices. Again, you choose which you prefer – we have cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, ginger and cardamom. Finally, we add our nuts to the pan and stir well.’
As the students got busy with the next stage, the kitchen filled with the very essence of Christmas, and when everyone’s panforte tartlets were in the oven, sending out wafts of aromatic spices, Izzie could feel her taste buds tingling. It was the perfect recipe with which to begin the week’s course.
‘While we wait for our little pies to bake and then cool, let’s whip up the topping!’
There followed a hilarious ten minutes as splatters of mascarpone, fresh cream and limoncello landed everywhere as the group beat the mixture by hand before piping onto the top of their bakes and adorning the finishing product with curls of lemon zest.
‘Oh, my God, these smell amazing!’ declared Sofia, reaching out to taste one before having her hand slapped away by Nick. If looks could kill, Nick would have been pushing up the daisies.
‘There’s no time! We need to move on to Izzie’s crumble and custard mince pies.’
Suddenly, all Izzie’s previous anxiety about her ability to produce a batch of non-caramelised mince pies disappeared, and a surge of confidence whooshed through her veins. She had practised her own twist on the humble Christmas staple several times, and as long as she remembered to take them out of the oven on time, she should be okay.
Using the carefully drafted notes in her trusty purple arch-lever file that went everywhere with her, she led the group steadily through her recipe until, with only ten minutes to spare, everyone was standing at the table with two pyramids of pies in front of them. Izzie glanced around at the fruits of that morning’s labour, grateful that this was not Bake Off and she didn’t have to rate their students’ offerings, because the breadth of culinary talent ranged from proficient (Jennie and Nick) to what she could at best call idiosyncratic (Dylan and Phoebe). Sofia’s attempt was passable, but that was only because Jennie had taken her under her wing!
‘So, I hope you’ve all enjoyed your first Snowflakes & Christmas Cakes session?’ asked Luca, grinning when he was met by a chorus of yeses. ‘Grazie, grazie mille! Okay, so if you’ll excuse me, I’m needed to help with the lunch service at Antonio’s. As you know, the itinerary has been amended so you’ll have a crafting session led by Izzie tomorrow, so I’ll see you all on Wednesday morning at ten a.m. Ciao a tutti!’
‘Ciao!’ sang the choristers as Luca nodded to Izzie and dashed out of the door.
A sharp spasm of disappointment sliced through Izzie’s chest that, once again, Luca had managed to avoid spending time alone with her. But she shoved her growing concerns as to the reasons behind his behaviour into the crevices of her mind to concentrate on sorting out lunch.
‘Okay, why don’t we adjourn to the dining room and I’ll bring—’ But before Izzie could continue, Nick had taken charge of proceedings.
‘I’ve got a few calls to make so I’ll skip lunch, Izzie. But I want to see everyone on the terrace at one fifty sharp for our walk over to the rehearsal studio. No lingering over the antipasti and absolutely no alcohol – no exceptions!’
Nick strode from the kitchen, his back ramrod straight, his baton slotted behind his ear. The four remaining choir members lingered at the kitchen table until he was out of earshot, then, in unison, reached for a mince pie or a panforte tartlet and burst into giggles.
‘Sorry, Izzie, you must think us very disloyal, rude even,’ said Jennie, dotting the side of her lips with a serviette whilst Dylan, Phoebe and Sofia gathered any escaping crumbs with the tips of their tongues, rolling their eyes in dramatic ecstasy. ‘Nick’s obsessed with making sure this Christmas concert is up to professional standard. But we’re a community choir; there’re fifteen of us and we’re all amateurs. We’re doing this for all sorts of reasons, but mainly just to enjoy ourselves and give something back to our community, but Nick’s a perfectionist and it’s going to be really difficult to keep to the programme he’s organised for us.’
‘And we want to have some fun whilst we’re in Tuscany,’ added Sofia, twisting her finger into the tangle of silver chains around her neck, a waft of patchouli oil drifting into the air. ‘That’s why we wanted to stay here at the villa instead of with the others at the hotel in the village, so we could relax and learn something new without Nick breathing down our necks every second. None of us had any idea that Nick would choose to join us!’
‘Should have known he would want to keep tabs on us, though!’ Dylan grinned, reaching for his beloved guitar and settling it around his neck, strumming a few chords as though it was some kind of stress-reliever.
