by Diana Fraser
Demetrio shook his head. “Nonna’s right. There won’t be any rooms available. I’m afraid you’re stuck with us, unless you wish to drive back to Florence tonight, of course. But you won’t be doing that, I hope?”
The “I hope” caught her off guard and, by the look on his face, it had caught him off guard too. He grinned and looked away as if surprised at what he’d said.
“I won’t leave if you’re okay for me to stay another night. I’d intended to go to Florence in a few days. I’ve made arrangements to see a friend there in the New Year.”
“Good,” Marianna chipped in. “It’ll give you a chance to see Abbadia at its most festive. Now go, you two. Get to work. We expect a good show tonight!”
“Let me clear up first,” said Ursula.
But Marianna wouldn’t hear of it. She was exactly like her mother—a matriarch-in-waiting, and utterly in control.
Demetrio lifted the crocheted blanket which covered Nonna’s lap, and Ursula noticed what she’d failed to see before, Nonna was in a wheelchair. Demetrio pushed her over to the fire. He gave her a cup of coffee, and then she shooed him away.
“You go, Demetrio. Take Orsula and show her what Abbadia has to offer.”
“I’ll have to arrange to get my car towed back first,” said Ursula.
Demetrio picked up the keys to the Land Rover. “As if I’d let you pay a lot of money for some garage hand in town to do that, even if you could find one. Let’s go and get it now, while it’s not snowing.”
“Are you sure I’m not keeping you from anything?” Ursula asked, as they walked into the hallway.
“Nothing that can’t wait.”
“I feel terrible. You’ve done so much for me already. I’m in your debt.”
“Um.” Demetrio grinned as he took his coat off the peg. “I think I’ll need that debt repaying today.”
The gleam in his eye made her blush. “Really?”
“Yes, really.” He looked her up and down. From her soft leather boots, up her stylish gray trousers, to her black top. “Do you have any practical clothes in that Gucci suitcase of yours?”
“Yes, of course! I have a pair of… jeans.” Probably best not to mention the designer brand. “And a… sweater.” Not that she’d ever actually referred to her angora top as a sweater.
“Good. Any woolly hats, scarfs, gloves?”
“No! Of course not. I haven’t worn a woolly hat since I was a school girl.”
“Time to start. Marianna will lend you what you need.”
“So… my debt is to be paid by going somewhere cold.”
“Yes. And then working your butt off.”
“Outside, on the land?” Ursula pulled a nervous face. “Not exactly my forte but I’ll give it a go.”
“Good girl!” He pulled his hat from the hat stand. “Now let’s go and dig your car out.”
* * *
Ursula had thought Demetrio’s comment about “digging the car out” was a turn of phrase. But after they reached the place where it was parked, she realized that “digging” was precisely what he’d meant. She stepped out of the Land Rover and looked in despair at the car, now just a mound of snow, bright in the early morning sunlight.
Demetrio looked up at the sky. “At least we have the sun on our side. It’s melting the snow, which will make our job easier.” He grabbed a couple of spades from the back of the Land Rover and began shoveling snow from around the base of the car.
He was right about the sun. With its help the car was soon exposed, and when Ursula stood back she was out of breath and hot under the borrowed clothes and sunshine. The place was as lovely as she remembered from the day before, with the trees rising out of the valley below, laden with snow. There was little traffic on the road, and the valley was still and quiet.
“It’s so beautiful here,” Ursula said.
“Yes, it’s very special.”
“It looks untouched.”
“Virtually. Papa has had to do some work on it, but it was purely restorative.”
“This is your land? But it’s miles from the farm.”
“The farm is part of a much larger estate. If you think this is beautiful, come over the fence, and I’ll show you something even more spectacular.”
He leaped over the fence, and held out a hand for her. She took it and climbed over. The snow was less thick on the sheltered side of the valley, and they managed to follow the path that wound below the road, toward the place where the steep slopes met.
Ursula stopped suddenly. “The air. It feels different here. Colder somehow.”
