by Daisy James
‘But you’re not! You’re sitting in a restaurant in Florence with a bunch of fabulously talented singers, drinking prosecco and munching on cantucci! You have a busier schedule than I do, and that’s saying something! Aren’t you off on a charity trek to Machu Picchu in March? Then you have that cycle ride across India with the girls from the gym. If you and Tim were still together, would you be doing any of those things?’
Jennie laughed. ‘Of course not! We’d probably have bought a motorhome and be trailing around all the Dark Sky Parks of the British Isles!’ She shivered at the very thought, which made Phoebe and Izzie giggle. ‘I want you to know how grateful I am to you, Phoebe, and all the other members of the Somersby Singers.’
‘What for?’
‘For the wonderful camaraderie, for the joy that singing in the choir gives me, for that rush of adrenalin I feel before the first note is expelled, for the elation that buzzes through my veins when we’re in full voice, for the happiness I see reflected on everyone’s faces – ours and the audience’s. I love how we all lead such diverse lives, but when we’re singing, we come together as one; all our troubles just seem to evaporate for that one perfect moment.’
‘It is amazing, isn’t it?’
‘I don’t think I could have got through the last year without you all.’
And this time it was Phoebe who had to dab away her tears.
Chapter Thirteen
Ristorante Constantino, Firenze
Colour: Marble grey
When every last drop of Chianti, and a full bottle of grappa, had been drained and the dinner finally came to an end, all five guests were in exuberant spirits and readily agreed to Luca’s suggestion that they take a moonlit saunter through the streets and piazzas of Florence, to marvel at Il Duomo and Giotto’s beautiful bell tower, to take photographs of the forest of Renaissance architecture that filled the city, and to soak up the vibrant atmosphere that seemed to resonate through the medieval stones.
‘Ciao, Constantino! Grazie mille!’ the group chorused as they left the ristorante, pausing briefly on the threshold to inhale the cool night air after the warmth of the restaurant before ambling down the cobbled alleyway in the direction of Piazza del Duomo.
Luca took the lead, continuing his tour guide role, chatting to Jennie, Phoebe and Sofia about growing up in such an amazing city, whilst Dylan and Nick argued about their favourite Italian operas and Izzie, struggling into her coat, brought up the rear, her thoughts on other things. A mere twenty metres down the street, Izzie came to an abrupt halt, shock ambushing her progress as her heart crashed against her ribcage, causing her to catch her breath.
‘Oh my God! Nick!’ she cried, her hand flying to her mouth. ‘Are you, are you… okay?’
She rushed forward and Nick spun round towards her, a quizzical look on his face.
‘What…’
‘Argh!’ screamed Sofia and Phoebe in unison.
‘What’s going on?’ asked Dylan, standing shoulder to shoulder with Nick, looking from Izzie to Phoebe and back again.
Then he saw it too, and instead of jumping to the conclusion that Izzie, Phoebe and Sofia had, he burst out laughing, as did Luca when he inspected the back of Nick’s previously pristine cream jacket which now had a slash of what Izzie had thought was blood – although she had no intention of admitting that to anyone – but which was in fact a generous splatter of red wine. It was a mistake anyone could make, she reasoned to herself, particularly against the backdrop of the earlier flowerpot incident.
‘Will someone enlighten me, please?’ blustered Nick, his puzzled expression shifting to one of concern with a soupçon of annoyance.
Fortunately, Jennie swiftly rode to the rescue.
‘Sorry, Nick. It looks like someone’s spilled a glass of red wine down the back of your jacket whilst we were having dinner in the restaurant.’
‘Ahhh…’ giggled Sofia, exchanging a smirk with Phoebe and Izzie.
‘We have to act quickly or it’ll stain. Take it off.’
Jennie bustled over to a vacant table outside a tiny trattoria where she spent a few seconds rummaging in her bag as Nick removed his jacket and inspected the damage, his forehead creasing into parallel lines. Izzie didn’t care if Dylan and Luca thought she was crazy – it definitely looked like blood to her!
‘Here we are,’ declared Jennie, whipping out a tiny glass bottle filled with white powder.
