Gorgeous Reads for Christmas (Choc Lit)

by Sue Moorcroft

  Neat rows of grey-green olive trees lined the sides of the hill as it fell to the wide plain below. Beyond the trees, a violet haze drifted upwards, uncovering fields that were painted in shades of green and sunflower yellow. A road, bordered by scattered oak and elm trees, meandered across the plain to the small Roman town of Bevagna, winding its way past clusters of grey stone houses whose walls and tiled roofs were taking on a golden hue in the rays of the early morning sun.

  No wonder Max Castanien had fallen in love with the area, she thought.

  A light breeze swept across the side of the mountain and she felt the coarse grass tickle her bare toes. Looking down at her feet, she saw that her sandals were damp where they’d brushed against the dew-tipped poppies and grape hyacinths growing among the grass.

  She glanced up and stared again at the view, a wave of sadness sweeping through her. She was about to spend the best part of two months in a stunning place, and she should be looking forward to relaxing and spending a blissful summer doing something she really loved. Instead, she’d have to be constantly on her guard to make sure that the beauty of the place, and the undeniable attractiveness of her boss, didn’t distract her from her task, even for a moment. And what’s more, she was going to have to put up with another of that hateful family – Max’s nephew. It was going to be one long stressful summer, and she almost wished she’d never met Max Castanien.

  She mentally shook herself – she mustn’t think like that. She’d sought him out and she’d come to Umbria for one purpose alone. That had to be her top priority. No, her only priority. It was the sole reason she was there. The rugged appeal of her boss, the beauty of the place, the thrill of her first paid teaching job – all paled to insignificance next to the goal that had brought her there.

  With a last glance at the panorama in front of her, she turned round and walked quickly back to the house. Reaching the terrace, she shook some loose gravel out of her sandals, then she picked up the chair nearest to her and added it to the semi-circle.

  ‘D’you want a hand?’ she heard a female voice call.

  Looking up, she saw a red-haired girl on the terrace in front of the patio doors. ‘It’s OK, Clare; I’m fine thanks. But it was nice of you to offer.’

  ‘I don’t mind helping, if you want me to,’ Clare said, coming towards her.

  ‘It’s very kind of you, but I’ve done it now. It wasn’t exactly demanding – a chair for each of the six of you, one for me, a table, an easel and some equipment.’

  ‘There are only five of us,’ Clare said. ‘At least, there were only five of us at dinner last night, not counting you.’

  ‘There’s a sixth, but I don’t know whether he’s joining us this morning or not. He and his uncle arrived from England late last night. They’re in the main house; you can just about see it if you look over there.’ She pointed towards the row of tall, dark cypress trees which ran down the side of the garden to the top of the slope. A stone house could be glimpsed through the trees. ‘Both of the houses belong to Mr Castanien. His main home’s in England, though.’

  ‘Wow, he owns all this? Is he tall, dark and handsome? Forget that – is he married or single? And what about the nephew?’

  Jenny pushed a smile to her lips as she arranged the final chair so that it faced the other six. She looked at the arrangement, and moved her chair back a little, increasing the distance between her and the others. Straightening up, her eyes strayed towards the row of cypress trees. He could arrive at any minute – she felt a nervous fluttering in her stomach.

  ‘You can have the uncle. I’ll have the nephew,’ Clare went on cheerfully.

  ‘Sight unseen?’ Jenny said, struggling to inject a playful note into her voice. Her stomach in knots, she went over to her easel and pulled it to the side of her chair so that it faced the semi-circle.

  ‘You bet,’ Clare giggled. She rushed forward to help with the easel. ‘And it’s not completely sight unseen – I’ve seen the house. Or houses. If this is what they’ve got here, just imagine what they’ve got at home. Oh, look; we’ve got company. It’s Paula.’

  Jenny’s gaze followed Clare’s to a woman with long black hair, who was standing under the leafy awning that shaded part of the terrace. The woman looked briefly around her, and then started to walk across to them.

  ‘I hope she’s not going to go on all the time like she did last night. She could gush for England,’ Clare muttered under her breath.

