by Daisy James
‘What the…’ she spluttered with surprise. ‘Okay!’
Izzie crouched down and scooped up the largest snowball she could manage, and threw it with as much strength as she could garner at his retreating back, but it went sailing past his head. Luca spun round, grinning with mischief, and began to walk towards her. She took flight, stumbling in her unfamiliar snow boots until he caught up with her, grabbed her by the waist and shoved her into the snow.
‘Hey!’
Luca fell down on top of her, his eyes scorching deep into her soul for what seemed like an eternity. She felt as though the rest of the world had zoned out and her complete attention zoomed into his lips, only his lips, as they descended onto hers. A cascade of emotions obliterated all ancillary thought and her heart blossomed at the affinity she felt resonate between them, lying there in the crisp Italian snow, as she kissed the most amazing man in Italy – until his warm lips were replaced by a face full of snow.
‘Oh my God, I can’t believe you just did that!’
She rolled from beneath him and scrambled to her feet, sprinting away towards the veranda of the hotel with droplets of snow melting and trickling down her collar. She made it as far as the car park when a well-aimed snowball glanced off her shoulder and she ducked behind his Spider for cover, her face burning from the unfamiliar exertion, her breath coming in intermittent spurts.
‘Izzie…’
Luca caught up with her, holding his empty hands in the air, then moving forward to cup her cheek with his hand, his expression suddenly serious.
‘Izzie, I want you to know that—’
‘Hey, Luca, bello vederti, amico!’
Luca expelled a sigh and shook his head ruefully as he stepped forward to greet his friend Fabrizio with an affectionate embrace. If George Clooney had a younger brother, his likeness was standing in front of Izzie, his warm brown eyes filled with amusement as he realised he’d inadvertently interrupted a romantic interlude. Izzie liked him immediately.
‘Fabrizio, posso presentarti Isabella Jenkins.’
‘Ah, Izzie, è bello conoscerti finalmente. I’ve heard so much about you. Come on, come inside. I’ve reserved a cosy corner next to the fire and Natalia has baked some of your English mince pies which we are serving to our customers with mascarpone sweetened with a little limoncello. I hope you’ll approve!’
‘Grazie, Fabrizio.’
Luca hooked his arm around Izzie’s shoulders and they followed Fabrizio into the hotel to a quiet table right next to a floor-to-ceiling window that looked out over the snowy scene – a real winter fairy tale of snow-capped peaks, pine trees dusted with icing sugar snow, and cute wooden lodges dotting the hillside. If Izzie hadn’t known they were in Tuscany, she would have thought they were in the land of apple strudel and yodelling. She pulled off her hat and gloves and wriggled out of her bulky yellow coat, her fingers and toes tingling as they thawed and became accustomed to the warmth.
‘So, how was your first experience of Tuscan winter sports?’ Luca grinned, after saying goodbye to his friend and relaying their order to a waitress in rapid Italian. ‘Are you ready to tackle a black run?’
‘No way! Sledging is about my limit!’
All around them, couples and families lingered over their drinks, chatting about their accomplishments in a variety of languages, spirits high as the day’s spurt of adrenalin dissipated. Within moments, the promised plate of mince pies and a plate of Italian pastries were placed in front of them, along with two tall mugs of rich hot chocolate, the aroma of sweet cocoa causing Izzie to close her eyes in ecstasy.
‘What are these?’ she asked, helping herself to a thick, snow-white biscuit, which to her surprise was softer and more chewy than the biscotti and cantucci she was used to.
‘They’re cavallucci, which translated means “little horses”. They’re made with local Tuscan honey, walnuts or hazelnuts, and flavoured with aniseed and candied orange, then liberally dusted in icing sugar – as you can see.’
‘Why are they called “little horses”?’
‘Well, they date back to Renaissance times and there are a number of theories. The one I like the best is that they were made for the servants who worked in the stables of the country houses around Siena. After all, it is where the Palio is held every year!’
