by T A Williams
Bee nodded. ‘Pretty much. Plus the last few months have been a bit stressful for me so I’ve lost a bit of weight. And of course, I’ve been exercising a lot since arriving here at Montegrifone.’
‘Exercise is the key, Beatrice.’
‘Would you like to call me Bee? All my friends call me that. Beatrice always sounds so formal.’
‘Of course, Bee.’ Mimi glanced down. ‘I see Umberto has put two cups on the tray. Do you drink green tea?’
‘I drink anything – except for strong coffee last thing at night.’
‘I haven’t had a cup of coffee in ten years, maybe more.’ Mimi stood up and went across to the tray. She picked up the teapot by its bamboo handle and poured tea into the two exquisite little cups. ‘I’ve read that coffee’s poison, you know. People say it’s right up there alongside alcohol as one of the worst things for your body.’
‘Please don’t tell me alcohol’s bad for me. I couldn’t bear it – seeing as we’re living in the middle of a vineyard.’
Mimi actually smiled as she handed Bee a cup and then took the other herself. She sat down on the sofa and indicated that Bee should join her. As Bee did so, she brought the dish of biscuits with her and set it down between the two of them.
‘Have you tried these, Mimi?’
‘Not for a long, long time.’
‘Well, I’d like to dip one in my tea and eat it, but I won’t have one unless you join me.’ She caught Mimi’s eye. ‘Your call.’
She saw Mimi hesitate before coming to a decision.
‘Just one. Because I didn’t have lunch.’
They each took a biscuit and Bee watched as Mimi dipped the tip of hers into her tea and nibbled it.
‘Good?’
‘Wonderful.’ The smile on her face said it all.
As Bee sipped her tea and ate two biscuits, she remembered what it was she had come up to say. ‘Talking about exercise, I’ve been going for lovely walks up and down the valley over the past few days and I think the country air’s really doing me good. I feel relaxed and I’ve been sleeping like a log. Anyway, I was wondering if you felt like coming for a walk with me some time. It’s a beautiful area, you know.’
Mimi nodded. ‘I can see. The view from my window’s marvellous. Yes, I’d like to come for a walk, but not today, I’m afraid. I’ve got a ton of things to sort out this afternoon and evening now that the US has woken up. I’ve got my PA, my accountant, my agent, my lawyer, my real estate agent and God knows who else, all desperate to talk to me. I think I’ll stay in and do a bit of yoga when I can between phone calls. They all want to do videoconferencing, but I’ve refused until I’m looking more normal. But, maybe we could go for a walk tomorrow or the next day. That would be nice.’
‘Talking of tomorrow, Umberto tells me they need to deliver some wine to Florence. Would you like to come along?’
Mimi shook her head decisively. ‘Definitely not, Bee. All it would need would be for one tourist to see me and that would be it. As soon as somebody posts a photo of me in Florence looking like this on social media, the secret would be out. No, you go if you like, but make sure you stay covered up. And don’t let any paparazzi follow you back.’ She snorted. ‘They’re like leeches, you know.’
‘Well, I might go, if you’re sure you don’t mind, but I won’t get out of the car. Surely you could do the same. Nobody would spot us inside a vehicle.’
‘It would be wonderful, but it’s not worth taking the chance. No, Bee, you go by all means and I’ll try to join you for a walk around here the day after.’ She beckoned with a finger. ‘Lean towards me a bit more, Bee, would you?’
Bee did as requested. Mimi took Bee’s chin gently in her hand and turned her head towards the light, studying her injured face closely. Then she pulled Bee’s head forwards and scrutinised the scars among the stubble. Finally, she released her and sat back.
‘I’m afraid you came out of the accident a lot worse off than I did. You had lovely long hair, didn’t you? But your scars all look as though they’re healing up really well. Are you in any pain?’
Bee shook her head. ‘Not now. I had a splitting headache for a few days after they brought me out of the coma and then my skin all got very itchy, but it’s settled down now. The doctor said I should be more or less okay again by the end of the summer. Here’s hoping. But, I must say, you’re looking pretty good already.’
Mimi screwed up her face. ‘Not in High Definition, I don’t. That picks out every single line and wrinkle.’