  Jenny gave an involuntary smile of amusement. ‘I didn’t hear that.’ She hooked a large flip-over pad of white paper to the top of the easel and pulled over a low table with a large box on it.

  Paula reached them and gave a tinkling laugh. ‘So this is where the girls gather.’

  ‘Not by design,’ Jenny said with a welcoming smile. ‘But we do seem to be the early birds of the group.’ She bent down, opened the box and took out a selection of brushes and art paper. Then she straightened up. ‘Well, I think that’s all the setting up done for now. Have the two of you had breakfast?’

  ‘I have,’ Clare said. ‘Not that I ever have much of a breakfast. Coffee’s all I can ever stomach this soon after waking up.’

  ‘I’ve eaten, but Howie hadn’t quite finished so I left him to it. He won’t be long, though. We had our breakfast by ourselves on our private patio. We thought we’d do that each morning, if that’s all right. Being newly-weds and all that,’ she added, with a little-girl laugh.

  ‘Of course it’s all right,’ Jenny assured her, smothering her rising irritation with Paula and her simpering. That she was a little too old to be carrying on in the way that she was made it doubly annoying. ‘You’re all free to have breakfast wherever you want.’

  ‘I’d much rather have company,’ Clare said.

  ‘Just wait till you’re married,’ Paula replied. ‘You’ll realise then that there’s such a thing as too much company at certain times.’ She gave another little laugh, pushed her hair behind her ears, closed her eyes and looked up towards the sun. ‘It’s going to be really hot today.’

  ‘It certainly looks that way: there was a definite heat haze over the valley this morning,’ Jenny said. She glanced towards the patio doors. ‘I shouldn’t think Mr Rayburn and Nicholas will be much longer, and it doesn’t sound as if Howard will be. I’ve put the chairs out, so if you want, you can sit down and wait for them to arrive, or you can go for a stroll round the garden. The view’s extraordinary at any time of day, but the morning light creates an almost surreal effect.’

  ‘Good morning, ladies. Or should I say buon giorno. We are in Italy, after all.’

  Jenny turned and smiled warmly at the grey-haired man approaching them.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Rayburn. I hope you slept well.’

  ‘Indeed, I did, dear lady. Like the proverbial log.’

  ‘That’s good. I was just suggesting to Paula and Clare that they might like to have a wander round the garden while we’re waiting for everyone to get here.’

  ‘No need.’ A tall, slim man in his early thirties hurried out on to the terrace. ‘You can tick my name off the list, and Nicholas’s too. He’ll be out in a minute – he’s just finishing his coffee.’

  ‘Are you sure you’ve had enough to eat, Howie darling?’ Paula asked, moving to her husband’s side. She clutched his arm and gazed adoringly up at him.

  He gave a theatrical groan and rubbed his stomach. ‘More than enough, sweetheart. I should have stopped long before I did. You’re going to be going home with a very fat husband, if I don’t watch it.’

  ‘Then it’ll be all the more to love,’ she murmured. They smiled into each other’s eyes, and their lips lightly touched.

  Clare glanced at Jenny and pulled a face.

  Running footsteps could be heard from inside the house, and a young man bounded out on to the terrace.

  ‘I hope you haven’t all been waiting for me,’ he said, panting hard as he reached them.

  Jenny heard Clare give a whistle behind he
r. ‘He looks even better in the daylight,’ she said in a low voice that only Jenny could have heard.

  She smiled inwardly – she was getting the strong impression that Clare’s mind that week was not going to be solely on the use of watercolour.

  ‘Not at all, Nicholas,’ she said. ‘You’ve all arrived at pretty much the same time. Did you sleep well?’

  ‘Fine, thanks. The bed’s dead comfortable. I think I must have been more tired than I realised – I fell asleep the moment I hit the pillow. Or perhaps it was the wine last night. And you can call me Nick, if you want. It’s less of a mouthful. I should have said so last night.’ His smile was directed at Clare.

  ‘Right, then – Nick it is.’ Jenny looked around the group. ‘Well, we’re all here now, apart from Stephen, Mr Castanien’s nephew, that is. And I don’t know if Mr Castanien intends to come across and say hello.’

