by Daisy James
Chapter Four
The front step, Villa Limoncello
Colour: Smashed terracotta
Izzie lingered on the front steps of the villa, clutching her purple folder like a shield, unsure whether to wait or go off in search of the choir party. She checked her watch again – one forty-eight. Okay, technically no one was late yet, but Nick had been very clear about sticking to the schedule and, not wanting to be the target of his blustering, she had made sure she was standing on the front steps of the villa with time to spare.
When she had suggested upgrading the huge abandoned outbuilding on the other side of Gianni’s vineyard to hire out for parties, weddings, village feste, Luca hadn’t been too keen, especially the financial investment side of the venture. But with a little cajoling from Gianni, who intended to use the studio for his fledgling wine-tasting sessions, he had relented. Handling the interior design had been her dream project. The cavernous space was structurally sound and she had spent many happy hours pouring every ounce of her rejuvenated creativity into its renovation, making sure she took nothing away from its rustic charm and Tuscan grandeur.
When the renovations were complete, they installed a polished mahogany bar, four long trestle tables, and had spent a very enjoyable day out visiting the company that supplied most of Italy’s crystal to source the various glasses needed for the tastings. Of course, the Wine & Words course had been cancelled at the last moment and Gianni had been devastated, but he wasn’t deterred and planned to offer more courses in the New Year. In the meantime, the barn had been pressed into service for the celebration of a successful vendemmia, the first since Maria Rossetti, the villa’s former owner, had passed away, as well as a couple of birthday parties, but this was the first time it would be hosting paying guests.
She checked her watch again. One fifty. She was about to go off in search of everyone when she saw Nick making his way across the terrace towards her, his chestnut curls floating in the breeze like a curly halo.
‘Oh my God! Is it too much to ask for them to be on time!’ he spluttered as he joined Izzie on the wide front doorstep, currently devoid of the luscious lemon trees that usually flanked the entrance to the villa, which had been moved into the limonaia for the winter.
‘It’s just after one fifty, Nick. It’ll only take us five minutes to walk over to the studio and everything is set up as per your instructions, so you’ll be able to start your rehearsal straight away.’
‘Well, it’s just not good enough!’ blustered Nick, spinning on his heels to head back to the house to rally the reluctant troops with his own brand of persuasion.
Izzie had taken only a couple of steps to delay his mission when she caught a movement on the periphery of her vision. She glanced upwards, just in time to see a dark object racing towards them.
‘Argh! Look out!’ screamed Izzie, rushing after Nick, who had hunched his shoulders and covered his head with his hands. ‘Nick! Are you okay?’
‘I’m fine, I think,’ he muttered, carefully unfolding his six-foot-two frame, his face wreathed in confusion as he brushed off specks of soil from the shoulders of his burgundy velvet jacket, before turning his attention to the smashed flowerpot at his feet. ‘What just happened?’
Together, Izzie and Nick turned their gaze upwards to the long narrow window above the front door whose windowsill held a collection of terracotta plant pots containing an array of colourful geraniums that Izzie had thought gave the front of the villa a welcoming feel. Except now there was one missing, the remnants of which lay on the flagstones at Nick’s feet, having missed him by inches. If he hadn’t decided in that moment to march off in search of his fellow choir members, then, well, she didn’t dare to think of the consequences.
‘Oh my God, Nick. I’m so sorry. I…’
Izzie’s breath caught in her throat and she was unable to formulate the right words to verbalise what had occurred.
‘Did… did one of those pots just fall from that windowsill?’ spluttered Nick, running his fingers through his hair as he realised what a close shave he’d just had.
‘Erm, yes, it looks like…’
‘Hey, is everything okay? I thought I heard someone scream!’ exclaimed Phoebe, appearing on the terrace with Dylan only metres behind her. ‘What’s… Oh my God!’
Phoebe’s hand flew to her mouth, her eyes flicking from Nick to the windowsill above the front doorsteps, and finally the broken plant pot, where evidence of what had happened was clear for all to see.
