by Melissa Hill
“Oh Kate, honey…” Martha’s voice softened as large welts of tears trickled down Kate’s face. She slumped onto the hot paved pathway against a smooth, yellow painted building.
She sniffed as she continued. “My doctor told us to take a holiday to get away from it all. So I picked this place. Ed always wanted to see Italy. I thought he would jump on it. I had hoped we could reconnect. Now I can’t even get him to answer my phone calls or texts. I’m not even sure what I am going home to after this. I’m so afraid that he won’t be there.” Her hands hid her eyes as her body shook, her confession pouring out of her.
“We have to have faith in the ones that we love.” Martha reassured her. “We have to believe that they will do the right thing. We can’t try to keep them or shelter them. Eventually, we need to set them free if that’s what’s necessary. And if Ed isn’t there, if he’s stupid enough to leave someone so amazing as you, then you’re strong enough to see this through alone.”
She encircled her arms around Kate’s slim, pale shoulders, brushing the strands of flaxen hair from her hands and face. “Now honey, dry those tears and let’s go and find some lunch. I’m sure Isabella would say that a good meal works wonders.”
Chapter 16
“Isabella …how do you pronounce this?” Martha studied her recipe card.
“Timballo Polizzano” Isabella enunciated the words slowly, accenting the hard “p.”
It was later that evening, and all three students had returned to Isabella’s villa in time for the dinner preparations. As always her recipe cards waited for them at their station.
But their ingredients were nowhere to be found.
“When do we begin making dinner?” Olivia’s card displayed a recipe for a complex and intimidating prawn salad.
“Well, that’s the surprise!” Isabella threw up her hands as if she had practiced this moment countless times before. “On my last dinner, I try to treat my new chefs to the most authentic Sicilian dinner I can think of. And that is why, instead of what is on those cards, we are spending the rest of the evening making …. pizza!” She beamed at them, her toothy, gapped smile widening as she awaited their reactions.
“Pizza? You’re going to teach us how to make Italian pizza?” Kate, now feeling much better after confiding in Martha earlier, was thrilled. She had always wanted to learn how to toss and spin dough like pizza chefs in the movies.
“But, wait, why the recipe cards then?” Olivia was dubious, waiting for the other shoe to drop. She was extremely relieved to hear that they were making pizza though. Cooking fresh prawns had seemed way too much even for her.
Especially with the crazy mess her mind was in.
“They go in your books,” said Isabella. “Check in the top shelf of your station. You’ll find one for each of you.”
Martha pulled hers out first. It was a tan leather bound photo album. In each of almost all the one hundred slots were recipes that Isabella had written out by hand. They were sorted and arranged by meal.
“Oh, this is beautiful.” Kate carefully felt her own book, covered in blue vinyl with golden sunflowers blooming from the edges.
Olivia’s was a fire engine red hardcover with a large strap to keep the pages intact.
Each woman placed their final recipe card in their new cookbook and shut the pages.
Returning their attention back to Isabella, she spoke again, “In Italy, we believe that the real pizza, the original pizza is from Naples. But because I do not have the proper oven, we will go into the town and learn from the experts.”
The others followed her back into old Taormina where they stopped at a hidden corner panifico.
An older gentleman about Isabella’s age, slowly moved from around the corner and greeted her festively. He spoke Italian as Isabella translated, “This is Tomas. He is the owner of the bakery, and he welcomes you here today. He wants to let you know that he has been friends with my husband and I since pizza was first invented.”
The women chuckled at the joke, as the two chefs stood arm in arm together. “He is going to walk you through making the dough for the Neapolitan, and then how to add the sauce and toppings.”
The petite man silently led Kate, Olivia and Martha to the back of the tiny bakery, where mixing bowls and ingredients were already waiting. Pointing out each item, he walked the students through each step as Isabella translated tips and tricks he would occasionally shout out.
When it was time to spin the dough, the women watched in awe as he transformed a large ball of dough into a spinning, hypnotic wheel.
Olivia attempted to throw hers first, but it landed with a thud onto the wooden table. Martha followed, and while she could catch it, the actual spinning alluded her. The only one that seemed to possess the ability to throw, spin, and mold the dough was Kate.
And even she was shocked at what seemingly came natural.
The lesson was then followed by a taste testing of various white and red sauces. Some chunky, others runny. Finally, Isabella talked to them about cheeses and why goat’s cheese in Sicily was so important, pointing out that the region’s cows were in short supply, and that in the summer, transporting non-hard cheeses like mozzarella was almost impossible for small vendors like Tomas. Instead, he improvised with goat’s and harder cheeses.
As the three waited for the oven to finish warming their pizza, Marco slipped in the back entrance, greeting his grandmother first by handing her a small, note written on one of her recipe cards.
Isabella read it and then glanced back at her students who were chatting merrily over some red wine.