  Anxiety tightened into a knot in the pit of her stomach, and she glanced quickly towards the cypress trees, but there was no sign of anyone. Struggling to get her nervousness under control, she looked back at the group and forced a smile. ‘I’m not sure if Stephen’s going to join us today, so I suggest we make a start without him. If you’d like to take a seat, I’ll begin with a general introduction to watercolour.’

  ‘Who’s Mr Castanien when he’s at home?’ Nick asked, edging round to Clare’s side.

  ‘He owns this house, but he and his nephew are in the main house.’ Jenny said. ‘Stephen’s going to come to one or two classes, but it won’t affect what we do. If he turns up, that’s fine; if he doesn’t, he doesn’t.’

  She sat down facing them, waiting for them to take their places.

  A wave of fear shot through her, taking her completely by surprise.

  Having got through two demanding secondary school placements during her PGCE year, she’d thought that a class of people who’d chosen to be there would be a doddle and she wouldn’t be at all nervous. But amazingly, she felt terrified.

  The tension she felt about Max possibly arriving at any moment must be affecting her, she decided. Putting her hand to her mouth, she took a deep breath and tried to quell the butterflies in her stomach. Glancing around the semi-circle, she saw that Mr Rayburn was the only one who hadn’t yet sat down. He was looking anxiously at his chair. She began to stand up. ‘Can you manage, Mr Rayburn?’

  He waved her back. ‘Have no fear, Jennifer. I’m perfectly fine. I’m just getting my bearings.’ He sat down cautiously. ‘I’ll soon be giving you young ones a run for your money, you’ll see.’ He nodded cheerfully at the rest of the group.

  They smiled politely back at him.

  As she sank back on to her seat again, she noticed that Nick had managed to get the chair next to Clare’s and Clare didn’t look at all disappointed about it. She smiled inwardly. He was obviously good-looking enough in Clare’s eyes to make her forget about the Castaniens and their houses, which was just as well from what she knew about the family.

  Paula was on the other side of Nick, but she had eyes only for Howard, who was next to her. Their every action was punctuated with a loving glance. No surprises there either – they were on their honeymoon, as they’d not tired of telling the group at dinner the evening before.

  George Rayburn sat on the other side of Howard, at the end of the row. She noticed that he was surreptitiously shifting his position every few minutes, clearly trying to get more comfortable.

  She didn’t want to do anything that would have drawn attention to his need for something with greater support, but as soon as they stopped for coffee, she’d see if she could find him a more suitable chair for the week. Whatever he’d said about keeping up with them, it wasn’t going to be easy for someone well past retirement age to keep up with people so many years younger, and she must try to anticipate any difficulties he might face.

  But that was for the future – it was time for her to begin the first class of the week. And not a minute too soon – she’d feel less shaky once she’d begun. Luckily, it looked like it was going to be just her and the group that day, and that was a huge relief. She’d definitely feel more up to facing her employer when she had at least one session under her belt.

  As she felt herself begin to relax, she realised what a strain she’d been under since the moment she’d got up – since she’d first seen Max’s name, in fact. But happily she could now make the class her sole focus. They’d paid to be there and that was the very least they deserved.

  She took a deep breath and smiled at them all. ‘Welcome to a week devoted to painting in watercolour. It’s a fascinating medium, and much more demanding than most people think. However, even if you’re a complete beginner, you’ve no need to worry as we’re all going to go at our own pace.’

  ‘You’re right about it being difficult,’ Clare cut in. ‘I thought it would be dead easy, but it isn’t.’

  She threw Clare a sympathetic look. ‘I remember you saying in your application that you’d been trying to do some watercolours to hang on the walls of your flat, but had found it very difficult. Hopefully, by the end of the week you’ll have some paintings to take back with you.’

  ‘You’re going to hang your work on your walls, are you? Oh, how sweet,’ Nick said with a grin. Clare blushed. ‘No, I think it’s really cool,’ he added quickly. He threw her an apologetic smile, and she blushed more deeply. This time with a tinge of pleasure, Jenny noted.

