by Daisy James
‘Her… her father?’
Jennie nodded, sympathy and compassion floating across her eyes. ‘When Sofia’s mother died, her Aunt Rosa agreed to support her in her quest to discover who her father was, which started by requesting a copy of her birth certificate from the authorities in Milan where she was born. It took a long time to arrive, but when it did and she saw her father’s surname she knew it wouldn’t take her long to find him.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because Oscar Roswell-Jones is a well-known cellist.’
‘Okay…’
‘The name might not mean anything to you, but to anyone with a passing interest in the classical music business, he’s an absolute maestro.’
Izzie wrinkled her nose. ‘I don’t understand. Are you saying this Oscar guy is Sofia’s father?’
‘No, his son is.’
‘His son?’
‘Nicholas Roswell-Jones.’
‘But Nick’s surname is Morgan.’
‘Yes, he changed his name after he graduated. His father had wanted Nick to pursue a musical career, like he had and his grandfather before him, and he derided his son’s dream to teach music and drama to high school students. So, when Nick married Sarah, he changed his name to hers, instead of the other way round, and despite Nick’s effort at a reconciliation, his father refused to speak to him right up until the day he died two years ago.’
‘Oh, that is so sad…’
‘Anyway, after trawling through her mother’s diaries, Sofia found an entry that recorded Nick Roswell-Jones’s marriage to Sarah Morgan and everything fell into place. So, with her aunt’s help and blessing, she found a job at the theatre in York, and moved into a tiny studio flat, but it took her six months to build up the courage to join the Somersby Singers so she could find out what he was like, intending to speak to him when the time was right. Then, when Nick announced this trip to Tuscany to iron out the wrinkles in our Christmas repertoire, well, it was the right time.’
‘And when did Sofia confide in you?’
‘I found her sobbing her heart out one night behind the Somersby village hall where we hold our rehearsals. She tried to fob me off with a story about losing one of the costumes in the production of Annie she was working on, but I knew it had to be more than that. I have raised two children! Everything came tumbling out. I did try to persuade her that the sooner she spoke to Nick, the sooner she could start to come to terms with what fate had thrown in her path. I’ve been a member of the choir since the beginning – five years – and I was certain that Nick had no idea whatsoever about her existence, which Sofia knew was true from what her aunt had told her about her mother being adamant that she didn’t want a relationship with him. It had been a holiday romance – a summer of love played out on the streets of Milan, over before they knew it. Sofia’s mother wanted to stay in Milan, Nick had returned to his studies at university.’
The two women sat on the patio, lost in their respective thoughts until Izzie’s phone started to ring again.
‘Do you think you should answer that?’
Izzie took out her phone and glanced at the screen. Meghan again.
‘It’s my friend Meghan. She’s flying out to San Vivaldo tomorrow with another friend of ours. I’ll call her later when you’re all safely on your way home. Anyway, my battery is almost dead – with everything going on to get the ingredients sorted for this morning’s tutorial, I forgot to charge it.’
‘Sorry, Izzie, I don’t think we’ll have time to bake your snowy yule log now.’
‘That’s not as much of a loss as you might think!’ she giggled. ‘If I’m honest, I’m still trying to perfect the swiss roll recipe – every time I make it, it looks more like one of those rubber mats we used to do gymnastics on when I was at school!’
‘I’m sure that’s not true. Come on.’
Izzie and Jennie made their way back towards the terrace where Dylan and Phoebe were still canoodling under the pergola, oblivious to the drama going on around them, cossetted in their own little bubble of romance. Luca was loitering on the kitchen doorstep, his phone clenched to his ear, relief spreading across his face when he saw Izzie and Jennie approach.
‘Where’ve you been? That was Gianni. He’s had Meghan on the phone. She’s been trying to call you, but your phone keeps going to voicemail.’
‘I know, I know – my battery’s dead. Can you ask Gianni to text her, please? Tell her everything is fine and I’ll give her a call as soon as everyone’s left for Antonio’s.’ Izzie smiled.