‘I don’t think the answer is to get Nick high,’ laughed Dylan, wriggling his eyebrows.
Jennie ignored his attempt at humour and got to work with the bicarbonate of soda and a bottle of water she also carried with her in her Tardis-like bag whilst the group looked on in fascination, especially Luca.
‘I could do with you in my ristorante!’
Within minutes, the stain had vanished, and Nick thanked Jennie profusely, having confided the fact that the dinner jacket had cost over a month’s wages when he’d bought it, something he hadn’t mentioned to Sarah, telling her instead he’d picked it up in a charity shop.
‘Your secret is safe with me.’ She beamed, clearly delighted to have been able to help. ‘Now, shall we get back to our tour?’
‘Yes, let’s!’ declared Sofia, linking Jennie’s arm with hers.
Izzie walked alongside Jennie and Sofia, listening but not joining in with their conversation, thoughts bombarding her brain. She knew accidents happened in restaurants, but surely the waiters in Constantino’s were much too adept to inadvertently splatter a patron’s jacket with Chianti. She had seen them weave in and out of the tables, their platters of food held high, as dexterous as Olympic gymnasts. Did that mean that the wine-spilling incident was not an accident, that someone had intentionally chucked a glass of notoriously difficult-to-remove red wine at Nick’s very expensive designer jacket?
If that was the case, then it had to be one of the four people currently admiring the marble statues in the Piazza della Signoria. They all had secrets they were anxious to keep – she knew that already. Was this one of them sending a second, wine-infused warning to Nick to keep quiet?
No, no, no, she chastised herself. What had happened with Nick and the kamikaze flowerpot was making her jump to ridiculous conclusions – the spillage had to be just an unfortunate coincidence because the alternative didn’t bear thinking about. She shoved her suspicions into the crevices of her mind and resolved to enjoy what was left of the evening without reading calamity into innocent scenarios.
‘Why are there so many statues of naked guys?’ asked Sofia, giggling as she rushed up to embrace one of them before handing her phone over to Dylan so he could take a picture of her for her Instagram page.
‘Hey, I’ll have you know that these are works of art created by some of Italy’s finest Renaissance sculptors!’ said Luca with mock indignation.
As they strolled across the Ponte Vecchio, Phoebe and Dylan split away from the group to lean over the parapet and look down to the River Arno below, their heads, smooth blonde-on-black curls, tipped towards each other as they chatted, as though they inhabited a world where no one else mattered. Izzie saw the way Dylan looked at Phoebe when he thought she wasn’t looking, and she wondered why no one else had noticed.
Something else that caught her eye was the way Sofia made a concerted effort to avoid Nick, sticking resolutely to Jennie’s side at the market, making sure she grabbed the seat between Dylan and Luca at the table at the restaurant, and now, as they paused for Phoebe to drool over the gold jewellery in the shop windows on the bridge, hooking her arm through Izzie’s. But then Nick did give the impression of a sturdy oak overshadowing a young sapling. Leaving aside the jacket incident, that evening he’d been boisterous company, keeping everyone entertained with his knowledge of the exploits of the Medici family, the reasons the dynasty had died out, as well as regaling them with anecdotes of his summer placement at the Giuseppe Verdi conservatory of music in Milan whilst studying for his degree, even singing on the stage at La Scala.
‘Izzie?’
Luca reached out to stop her from squeezing into the back seat next to Phoebe. She smiled at him, raising her eyebrows in question.
‘How about a nightcap? I can take you home in the Spider later.’
‘Ooh,’ came a chorus of comedic heckling from inside the car, before everyone dissolved into alcohol-fuelled giggles, apart from Dylan, who was their designated driver.
Izzie rolled her eyes at them, but her emotions were trouncing her decision-making abilities. What should she do? Go home with her guests so she could avoid a very difficult conversation until she’d had time to sleep on everything Oriana had told her that afternoon and she came up with a well thought-through plan? Or go for a drink with Luca to hear what he had to say?
‘Please, Izzie.’
