by Daisy James
‘Hey, Meghan, how did the dinner with your parents go last night?’
‘Hmm, it’s not in my top ten most magical moments!’
‘Did you talk to them, though?’
‘I did.’
‘And?’
‘Well, put it this way, I won’t be having my Christmas dinner at Hollybrook this year.’
‘Oh, Meghan, I’m so sorry…’
‘It’s okay, it’s okay…’
For the first time in their friendship, Izzie heard the catch of misery in her best friend’s voice and her heart gave a nip of sadness. She adored Meghan: her sartorial craziness, her carefree positivity no matter what homework their lecturers cast in their direction, her energetic romantic exploits, jumping from one potential suitor to the next like an Olympic hurdler. Every day, Izzie thanked the director of fate for ushering her into Meghan’s effusively cheerful path because nothing seemed to faze her. Meghan threw herself at life and gave each challenge everything she had stored in her armoury; if she succeeded, great, she would celebrate vociferously, if not, then she’d simply move on to the next project without a glance over her shoulder. She was a confirmed optimist, except for one thing – being able to persuade her parents to accept her decision to pursue her own dream and not theirs.
‘What did they say exactly?’
‘Well, at first they laughed.’
‘They laughed?’
‘Oh, things started off okay. Over the starter we talked about mundane things like their journey down from Yorkshire, their swanky hotel in South Kensington, then, during the main course we moved on to the movie Brad’s filming in Croatia, even the problems he’s having with the weather over there. We managed to get to the coffees without a single cross word, although I have to admit the whole meal was excruciatingly awkward.’
‘And?’
‘I remembered something you said to me ages ago, about communication being at the heart of all relationships and I realised that we had spent too long avoiding the elephant in the room.’
‘Or the horse?’
Meghan giggled, but quickly grew serious again.
‘So I just blurted everything out in one long sentence. That running Hollybrook has never featured on my wish list, that, unlike them, training race horses does not instil an ounce of joy in my heart, far from it. That I don’t just dislike horses, I am terrified of them. This is the bit where they laughed. How could I possibly be terrified of horses when I’ve grown up with them? I could see in their eyes that they didn’t believe me, that they thought I’d come up with the story as some kind of ruse to shirk what they called my “responsibilities” to the Knowles family and the Hollybrook legacy.’
‘Oh, Meghan, I’m so sorry.’
‘I tried to explain that it isn’t just fear, it is a fully fledged phobia. That every time I go near one of the snorting, stamping beasts, even venture into one of the stables, even catch a whiff of the damp hay, I come out in stress blotches, my throat closes around a particularly prickly pear and my heart rate zooms off the scale – all the classic symptoms of a phobia. And you know what, Izzie? Just as I expected, Dad offered to pay for a course of therapy.’
Meghan paused and Izzie could feel the pain reverberating across the miles from London to San Vivaldo. Her friend had kept her secret about her phobia from her parents for years, fearing their reactions, not wanting them to think she was rejecting what was, in effect, her inheritance because she didn’t love them. She had thought that by explaining to them that her dreams lay elsewhere, in the field of art, design and fashion, like Brad had when he’d gone off to study film and media at university instead of veterinary medicine, then they might come around. But for some unfathomable reason they had accepted Brad’s ambitions were valid and had struggled to understand Meghan’s choices, no doubt comparing his achievements as an award-winning film director with those of a lowly window dresser, albeit for a store as prestigious as Harrods. So, when Meghan had graduated from the RCA, she’d simply stayed on in London, renting a room in a tiny flat and refusing to go home. Avoidance had proved the better option than staring at the face of disappointment whenever she went back to Yorkshire.
‘I’m sorry, Meghan, really, I am. What did you say when your dad said that?’
‘I told them there was no need for him to waste his money on a therapist because I doubted that I would encounter many equine-filled situations whilst pursuing my dreams.’
‘True! It’s a completely different kind of thoroughbred treading those catwalk boards!’ giggled Izzie, relieved that Meghan’s strength of character had shone through during the most difficult of conversations.