  ‘Don’t worry, Clare. We’ll cover all the points you need to know during the week. Not surprisingly, though, we’re going to start with the basic techniques today – the different kinds of paper we can use for watercolour, the brushes, and so on. Then we’ll have a short break for coffee, and perhaps you’d like to have a stroll round the garden. When we regroup, I’ll demonstrate how to do a quick watercolour sketch.’

  ‘Will we be doing any painting today?’ Paula asked.

  ‘If you want to do something on your own, of course you can. You’ll have seen from the programme I gave you last night that this afternoon’s free, which means you can spend it how you want. And if you remember, I suggested you might like to go into Montefalco later on. It’s a lovely little hill-top town, about ten minutes’ drive from here. We can park the minibus just outside the old town wall, and from there it’s just a short walk up to the piazza.’

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the look of relief that crossed George Rayburn’s face.

  ‘I’ve been here a week already, getting everything ready for you, and getting to know the area a little. The piazza in the centre of Montefalco is shaped like a star,’ she went on, ‘which is unusual as piazzas go, and all of the narrow lanes leading off it have stunning views. It’s a place you really ought to visit whilst you’re here; if not today, on another day.’

  ‘Are there any shops there?’ Paula asked. ‘I want to take something back for Howie’s mother.’

  ‘Only a few, I’m afraid. And most close in the afternoon for two or three hours. You’d do better to wait till later in the week, Paula.’ She smiled around at them all. ‘Of course, if you’d prefer to stay here, that’s absolutely fine, too. You did a lot of travelling yesterday and you’re probably still quite tired.’

  ‘I notice, Jennifer, that you omitted any mention of the red wine for which Montefalco is so well known,’ George Rayburn admonished her, waggling his index finger.

  She laughed. ‘So I did, Mr Rayburn. And I also forgot to mention the internet café. It’s on the left, just before you reach the piazza. You’ll see some chairs and tables on the terrace in front of it. I think it’s open today if you want to e-mail anyone at home. It’s much cheaper than using your mobile. And there’s a car hire place next to the internet café, so if you feel you need to escape before the week is over …’

  They all laughed.

  ‘Hey, we’ve got visitors,’ Howard exclaimed, sitting up and staring across the terrace towards the house. ‘They must have used the path that links the gardens – we noticed it yesterda
y when we had a late night stroll. I’ll bet one of them is destined for the empty chair.’

  Oh, no, she thought, in sudden panic.

  She turned to see Max Castanien walking across the grass towards them with a younger man at his side.

  Her heart began to thump fast – this was it.

  Every single meeting, every single word, was going to count if they were to become friends. And they must. It was the only chance she might ever have of learning the truth about her father’s death.

  A pounding in her ears, she rose from her seat and went forward to greet the two men.

  Chapter Four

  ‘Jenny, this is my nephew, Stephen.’ Max Castanien gestured to the young man at his side.

  Stephen pushed a lock of light brown hair back from his forehead, beamed at Jenny and stepped forward to shake her hand. She vaguely registered that he had a firm grip, just like his uncle, and that whilst he resembled his father, he had his uncle’s square-cut chin. Then she turned to the group.

  ‘I’d like to introduce you to Mr Castanien, who’s responsible for the fact that we’re here in these lovely surroundings, and to his nephew, Stephen,’ she said brightly. ‘Stephen’s going to come to some of the classes. That’s right, isn’t it, Stephen?’ She turned back and directed a welcoming smile at him.

  ‘Well, sort of. Actually, I was originally going to go to only one or two of the classes, but I’ve just changed my mind and I think I’d like to do the whole thing, if that’s OK with you. I can’t draw for toffee, but I think it could be fun.’ His eyes were on Clare as he spoke.

  ‘Join the club,’ Howard called. ‘Just wait till you see how awful I am: I’ll make everyone else look brilliant.’

  In the laughter that followed, Jenny felt herself unwinding. The worst was over now: she’d met her employer for the second time and it hadn’t been too bad. In future she wouldn’t get into such a state again.

  ‘Why don’t you take the empty chair next to Clare, Stephen? I’ll let everyone introduce themselves in their own time.’ She turned to Max. ‘Would you like to stay for a while? It would be easy enough to pull up a chair for you. I was just about to start running through the basic techniques.’