by Romy Sommer
‘Didn’t you bring extinguishers?’ I asked, barely pausing in my frantic attempt to keep the smaller flames at bay.
Marco shook his head. ‘The chemicals will harm the grapes. We cannot afford to lose any more than what the fire has already taken.’
We stretched out in a long semi-circle around the edges of the fire, attempting to keep the flames from advancing, but weren’t able to do more than keep it contained and to prevent the sparks from jumping the farm road to reach the vines on the other side. The heat grew more intense, the smoke almost impenetrable, obscuring our vision of just how far the fire now extended. Fine ash blew up, stinging the skin on my bare arms and my face.
I choked on the thick air, feeling heat scorch down my throat. My eyes streamed, blurring my vision, and I was coughing, struggling to breathe.
And then there was the relief of sirens and more cars, and in the smoke and confusion there wasn’t just one but two fire engines. Alberto was there, and Daniele, and Adriano the policeman, and many other men armed with buckets of sand and water and fire blankets.
The firemen had their hoses out, and soon a high-pressure spray of water arced over our heads, into the heart of the fire where we had been unable to penetrate. A light drizzle splattered down over the firefighters, and I lifted my face to it, the sudden cool blissful against my over-heated, singed skin. My arms ached with strain and exhaustion. How long had we been at this? It might have been half an hour. It might have been all night.
The blanket in my hands was useless now, charred and full of smoking holes. I tossed it aside, stamping on the tiny embers clinging to it, and turned to look for Tommaso.
He was at the very edge of the fire, as close to the flames as he could get. He’d long ago discarded the tattered remains of his jacket, and now he held one of the fire-retardant blankets, using it to smother the embers that threatened still to ignite one of the untouched splayed vines. His body was taut, his expression one of pure focus and concentration, as if he was on fire himself.
The uniformed firefighters advanced on the blaze, and at last there seemed to be more smoke than flame.
There was so much ash. It coated everything, settling on our hair, falling thick on the ground, turning the vines ghostly.
That was when Tommaso stopped fighting. He stood, arms at his sides, his face a mask as he looked out across the vines, growing slowly more visible as the breeze wafted away the smoke. I moved to stand beside him.
I wanted to reach out and wrap my arms around him, but he seemed so remote, so far away, so instead I took his hand. Did he even want to remember that a few hours ago we’d been caught up in giddy, grappa-fuelled desire, and headed home to make love?
‘At least five or six hectares,’ he said quietly, and squeezed my hand.
I squeezed back, offering what little comfort I could. ‘Which grapes are these?’
‘Mostly the Malvasia Nera.’
The secret ingredient in his Angelica.
Saying nothing, I stood beside him and watched as the smoke slowly cleared, and the grey light of dawn revealed the extent of the damage. As far as we could see, the vines were blackened and charred. Hissing trails of smoke still spiralled up from the vines, and from the ground where the water and heat had merged. It seemed to take forever for the firefighters to douse every last ember, to prevent the fire from re-igniting.
We were the last to leave, after the workers and the party-goers had departed, after the fire engines had disappeared back towards the provincial road. We thanked everyone, nodded when the fire chief said his investigators would come by later in the day, and then we stood alone beside Tommaso’s car.
‘I am so sorry,’ I whispered.
He still held my hand. He lifted it to his mouth, and kissed my palm, his stubble scratching the soft skin. ‘Thank you.’
I managed a painful laugh. My throat burned, and my mouth tasted like ashes. ‘For what?’
‘For being here. For helping fight the fire.’
‘Of course I helped. This is my vineyard too.’
This time, the statement didn’t cause his eyes to narrow as it usually did. Instead he pulled me close, buried his face in my hair. ‘If I hadn’t been in such a hurry to get you home, I would never have taken this road. And this section of the vineyard can’t be seen from either the castello or the cellar.’
If we hadn’t taken this road, at this time, we might not have seen the flames for hours yet. The damage would have been much, much worse. I shivered, and he let me go, sliding his hands into my hair.