‘I tried to explain that I didn’t intend to be a window dresser for ever, that I’d already helped to stage one runway show, and I’d been applying for jobs in set design at fashion houses for the last six months. You should have seen the look on their faces, Izzie. It was as though I was waxing lyrical about becoming an astronaut and planned to be the first woman to walk on Mars. Work in the fashion industry? Heaven forbid! Mum’s idea of cutting-edge fashion is a tweed hacking jacket with a coordinated velvet collar and elbow patches – although to be honest, she does look rather good in them, and the jodhpurs!’
‘Maybe stable chic will be the next big thing for the Autumn/Winter collection?’
‘Could be! I’d love to design the catwalk for that! Anyway, their biggest surprise was when I told them that all the jobs that I’d applied for were in Italy. I thought Dad was going to have a coronary, but you know what? I thought I saw a twinkle of interest in Mum’s eyes.’
‘Do you think she might come to accept your decision?’
‘I don’t know, but I do know one thing: when I got home and told Jonti everything that had happened, I felt a huge sense of relief that at last I’ve told them the truth about how I feel, and that I’ve explained the reasons behind my choices so they can start planning a different future for Hollybrook. I really want the tradition of training world-class race horses to continue – I’m proud of what they’ve achieved. My plan is to give them some time for what I said to sink in, then I’m going to go home and talk to them again.’
‘Meghan, I’m so impressed with how you’ve handled this.’
‘Thanks, Izzie. I would never have done it if you hadn’t been there for me. I love you, darling!’
‘Right back at’cha!’
Chapter Nineteen
San Gimignano, Tuscany
Colour: Sun-drenched saffron
Izzie loved every town and city she had visited since arriving in Tuscany, but her favourite had to be San Gimignano – the hilltop town known as the Manhattan of Tuscany because of its fourteen medieval bell towers stretching into the sky like ancient skyscrapers. Their taxis had deposited them in the car park at the bottom of the hill and they had huffed and puffed up the steep incline until they arrived at Porta San Giovanni, the impressive stone archway that led to the town where the rest of the choir were waiting for them.
After joyous greetings that belied the fact that they had seen each other less than an hour before, Izzie and Luca led the party along Via San Giovanni, the cobbled main street lined with shops on both sides.
‘Wow, look at these ceramics!’ declared Jennie, trotting off to take a closer look at colourful hand-crafted urns, wide-brimmed bowls perfect for serving pasta, plates, jugs, butter dishes, oil and vinegar sets and huge planters displaying lemon trees. ‘Gosh, how am I going to choose which one to buy?’
‘I think your luggage allowance will take care of that,’ laughed Dylan.
‘Ooh, my aunt Rosa would love one of these embroidered tablecloths,’ said Sofia, fingering the crisp white linen sewn with images of lemons, sunflowers, even bottles of wine, and edged with hand-stitched lace. ‘But I think I’ll stick to a tea towel – maybe this one with a recipe for making limoncello on, what do you think?’
‘I’d prefer one of these chess sets myself,’ said Dylan, eyeing a beautifully carved board with the
pieces depicting the characters from The Lord of the Rings.
‘Or what about this one?’ said Nick, picking up the knight from a set showcasing orchestral instruments. ‘I wonder if Sarah’s bought my Christmas present yet? I think I’ll send her a photograph – see what she says.’
‘I can tell him exactly what Sarah will say,’ Jennie whispered to Izzie when she saw the price tag.
Eventually they reached Piazza della Cisterna, a stunning square paved in an irregular red-brick pattern and surrounded by a harmony of ancient buildings, including the fourteenth-century Palazzo Tortoli and Palazzo Lupi. The place was milling with tourists, lingering on the steps leading to the central fountain that gave the piazza its name, or peering into the prestigious jewellery shops, or queuing at Gelateria Dondoli for a taste of their award-winning ice cream in flavours as diverse as gorgonzola and walnut, and saffron and pine nut.
‘Okay, why don’t you take some time to explore on your own, then we’ll meet back here for dinner at nine?’ said Luca, pointing out the restaurant where they would all be dining together.
