by Daisy James
She strolled back to the kitchen, stopping to collect a couple of lemons from the limonaia on the way, where she filled a washing-up bowl with soapy water and made a start on washing the kitchen floor to work away her anxiety demons.
Chapter Seven
The swimming pool, Riccardo’s B&B
Colour: Sparkling aquamarine
‘Santa Claus is comin’ to town, Santa Claus is comin’ to town…’ sang Izzie as she scrubbed the terracotta floor tiles where Sofia had spilt a dish of honey that morning, her bottom in the air as she swayed from side to side to the jaunty Christmas music.
‘Izzie?’
‘Santa Claus is… Oh my God! Luca!’
Izzie scrambled up from the floor, dropped her cloth in the sink and whipped off her yellow Marigolds, her cheeks glowing as she turned to face him.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Well,’ he grinned, ‘that was certainly the most unusual welcome I’ve had to the Villa dei Limoni since I bought it!’
‘I thought you were at Antonio’s?’
The amusement that had twinkled in his eyes disappeared and he grew serious.
‘I need you to talk me through what happened earlier.’
In as few words as possible, Izzie detailed the incident in the least emotive language she could and then they trotted up the stairs together to take a look.
‘What do you think?’
Luca ran his fingers through his hair, causing it to stick up in random tufts, then scratched at the back of his neck as he considered the situation. He had changed out of his chef’s jacket into a pair of contour-hugging dark denim jeans and a pale apricot polo shirt that highlighted his muscular biceps and sun-kissed skin to perfection. A whiff of his citrussy cologne floated in the air and mingled with the fragrance from the geraniums in the pots on the windows sill.
‘I don’t want to read something into the situation that isn’t there, and from what you’ve said it sounds like Nick feels the same, but I can’t see how one of these pots could have fallen without some assistance.’
‘They’re very old…’
‘Even so, they’ve been here for years.’
‘But who would do such a thing?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘And…’ Izzie paused, fearful of uttering the next sentence.
‘And what?’
‘Can we be sure that Nick was the target?’
‘Izzie, why on earth would anyone want to harm you? Only the other four guests were in the villa at the time, and if it wasn’t an accident, it has to be one of them and you only met them yesterday. I don’t suppose you saw anything at the window?’
‘No, no, I didn’t see anything or anyone. I was too busy rushing over to make sure that Nick was okay, and if he didn’t have such good reflexes who knows what would have happened. Oh my God, someone could have died!’
‘I don’t think so, the pots here are too small to do any serious damage, but they could certainly have caused a nasty injury. But there’s something else gnawing at that brain of yours, isn’t there? Come on, tell me.’
Izzie paused. Whenever life tossed random grenades in her path, her go-to solution was to grab her trusty notebook and start making a plan, a well-thought-through to-do list of how to deal with it. Order – that was the answer to all life’s chaos and her thoughts were circling like vultures eyeing their prey. But her purple folder was downstairs on the kitchen table so she would just have to fly solo for once.
‘It’s just something Phoebe said earlier.’
‘Phoebe?’
‘Yes, she popped back to change into her Somersby Singers polo shirt and we had a chat. Did you know she’s a lawyer – which didn’t surprise me when she told me – but she actually wanted to be a singer/songwriter.’
‘And?’
‘Well, when the conversation turned to why she came over here, I got the impression she was holding something back, that she had some sort of secret that only Nick was privy to.’
‘What sort of secret?’
‘Not sure – she seemed to bristle with restrained fury, but mingled with fear.’
‘So you think she could have nudged the flowerpot from the windowsill as some sort of revenge, or maybe to turn the tables on the fear factor?’
Izzie didn’t say anything; she had no evidence that Phoebe would do such a thing, except that expression on her face like a cornered tiger. Could she have lashed out?
‘Where was Phoebe when it happened?’
‘In the villa, getting ready for the choir rehearsal – all four of the guests were. It could have been any of them, or all of them!’
‘Who was first on the scene?’
‘That would be Phoebe, followed by Dylan with his guitar.’
‘And the others?’
‘I think Sofia and Jennie arrived together, but I don’t think we can include Jennie. She’s like a mother hen, always making sure everyone is okay. I mean, who carries a fully stocked first aid kit in their handbag? And she was really kind when…’
‘When what?’
‘When I nearly fainted.’
Luca took a step closer to Izzie, laced his fingers through hers and gave her hand a squeeze. He held her gaze, and, for a few glorious seconds, his lips hovered within inches of her mouth, his breath tickling at her cheek and causing her whole body to tremble with anticipation.
‘Izzie, I…’
But, again, he seemed to wrestle with an invisible demon and pulled back.
‘I think we should take these pots to the limonaia. Just in case.’
As Luca removed the remaining flowerpots from the windowsill, the movement sending wafts of floral perfume into the air, disappointment and confusion rolled around Izzie’s thoughts. Now she was certain there was something going on with Luca, and she wasn’t going to stand around wondering, guessing, leaping to increasingly bizarre conclusions. She had grown emotionally stronger over the six months since she had met him and she knew that in circumstances such as these, the best course was to face these issues head on: to raise her chin, meet his eyes and ask him the questions that were rampaging through her mind on a tickertape.
