Last of the Summer Vines

by Romy Sommer

  ‘Tomorrow, in the town hall.’

  ‘Tomorrow! Then what are we doing just sitting here?’

  I called a taxi and took Geraldine and Per into town. They would happily have married in jeans, but I wouldn’t hear of it. ‘Since you’re only doing this once in your life, you need to do it right.’

  I sent Per off to be fitted for a suit, and Geraldine and I went dress shopping. I called Ettore in to help sort flowers and a photographer, and as soon as I returned home, I got busy in the kitchen. Since Per didn’t like fruit cake, and Geraldine didn’t like chocolate, I made a lemon drizzle cake. I figured I’d earned the right to a little irony.

  There wasn’t time to make elaborate decorations, so I wrapped the cake in fondant icing, and decorated it with a wide lilac-coloured ribbon and a sprig of lavender from the garden. Its simplicity suited Geraldine and Per better anyway.

  From town, I’d texted Tommaso with the news but heard no reply back. Perhaps he was out on the farm somewhere, out of signal range.

  He didn’t come home for dinner either. Worried, I called the cellar, but it wasn’t Tommaso who answered the phone. It was Marco. ‘He’s in the laboratory,’ he said. ‘I’ll let him know you called.’

  Cleo shrieked down the phone at the news. ‘God, I wish I could be there! I can’t believe this!’ Then she calmed down. ‘And how are things with you and her? Did you talk?’

  ‘Yes, we’ve talked. We’re good.’

  ‘Then what’s wrong? You sound off.’

  ‘It’s nothing. I’m fine.’ I paced towards the window of John’s dark bedroom, as far as the phone cord would reach. The cottage was still dark. Tommaso hadn’t yet come home, and he hadn’t returned my call.

  ‘Liar, liar, pants on fire. If you’re fine, why do I get the feeling you’re a million miles away?’

  I managed a weak smile. ‘Only about a thousand miles.’

  ‘You know what I mean. There’s something you’re not telling me.’

  I paced back to the bed, not knowing what to say. Cleo would probably think it was great that I’d let my inner wild child loose and finally indulged in a fling. But it didn’t feel great. It felt shitty.

  ‘I think I’m in love.’ It came out on a sob.

  ‘Not with that bastard lawyer?’ Cleo sounded horrified.

  ‘No, of course not. This is worse.’ I sniffed. ‘At first, I thought it was nothing more than a stupid old teenage infatuation … but then … and now I don’t know what to do—’

  ‘What do you mean a teenage infatuation – this is someone you knew when you were a teenager?’ A pause. ‘Tommaso?!’

  When I said nothing, Cleo hissed out a breath. ‘Well, goodbye frying pan and hello fire!’ I could practically hear her frowning down the phone at me. ‘I’ve known you for fifteen years, and not once have you breathed a word about you and him. Why the big secret?’

  ‘He was my first kiss. It wasn’t a big deal.’

  ‘Of course a first kiss is a big deal.’ Another moment’s pause. Another revelation. ‘He was your first love!’

  ‘I didn’t even know what love was. I was only seventeen. I was only a year younger than my mother was when she had me.’

  ‘You are not your mother, and you’re not seventeen anymore.’ Cleo sighed, exasperated. ‘Sarah, you know I’m only saying this because I love you, but you really need to get your head out of your arse and stop letting your parents’ mistakes rule you. You need to make a few of your own.’

  ‘I have. Kevin was a mistake, wasn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, but only because you seem to think that a man with an English mortgage is the only man for you. Sleep with Tommaso. Didn’t I tell you that you needed a holiday fling? This is it!’

  When I didn’t answer, Cleo gasped. ‘You have slept with him! Way to go, girl!’

  See, Cleo thought this was a good thing. But I’d slept with Tommaso, and it had been amazing and life-shattering, and now he’d disappeared on me, returned to his one true love, his vines, just as my father had.

  I sniffed again, willing the threatening tears not to fall. ‘This is why I don’t believe in holiday romances. Because I’m not the kind of girl who can walk away with my heart intact. It’s always destined to end in heartbreak.’

  Not that I’d been exactly heartbroken over Kevin. But then I hadn’t loved Kevin. Not really, and certainly not for eighteen years.