Looking up into his face, I could only imagine how I looked. His hair was wild and unruly, and scorched in places. Black streaks smeared his cheeks, and the ash in his hair, and on his face and his clothes, had mingled with the water to create a grey, gungey mess. My beautiful party dress was no doubt as ruined as his suit, and we both reeked of sweat, charred cloth and smoke. It wasn’t a sexy look by any means, yet I’d never felt more desirable than I did right then, with his big, rough hands turning my face up to his, and his gaze trapping mine.
And I’d never desired anyone more than I wanted Tommaso right now.
Only once before had I burned this way for someone. And it had been Tommaso then too.
To hell with holiday romances. This wasn’t chemistry, and it wasn’t fleeting. I’d been in love with this man since I was seventeen.
I smiled as he bent his head and touched his lips to mine. His kiss tasted of ashes and adrenalin and desire, and I kissed him back, wrapping my arms around his waist. This kiss was even better than the memory of that first kiss so long ago. This was no fumbling, nervous encounter fuelled by a first taste of grappa. Even stone cold sober, this kiss was sweeter and more intoxicating and more passionate.
When we broke apart, breathless and eager as teenagers, he lifted me off my feet so he could look me in the eyes. ‘Are you having second thoughts, or can we pick up where we were so rudely interrupted?’
‘No second thoughts. But I could really use a shower first.’
He grinned. ‘Excellent idea.’
Chapter 27
Casa sporca, gente aspetta
(A messy house invites unexpected guests)
It was hard to believe, after a night filled with smoke and ashes, that the day could dawn so beautiful. As we approached the castello, the sky was streaked with pink and gold. A bank of soft cloud hung low on the horizon, casting a rosy glow over the house.
Whatever the estate agent said, the castello looked ready to sell. That thought should have given me a thrill, but this morning I didn’t want to think about selling. Or of leaving.
Our hands still entwined, we pulled around the building to park in the back yard. There was another car already there.
We exchanged a glance. I think I may have given an audible sigh.
Since both the house and cottage were locked, a precaution we’d taken since the vandalism at the cellar, we found our unexpected guests waiting on the terrace.
Or rather my unexpected – and unwanted – guests.
‘Hello, Sarah darling!’
It couldn’t be. Anger burned through me, sending my libido to an instant death. Ice flowed through my veins now where there had been heat a moment before.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’
Geraldine, and a fair-haired man who looked not much older than Tommaso and I, sat at the patio table beneath the new bougainvillea-covered trellis. A number of battered wheeled suitcases, covered in airline stickers, sat between them.
Their eyes widened at the state we were in. ‘Hello, darling! I called your home, and your lovely flatmate told me about John’s passing and that you were here.’
I was going to kill Cleo. She knew better than anyone I would quite happily never lay eyes on my mother again.
Geraldine grinned, seemingly oblivious to my hostility. Tommaso, beside me, wasn’t. He eyed me as if I’d suddenly grown another head. I ignored him and crossed my arms over my chest. ‘If you’re her
e in the hope of getting a share of the vineyard, you can take a number.’
Geraldine shook her head, setting her long tinkly earrings bobbing. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, darling. I know you must be really cut up about your father’s death, so I thought I should be here for you in your hour of need.’
That was certainly a first. I wasn’t buying the devoted mum act. Even if the concern was genuine, I always took second place to Geraldine’s own needs and desires. ‘You could have called and saved yourself the hassle.’
‘I tried, but I kept getting your voicemail, and you know how I hate leaving messages.’
The man who was with her had risen. He stepped forward now and for the first time I took a good look at him. With his blond shaggy hair and baggy shorts, he looked like a surfer who’d lost his way to the beach. He grinned. ‘You must be the daughter!’
I rolled my eyes. Of course she’d brought a boyfriend. There was always a boyfriend. I supposed I should be grateful. When there wasn’t a boyfriend in tow, she helped herself to mine. And I didn’t plan on sharing Tommaso with anyone.
Geraldine rose too, fluttering her eyelashes at Tommaso. ‘And who are you? You’ve been a dark horse, Sarah, love.’ She winked meaningfully, and held out her hand to Tommaso. He shook it politely.