“Kate.” Isabella called out and the Irishwoman duly joined the two in the corner of the store. “It seems like there is a change of plan for you this evening. Marco is going to take you to the docks. Apparently, you have somewhere to be.”
“What? What do you mean? I don’t leave until tomorrow night.”
“No, no, nothing like that. You’re going on a boat trip around the bay. It departs in one hour, which gives you enough time to grab a change of clothing. Marco will see to it that you get to where you need to go.”
“I don’t understand…” Marco offered Kate his arm and escorted the dazed woman out of the bakery, as Isabella returned to the rest of the lesson.
Chapter 17
Without any more details other than that she needed to be on the docks by 8pm, Marco was of no help to Kate.
He showed her back into Isabella’s villa so that she could change into warmer clothing, and grab a sweater from her backpack, and then he rode with her in a taxi to the nearby town of Messina, where the main docks were.
He pointed out a large white yacht with the name Mariano painted in golden letters on its side. The captain, dressed in traditional sailor white and black chatted with Marco as he confirmed the details with him.
“Kate, this is Captain Alfonzo. He says your companion is waiting and you will take off as soon as you are ready.”
“I’m sorry, but I really do not know what is going on. I don’t have a com—” Her words cut off as she saw a figure ascend the stairs up from the yacht’s cabin. “Ed!” Without thinking, she jumped down into the boat and ran towards her husband, catching him in a hug.
As she finally let go, he tentatively cried, “Surprise!”
“Surprise? I don’t understand. How are you here? Why are you here?” The sight of her husband in Taormina was too overwhelming.
“I arrived on the flight after yours, and I’ve been here ever since. Didn’t you get my flowers or wonder who paid for your insanely expensive spa day?”
Her mind whirling, Kate laughed as she put the pieces together.
“I wanted you to have the time of your life away from me and the pressure to conceive,” Ed told her gently. “I had hoped this little break would be a way to bring you, the real you, back to me. But when I saw you crying on the path in town this afternoon, I knew it was time to let you in on the surprise.” He stretched his arms out wide, as if revealing hi
s big moment.
“I never wanted to hurt you, love. I am so sorry for how I have acted and how I have pulled away from you. It was never my intention. Our adventure has just begun, whether we have kids or not. And this trip, watching you from a distance, I don’t want to miss a moment of this journey with you ever again. Please forgive me.”
“Ed—” the words caught in Kate’s throat as she struggled to see him past the tears in her eyes. “I, I …” She struggled to find a response to his eloquent words. Instead, she chose to shout out, “I love you!”
He moved towards her, unable to contain his emotions anymore. As he kissed her, Kate could feel the passion and the romance that was once lost rekindle slowly like a new fire. It burned brighter this time and lasted far longer. Whatever had divided them had now brought them here, in Taormina, on the Ionian Sea together at last.
She knew that no matter the obstacles they faced, however long life had to give, she and Ed would never again be parted.
Behind the married couple, the yacht had left its place on the dock as the choppy green seas parted swiftly for its travels.
It floated quickly on, past the Sicilian island and its beautiful, glimmering bays. Ahead of them was only the sea with its endless possibilities, but neither were scared.
Instead, the two relaxed as their vessel chased the setting sun, putting all over their troubles behind them.
Chapter 18
SIX WEEKS LATER
The red envelope addressed to Isabella caught her eye. It has been weeks since she received a personal letter, and this one was addressed from an address in her own town. She quickly tore into it. But instead of finding paper, she found a clipping from a glossy magazine.
It read:
Taormina: The Food of Love
By Olivia Bennett, Chief Travel Correspondent
When you have traveled for as long as I have and collected as many stories as you have postcards, cities and places - even those straight from legends and lore - pass as a blur. And while the life of a perpetual nomad may seem appealing, it certainly has its downsides.
As a travel writer, for the most part I have little say on where I go or what I will be doing. When Erica, our fearless editor assigned me a story set in Taormina, Sicily, I was hesitant. Sure, I’ve been to Italy before. I have seen the ancient Roman ruins and tasted authentic pizza. But unlike so many others, for me, that country has never felt much more than bricks and history, with great fashion thrown in as a bonus.
And for that reason, I begged not to write this article.
But now, here I am, in Taormina. Over three days in the spring, I stayed at a villa overlooking the Ionian Sea and the awe-inspiring beauty that is the central hub of Southern Sicily, Mount Etna. (A friend once told me that Etna, a once powerful volcano, held all of the Italian native’s infamous tempers…). I came here to learn how to cook under the guidance of Chef Isabella and to investigate why her skills and hospitality has gained almost a cult following amongst tourists and foodies.
I did learn how to cook, as well as shop for fresh produce, enjoy gelato for breakfast, and fearlessly chop swordfish. But more importantly, I walked away with more than just a cookbook full of handwritten recipes and friendships to last a lifetime.
I walked away with love.
That’s right; fearless wanderer Olivia Bennett, has found love and settled down. Taormina, the picturesque historical town residing in eastern Sicily, has claimed me.