‘Okay, nessun problema. Where are Sofia and Nick?’
‘They’re over in the gazebo.’
‘I’d better go and fetch them – if we don’t make a start on the next demonstration, we’ll be late leaving for lunch and you have no idea what Carlos is like if he’s kept waiting. And don’t forget, the taxis for the airport are booked at three!’
Izzie laughed. ‘That sounds like something I would say!’
‘It’s okay, Luca, Izzie and I have agreed to cancel the last patisserie session. Nick and Sofia have a few things they want to chat through before they leave for the village. Dylan? Why don’t you give Luca a hand with the luggage while I go and see how they’re getting on?’ said Jennie, already making her way down the garden path.
‘Sure,’ said Dylan, reluctantly unfolding himself from the wooden chair.
‘I’ll help you,’ Phoebe said, springing out of her seat to join them.
Luca glanced at Izzie, his forehead creased in confusion at the sudden change in itinerary, but he simply shrugged and returned to the villa to help prepare everyone for their departure.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The pergola, Villa Limoncello
Colour: Lavender wisp
Izzie remained on the terrace, staring out at the scene of Tuscan paradise in front of her, trying to memorise the outline of every terracotta rooftop, every elegant cypress tree, every sun-filled field and vineyard, so she could reconstruct the image when the rain beat down with a vengeance on the Cornish countryside. She wished she could stay there for ever, drinking in the beauty of the scenery, enjoying the caress of the winter sunshine, inhaling the wisp of lavender floating on the air that would always remind her of her time in Italy.
Her concentration was broken by a rustle of leaves and, looking to her left, she saw Jennie, Nick and Sofia appear through the foliage. Izzie’s heart soared when she saw that Nick had his arm resting on Sofia’s shoulder, and they were both smiling despite the fact they had red-rimmed eyes. Then Dylan, Phoebe and Luca appeared from the kitchen doorway, lugging everyone’s luggage out to the terrace.
‘Okay, before we go, I’ve got an announcement to make,’ said Nick, his booming voice causing everyone to stop what they were doing and take notice. ‘Perhaps we could all take a seat over there under the pergola?’
‘What’s going on?’ Phoebe whispered to Jennie, who simply shrugged, obviously not wanting to share Nick’s secrets before he did.
‘I hope it’s not another damn concert,’ muttered Dylan, abandoning the heavy suitcases and following everyone back to the table under the pergola. ‘We’ve already got seven on the itinerary, and with the five gigs I’ve agreed to do with my brother over the holidays, I think I’ll be spending the whole of Christmas Day sleeping!’
Once everyone had taken a seat, they turned to face Nick, who had remained standing in front of them, as if he was about to conduct an impromptu recital for Izzie and Luca’s benefit before they left for their lunch at Antonio’s Trattoria and then Florence Airport.
‘As I’ve just been presented with the most amazing Christmas gift a man could wish for – which if you’ll forgive me, will have to remain a secret for a little while longer so that Sarah can be by my side when I announce it to the world…’ Nick sent a surreptitious glance in Sofia’s direction, who gave him an encouraging smile and a nod. ‘I wanted to give you all something too, something that I’ve been wanting to tell you since we came out h
ere to Tuscany.’
‘What’s going on, Nick?’ asked Dylan, flicking his eyes at Sofia, who avoiding looking at him, then rolling his eyes in Phoebe’s direction.
‘I know you all think I’ve been like a tenacious terrier about all the choir practice this week, and I know I’ve pushed everybody to their limit at times, but I hope you’ll agree that it’s all been for a very good reason. I wanted us to be pitch perfect, every single note of every single verse of every single song, and, thanks to your hard work and dedication, I think we’ve achieved that goal.’
‘Definitely!’ declared Phoebe.
‘Well, I hope you’ll forgive my underhand tactics.’
‘Hardly underhand,’ laughed Jennie, smiling around the group, her bejewelled glasses sending rainbows of colourful sunshine onto the tabletop. ‘I’d swap our draughty village hall for a converted barn in the Italian countryside any day!’