As she spoke, Bee realised that – apart from the cuts on her cheeks – there wasn’t a single wrinkle on Mimi’s face. Her skin was as smooth as silk. She was about to comment, but Mimi carried on, now with an expression of distaste on her face.
‘You know what I got yesterday? An email from a director I’ve worked with in the past. He says he wants to cast me as a zombie. The guy even tactfully suggested my “facial disfigurement” would add credibility to the role.’ She paused to take a long, calming breath. ‘The movie business is full of arseholes.’
Bee smiled supportively. ‘Not just the movie business. One of these days I’ll tell you about my own experiences.’ She leant towards Mimi’s face. ‘Really, your skin’s looking good. If I look like you do now by the end of the summer, I’ll be well pleased.’ This was an exaggeration, but she knew by now that the movie world lived by exaggeration.
‘That’s very sweet of you to say, Bee. But you’re young and you’re fit. You’ll heal quickly, I’m sure.’ She finished her tea and Bee was quick to follow suit. ‘Now, I’d better finish my workout and get on the phone. But I’ve enjoyed talking to you, and I promise I’ll join you for dinner tomorrow.’
Bee came out of Mimi’s room and had to stop and pinch herself at the thought that she had just been having tea with a global superstar. Somehow since arriving at the villa she had got used to being alone or just accompanied by the dog, with an occasional conversation with Umberto, Ines or Luke. She had almost forgotten about her reclusive housemate. Now, as it appeared that Mimi was beginning to mellow and had turned out to be unexpectedly good company, Bee was awed at the thought that she might strike up a real friendship with somebody from such a different realm. And she was beginning to see that Gayle had been right about Mimi having a softer side. She found herself smiling as she went downstairs to tell Umberto that she would be delighted to accompany him to Florence in the morning, but without Mimi.
That evening before dinner, Bee took a short walk up the track and back again, without the dog this time, and she was returning home past the front of the Podere Nuovo when she heard her name.
‘Good evening, Beatrice. It is Beatrice, isn’t it?’
He sounded far less confrontational than the previous time she had spoken to him, so she stopped and looked for him. There was no sign of him by the open doorway, so she searched among the bushes and weeds of the overgrown garden, finally spotting him sitting on a bench under a particularly gnarled old olive tree. Clouds on the horizon obscured the sun this evening and there were few shadows under the tree, so she could definitely see him better than before. And, of course, he would no doubt be able to see her and her scars quite clearly this time.
‘Good afternoon. And yes, it’s Beatrice, or Bee.’ She decided to keep it formal, but she did her best to smile at him. ‘And your name is Riccardo?’
‘That’s right. So, what happened to your head?’
His tone wasn’t unkind, but there was certainly no attempt at tact.
‘I had an accident.’
‘I can see that.’ There was a pause, during which she spotted a glass of red wine in his hand. Seeing her interest, he raised the glass in her direction. ‘Can I offer you a glass of wine? It’s the local stuff and it’s very good, you know.’
Bee hesitated for a moment. On the one hand, she was curious to find out more about this strange man. On the other hand, she had no intention of sitting down with somebody who was going to be rude to her. Curios
ity finally won out and after a brief internal debate, she decided to accept his offer.
‘Thank you, that would be very kind.’
‘The bottle’s here, but you’ll have to fetch yourself a glass. Inside, end of the corridor. Kitchen. Loads of glasses there.’
His tone was abrupt, but she bit her tongue and went up the steps to the front door and followed his instructions anyway.
The inside of the house came as a considerable surprise to her. Somehow, she had been bracing herself to find a filthy, chaotic mess but, instead, she found the hall and passage clean and tidy, and the kitchen spotless. There wasn’t a single dirty dish to be seen anywhere and the floors looked as if they had been freshly washed. It was a fine big kitchen, dominated by a huge traditional Tuscan fireplace. In the middle of the room was a massive farmhouse table, an equally hefty sideboard, and the biggest old wooden dresser she had ever seen. On the open shelves of the top portion of the unit there were glasses and cups, while plates were stacked in a solid wooden rack. There was a narrow larder in one corner of the room and through the open door, she saw the shelves loaded with bottles, some full, some empty. Clearly wine was an important part of Riccardo’s life. She helped herself to a glass and went back outside.