‘Mmm, they’re melt-in-the-mouth amazing. I think we should definitely include these in our next Delicious Desserts course at Villa Limoncello. Oh, sorry, I…’
Izzie’s heart sank at her momentary lapse of memory. Of course, there wasn’t going to be another course, or there might be, but neither she nor Luca would be part of it. She wanted to broach the subject of the sale of the villa, but the day so far had been perfect and she didn’t want to spoil the feeling of calm that had enveloped them in their private corner of the luxury ski hotel by reminding Luca he was losing the villa, so she changed the subject.
‘What were you about to say to me in the car park when Fabrizio arrived?’
Luca hesitated, staring into the dregs of his hot chocolate as if the answers to all life’s problems could be found at the bottom of the mug. When he eventually met her gaze, her heart gave a jolt of surprise at the distress she saw there.
‘Oh, nothing that can’t wait until later,’ he hedged, flicking his eyes to the ornate gold clock on the wall above the fireplace, then to the darkening skies out of the window. ‘Come on, I think we should be getting back to San Vivaldo or we might end up being stranded here in the mountains.’
Izzie couldn’t think of anything she would like better than to get stuck in a cosy, snow-bound skiing retreat with Luca, but of course that wasn’t an option when they had guests back at Villa Limoncello to take care of. After waving goodbye to Fabrizio, she slotted her arms into her jacket and followed Luca to the door, bracing herself for the short trek to where they’d left the car.
‘Look, it’s started to snow!’
She tipped her head backwards, and for a few precious moments she watched a flurry of featherlike snowflakes drift down from the sky and settle briefly on Luca’s curls before melting into raindrops. She turned to offer him a smile, but instead of sharing her delight in nature’s recurring beauty, he had scooted into the driver’s seat of his Alfa Romeo, revving the powerful engine as he waited for her to follow suit before crawling out of the car park, his subsequent attention claimed for the effort needed to navigate the mountain roads in the snow.
Izzie knew that their journey home would have been the perfect time for her to tell Luca how she felt, to ask him if there were any other alternatives to selling the villa, or, failing that, to plead with him to reconsider his decision. But, after their afternoon of strenuous activity, and with the heat of the car’s radiator, she was asleep within minutes, only waking when they arrived at the villa, where they were greeted by their guests on their way out to dinner in the village.
Chapter Sixteen
The studio, Villa Limoncello
Colour: Holly-berry red
When Izzie tentatively opened the shutters of her bedroom window the next morning, she had expected to see the whole valley draped in a soft blanket of white, but overnight the smattering of snow had vanished, leaving a sharp crispness in the air watched over by a translucent blue sky. She pulled on a sweater with a huge white snowflake on the front that Meghan had given her for Christmas the previous year, and teamed it with skinny black jeans and her Ugg boots. She dragged a comb through her hair, dampened her curls with a splodge of coconut oil, then skipped down the stairs to kickstart the day with an injection of caffeine.
Francesca had texted her the previous evening to confirm she had managed to source everything on Izzie’s shopping list, including the wire rings and cathedral candles for that day’s wreath-making session, and again Izzie could feel the niggle of excitement at the prospect of spending a whole morning indulging in a cornucopia of Christmas crafts. Interior design was truly where her heart lay and she wondered briefly whether she should consider runni
ng a few classes in Cornwall when she returned home.
The thought of moving back to St Ives held mixed emotions. She missed her parents and she knew how excited they were about Harry’s proposal, despite reiterating that they only wanted her to do what made her happy. On the other hand, she would miss Italy, too, and the friends she had made there. Could she stay, even after the villa was sold? However, that morning wasn’t the time to start the process of weighing up the pros and cons, so she pushed her vacillations into the back of her mind and focused on that day’s tutorial.
She ran her pencil down the checklist in her purple folder marked ‘Thursday morning’, ticking each box as she went, enjoying the whoosh of accomplishment when she had a full house. Styrofoam wreaths like huge white doughnuts, multi-coloured pipe cleaners, wide ribbon in a plethora of shades, even red-and-white striped candy canes and boiled sweets, as well as a box of metal jingle bells to add something musical to their creations.
‘Buongiorno, Izzie! Where do you want these?’ asked Francesca, bursting into the studio holding two enormous white cardboard boxes filled to the brim with sprigs of fresh holly and mistletoe, branches from fir and olive trees, pine cones and huge bouquets of glossy foliage, some left in their natural state, others sprayed with silver or gold paint.