‘Either that or he thought we were the ones in most need of his supervision?’ laughed Phoebe. ‘Although, I can’t say he’s wrong. More often than not, it’s us four who end up in the pub after Wednesday night’s choir practice. He probably thought we’d spend the whole week in some Italian cafe indulging in endless bottles of the local Chianti. This way he can make sure we focus on the singing.’
‘Need any help with lunch, Izzie?’ asked Jennie, removing her glittery glasses that looked like something Dame Edna Everage would wear, not the local doctor’s receptionist.
‘No thanks, it’s all done, but you could grab the tray over there with the coffee?’
Izzie removed the two heavily laden wooden boards showcasing the best in Italian antipasti from the fridge and ushered the group towards the dining room where she’d set the table with Villa Limoncello’s signature linen that morning, grateful for Jennie’s help. She might be forgetful, but she certainly made up for it in the housekeeping stakes.
‘So, you’ve got a Christmas concert organised then?’
‘Not just one but several! It’s the most important time of the year for the Somersby Singers and, as you’ve probably gathered, Nick insists we have to be note-perfect. He treats it like we’ve been asked to sing at the Royal Albert Hall in front of the queen!’
‘We’ve been rehearsing our repertoire since September,’ added Sofia, scrunching up her nose as she slid into a chair and started to pile her plate with a mountain of food. ‘My flatmate says I’ve been singing in my sleep! I thought we were on track, that we’d crushed it, but three weeks ago Nick announced we were sub-par and that we had to work harder. Mmm, Izzie, this cheese is amazing, what is it?’
‘It’s pecorino, from a village just to the south of here. So, is that why you’re here?’
‘Yes, Nick arranged everything,’ said Phoebe, helping herself to a couple of sprigs of radicchio, a few tomatoes and a large tumbler of home-made lemonade. ‘I don’t suppose there’s any chance of a shot of the famous limoncello in this, is there, Izzie?’
Jennie rolled her eyes and ignored her. ‘I wasn’t sure whether I could come at first. I was worried about leaving the surgery’s reception desk to the whims and fancies of Darcie – who’s lovely but struggles with our new computerised appointments system – but also because of the cost. I mean, two boys at university isn’t cheap and Tim’s not particularly generous with their financial support since the divorce and his remarriage…’
Izzie saw Jennie swallow quickly. Clearly, she was still coming to terms with her ex-husband’s new relationship. She wondered if that was why Jennie was so busy – with her job, with her children, with the all the societies and clubs she seemed to be a member of. No wonder she was always forgetting things! With all that going on, even the most avid of list-makers was bound to drop a ball occasionally.
‘Anyway, when Nick said he was subsidising the trip
so we could all come, well, it really was a chance of a lifetime! He’s told us that he wants us to use it as an opportunity to bond with each other, and to concentrate on our own singing; that way, if we don’t work hard, we’ll be letting our fellow choir members down. He’s always like this before a big concert, but I have to admit that this year he’s even more paranoid than usual!’
‘You can say that again,’ muttered Sofia, her jaw tightening in irritation. ‘It’s like every little mistake and he comes down on you like a ton of bricks!’
Heat spread across Sofia’s cheeks and Jennie gave her arm a comforting squeeze.
‘You’ve just got to learn to ignore him, Sofia, dear. His bark is harsher than his bite.’
‘It doesn’t feel like that when he’s shouting at you in front of thirteen other people.’
‘They’re just happy it’s not them! Don’t take it personally, you’re a very talented soprano and Nick knows it.’
‘Yes, but some people flourish with encouragement and compliments,’ said Dylan, his face darkening. ‘No one likes being shamed into improving, do they? Or threatened!’
‘Threatened? What do you mean?’ shot Phoebe, her eyes narrowing at Dylan, who looked quickly away to help himself to another portion of couscous and mozzarella salad which he drizzled with balsamic vinaigrette.
‘Oh, nothing, I just—’
‘Hey! What are you playing at?’ came a booming voice from the kitchen door. ‘It’s one thirty-five! I want everyone ready – which includes wearing the polo shirts I had specially commissioned for this trip – in fifteen minutes! No excuses, no exceptions! If we don’t get through every song on our schedule this afternoon, then the trip to San Gimignano on Thursday night will be cancelled!’
With groans reminiscent of a bunch of toddlers being told their finger-painting session was over, Jennie, Phoebe, Sofia and Dylan trooped from the room and up the stairs to their rooms, leaving Izzie staring in their wake. The whole purpose of running courses at Villa Limoncello was to provide a relaxing atmosphere in which to learn a new skill, but it looked like this time their classes were going to be more a bootcamp than tranquil wellness retreat.