His eyes, the colour of rich espresso, held hers, willing her to say yes, and despite her reservations, there had only ever been one answer.
‘Okay, thank you.’
As the hire car zipped away into the traffic, Izzie smiled at the choral refrain.
‘Buonasera!’
‘Buona notte!’
‘Ciao!’
‘Arrivederci!’
She linked her arm through Luca’s and they strolled along the wide pavements towards a tiny cafe off one of the side streets where Luca was greeted like a long-lost member of the family, handed a bottle of amaro and left in peace. Izzie watched him pour two glasses of the golden liquid, then decided to jump in before he had chance to select their topic of conversation – she had to know what Luca’s take was on what had happened at Constantino’s.
‘What do you think of the Chianti incident?’
‘What do you mean?’ Luca wrinkled his nose in question.
‘Do you think it was an accident?’
‘Yes, what else could it be? Accidents happens in busy restaurants.’ There was a pause whilst Luca studied Izzie’s expression and realised what she was thinking. ‘You think someone did this on purpose, don’t you?’
‘I…’
‘Because of the falling plant pot?’
‘It’s… well, it’s a possibility.’
‘That someone is targeting Nick for some reason?’
‘Maybe,’ she murmured, suddenly realising how ludicrous it sounded when someone said it out loud and, with a surge of relief, she resolved to let it go. ‘No, you’re right, sorry, I’m just overthinking things.’
Silence descended. Izzie took a sip of her drink, watching Luca’s fingers toy with his glass until eventually he raised his gaze to meet hers, his eyes filled with anguish. Of course, she knew what he was going to say and she suddenly wanted to make it as easy as she could for him.
‘Izzie, there’s something I need to tell you.’
‘It’s okay, Luca, I know.’
‘You do?’
‘Yes, Oriana told me this afternoon.’
‘What did she tell you exactly?’
‘That you’re selling the villa.’
She watched Luca run his palm over the dark stubble on his chin, and the scorch of pain that flashed through his eyes caused a tumbling sensation to rush through her body.
‘I’m sorry, Izzie, I should have told you. I planned to talk to you on the way back from the airport, then last night when we ended up in Riccardo’s pool, but well… I just couldn’t find the right words.’
‘So, have you found a buyer?’
‘Yes, one of my former colleagues from the bank has made me an offer.’
She knew it! But the fact she had been right gave her no satisfaction whatsoever. Her breath caught in her throat, but she forced her head to rule her heart – after all, selling the villa was the sensible solution. Luca had bought Villa dei Limoni as a home for him and his then fiancée, Sabrina. When he’d unveiled his investment, Sabrina had been horrified that he wanted to quit the corporate rat race for a more relaxed lifestyle in the Tuscan hills and she had refused to live in a run-down old villa, so Luca had closed it up and not set foot in the house for two years.
No one in San Vivaldo, apart from Gianni, who had agreed to manage the vineyard and olive groves, knew who had bought Villa dei Limoni from the American guy who had inherited the property from his distant relation, Maria Rosetti. It was the American who had changed the name of the place to Villa Limoncello in the hope of making it more marketable to his wealthy compatriots seeking their own little slice of Tuscan paradise.
Luca hadn’t stayed in the banking industry, but had decided to follow his life-long dream of becoming a chef and owning his own restaurant – much to the dismay of his parents, and his fiancée, who had moved on to a relationship with one of Luca’s more financially ambitious friends. So, all Luca was doing was what he should have done two years ago when Sabrina refused to contemplate spending her life there – selling the place to someone who did want to live within its idyllic walls.
Except Izzie had fallen in love with the villa, with its quirky bedrooms decorated in a riot of sunflowers, or roses, or lavender – walls, ceiling and doors – and its pretty formal gardens filled with honeysuckle and bougainvillea and magnolia bushes, its whitewashed gazebo where she’d taught her summer painting sessions, the cute wishing well, the limonaia… and with its owner, Luca Castelotti.
Stop – wait!
But it was true. She’d fallen in love with the Villa dei Limoni’s handsome, thoughtful, funny, spontaneous owner who had taught her that loss and grief, like love and joy, were all part of life’s rich tapestry, and now, just as she had learned to accept that and move on, she had to force herself to focus on a different future, one probably in Cornwall.