As she walked out into the open again, she noticed there had been an unexpected smell in the house and it was only now that she realised what it had been. There was no doubt about it. It was oil paint, and it was very familiar to her. Her grandmother’s hobby had been painting in oils and there had always been that smell lurking in the background every time she went to visit her gran, while she was growing up. Even now, every time she visited an artist’s studio, she would find herself transported back to her grandmother’s little cottage.
She made her way through the weeds to where Riccardo was sitting.
‘You have a lovely house.’
He ignored her remark. ‘Red all right for you?’
‘Yes, thank you.’ She held out her glass and saw him pick up the bottle at his feet. This was a massive two-litre bottle with a metal cage-like opening device that reminded her of the old lemonade bottle her father kept in the shed full of white spirit. Fortunately this bottle didn’t contain white spirit and was almost full of red wine. It was no doubt very heavy and, as he filled her glass, he managed to spill some on her sandals. Whether this simply indicated that he was a bit clumsy or that he’d had too much to drink was difficult to assess. As for the sandals, the wine could hardly make them worse, after their baptism in the cow poo the previous week.
He was sitting on a bench, but there was what looked like an ancient well opposite him so she perched rather primly on the stone surrounding it, rather than take a seat beside him. Although there was no longer any direct sunlight, the stone was still warm beneath her.
She took a good look at him as he bent down to replace the bottle on the stone slabs at his feet. It was hard to tell his age. He was probably in his mid-sixties, but if she were to discover that he was five years older or younger, it wouldn’t have surprised her. His mass of grey hair looked even more unkempt than the previous time she had seen him, but he was wearing clean jeans and a fresh white T-shirt. If he was an alcoholic, it didn’t appear to be affecting his ability to keep the house and himself smart. Maybe he just liked a drink in the evening. She raised her glass towards him, the smile still plastered on her face.
‘Cheers, and thank you.’
He nodded briefly, but made no attempt to raise his own glass to his lips. Instead, he studied her closely before speaking.
‘You’re here with the famous film star, aren’t you? Robertson, Mimi Robertson.’
Bee’s heart sank. She had been hoping he didn’t know the full story.
‘That’s right. She’s back at the villa. We were both involved in a nasty accident a few weeks ago and we’re trying to hide out until we get over our injuries.’
‘This is a good place for hiding out.’ She felt his eyes on her scarred cheek. ‘I’m sorry you had the accident. It must have hurt.’
She took a better look at him and it became immediately clear from the lines on his face and the black rings under his eyes that he had known his own share of suffering. In spite of his prickly attitude, she felt an immediate sense of kinship. She realised that she was in the presence of a fellow-sufferer, somebody who had experienced trauma, just like she had. The smile on her face became less forced.
‘Thank you, Riccardo. I’m getting better, but it’s a slow job. Anyway, the thing is that nobody’s supposed to know that we’re here. Do you think you could be kind enough to keep our secret and not reveal the fact that we’re here to any of your friends?’
He smiled, but it wasn’t a happy smile. ‘My friends? You need have no worries on that score. I haven’t got any friends.’
‘Are you in hiding as well?’
She didn’t really know why she asked him that. Maybe she just sensed something in him. She took a big mouthful of wine, preparing herself to get up and leave in a hurry if he reacted badly to the question. In the end, she didn’t have to.
‘I suppose I am in a way.’ This time it was his turn to take a big mouthful. ‘But it might be from myself.’
Puzzled, she wanted to ask him more, but she sensed that this wasn’t the right time. From his expression, he was as mystified as she was that he had opened up to her. Instead, she returned the conversation to the banal.
‘Does Romeo the dog come and visit you, too?’
He shook his head. ‘Nobody comes to visit me.’
His tone was as gloomy as his expression. Rather than dig the hole any deeper, Bee drained her glass and rose to her feet.
‘I’ll bring Romeo round one of these days. He’s a sweetie. I’m sure you’ll love him. Anyway, thank you for the wine, I’d better be going, but I’ll be happy to come and visit you again, if you like.’