‘Come on, Sofia, I’ll treat you to one of those world-famous ice creams that I saw you drooling over. They must be amazing judging by the line outside,’ said Jennie, reaching deep into her beloved bag to extract a bulging purse as Sofia followed her to the back of the queue.
‘Fancy an Aperol spritz?’
Dylan’s blue eyes rested on Phoebe, who had barely spoken two words since reading the emails she’d received earlier. She nodded absently, linked her arm through his and allowed herself to be guided towards a tiny cafe down a shady alleyway as though in a trance.
By the time Nick had finished studying the window of a shop that seemed to offer nothing but instruments of torture – who in their wildest dreams found that they suddenly had the urgent and pressing need for a sword whilst staying in the medieval town perched high on a hillside? thought Izzie – and looked around to share his discovery with the others, everyone had disappeared on their own mission of Italian retail therapy.
Izzie took pity on him. ‘How does a glass of Vernaccia di San Gimignano sound?’
‘Sounds perfect, and maybe an aperitivo whilst we’re waiting for our dinner reservation?’
Izzie smiled. ‘Luca?’
‘Oh, no thanks, I promised Eduardo that I would pop in for a chat before the choir descended on him. Apparently, there’s something he wants to talk to me about. Sounds ominous.’
‘Okay, ciao.’
‘Ciao.’
Izzie sauntered with Nick to a cafe just off Piazza della Cisterna with rustic whitewashed walls, exposed beams and a burble of animated conversation set to a backing track of tinkling teaspoons and Puccini. They were guided towards a table next to a large, noisy Italian family who were clearly in the throes of celebrating the grandmother’s birthday.
Izzie ordered a San Pellegrino and a glass of the local San Gimignano white wine for Nick as promised, which he gulped down like a man who’d spent the week in a desert before ordering himself a Negroni, which came with a plate of stuzzichini. Izzie eyed the finger food, her mouth watering at the tiny slices of bruschetta topped with chopped tomatoes, local cheese with fresh figs, and slices of grilled marrow adorned with ribbons of local ham, but she demurred, keen to save her appetite for her meal at Eduardo’s later. Of course, Nick wasn’t so reticent and devoured the lot.
In honour of their trip to San Gimignano and their last night in Italy, Nick had chosen to wear his most exuberant waistcoat to date: a paisley pattern of vibrant pinks, purples and violets, embroidered with silver thread and finished with matching buttons. His usually boisterous mane of mahogany curls had been tamed with a dollop of hair product and his beard had been neatly trimmed – he looked every inch the accomplished musical conductor, especially when he signalled for another Negroni.
‘I’ve been here before, you know.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, twenty years ago with Sarah for our honeymoon. We had a fabulous time exploring the countryside around here, taking day trips to Siena, to Lucca, to Pisa, and of course Florence. We must have walked ten miles a day, but, of course, we were a lot younger back then.’
To Izzie’s surprise, she heard a catch in Nick’s voice, and she took a sip of her sparkling water to give him a moment before she asked, ‘Why didn’t she come with you this time?’
‘Well, firstly, she’s not a member of the Somersby Singers and it would have been a bit hypocritical of me to bring my wife when I’d specifically told everyone that no partners were allowed. But also, every spare moment of her time is taken up with the drama school’s Christmas pantomime at the moment.’
‘Ah, yes, Jennie mentioned her children’s stage school.’
‘She loves it – the acting classes, musical theatre, ballet, tap, jazz, you name it. Even cheerleading for the little ones. They’re performing Goldilocks and the Three Bears this year and I have to say the costumes are absolutely amazing. She’s hired a local theatre for the night and the tickets sold out faster than a Take That concert.’
Izzie couldn’t fail to notice the note of pride in Nick’s voice when he spoke of his wife, and the softening of his features was testament to the love he had for her and what she’d achieved at her stage school.