I drew up my shoulders. ‘This is Tommaso, John’s business partner.’
He caught my eye. He looked bewildered, and I didn’t blame him. But I wasn’t about to introduce him as my … what was he, anyway?
‘This is Geraldine Wells,’ I said to him.
Tommaso’s eyebrow arched, but he said only: ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms Wells.’
‘Oh, don’t be silly – call me Geraldine. Everyone does! And this is Per Gunnarsson. We were just leaving Thailand for Sweden when we heard the terrible news that John had died, and Per so kindly agreed that we detour here to check on my Sarah.’
Tommaso nodded a greeting at Per. ‘Well, Geraldine. You’ve caught us at rather an awkward time, as you can see.’ He smiled at her, and I frowned. ‘We’ve been up all night fighting a fire in the vineyard, and we’re not exactly prepared for guests.’
Geraldine’s gaze swept over me from top to toe. ‘I hardly recognise you without your office “uniform”, darling. Who would have thought you’d be adventurous enough to go firefighting?’ Then she turned back to Tommaso and laughed, another light, tinkly sound. ‘Don’t mind us – we won’t be any bother! I remember my way around. We’ll just get settled in, and…’
I shook my head furiously. No way was my mother going to make herself comfortable here at the castello. ‘There are plenty of hotels in town, Geraldine.’
Both Tommaso and Geraldine’s eyes rounded at the sharpness of my tone, Tommaso’s in surprise, Geraldine’s with a really good imitation of hurt. Only the blond surfer seemed unperturbed.
‘You can’t let your mother stay in a hotel,’ Tommaso protested. ‘The castello has plenty of rooms.’
‘Thank you, Tommaso. It’s nice to know that someone here has some manners.’ Geraldine tossed back her tumble of honey-blonde hair. The ends were coloured mauve. Last time I’d seen her she’d had cobalt blue streaks. On another woman it might have looked like a vain attempt to look like a teenager. Annoyingly, on Geraldine it looked good.
I glared at them both. ‘Fine, but this isn’t a hotel. I won’t be cooking and cleaning for you, and while you’re here you help out. Understood?’
‘But of course, darling.’
Without another word, I spun on my heel and headed back to the yard to unlock the door into the kitchen. I needed a shower and I needed coffee – in that order. And alone.
‘You call your mother Geraldine?’ Tommaso asked when we were finally alone in the office at the winery. I’d showered, and downed two cups of coffee, but my throat still burned, and the hairs on my arms still looked singed. I couldn’t get the smell of smoke and burning out of my nose, even though I’d washed my hair twice.
Tommaso sat behind his desk, looking far more alert than he had reason to be, while I paced the office like a caged tiger.
‘Trust me, she prefers it. She doesn’t like to be reminded that she’s old enough to be my mother.’
‘She certainly doesn’t look old enough to be your mother.’
I glared at him. ‘That’s what happens when you fall pregnant at seventeen. Everyone always assumed she was my au pair rather than my mother, and Geraldine was more than happy to let them think it.’ And she’d loved it when my friends treated her more like a big sister than a mum. While I’d just wanted a mother like everyone else, someone with rules and a steady job. Someone who could cook dinner and whose head wasn’t always in the clouds.
I rolled out my shoulders. I didn’t want to discuss my mother’s age, and I certainly didn’t want to admit that at 53, Geraldine could pass for nearly two decades younger. She’d always kept herself fit, dressed well, and she avoided sugars and fats of any sort. My biggest act of rebellion had been stocking the kitchen with the most sugary pastries I could create.
I glanced down at the insurance policy in my hands, needing a diversion. ‘This policy is straightforward enough. As soon as we get the investigator’s report, we send it with the claim forms to the insurance company, and then wait for the assessor to contact us. The most complicated part is going to be calculating the value of what was lost so you can claim compensation. Whatever amount you claim, the assessors will be looking for weak spots to bring the payout amount down.’