  ‘Then don’t walk away.’

  Easy for her to say, but she didn’t understand. ‘I can’t stay. I sold the castello today. And now Tommaso probably thinks I did it because I want to leave, and I can’t tell him the truth without making him hate me. If I don’t pay off this wretched loan, he’ll lose everything he cares about. I can’t let that happen, and I can’t think of any other way to fix this.’

  ‘There’s always another way to fix things. If in doubt, follow the money – isn’t that what you always tell me? So that’s what you should do.’

  Chapter 33

  Una buona moglie fa un buon marito

  (A good wife makes a good husband)

  Tommaso didn’t come home until very late. I was already in bed, staring at the pale shaft of moonlight slipping through between the shutters, when I heard the car. He didn’t come into the castello, even though I’d left the kitchen door unlocked. The cottage door slammed shut with a resoundingly angry thunk.

  Nor did I see him the next morning. I’d barely slept all night, and when I did it felt as if only ten minutes had passed before my alarm rang. And even though I’d set the alarm, I still missed him.

  If I’d had any doubts that he was avoiding me, I didn’t now. And now I also had my answer: it was never me he’d wanted. Sure, he’d had his fun, just as he had with all the other women who’d passed through his life, but that invitation for me to stay hadn’t been made because he loved me, but because he wanted to prevent me from selling the castello.

  I wasn’t even sure if he would come to the wedding, until we were all already standing before the mayor in the high-ceilinged Palazzo Comunale, in an elegant room with tall windows and painting-adorned walls. Tommaso dashed into the hall at the last possible moment to stand beside Ettore, hair unruly as if he’d run his hands through it, and two-day-old stubble making him look wild and sexy.

  The mayor spoke the words of the civil ceremony in Italian, and waited patiently as the official translator translated, and it couldn’t have been more romantic.

  The bride wore an ivory knee-length dress, classic, elegant, and clinging to her gorgeous curves. In his dark suit, Per stood beside his new wife, looking radiant.

  But it was Tommaso I couldn’t take my eyes off. He wore a black suit, and a white shirt open at the neck. I averted my eyes. He had no right to come in here looking so damned breathtaking and devil-may-care, when I hadn’t slept all night.

  When the ceremony was over and the paperwork signed, we stepped out of the shadows of the fourteenth-century palazzo into the sunlight flooding the piazza.

  Tommaso gave Geraldine a quick kiss on the cheek and shook Per’s hand. ‘I wish you both well,’ he said.

  ‘You’re not coming with us to lunch?’ Geraldine asked, disappointed.

  He shook his head. Then without a glance at me, he turned and walked away. I ran after him. ‘Tommaso, wait!’

  The expression he turned on me was the same scowl he’d worn the night I hit him over the head with the iron.

  ‘We need to talk.’ I hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that, and certainly not here, in a busy piazza with shoppers and tourists strolling past, but he’d left me no choice.

  His eyes were stormy, like terrifying dark clouds shot through with lightning. ‘There is no “we”. You’re free now. You can go back to England, just as you always wanted.’

  ‘I had to sell. I didn’t have a choice.’ It took all my courage to face him and not to run. ‘There’s something I need to tell you about that loan I arranged.’

  He paused to listen, but anger still radi
ated off him in waves.

  ‘The thing is…’ I had to clear my throat to continue. ‘The creditor is Giovanni Fioravanti.’

  His eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. The silence drew out, so painful it was as if I was breathing in glass shards.

  ‘That wasn’t the name on the loan agreement you showed me,’ he said at last.

  ‘It’s a holding company owned by Giovanni.’

  He pressed his lips into a thin line. ‘So, even after I told you that the Fioravantis couldn’t be trusted, you went behind my back and did a deal with them?’

  ‘It was a really good deal,’ I said defensively, even as I heard John’s words of warning repeat in my head.

  ‘Well, at least we know now who was behind the vandalism and the fire.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Or did you know all along?’

  I put up both my hands, as if to say ‘whoa!’ ‘Are you accusing me of being involved in this? Why would you even think that?’

  ‘So you could force me to sell. So you could get your money and run, which you’ve made abundantly clear was all you wanted from the day you arrived.’