‘Nick? Izzie, are you okay?’ asked Dylan, dropping his guitar case on the table beneath the pergola and rushing forward to take hold of Izzie’s arm.
‘I’m fine, it was Nick that…’
But Izzie couldn’t go on; her stomach was churning so aggressively that nausea was starting to travel upwards as the full force of what could have been hit her like a rampaging juggernaut. She was grateful when Dylan took her arm and guided her to a chair, Nick and Phoebe following in a mute daze.
‘Oh, hi, everyone! Sorry I’m a few minutes late, I was just… What’s going on? Why is Izzie looking like she’s seen a ghost?’ Sofia’s eyes widened with anxiety, her young face splashed with distress.
‘It’s okay, Sofia, just a bit of an accident. Everyone’s okay.’
‘Accident?’ cried Jennie, rushing towards the pergola, already reaching inside her cavernous canvas bag for her first aid kit. ‘Who’s had an accident? Is anyone hurt?’
‘No, everyone’s fine,’ Dylan reassured her. ‘But it looks like Nick just had a bit of a near miss.’ He pointed to the debris on the front step.
‘Oh, no, Nick, are you…’
‘I’m perfectly fine,’ replied Nick, brushing off their concern, ‘but perhaps someone could fetch Izzie a glass of water?’
‘Of course!’ Jennie dashed back to the kitchen to do as bid, returning with a bottle of water.
‘Thanks, Jennie. Nick, I have no idea how that could have happened. As far as I know those pots have been there for years.’
‘Perhaps a sudden gust of wind…’ began Sofia, as everyone looked on, waiting for direction from Nick, but it was Jennie who came to the rescue, clearly anxious to soothe ragged nerves.
‘Dylan, darling, would you and Sofia mind fetching the dustpan and brush from the kitchen and cleaning up the debris. Phoebe, can you call Alan to tell him we’ll need to cancel this afternoon’s rehearsal and…’
‘Cancel?’ blurted Nick, his face the epitome of shock at the very suggestion. ‘We’re not cancelling the rehearsal – it’s what we came all the way here for. No way, Jennie. Look, it was an accident, no harm done. We just need to get on with the itinerary. You know how important—’
‘But Nick, Izzie doesn’t look too…’ began Dylan, rubbing his hands down the front of his jeans and then clapping them together to remove the last remnants of dirt while Sofia trotted back to the kitchen to get rid of the shards of terracotta in the dustbin.
‘It’s okay, I’m fine, completely fine. Nick’s right, no harm done. It was just a bit of shock, that’s all.’
Izzie grabbed every ounce of her energy and leapt from her chair, pushing the memory of the descending pot from her mind. If she’d been just a few seconds quicker…
She glanced up at the windowsill once again, the green shutters folded back against the wall, the windows wide open to let the warm afternoon sunshine into the hallway and staircase. Could a gust of wind be responsible for blowing a heavy pot from its resting place? Her first thought was to ring Luca, to tell him what had happened, to ask for his sage advice, but she knew he would still be busy with lunch and the preparations for that evening’s service at Antonio’s.
‘See, everyone’s fine. Drama averted. Now let’s get back to our schedule. We’ve got a lot to get through.’
Nick grabbed the battered leather satchel that he’d dropped when he cowered from the raining flowers and stalked across the terrace, pausing on the stone steps that led down to the garden, turning his he
ad over his shoulder to look at the five people staring after him, exchanging worried glances with each other.
‘Come on!’
Dylan smiled at Izzie as he collected his guitar case. ‘We can find our own way to the studio, you know.’
She smiled back at him, grateful for his concern, but she grabbed her folder, clutching it in her arms like a much-loved soft toy.
‘No, I’m fine. Okay, if you’ll follow me, please?’
Izzie led the group through the manicured gardens, past the whitewashed gazebo that had welcomed its first wedding ceremony in the summer, to the far end of Villa Limoncello’s estate where the partly renovated barn was situated.
‘Here we are, Villa Limoncello’s very own rehearsal studio! Okay, so I’ll leave you to your choir practice. I hope you’ll find everything you need inside, but if not, just give me a call and I’ll be straight over.’