‘Here, let me help you!’
Izzie took one of the boxes and placed it on the table, before turning to greet her friend with the customary kisses. As soon as she had met Francesca, who had supplied the bouquets and floral arrangements for the celebrity wedding that had been held at the villa in May, they had clicked. With her pink-tipped hair and penchant for lacy vest tops and a tangle of silver jewellery, San Vivaldo’s floral maestro reminded her of Meghan, but it was Francesca’s West Country burr that had sealed the friendship. It had turned out that her mother had grown up in Devon and had met her father whilst interrailing in the Eighties, fallen in love with Florence and the guy who ran the local plant nursery. As a consequence, Francesca could switch from high-speed Italian, complete with hand gestures, to English laced with a broad Devonshire accent as the situation demanded.
‘So, how many avid Christmas crafters do we have descending on us this morning?’
‘Five, I think. And I thought we’d have a bit of a competition to make things interesting. We can display the wreaths over by the Christmas tree in the gazebo and ask Gianni to judge them.’
‘Gianni?’ laughed Francesca, her eyes dancing with amusement. ‘Are you sure? He might have made the best Chianti the world has ever tasted, and he might be able to sing an aria like an angel, but he’s no art critic. Why don’t you ask Oriana to do the honours?’
‘Good idea. I’ll give her a call later.’
With Francesca’s help, Izzie set out six styrofoam rings – one for her to use in her demonstration, and the others for the students to decorate as they wished – then piled the rest of the accessories in the middle of the table: a mound of foliage, dishes of sequins, beads and buttons, spools of ribbon, lace and Christmas string, boxes of corks and wooden discs and pine cones, along with canisters of glitter spray, tubes of glue, scissors and wire cutters.
‘Hi, Izzie, are you ready for us?’ asked Jennie, sticking her head around the studio door, her jazzy glasses nestled comfortably between the white pom-poms that depicted a cascade of snowballs on that day’s hand-knitted cardigan.
‘Absolutely, come in, come in. Take a seat at the table in front of one of the wreaths.’
‘Wow, this all looks amazing! Thanks so much for doing this – I know it was a bit last minute. Were you planning on offering any more craft-based courses next year? What about pottery or upholstery, or stencilling, or more glass-painting, or maybe something with a spring theme like decorating chocolate eggs?’
Izzie opened her mouth to reply, but found that her pool of positivity had dried up.
‘I’m sure Izzie will email everyone with the schedule for next year,’ said Francesca smoothly, handing out cups of coffee as the rest of the guests arrived, chatting about last night’s dinner and their plans for their wreaths that morning.
Izzie flashed Francesca a grateful smile and, when everyone was seated at the table, she channelled her inner Kirstie Allsopp and launched into her presentation.
‘Okay, so this morning is all about creating Christmas wreaths that you’ll be proud to hang on your front doors at home. Francesca will give you a quick lesson on using the floristry wire and the clippers, and then I encourage you to go all-out with your creativity.’
‘Wow, I adore this fluffy pink tinsel!’ said Sofia, reaching out to grab a frilly garland, wrapping it round her neck like a feather boa and striking a seductive pose.
‘We’re decorating the wreaths, not ourselves, Sofia,’ said Nick, wearing his schoolteacher face, which caused Phoebe to roll her eyes at Sofia behind his back.
‘Also, I thought we could have a bit of a competition.’
‘A competition?’
Nick’s ears, and mood, perked up at the sound of that. He pushed his shoulders back and puffed out his chest, causing the buttons on his emerald-green waistcoat – this one embroidered with musical notes and treble clefs in gold thread – to strain under the tension.
‘I have to warn you that Sarah and I have been finalists in the village Christmas tree decorating competition three years running, so I’ll be utilising everything I’ve learned. Are we allowed to phone a friend for ideas, Izzie?’
‘I encourage you to use everything at your disposal,’ she laughed.