  Anger and fear and hurt churned in my stomach. ‘You’re a good one to talk! You’ve made it abundantly clear from that first day that you wanted me gone.’

  ‘I should have been so lucky! I’m just glad your father isn’t alive to see how you’ve destroyed his life’s work. Well, you can now take your big fat cheque for the castello and go back where you belong.’

  I’d had a lot worse said to my face in boardrooms and offices, but Tommaso’s words cut deep. He didn’t want me here, any more than my father had wanted me here. I should never have come. I should certainly never have stayed.

  But if I hadn’t stayed, I’d never have rediscovered myself. I’d never have made peace with Geraldine.

  I spoke slowly and clearly to hide the tremor in my voice. ‘I had nothing to do with the sabotage or the fire. If I’d known Giovanni would stoop so low, I’d never have signed that agreement.’

  He simply shrugged, as if shaking me off, and turned and walked away. For a long moment I watched him walk away from me, while my heart splintered into a million pieces.

  When I returned to the others, Geraldine gave me a sharp look.

  ‘What?’ I asked, squaring my shoulders so I wouldn’t give away how broken I felt.

  ‘Don’t “what?” me, young lady! What’s up with you two? What happened in San Gimignano that you two can barely look at each other?’

  ‘Search me. Let’s go celebrate. Beatrice has prosecco on ice for us.’ And I seriously needed a drink.

  Beatrice had gone all out for the wedding lunch. She’d hung swathes of white cloth around the trattoria’s terrace, and there were bunches of lavender and white roses in small vases on the table.

  ‘Where is Tommaso?’ Beatrice asked when we were seated.

  Everyone looked at me. I shrugged. I seriously hoped this shrug said ‘please don’t look at me because I’m only just holding it together, and if you all keep looking at me I might just cry.’

  ‘They had a tiff,’ Geraldine said.

  I glared at her. Which helped. At least I no longer felt the urge to cry.

  ‘A lovers’ tiff?’ Beatrice asked, trying and failing to hide a smile.

  ‘No, a business partners’ tiff,’ I said, now glaring at them both. ‘He reminded me that he’s never wanted me here and he can’t wait for me to leave.’ And there was that burn in my eyes again. I blinked the tears back.

  Beatrice laid her hand on my arm. I had to blink even harder.

  ‘Of course he doesn’t want you to leave. In all the years I’ve known Tommaso, I’ve never seen him as happy as he’s been these last few months. Even when Gwen was still here.’

  I stopped blinking. ‘I thought she stayed behind in Scotland?’

  ‘No, she moved here with Tommaso when he came to look after Nonna. But she didn’t stay long. She didn’t fit in and she hated it here.’ She leaned closer, dropping her voice so only I could hear. ‘I’ll admit, the first time I saw you, you reminded me so much of her. I was sure you would get bored and want to leave too. But then that first time we went to the market, you looked so at home…’

  Because I had felt at home. I swallowed. Had I reminded Tommaso of Gwen too? Was that why he’d always been so grumpy with me?

  The lunch Matteo served us was the usual Tuscan fare, simple and hearty, and oh so good: my bruschetta with basil pesto and sun-ripened tomatoes, pappa al pomodoro tomato soup, and a main course of roasted veal in a rich truffle sauce, with baby potatoes and spinach and other vegetables fresh from their garden.

  We emptied several bottles of prosecco toasting the bride and groom, and I may have had a little more than was strictly necessary. Okay, a lot more. But the light, bubbly sensation of the prosecco wasn’t enough to ease the aching numbness in my chest.

  The cake was just perfect too, and it looked almost too good to eat. Almost. This was Italy, after all.

  Together, laughing, Geraldine and Per cut the cake and fed each other slices, though Geraldine did send me a rather arch look when she realised what flavour cake I’d baked. Everyone tucked in, Ettore, Beatrice and Matteo, and Alberto who’d driven up on his tractor to join us – even the tourists at the other tables on the terrace.

  But the bride and groom didn’t have time to linger. They were booked on a flight from Rome to Stockholm that evening, and their car would soon be arriving to whisk them away.

  ‘I’m scared,’ Geraldine admitted when we finally had a moment alone as we waited outside the trattoria for the taxi, while Alberto and Per fetched their suitcases.