‘Thanks, Izzie.’ Jennie smiled, patting her on the arm before following the rest of the gang into the studio. ‘Oh, here’s everyone else! Yoohoo, Kate, Suzie! What’s your hotel in San Vivaldo like? Wait until I show you what we made at the Snowflakes & Christmas Cakes course this morning! How was your trip to the Accademia, by the way? Did you take any photographs of David?’
Izzie lingered in the doorway, watching all fifteen members of the Somersby Singers pile into the building, their voices competing with the Christmas music drifting through the air as they filled their friends in on their various morning activities, laughter reverberating around the stone walls, along with the scraping of chairs as everyone prepared for their first rehearsal in Tuscany.
‘Hey, Izzie, there you are! I thought you weren’t coming!’
She smiled at Gianni, as he stepped forward to drop kisses on her cheeks. As usual, he was wearing the skimpiest denim shorts she had ever seen on a guy this side of the 1970s, but his choice of workwear did not detract from his attractiveness. If he stood in a line-up that included Mario Lopez, Robert Pattinson and George Clooney, she would struggle not to choose him as her dinner date. However, the broad welcoming grin he had greeted her with slipped from his lips when he saw the look on her face.
‘Izzie? Are you okay?’
Izzie was just about to spill the whole episode in detail, but she stopped herself. Gianni had endured enough stress over the perilous future of Villa Limoncello that she didn’t want to add to his worries. He had been even more keen than Luca to make sure that the Snowflakes & Christmas Cakes course went smoothly and had spent most of the previous week draping fairy lights and Christmas decorations around the eaves of the barn to make it as festive and welcoming as possible, as well as ordering and collecting everything on her long list of crafting supplies. If she told him that one of their guests had almost been decapitated by a falling plant pot then she suspected it might force him towards the brink of his sanity. The disaster had been averted, Nick seemed unconcerned, and she should leave it at that.
‘Yes, yes, everything’s okay, thanks, Gianni.’
Except everything was not okay, because as much as she tried not to think about it, her instincts told her that someone could have assisted that plant pot’s journey south and it could only be one of the other four people staying at the villa.
Chapter Five
The patio outside the limonaia
Colour: Smoky espresso
Izzie watched Gianni disappear from view on his decrepit quad bike that was more like an oversized bluebottle than a sleek stallion. She was about to make her own way back to the villa, craving a few quiet moments to herself in the limonaia to reflect on what had happened before giving Luca a call, when she saw Nick poke his head out of the door and her heart dropped like a stone down a well. But it wasn’t her he was looking for.
‘Phoebe? Are you intending to grace us with your presence this afternoon or is your phone just too interesting to tear yourself away from?’ asked Nick, glaring at Phoebe, who was leaning against the outside wall, scrolling through her messages, her forehead creased in concentration, obviously lost in a virtual world and temporarily forgetting their tight timetable. ‘Phoebe!’
‘Oh, yes, sorry, it’s work. I just need to—’
‘You need to take your place inside!’
Nick had started to return to the studio when his eyes snagged Phoebe’s outfit.
‘Where’s your Somersby Singers polo shirt?’
‘Oh, I—’
‘Oh, my God! Is it too much to ask for you to toe the line just this once?’
Izzie stared at Nick, his dark brown hair billowing like a cloud of candyfloss around his exasperated face, the choir’s obligatory emerald-coloured polo shirt clashing horribly with the burgundy velvet jacket he was wearing with his beloved conductor’s baton sticking out of the top pocket.
‘I wouldn’t care so much if you were up to scratch with the last two verses of “Joy to the World”!’
‘I told you, Nick, I’ve been snowed under at the office. I’ve just finished a complex fraud case and a complicated pharmaceuticals merger. I might not have had much time to practise at home, but I’ve never missed a single rehearsal, despite having to go back to the office afterwards to prepare for hearings at the County Court or the Crown Court the next day!’