‘So we can claim compensation,’ Tommaso corrected gently, moving around the desk to stop me in mid-pace. ‘And I didn’t ask you to come here to talk insurance, as much as I appreciate your expertise. I asked you to come here so we could be alone.’ He circled an arm around my waist.
‘I don’t think this is a good idea.’ I stepped out of his embrace and around him, resuming my pacing.
He frowned, looking very much like the grumpy Papa Bear I’d once taken him for. ‘I thought you weren’t having second thoughts?’
‘I wasn’t then, but I am now. This is a really bad idea.’
‘Because your mother’s here? She seems like she’s quite capable of handling the fact that you’re a woman and old enough to have sex. You don’t really think she and Per will be sleeping in separate rooms, do you?’
‘No. But it’s not because my mother’s here. Okay, well maybe just a bit. It’s just…’ But I couldn’t put it into words. How could I tell him that I was having second thoughts because I didn’t want to be like my mother?
At seventeen, I’d walked away from him because I hadn’t wanted to screw up my life the way my mother screwed up hers. But now, at thirty-five, I was going to walk away because I didn’t want to be the slut who’d fall into any man’s bed, whether the relationship had a future or not. Tommaso had a history of only bedding women who were leaving. I was leaving. Was that the only reason he wanted me – because I wasn’t going to stick around long enough for this to get complicated?
But for me it was already complicated. Grappa and adrenalin-fuelled desire aside, I wasn’t the kind of woman who could be happy with a little bit of fun and an easy goodbye. I needed a man to make at least some sort of commitment before I gave my body to him, and Tommaso wasn’t making me any promises. He hadn’t even said he liked me. Just that he wanted me, and in the cold, bright light of day, that wasn’t enough.
With my lower lip between my teeth, I faced him. ‘This is all moving too fast. You, my mother, the fire … I need some time.’
His eyebrows pulled together in a frown. ‘So we just pretend last night didn’t happen?’
‘Nothing did happen last night.’ One mind-blowing kiss aside.
Tommaso’s eyes narrowed, then he sighed and reached up to brush my cheek with his fingers. ‘For you, I’ll wait as long as it takes,’ he said softly.
I heard the echo of Luca’s promise, ‘for you, I will wait a thousand years’ and sighed. I’d heard it all before. When I’d told Kevi
n I wanted a long engagement, that I didn’t want to rush things, he’d told me he’d wait as long as it took too.
I shook my head. I’d told Luca I deserved nothing less than a man who’d put my happiness before everything else. Tommaso wasn’t that man either. Like my father, he always put the vineyard first. Seduced by wine and moonlight, I’d very nearly forgotten that.
I spun on my heel and headed for the door. ‘I have to get back to the castello.’ With a bit of luck, Geraldine would have decided there wasn’t enough adventure for her here in Tuscany, and she and Per would continue on to Sweden, and I’d have the place to myself.
I walked out, leaving Tommaso behind with a very familiar scowl on his face.
I strolled back through the vineyard, breathing in the fresh scents of earth and growth, and the not-so-fresh stench of burning that permeated even here. Sadly, when I returned to the castello, Geraldine hadn’t left, but Ettore had arrived for work and set the visitors to peeling off the horrid floral wallpaper in the upstairs bedrooms. Hugely grateful, I invited Ettore to the kitchen for some of the lemon meringue pie I had in the pantry, and as we sat together at the kitchen table, I filled him in on the night’s drama.
That afternoon, investigators swarmed over the burned fields. Tommaso and I walked with them through the eerie vineyard, a black, charred dystopian landscape that stretched out of sight, explaining our version of the night’s events. The cloudless blue sky mocked us with its cheerfulness.
Once they’d interrogated us with questions about the timeline of the fire, and every detail we could remember, they shooed us away, so Tommaso headed to the winery to greet an Australian tour group, and I returned to the castello. There was nothing for me to do at the cellar but pace, and pacing was just giving me a headache.
Assembling ingredients, I began to roll out pastry dough. I didn’t need to bake, since the trattoria was closed today, but I needed something to take my mind off the strange sense of foreboding that seemed to be hanging over me.