  I managed a laugh, quite a convincing one, I thought, since my heart wasn’t in it. ‘It’s not as if you haven’t slept together before.’

  ‘I’m not talking about the wedding night. I’m talking about Per’s family. What if his kids don’t like me?’

  ‘Of course they’ll like you. Everyone does.’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘And what are you going to do about Tommaso?’

  ‘I’m not going to do anything. He’s just like John. He cares for the vineyard more than he cares for me.’

  Geraldine shook her head. ‘Your father wasn’t always like that. He didn’t know any other way to deal with hurt, except to close himself off from everyone. He became a virtual recluse, and that was my fault. I did that to him. Don’t repeat my mistakes. Talk to Tommaso. Fix this. You really don’t want to wait another thirty years like I did to find another man who’ll love you like that.’

  I frowned at her. ‘You’re assuming that Tommaso loves me. He doesn’t. Because if he did—’

  ‘But if he didn’t love you, he wouldn’t be so hurt that you sold the castello.’

  ‘Exactly! He’s upset because I sold a building he had plans for. He hasn’t even said he loves me. I deserve to be loved more than several hectares of vineyard or an old building!’

  She gripped my hands and forced me to look at her. ‘Yes, you do. John and I were selfish, and so wrapped up in our own feelings, that we didn’t put you first the way we should have. And you absolutely deserve that. But Tommaso isn’t anything like us. Give him a chance.’

  ‘You don’t understand. There’s the sale, and the loan, and—’

  Geraldine huffed out an exasperated breath. ‘You are way over-complicating this. You work for a fancy finance company, so don’t tell me you can’t take care of a little loan. But whatever you do, promise me you won’t repeat my mistakes. Promise me you’ll tell Tommaso you love him and give him a chance to answer before you run away.’

  For once she looked at me like a mum rather than just Geraldine. I squirmed, but I didn’t answer.

  Then the taxi was there, and Per and Alberto arrived. They loaded the suitcases into the boot, and there were hugs and goodbyes.

  Geraldine held onto me. ‘You know I love you, don’t you?’ she whispered. ‘You’re the best thing I’ve ever done with my life.’

  He
r eyes looked suspiciously shiny, and I felt my own well up too.

  ‘Don’t cry!’ I said sternly. ‘You’ll mess up your make-up, and you don’t want to meet Per’s family with mascara trails down your face.’

  That made her laugh. She gripped my hands tightly. ‘Promise me,’ she insisted.

  I heaved out a sigh. ‘Okay, I promise.’

  Then she climbed into the car and leaned out the window. ‘Take this. I can’t take it on the plane with me.’ She threw her lavender bouquet, and I caught it.

  The car pulled away, but Geraldine leaned out even further. ‘Call me! I want to know what happens!’

  Ettore took me home on the back of his Vespa. I clung to his leather jacket as we bumped over the broken dirt road, way too fast for comfort. At the crossroads, the familiar shrine came into sight, and I tugged at his jacket. ‘You can drop me here,’ I shouted over the noise of the wind and the scooter’s little engine.

  He slowed to a stop on the grassy verge. I hopped off, my legs a little shaky from the hair-raising ride. ‘I’ll walk from here,’ I said as I held out his helmet. He smiled and pulled me in for a hug. ‘Your father would be so proud if he could see you today.’ Then he hopped back on his bike and was gone with a wave and ‘A domani!’

  I watched him leave without really seeing him, as my eyes were too full of tears. John wouldn’t have been proud. Tommaso was right. I’d destroyed everything my father loved. And maybe a part of me had wanted to destroy it. For so many years I’d blamed the vineyard for making me feel unloved and unwanted. But it hadn’t been the vineyard at all. It was just two flawed and hurt people who hadn’t known how to love each other.

  I breathed out a shaky sigh and turned to the little shrine. If I was going to fix this mess I’d made and honour my promise to Geraldine, I was definitely going to need a little divine intervention.

  I knelt down in front of the shrine. Unbelievably, I’d never visited it before, though I’d driven past more times than I could count. The painted angel sat within a marble arch. The paint was old, faded, and flaking a little in places, but the image was still clear. It showed an angel with outspread wings beside a pool of water. The faded water sprang out of a rocky hillside and collected in a pool surrounded on all sides by rows of vines.