‘Well, it’s not good enough, Phoebe, I want you to—’
‘Look, I don’t have to listen to this! I’m not nine, I’m thirty-nine!’
And to Izzie’s surprise, Phoebe shoved her phone into her handbag and stormed off in the direction of the villa, leaving Nick gawping in her wake.
‘Phoebe!’
‘Where’s Phoebe running off to?’ asked Dylan, appearing in the doorway, his arm slung casually around his guitar, his eyes filled with concern as he followed Phoebe’s retreating figure through the avenue of grapevines.
‘I’ve sent her to get changed into her polo shirt! Now, come on, we’ve already lost thirty minutes of rehearsal time!’
Nick disappeared into the studio, but Dylan hesitated on the threshold, unsure whether to follow Nick or to chase after Phoebe. Izzie saw the indecision stalk across his face, along with something else she didn’t immediately recognise, until he shrugged and went inside, where Nick was already shouting for quiet and asking everyone to take their places for a first run-through of their repertoire.
Izzie heaved a sigh of relief that her duties for the day were over. Her feet ached, she had a thumping headache, but all she wanted to do was grab a coffee and settle down in the limonaia with her folder to check she had everything organised for the following day’s craft demonstration. Despite the trauma of the last hour, a pleasurable prickle of anticipation meandered through her veins – glass-painting was one of her favourite Christmas craft activities and she hoped Gianni had managed to source everything she’d put on her order list.
She stepped onto the terrace, her mind on the various designs for the Christmas baubles, wondering if she should have a little competition for the best decoration, when a flash of emerald caught her eye. She glanced to her left and saw Phoebe, slumped in one of the cane chairs outside the limonaia. She was wearing her polo shirt, but her expression screamed frustration.
‘Oh, hi, Phoebe, are you okay?’
‘Apart from the indignity of being sent back to the villa like a naughty schoolgirl?’
Izzie smiled. ‘Would you like a coffee before you go back?’
‘Got anything stronger?’
‘How about a glass of wine?’
‘Perfect! Sorry, Izzie, I don’t want to put you to any trouble.’
‘It’s no trouble.’
Izzie went into the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of Chianti and two glasses, and took a seat next to Phoebe on the patio outside the glasshouse. She poured them each a small measure of the rich, fruity wine and handed one over to Phoebe, who tasted it like a seasoned expert.
‘Mmm, delicious! I feel better already.’
‘Good. Is Nick always such a hard taskmaster?’
‘Yes, but as Jennie sa
ys, he’s excelled himself this Christmas season.’ Phoebe took another generous gulp of her wine and sighed. ‘But, if I’m honest, I do understand why he’s doing all this: the strict schedule, the demands that we practise every week without fail, even wearing these stupid polo shirts in the worst colour imaginable. I’d be exactly the same if I was in charge, I know I would. I’m like that at work with our new trainees – demanding perfection, always drumming the RFT maxim into them.’
‘What’s RFT?’
‘Right first time. Saves hassle, saves time, saves money.’
‘So, what do you do for a living?’
‘I’m a commercial litigation lawyer. Actually, my whole family are lawyers – mum, dad, brother, uncle – so it was sort of expected that I would follow in their footsteps.’
‘Sounds like you’re not so sure it was the right path.’
‘Actually, when I was at school what I really wanted to be was a singer/songwriter, but when I floated the idea of applying for a place at a conservatoire instead of at law school my parents were horrified. I’m ashamed to say that I took the least rocky route and joined the rat race. Four years studying at uni, two years’ training contract at a respected City law firm, then the last fifteen years climbing the slippery slope towards associate partner at a Legal 500 company in Leeds.’
Phoebe paused to take another sip of her wine.
‘Would you believe that this is the first holiday I’ve had in ten years? Once you’re on the corporate treadmill, it’s hard to jump off. What if someone slides their feet into your shoes whilst you’re away from your desk? I’ve seen that happen to so many people, especially female colleagues who take maternity leave. After a while, work becomes the only thing you have in your life – I’ve been labelled a workaholic more times than I can remember.’