“Look down there.” Demetrio moved aside so she could see better.
Ursula gasped. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. The section of the hillside they were looking at was devoid of trees. Down the center of a rock face, where water normally flowed, was a sheet of frozen ice, framed by icicles. “I’ve never seen such a thing! Is it a frozen waterfall?”
“Si. It’s amazing, isn’t it? It’s one of my favorite places.”
“Is it frozen solid?”
“Yes, for a short time. As a kid I used to think it was as if someone from a fairy tale had stumbled into the woods and touched the water, turning it to ice. Probably my grandmother spun me some old tale.”
“That’s so different to my upbringing. In Sweden, there was ice all around, and I knew all about how water molecules slowed down and stuck together as the temperature freezes. No magic, only science.”
“And in Italy? There is no science, only magic.”
She laughed. “Of course.”
“And in summer the water is magically warmed, and we swim in the plunge pool below. It’s fun taking Marianna’s kids there now.” He leaned against a tree. “As I get older I begin to understand how my father feels about this place, and his father before him. There’s something in the blood, a need to make sure it’s here for my children.”
Ursula glanced at him and then turned away, trying to collect her thoughts. “You didn’t mention your children before.”
“That’s because I don’t have any. Not yet. But of course, I hope to. Doesn’t everyone?”
“No. Neither my sister or brother have children. Both are married, but neither show any interest in children.”
“And you?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I was in a relationship for a few years, and I thought we might marry and have children. But it wasn’t to be.” And before her ex, there was Alessandro. The thought of him, married now, with a child, was like the twist of a knife in a wound that refused to heal. She blinked lightly and smiled, turning back to Demetrio, to find him closer, watching her. “But, that’s okay. These things happen.”
“Yes, they do. As you no doubt realize from what my mother said, I was married. My wife died.”
“I’m sorry. How long ago?”
“Just over two years now. It’s taken me this long to believe my family when they tell me that life goes on.” He took hold of her hand again. “I’m beginning to think they’re right, after all. I find I’m looking at things—the land around us, people, you—and finding myself unexpectedly happy again.”
Ursula swallowed and tried to contain yet another blush. “So… can we get closer to the waterfall?”
“Sure. And I’ll show you something that will make you believe in magic.”
She smiled, shaking her head. “Before I did my law degree I studied science. I don’t believe in magic. I believe in what can be proven by science.”
He sighed and shook his head. “We’ll see about that. Walk this way, Ms. Adamsson.” He held out his hand as if laying down a challenge, and she took it and he curled his gloved hand around hers. “Got to hold on tight,” he said, explaining his tight grip. “And watch where you put your feet.” He grinned. “Just as well Marianna lent you her boots.”
As well as the thermal underwear, Ursula thought.
They walked carefully toward the frozen waterfall—its long, sleek plumes of water hard and u
nreal. At that moment, the sun rose over the hillside casting its bright light onto the ruffled sheets of ice. Ursula had never seen anything as beautiful—not in her native Sweden, nor in any of the cosmopolitan cities in which she spent most of her life. “It’s stunning.”
She turned to him and met his gaze. “Stunning,” he repeated. But he wasn’t looking at the frozen waterfall, only her. She suddenly felt self-conscious and pulled the soft gray hat that Marianna had lent her, lower over her blonde hair. She smiled uncertainly. “Come, on. I can see you’re still not persuaded about the magic.”
He walked carefully along the ledge which ran between the sheet of ice and the rock face. Ursula felt a flutter of nerves but was urged on by the warm, confident grip of his hand. She stepped behind the curtain of ice, and was robbed of breath.
The sheet of ice was aqua blue from behind. She reached out to touch it, but his grip on her other hand tightened, warning her not to move. She withdrew her outstretched hand. She didn’t need to touch it to appreciate it. “You’re right. It is magic.” At that moment, a stray beam of sunlight penetrated the ice and illuminated the mossy green of the wall behind, splitting the light into a rainbow of colors.