‘Luca, what’s going on? And don’t say “nothing” because I know there’s something you’re not telling me.’
Luca paused, indecision written across his face.
‘Luca?’
Suddenly his hesitancy evaporated. He placed the flowerpots onto the floor, and reached out to grab her hand, a gesture that caused her heart to give a nip of pleasure.
‘Come with me.’
He guided her down the stairs and out through the kitchen door to the terrace.
‘Where are we going?’
‘Always the questions. Trust me!’
Luca gave her his familiar smirk, his eyes alight with laughter and mischief. Izzie loved how spontaneous he was, loved how he always had something up his sleeve to bring a smile to her face.
Why did everything have to be so complicated? What had she, or Luca, done to deserve a lead role in the Great Flowerpot Fiasco? Why couldn’t she have spent her week in Tuscany appreciating the complexities of Italian patisserie, taking advantage of the aura of serenity and calm Villa Limoncello instilled in all its residents, and building on her relationship with Luca, and the other friends she had made in San Vivaldo: Gianni, Carlotta, Francesca and Oriana? Once again it looked as if she would have to don her metaphorical deerstalker to uncover exactly what had happened that afternoon, otherwise the villa would have another blemish on its character and she couldn’t allow that to happen.
They had reached the crumbling stone wall that separated Villa Limoncello from the beautifully renovated B&B next door owned by the bestselling crime author Riccardo Clarke, its perfect proportions and immaculate gardens making Villa Limoncello look like Cinderella before she met her fairy godmother.
‘Luca, stop! I don’t think Riccardo’s home. He emailed me before I came over here to say he was going to be in the UK this
week to meet his agent and won’t be back until Friday afternoon. Did I tell you he’s started to write again? Not a crime thriller this time, but a travel biography, would you believe, a sort of Peter Mayle meets Gino D’Acampo.’
‘That’s great news.’ Luca grinned, helping her scramble over the ivy-choked boundary wall between the two properties.
‘So what are we doing sneaking around his garden?’
Luca didn’t answer; instead, he led her through a trellised archway, which in summer was entwined with the bright yellow roses Riccardo’s late wife had planted before cancer left its malicious calling card, and paused in front of the large rectangle of perfect aquamarine twinkling like a miniature lake of diamonds in the late afternoon sun.
‘Luca, I—’
But it was too late, he had linked his arm through hers and launched them both into the swimming pool. Izzie let out a cry of alarm when the less-than-warm water hit her body, spluttering with shock as she pushed her dripping hair from her eyes.
‘Oh my God, I can’t believe you just did that!’
She spun round and attempted to walk back to the steps, unsure whether to laugh or cry. But Luca was by her side in an instant, laughing at her indignant expression, splashing droplets of water in her face. She retaliated, scooping up wave after wave and throwing it over his head until he managed to grab hold of her wrists, coil his arm around her waist, and pull her towards him, only pausing when her lips were level with his, the delicate whisper of his warm breath on her earlobes sending Izzie’s emotions into overdrive.
‘You know, Izzie, life in San Vivaldo was pretty uneventful before you came to town. For a woman who adores orderliness, you certainly lead an event-filled life – it’s been a continual rollercoaster ride since you confronted me about running you off the road. And you know what? I wouldn’t have you any other way. Grazie mille.’
‘What for?’
With his liquorice curls plastered to his cheeks, and his wet shirt moulded to his body like a second skin, Izzie thought he had never looked so handsome. She wrapped her arms around his neck and floated in his arms, enjoying the gentle sway of the water and the whoosh of heat his proximity caused spreading out to her every extremity – those shivers rippling the length of her spine had nothing to do with the temperature of the water.
‘For being here, for organising and presenting the courses, for the amazing transformation you’ve created at the villa and the barn, for that lethal concoction you insist on labelling authentic limoncello. It’s been an amazing six months and I’ve enjoyed every single minute of it.’
Izzie could feel the ‘but’ hanging in the air like a firework ready to explode, and her heart sank to the bottom of the swimming pool. What was going on!
‘Luca…’
‘Izzie…’
She raised her eyes to meet his gaze, to urge him to tell her why he was acting so weirdly, but just as she opened her mouth, his lips were on hers, gentle at first, exploring, probing, then becoming more insistent, sending spasms of electricity through her veins as she gave herself up to a crescendo of pleasure. She reached up to lace her fingers through his hair and pull him even closer, to feel the hard contours of his body pressing into hers, and her heart told her everything she needed to know about her feelings for Luca Castelotti.
Now that she was in Tuscany, the thought of returning to her former existence of monochrome ordinariness, where she’d lived on coffee and toast and had only managed to beat the daily struggle to six o’clock by relying on her carefully crafted lists, was inconceivable. Did the label creative director and the offer of an annual bonus in the form of company shares make up for what she would be giving up? Surely not!
But could she be sure her feelings were reciprocated?