‘Well, as Dylan has reminded us, we have seven concerts organised over the next two weeks, culminating in our Christmas Eve extravaganza.’
‘At the local retirement home,’ mumbled Dylan, before plastering a fake-excited grin on his face for Nick’s benefit.
‘Well…’ continued Nick, stretching up to his full height and puffing out his chest as he prepared to divulge his secret.
‘Come on! Don’t keep us in suspense!’
‘I’m absolutely delighted to inform you that the Somersby Singers have been selected to perform our Christmas Eve concert in…’
He paused to extract the maximum effect.
‘Nick!’
‘…in York Minster!’
‘Oh, my God!’
‘Wow!
‘Yay!’
Whoops of excitement and disbelief exploded as Izzie jumped out of her seat to embrace everyone. It was quite a while before they calmed down and realised that Nick was still standing in front of them, waiting patiently to continue with his speech.
‘Is there something else?’ asked Jennie, her cheeks an attractive shade of pink from the surprise gift of good fortune.
‘Yes, there is.’
The group dutifully settled back in their chairs and stared up at their conductor, the man who had guided them through a complex musical labyrinth until they arrived at a harmonious ensemble. Nick’s face was filled with such happiness Izzie thought her heart would burst.
‘After the news I’ve had this afternoon, I have to say I think I must be the most fortunate man in the whole of Italy right now, but anyway…’
For a moment Nick paused, this time not for effect, but so he could swallow down on a sudden ambush of emotion, but he rallied quickly.
‘We’re not just performing any old carol concert in the best venue Yorkshire has to offer a community choir.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, you’re not going to believe this…’
‘Nick!’
‘The whole thing is going to be televised – live!’
This time the whole group erupted into a rhapsody of reactions, from gobsmacked disbelief and astonishment, to joyous excitement and celebration as they flung their arms around each other, everyone’s eyes shining with tears, even Dylan’s.
‘Oh, my God, Nick, how on earth did you manage to land such an amazing gig?’
‘Remember that weekend at the end of September when we did our first run-through of our Christmas repertoire?’
‘Yes…’
‘Remember those two guys who sat in at the back, making notes on a clipboard?’
‘Yes, you told us they were from the council, something about health and safety. I remembered thinking it ridiculous that anyone could possibly be suggesting that we might come to any harm whilst singing a few Christmas songs!’
‘Well, they were scouts from a TV company. I didn’t tell anyone in case their presence adversely affected our performance – you know what Dorothy and Freya are like. But I didn’t want to raise anyone’s expectations either. There were over thirty choirs in the running, but I heard a couple of weeks ago that we’d been selected for our style and panache. It’ll be us and another choir from Harrogate entertaining the worshippers on Christmas Eve. I know I should have come clean right there and then, but to be honest I went into panic mode. God! We’re actually going to be on television! Our choir, live, in York Minster! We can’t just be technically perfect, we have to be more than that – we have to be sensational!’
‘And we are!’ declared Sofia, speaking for the first time as she rose from her seat and went to hug Nick, followed by every member of the choir.
‘Thanks, Nick!’
‘God, I’m so excited! But what am I going to wear!’ cried Jennie, fiddling with her jewel-encrusted spectacles.
‘Ah, now that’s one thing that isn’t in my control, I’m afraid.’
‘Why not?’
‘I had to sign an agreement that we would all wear the same outfit.’
‘Nooo… Not those awful polo shirts!’
‘’Fraid so!’
There was a pause, then everyone burst into laughter at the look of abject horror on Phoebe’s face.
A few moments later, a screech of brakes broke through their noisy celebrations as a taxi drew to a halt at the end of the villa’s driveway and the impatient driver honked his horn with alacrity. Everyone went to collect their luggage, still chattering ten to the dozen as they hugged Izzie and Luca, singing their praises for their week at Villa Limoncello, vowing to stay in touch, to make a return visit, to book future courses with friends and family, before piling into the taxi for their trip to San Vivaldo’s best trattoria.