There was a long pause, during which he slowly raised his eyes from his feet to her face. When he finally replied, she was relieved to hear him sounding less dejected.
‘I’d like that.’
Chapter 8
The trip to Florence turned out to be unexpectedly enjoyable. This was not so much because of the delightful Tuscan scenery they passed on their way there, nor was it the sight of Florence itself with the magnificent duomo and Giotto’s bell tower rising from the middle of the mass of pink roofs. The reason was the driver.
When Bee came down at eight o’clock, armed with a bag containing her dark glasses, scarf, wig and sunhat, ready to set off with Umberto, to her surprise she found Luke waiting in the hall. He gave her a little smile and she found herself beaming back at him.
‘Good morning, Bee. I gather from Umberto that you’re coming up to Florence with me this morning.’
‘Hi, Luke. I thought Umberto was doing the driving.’
Luke dropped his voice, even though they were speaking in English. ‘He’s marvellous, but he’s in his eighties now. He’s not as fit as he could be and I don’t like the idea of him driving any great distance. So, if you don’t mind, you’ve got me as your chauffeur.’
Bee was still smiling. ‘Of course not. In fact, if you’re busy, you could give me the address and I could drive if you like.’
He shook his head. ‘That’s very kind, but I think it might be a bit soon for you to be seen in public, don’t you?’
‘That’s what Mimi said. I suppose you’re right. Well, I promise I’ll do my best to keep you from falling asleep at the wheel.’
Outside, Bee found a businesslike and fairly battered pickup truck with a pallet wrapped in plastic film tied down in the back. This was piled high with dozens of cardboard boxes, presumably containing wine. She climbed up into the big vehicle and slid onto the bench seat beside him. The truck felt huge at first and she was glad he had turned down her offer to drive. As promised, she did her best to chat to him during the trip but, in spite of her considerable curiosity, she decided not to press him on his personal life and the conversat
ion stuck to fairly neutral topics.
She enjoyed looking out at the Tuscan scenery as they drove past Siena and onto the main highway heading north. He pointed out the magnificent hilltop town of Monteriggioni off to their left with its perfect medieval walls and towers. She was already familiar with this particular architectural gem as some of the filming of The Dark Prince had been done against that stunning backdrop, but it was good to see it again. A bit further along he told her the lush green hills to their right were the famous Chianti hills, home to some of Italy’s very best wine. It was a busy road and she didn’t want to disturb him with too much chat, so she just admired the view and enjoyed being here with him. Although she barely knew him, she felt very comfortable in his company. There was definitely something about him that attracted her greatly.
They delivered the wine to a wholesaler in the busy modern outskirts of Florence and it was the work of barely a few minutes for a forklift truck to lift the pallet off the back of the pickup. Bee stayed inside all the time with her scarf covering her head and cheek, and made sure nobody noticed her. Then, as Luke climbed back into the cab again, he made a suggestion.
‘There’s no point trying to drive into the city as the whole centro storico’s pedestrians only, but it would be nice to give you the chance to do a little bit of sightseeing at least. I was wondering, have you ever been to San Gimignano?’
‘No, but I’ve heard it’s fabulous.’
‘It certainly is, but even more than that, the countryside all around there is quintessentially Tuscan. I don’t need to be back at Montegrifone till lunchtime so, if you like, we could take the scenic route home and go past or even stop off at San Gimignano on the way.’
He negotiated his way out of the sprawling surrounds of the city and they climbed into the hills once more, gradually losing the worst of the traffic until he turned off onto even narrower roads where they met virtually nobody apart from a few brave cyclists toiling up the ever-steeper slopes in the mid-morning sunshine. The sky was a bit cloudier than in previous days and Bee wondered if there was a change in the weather on the way. Certainly, the dry grass at the roadside looked as if it and the rest of the countryside could do with some rain. All around them now were olive groves and vineyards and delightful, weathered, old red brick and stone farmhouses, almost all of them with one or more cypress trees nearby. Gradually, the hills became steeper and the buildings fewer and further between. From time to time the narrow road reached a crest and ran along a ridge for some way, affording stunning views back towards Florence behind them and out over row upon row of wooded hills ahead.