From the way Luca had just kissed her, she was tempted to answer that question with a resounding yes, but she knew there was something he was hiding from her and until he told her what that was, she couldn’t make her decision about Harry’s offer. So, for the time being she would concentrate her efforts on solving the mystery of the flying flowerpot – it wasn’t how she had hoped to spend what could be her last week at Villa Limoncello, though.
Best-laid plans? They weren’t worth the paper they were written on!
* * *
Luca changed gear in his beloved Spider and raced along the winding roads that lead from the Villa dei Limoni to San Vivaldo, his thoughts not on the gorgeous Tuscan countryside flashing by the windows, but bouncing around his head like caged lottery balls.
However, after taking a corner a little too sharply, he slowed down and pulled in at the exact spot where he had inadvertently run Izzie off the road all those months ago when he’d come across her riding the sugar-pink Vespa he’d thought was safely stowed in the villa’s outbuilding. When he thought back to that day and remembered the way her vivid blue eyes had flashed with indignation as she confronted him over his second-rate driving skills, he couldn’t prevent a smile from twisting his lips.
With a sigh, Luca reached into the glove compartment and removed a black velvet box tied with a silver ribbon. He flicked open the lid and stared at the contents. Having seen the delight on Izzie’s face when he’d presented her with the hand-crafted silver earrings before she went back to London after the Wine & Words debacle, he’d rushed back to see Valentina to ask her to design a matching necklace, complete with a tiny red glass heart at its centre. It was a stunning piece of jewellery, and the perfect gift for what he had planned to say to Izzie when he gave her it at the end of the Snowflakes & Christmas Cakes course.
With every fibre of his body he had wanted to tell Izzie that he loved her, that the six weeks she had been away had been the most desolate of his life, weeks when the colour seemed to have disappeared from the world only to return when she had stepped into the arrivals hall at Florence Airport; that his heart had soared at the sight of those vibrant Titian curls, the sparkle of happiness in her eyes, and her wide beaming smile.
He adored the way she strived to speak Italian as often as she could, how she expressed her boundless creativity with such panache at the villa and in the Painting & Pasta classes she’d run in the summer, how incredibly supportive she had been when he was accused of food poisoning by one of the guests. Whenever they were together, taking the Vespa out for a spin, indulging in an impromptu dip in Riccardo’s swimming pool, cooking up a storm in the kitchen at Antonio’s or the villa, he could feel the sparks of electricity flash between their bodies, the intensity of their attraction that he couldn’t ignore.
He could pinpoint the moment when he had fallen in love with her to the time he had taken her in his arms and asked her to dance with him, despite the fact there’d been a shower of summer rain and they’d both ended up soaked to the skin – or maybe it was because of that!
But how could he tell Izzie how he felt about her now?
After everything Izzie and her family had been through, he didn’t want to complicate things, or influence her in any way, whilst she made her decision about whether to take Harry Hambleton up on his offer to be the creative director of his company – a position that would enable her to return to her childhood home in Cornwall, the place she had grown up with her twin sister by her side.
And how could he live with himself if he was the cause of depriving Izzie’s parents of their one remaining child, as well as the chance of a lifetime for Izzie to expand her career and maybe start her own interior design business again – something he knew she would love to do now that she was at last emerging from the chrysalis of grief.
No, he couldn’t do that.
So, he’d decided the best thing to do was to take a step back to give Izzie the space she needed without him colouring her vision for her future. And if that meant he had to hide his feelings for her, then so be it. This was a decision she had to make on her own, even though he thought his heart would break if she decided not to stay.
Chapter Eight
The kitchen, Villa Limoncello
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Colour: A cornucopia of colours
The next day, Izzie woke in her sunflower-bedecked bedroom to the sound of an energetic dawn chorus. It was one of the things she had missed whilst she’d been back in London, the constant musical accompaniment to life on a Tuscan hillside: the croaking frogs, the church bells, a lone Vespa struggling up the incline. She dashed in and out of the shower, grabbed a hoodie and made her way to the kitchen, relishing the peace and calm as she fixed herself an espresso and took it outside to the terrace.
Six thirty – it really was the best part of the day.
She strolled through the garden, smiling as the woody lavender stalks tickled her shins, and made her way down to the studio to make sure everything was ready for the crafting session that was due to get underway at ten a.m. She had been surprised that all five of their guests had opted to join in – even Nick!
Within minutes she had arrived at the formerly dilapidated barn that she, Luca, Gianni and Meghan had shed blood, sweat and tears to renovate. In the short time they’d had before the anticipated arrival of their Wine & Words guests, they’d managed to make it into a useable space that oozed Tuscan charm; rustic yet practical, stylish yet comfortable, and as Tuscany could get cold in the winter – even snowy – it was warm and cosy, too, perfect for Christmas crafting sessions.
Izzie unlocked the paint-blistered wooden doors and slipped inside. She opened her trusty folder and conducted a final check of her to-do list for the first of their Christmas-themed sessions, her mood lifting with every tick accomplished. Last of all, she removed five laminated instruction cards and set them next to a pile of raw materials for each of the guests to refer to as she talked them through the step-by-step instructions until they ended up with a set of personalised glass baubles that would hopefully take pride of place on their family’s Christmas tree for years to come.