Inexplicably Ursula felt tears prick her eyes. What was going on? She never cried. She turned away so he couldn’t see her expression because she was afraid her defenses were blown. She sucked in the icy cold air, its frigid temperature searing her lungs and drying the tears. She turned and smiled. “Magic,” she repeated.
With his eyes never leaving hers, he lifted her chin with his finger and kissed her, light as a feather, on her mouth. His finger swept her jaw before he stepped away. “I’m sorry. You looked irresistible with the word ‘magic’ still lingering on your lips.”
She looked away, confused. Another thing she rarely felt.
“We should be getting back,” he said, as if reading her mind. “Nonna will be giving Papa a hard time, no doubt suggesting they call out a search party. For my father’s sake, we should return.”
“And for my sake, also, Demetrio. I’m beginning to wonder whether too much magic in one day may be detrimental to a woman’s rational mind.”
“Maybe. But surely that’s a small price to pay for happiness?”
They walked in silence up the hill—still hand in hand, despite the fact there was no danger now they were away from the rock face—and up onto the road. Within minutes Demetrio had jump-started the car and, with snow-chains fitted, Ursula followed Demetrio in the Land Rover back to the farm, her thoughts on the man outlined in the driver’s seat, who looked, too frequently, through his rear vision window at her, a smile in his eyes.
Chapter 3
By the time they reached the farmhouse, it was late morning, and delicious smells drifted out from the steamy kitchen’s open window.
As they walked up to the house, Ursula felt a moment of regret that they were about to enter family life again. All she wanted to do was go somewhere quiet and get to know Demetrio better. That he was gorgeous, she’d known straight away. But that he was also such a nice person? She hadn’t dared to hope. But with each passing hour, as he’d interacted with her, and his family, his personality had unfolded, confirming her hopes and more. He wasn’t only kind and loving, but also strong and dependable—traits she’d never imagined seeing all together in one man. She felt as if she knew him. And then there was that kiss. Well, that was like the full stop at the end of a cliff-hanger sentence—inevitable, but leaving you wanting more.
But, she reminded herself, there was no point in wanting more. She was leaving the day after Christmas Day and would never see him again. That’s the way it went in her world. After all, hadn’t she’d come here with the express aim of getting away from families? They weren’t for her. Life had made that clear. No, she wouldn’t be spending any more alone time with Demetrio if she could help it. There was no point.
But still. Ursula watched as Demetrio pulled off his hat, revealing his long, gorgeous dark curls. He smiled as he stepped back, allowing her to ascend the steps to the front door before him. The way he looked at her, with interest and appreciation, was downright seductive. And that kiss. Again, that kiss. Desire tugged at her deep inside just thinking about it.
Demetrio opened the front door and had stepped aside for Ursula to enter, when Carolina and Tomasso came running out and leaped into Demetrio’s arms. Demetrio followed Ursula inside, with one child hanging off each arm. In the kitchen, preparations were already well underway for dinner that night.
“Ursula!” greeted Marianna. “Come and sit down. Would you like a coffee?”
“A coffee would be wonderful but can I help you?”
Marianna turned to her with a flushed face, hot from the Aga as she basted the meat. “Have a hot drink first; you must be freezing. Everything all right with your car?”
“After we dug it out of the snow drift, Demetrio jump-started it, and he’s going to check the ignition later.”
Marianna passed Ursula a steaming cup of black coffee and a plate of warm biscuits. “Straight from the oven.” Marianna grinned. “Nonna keeps me busy while I’m here.”
“I feel guilty. You’re doing all the work.”
“Here, you can help with this if you like.” Ursula was about to ask what it was and then realized it wouldn’t make any difference, she knew nothing about cooking.
“I’m afraid I’m a willing, but not very good, cook.”
“You don’t have to be good.” She indicated a saucepan over a low heat with some kind of lumpy mixture in the middle and handed Ursula a jug of milk. “You simply need to know how to handle a wooden spoon.”