Izzie stood next to Luca on the front steps, waving goodbye to the group of strangers who had become firm friends, a cauldron of emotions threatening to overwhelm her: excitement for the Christmas carol concert that would give each and every member of the choir something to talk about for the rest of their lives, empathy for the trials and tribulations each one of them had to face over the coming weeks as they wove the secrets that had been exposed in Tuscany into their normal day-to-day lives, and trepidation because it was now time for her and Luca to sit down, without any interruptions, and talk about their own future.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The pergola, Villa Limoncello
Colour: Pearlescent mirage
‘Luca, I—’
‘I’m sorry, Izzie, hang on…’
Luca reached for his phone and glanced at the screen, his eyes clouding as he shook his head in dismay. ‘Carlos? Cosa sta succedendo?’
Pause.
‘Sì, sì, vengo!’
‘What’s happened?’ asked Izzie.
‘Carlos has somehow managed to fuse the lights in the kitchen and we have a full restaurant, including the fifteen choir members, waiting for their tordelli versiliesi! Look Izzie, I know we need to talk, but I’ve got to sort this out, then we can have the whole evening to ourselves, just the two of us – no interruptions, no guests wandering in to disturb us, and I promise I’ll switch my phone off, even if the restaurant has exploded into a nuclear mushroom of pesto.’
Izzie saw the genuine regret on Luca’s face and smiled.
‘It’s no problem, Luca. I’ve got lots to do to get the villa ready for Meghan and Jonti’s arrival tomorrow, so I’ll see you later.’
Luca stepped forward, paused for the merest second, and then seemed to change his mind by depositing kisses on her cheeks instead of her waiting lips.
‘Ciao!’
Minutes later he was racing in the wake of their guests down the driveway, intent on sending the choir off to the airport with full stomachs and a positive impression of Tuscan hospitality.
Izzie remained on the front steps watching his Spider disappear through the gates, then listening to the powerful engine speed off towards the village. She knew he would be back as soon as he could, but in that moment she felt bereft, alone at the villa which, it seemed to her, was always thrumming with activity.
She sauntered to the ki
tchen, collected her purple folder and withdrew the sheet headed ‘Wrap Up’ – might as well make a start on the list she had drafted to make sure the studio, the grounds and every room in the villa were returned to the same pristine glory as when the guests had arrived. She ran her eyes down the items, but for the first time she felt no compelling urge to tick the boxes, to perform the numerous tasks in the correct order until the list was complete and she could indulge in a congratulatory coffee.
What would happen if she ignored her list?
What if she simply grabbed her basket of cleaning products and worked her way through the bedrooms, carrying out her chores at random as needed?
What was the worst that could happen if she ditched her obsessive reliance on her lists?
If she forgot to put out fresh soaps, or didn’t dust the windowsills, or place a vase of fresh lavender on the bedside table, or run her feather duster over the picture frames, would Meghan and Jonti really berate her for it?
She stood at the kitchen table, fighting the two demons perched on her shoulders: one arguing the case for sticking to the tried-and-tested routine which made for speed and precision, the other arguing for a more relaxed, creative approach to her housekeeping duties. Rigid adherence left no room for error, but also no room for creative divergence – she had learned that over the last six months.
Okay!
She was no longer the same woman who had arrived at Villa Limoncello weighed down by grief and loss. She had shrugged off her cloak of melancholy and turned her face towards the sun, so she would do the same with her lists – go cold turkey!
She snapped the old, faithful folder shut, gathered together her cleaning materials and spent the next two hours with her iPod plugged into her ears, dancing to ‘Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree’, ‘Jingle Bell Rock’ and her personal favourite, ‘All I Want for Christmas is You’, as she stripped beds, scrubbed bathrooms and washed floors until everywhere was sparkling clean and the smell of fresh soap and furniture polish meandered through the suites. She only hoped that she wouldn’t be singing ‘Last Christmas’ when Luca came back to talk to her.