‘I know you’re upset, Izzie. Tell me what’s going through your mind?’
But how could she tell him that only that afternoon she’d decided to turn down Harry’s offer, that she wanted to stay on in Tuscany when that wasn’t an option any more? It would just make Luca feel bad and what was the point of that? No, she would squeeze every last ounce of enjoyment out of the remaining time she had in Italy, and gather as many memories as she could before she launched into a new chapter of her life.
‘Nothing, nothing, it’s all good.’
‘I’m sorry, Izzie, but this way you can take up Harry’s offer and be with your family. It’s what they want, isn’t it? It’s an exciting prospect, don’t you think?’
‘Yes, yes, it is,’ she managed, not wanting to look Luca in the eye, fearing that if she did, the white lie she had just told him so that her own scuppered dreams wouldn’t weigh on his conscience would unravel. After everything he’d done for her, she couldn’t, and wouldn’t, add to his problems. ‘I’ve actually got lots of ideas for the project – chalk-white walls, fresh beachside colours for the paintwork, rush matting on the floors. I can’t wait to get started.’
‘That’s great. Okay, shall we get going?’
Outside, the night air was sharp, mingled with a sweet tang of roasted tomatoes and garlic. As they made their way back to the station, Luca slung his arm around Izzie’s shoulders and she snuggled into the crook of his arm, relishing the warmth and the whiff of his cologne and the tannin of his leather jacket. Looking up to the star-filled sky, she experienced an overwhelming certainty that her sister was watching her, urging her not to let that moment pass.
So, when they arrived in the Piazza Santa Maria Novella, she stopped, stretched up onto her tiptoes and kissed Luca, savouring the way her body reacted when he kissed her back, but failing to see the expression of deep sadness in Luca’s dark brown eyes.
Chapter Fourteen
The kitchen, Villa Limoncello
Colour: Crunchy gingerbread
Izzie tightened the strings on her apron before taking her place at the head of the farmhouse table in the middle of Villa Li
moncello’s kitchen. That morning, when she had flung open her bedroom shutters to greet the new day and breathe in the morning air, a feeling of complete serenity had suffused her soul. Yes, she was upset that Luca was selling the villa, but it was up to her to be supportive of his decision, to bolster his spirits and to make sure the remainder of the course went without a hitch.
With a spring in her step and a jaunty Christmas tune ringing in her ears, she reminded herself how lucky she was, how fortunate to even have had the opportunity to spend time there, to come to terms with the grief that had threatened to strangle the life out of her, and to make the friends she had – just because the villa was being sold didn’t mean she couldn’t come back to San Vivaldo for a visit.
At exactly ten o’clock, their guests presented themselves at the scrubbed wooden table in the kitchen for their second patisserie class. A ripple of Italian opera circled the room as Izzie busied herself removing the cling film from the bowls of ingredients she’d prepared at six thirty that morning, which would form the basis for creating the cantucci di Prato that Luca would be demonstrating, as well as a batch of her special-recipe gingerbread that they would cut into snowmen and reindeer shapes, then decorate with piped icing before wrapping them in cellophane and ribbon to give as gifts.
When she’d finished her task, she glanced around the table and realised for the first time that the atmosphere was subdued, the conversation either muted or non-existent, and their guests were clearly unable to meet each other’s eyes.
‘Does anyone know where Jennie is?’ asked Luca, looking even more attractive that morning with the cuffs of his linen shirt – in a gorgeous pale lemon colour – rolled up to his elbows to reveal strong muscular forearms covered in a ripple of dark hair that sent Izzie’s senses into overdrive. ‘Phoebe?’
Phoebe exchanged a glance with Dylan and then sent a scathing glare in the direction of Nick, who had the grace to blush.
‘I don’t know whether she’s coming to the class this morning,’ said Phoebe, her voice tight with anger. ‘I did give her a knock to see if she wanted to have breakfast with me and Sofia on the terrace, but she said she was going to give it a miss.’