“Sure.” Ursula frowned, hoping she wouldn’t prove to be the first person in history who didn’t know how to handle a wooden spoon. She didn’t want to admit she’d never done such a task before. Outside her usual life, her lack of experience looked ridiculous.
Demetrio had followed Ursula and tried to release Carolina and Tomasso as they entered the kitchen, but they continued to cling to his arms. They laughed as Demetrio lifted them as if they didn’t weigh a thing.
“Carolina! Tomasso! Let go of your uncle.”
“Where are they?” Demetrio said, twisting around, pretending to be unaware of the two children who dangled from his arms. “I don’t see them. I’ll go and try to find out where they are.” With the children swinging on his arms, he turned and walked back out into the hallway, the children screaming with laughter.
“My brother dotes on those kids.”
“It looks as if it’s reciprocated.”
“Oh yes. They adore him.” Marianna looked up with a grin. “Demetrio is their favorite uncle. And their favorite aunty was Elisabetta—” Marianna stopped suddenly.
“Elisabetta. Ah, your mother mentioned her last night. She was Demetrio’s wife, right?”
“Yes, I’m sorry, my tongue runs away with me. Demetrio’s no doubt told you about her?”
“A little.”
“She died several years ago now, but the kids have never forgotten her. Especially Carolina. She adored her.”
Ursula fixed a polite smile on her face, determined to hide the plunging feeling in her gut at hearing the name of Demetrio’s wife. Ridiculous, she told herself firmly.
“Was it sudden?”
“An undiagnosed heart problem. She died in Demetrio’s arms.” Marianna dropped a ladle into the sink with a clatter and gripped the sides of the wooden bench. “I’m sorry. It’s still hard. Especially for Demetrio.” She took a deep breath and smiled bravely at Ursula. “Let’s change the subject. You’re here, and it’s Christmas and I want everyone to be happy.”
“Of course,” said Ursula with an answering smile. “So, what is it you’re cooking?” She continued to stir the floury mixture which remained a lump, as she peered into the oven pan in which Marianna was basting some meat.
“Ragu, eventually. We slow cook the meat today for tomorrow’s Christmas dinner. And tonight’s pasta and seafo
od are already prepared. I use Nonna’s recipe for tomorrow’s dinner but we’re having something a little different tonight. Not the usual dishes, you know.”
Ursula didn’t know. She owned no recipe books and had never seen anything like the handwritten volume to which Marianna was referring.
“This,” Marianna said, smoothing her hand over the big black book from which pieces of paper projected, “is our family bible. We all add notes and recipes to it.”
Ursula peered at it. “It’s a wonder you can follow it.”
“Certainly my handwriting!” Marianna said, indicating a particularly bold scrawl.
Ursula pointed to frequent additions in neat capital letters. “Whoever wrote this seemed to know what they were doing.”
“Ah.” Marianna said. “That was Elisabetta.”
Ursula’s heart sank. She had the distinct feeling that Elisabetta was never going to be far from everyone’s heart and minds.
“She knew all there was to know about cooking,” continued Marianna. “She was a brilliant chef and would have been a brilliant mother. She loved children.”
Ursula shook her head, conflicted by her sadness that Demetrio should have had such a tragedy in his life, and that this woman was far more suited to him, to his family and lifestyle, than she could ever be. She picked up the plastic bowl, which Lorenzo had thrown onto the ground for the third time.
Marianna grinned. “You’re good with kids.”
Ursula grunted. “I don’t think so. I’ve zero experience with them. But Carolina and Tomasso are adorable. And so is little Lorenzo.”
“They’re good kids. They miss their father.” Marianna’s smile dropped for a moment. “But we can’t do anything about that. Vincenzo is working hard, and he has to. He’ll be home soon though.”
“Good, because I’m sure he’s missing you all, as much as you’re missing him.” She turned to see Demetrio dangling both children by their ankles as they screamed with laughter. “But at least they have their uncle here.”
“Yes. Demetrio is a much-loved uncle all right. I just wish he’d hurry up and have children of his own.”