‘Well, you’d better be at the top of your game, Nick,’ said Jennie, perching her glasses on the end of her nose and peering over the top of them, her peach-coated lips turned upwards into a wide smile, ‘because I’ll have you know that I’ve been the chair of our WI’s craft committee for the last five years, so the challenge is definitely on!’
Nick laughed, and Izzie was delighted to see that any remaining animosity there might have been between the pair over Nick’s unfortunate slip of the tongue had extinguished and they seemed closer than before. She wasn’t surprised that Jennie had forgiven him so swiftly – she was clearly not the sort of person to hold a grudge for long.
‘Okay, I’ll let Francesca take the rostrum and guide you through the techniques.’
‘Thanks, Izzie. So, everyone has a styrofoam ring in front of them which you can decorate with anything you like, using the glue gun: baubles, ribbons, pom-poms, multi-coloured pipe cleaners, tinsel, even corks or these cute miniature photo frames. If you want to try something quirkier, might I suggest these gorgeous red-and-white candy canes which would go really well with red Santa hats or green elf hats made out of this felt fabric.’
A splutter of giggling erupted and everyone turned to look at Sofia, whose cheeks had turned pink.
‘What’s tickling you?’ asked Jennie, her smile filled with affection.
‘Oh, it’s just a story my mum and my aunt used to laugh at.’
‘Tell us, we could do with a good laugh!’ said Dylan, leaning back in his chair and placing his ankle on his thigh, his pleated leather bracelets dangling from his wrists as he combed his fingers through his hair – probably the first time it had been brushed that day.
‘Well, I want you to remember that Mum and Aunt Rosa were brought up in Italy, and that English is their second language. Okay, so, like you, Izzie, they both adored all things fabric-related – actually, before they started their bridal boutique, they looked into opening a haberdashery. Anyway, one day they were shopping in one of the department stores in Leeds, and, as usual, they headed straight for the haberdashery section. I’d asked Mum to get me some material for a school project, so she went up to one of the shop assistants and said in a really loud voice, “Is this the department where I can get felt?”’
The room burst into laughter and Sofia beamed, delighted that she’d been able to share a precious memory of her mum with her friends. Izzie understood exactly how she was feeling because, with the help of
Luca’s sage advice, she had recently learned that instead of avoiding every mention of her sister’s name for fear of stirring up painful memories, she had to embrace the fact that Anna was still an important part of her life and would continue to be so until its end.
‘Francesca, what are these?’
‘They’re floristry rings in case you prefer to design something more traditional. You can twist some of this holly, ivy or mistletoe around the wire, and then add a few pine cones and cinnamon sticks with the orange and lemon slices Izzie baked on Tuesday for a really fragrant approach.’
‘Mmm, these dried oranges smell amazing!’ said Jennie, picking up a slice of the citrus fruit and inhaling.
‘Or perhaps you’d like to insert a disc of Oasis into your wire ring, like this, so you can make a wreath using these magnolia leaves, or these branches Gianni has brought for us from the olive trees and fir trees grown around the villa’s grounds, and a few of these dried sage leaves and stems of rosemary.’
‘Rosemary?’ said Sofia, picking up a sprig. ‘I thought you used this to cook with?’
Francesca laughed. ‘Actually, rosemary has been used to celebrate winter festivals for centuries. It’s said to signify remembrance, family and friendship, and helps to strengthen brain and memory function – in ancient Greece, students would even weave it into their hair in the hope it would help with exam success. But my favourite bit of rosemary folklore is that if you breathe in its fragrance on Christmas Eve it’ll bring happiness over the coming year.’
‘Okay, so that’s me decided!’ declared Phoebe, grabbing a handful of the aromatic herb and stowing it away in her handbag. ‘I need all the help I can get!’
The group laughed, but Izzie saw there was a serious edge to her exclamation. She remembered Phoebe’s inadvertent reference to Nick issuing an ultimatum when they had been chatting on the patio outside the limonaia on the first day and she knew there was something worrying her. And no wonder! Having witnessed the way Nick had divulged Jennie’s closely guarded secret, Phoebe had every right to be fearful of something similar happening to her. Izzie wondered what snippet of confidential information Nick had gleaned about Phoebe’s life that she was terrified of being aired.