‘I run the singing classes on Saturday mornings and Sarah’s sister, Claire, acts as chaperone for the youngsters, so there’s a real family atmosphere. But, you know, it’s more than just a weekend drama school – for some of the kids it’s a sanctuary.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Some of the children have very challenging lives, so spending the day with Sarah and her colleagues is like a safety valve for them to de-stress and do something just for themselves instead of for their families. We have one young girl who cares for her alcoholic mother, and there’s a fifteen-year-old boy who works every night of the week in a pizza shop just to help the family make ends meet. We run a bursary scheme that Sarah’s father set up for those children who can’t manage the fees for the classes and the costume hire. It’s tough sometimes, financially, but it works, and to see the children throw themselves into their characters is very rewarding, and being on stage is a real confidence boost for them, too.’
‘And you and Sarah don’t have children?’
As soon as the words had left her mouth, she wished she could take them back. She had rarely seen such raw agony flash through a person’s eyes, but the image was fleeting and Nick raised his glass once again, drained it and signalled for another.
‘No,’ he managed to say, his voice tight. ‘It’s our one sadness in what’s been a very happy union.’
Silence expanded as they both became lost in their thoughts and what Nick had disclosed. She was surprised he had opened up to her, worried that the alcohol had loosened his grip on his emotions and he would regret his candour the next day. But then the choir was leaving the following afternoon and it was unlikely he would see her again, and, as she knew only too well, in a crazy world where people barely stopped for breath, a simple crumb of empathy could be a Michelin-starred meal.
‘I think that’s one of the reasons Sarah works so hard at the drama school – those children are her family and she adores every single one of them. She not only teaches them how to dance and sing and act, she braids their hair, she does their make-up, even washes and irons their uniforms for them. She’s poured every ounce of her hopes and dreams into their development and celebrates all of their achievements as if they were her own children. The kids love her, too, of course – you should see the fuss they made of her for her birthday last month. I’ve never seen so many boxes of her favourite After Eight mints.’
‘How did you meet Sarah?’ asked Izzie, for the first time feeling as though she was getting to know something about Nick as a person and not his fiery passion for music.
‘We met in our last year at university. I’d just got back from a summer placement in Milan and she’d been helping out backstage at
one of the West End theatres – we had lots to talk about! You know what it’s like when you just click with someone, when you know something’s right?’
‘I do.’ Izzie smiled, unable to prevent a fully formed image of Luca from sailing across her vision.
The family at the next table were now embarking on an Italian rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’ and Izzie paused to watch the happy scene, lost in her memories of previous birthdays and family celebrations, the most recent of which hadn’t included someone she’d desperately wanted to be there. She wondered if Nick was thinking the same thing.
‘As soon as we graduated, we got married and we had the most amazing time here in San Gimignano, really immersing ourselves in the culture, the music, the cuisine. When we got home, I found a job as a drama teacher at the local high school and Sarah set up her stage school, and since then we’ve worked every hour God sends to make it a success. It was hard at times, but it’s been worth every sacrifice. Then, five years ago, when we got the news that our family wasn’t going to grow any larger, she suggested I set up the community choir. It was a godsend at the time because I took that news rather hard.’
The party at the next table had finished their song and one of the grandchildren, a boy of around five, was presenting his grandmother with a huge home-made birthday card, and Izzie saw the woman wipe away a tear before grabbing the child and swinging him onto her lap, causing him to shriek with delight.
‘We’ve thought of adopting, even went as far as going to a couple of the information sessions, but well, it just wasn’t for us. So… so we’ve moved on. Sarah has her school, I have my career and the choir, it’s all good.’
Nick forced a smile onto his face, but Izzie couldn’t fail to see the regret in his eyes and her heart went out to him. He wasn’t the person she had thought he was when he’d arrived at Villa Limoncello with his booming voice, his outrageous waistcoats and his bossy nature. He was simply passionate, driven and talented, but also broken inside, and she experienced a surge of affection for him as she reminded herself, not for the first time, to never judge a musical score by its fancy cover. Just like his wife, Nick clearly treated his choir as if they were his surrogate children, urging them to achieve their potential so that their Christmas performances around the halls and churches of York were the best they could be, and a sudden urge to weep engulfed her as she witnessed the sorrow etched deep in his soul.