I should have realised the moment I got off the bus from Palermo. The clear blue skies, the air that smelled like tomatoes and kumquat...this place was magical. Its residents with their wide grins, effervescent attitudes, and open hearts its magicians.
With each morsel of briosce and pasta from Isabella’s Kitchen, I was becoming more and more Sicilian. And I was welcoming the change even as I pretended to resist it.
Then, on one afternoon, a handsome Italian called Marco took me on a tour of the city. We stopped at the public gardens and took in a panoramic view of the area. My companion had not traveled as much as I, and had rarely been outside of his home country. Yet, he told me that he did not need to go anywhere to know that this park, the very one we stood in, was the best in the world all because it was home.
It was a corny sentiment I thought, one reserved for movies and cheap romances. But on another night, I found myself dancing cheek to cheek with the same man and wondering, “When have I ever felt so at home? Where have I ever felt so whole?” And suddenly, I knew that this man was right.
So many of us travel because we long to find better, more exciting places. And if you do it enough, you may just find it. I have.
Taormina is it, at least for me.
For some, it may indeed just be another tourist trap in the middle of the ocean, but you do not need to travel the world to know when your world is perfect as is. You do not need to perfect perfection (a lesson I learned very quickly from Chef Isabella).
That is why I have requested to stay here, in Sicily, for the time being at least.
I am giving my newfound home and love a chance. We will find our new chapter, our new dish, our new park together. And I suspect will not need to go much further than Isabella’s Villa to find them.
I hope you will continue to follow my journey as I, and my new fiance Marco, travel Sicily and the rest of the Mediterranean together.
Until my next correspondence, I wish you all happy travels.
Isabella placed the article down on her wooden table and took a deep breath. The kind words from her soon-to-be granddaughter had touched her more than she had anticipated. To know that she had helped and inspired someone so deeply, had made the labors of her life worth it, in many ways.
But for now, she couldn’t dwell on her part in the fate of Olivia—or of Kate, who had too recently written about a baby on the way.
Or even that of Martha who had taken it upon herself to go on a year-long cruise around the world - alone.
Instead, Isabella had only enough time to focus on writing out tonight’s recipe cards.
In a few hours, this large wooden table would again be surrounded by new visitors, eager to take advantage of her culinary knowledge and soak up her wisdom.
And perhaps inadvertently find what they were looking for right in her Taormina kitchen.
THE END
FROM THE AUTHOR
I hope you enjoyed this story.
Check out other titles in the Escape to Italy series - SUMMER IN SORRENTO, AUTUMN IN VERONA & WINTER IN VENICE, or read on for an excerpt of my brand new novel, MULBERRY BAY.
Escape to Italy
Summer in Sorrento
Autumn in Verona
Winter in Venice
Spring in Sicily
MULBERRY BAY
Summer 1989
Penny, hurry up, you’re going to miss it!’ Elle Harte called out excitedly as she sprinted barefoot down the beach, her auburn hair swirling around her face in the breeze. Golden sand and ochre pebbles snaked alongside the deep blue of the Irish sea, little shaving foam breakers dimpling the surface.
Her ten-year-old sister; her junior by two years, strained to keep up. Penny’s shorter legs weren’t as fast and she was getting winded; Elle had always been much more athletic. Cool sand squished between her toes and she pumped her arms furiously, pushing herself to go faster. She didn’t want to miss the ship before it headed down the coast.
‘Elle stop, please,’ Penny called out.
But Elle pushed on for another fifty yards until she stopped abruptly on the strand, one arm extended out towards the horizon, the other shading her eyes. ‘Look at that, it’s just like the pirate ship in The Goonies,’ she called back, referring to the swashbuckling adventure movie that they both loved.
A moment later, Penny finally caught up with her. She pushed her wispy fair hair out of her eyes and clasped a hand on her hip, working to knead a stitch out of her side from the exertion. ‘Did we really have to run like that? I think I stepped on a jel
lyfish or something,’ she complained, but Elle didn’t answer. She was entranced by the sight unfolding in front of her.
Penny followed her sister’s gaze towards the open water where an 18th century English Tall Ship, complete with three tall masts and billowing sails, was leisurely making its way south off the Wexford coast. The ship, a true original that had been saved, preserved and recently unveiled to the Irish public, had made a temporary home for itself in the water at their hometown Mulberry Bay, just down the beach from where Elle and Penny’s family ran the local hotel.
Perched high on a hill above a sweeping bay, and overlooking the pretty little seaside town with a huge sugarloaf mountain as backdrop, the Bay Hotel’s coastal location and seafront bedrooms were a perfect haven for tourists. For generations the popular hotel had housed visitors from all over the world, as well as weathered some of worst storms the South East coast had seen. Some of Elle’s favourite memories growing up there were of dramatic lightning strikes at sea, while she, her family and entranced guests watched from the windows. She knew that the tourists took memories like that home with them, to be taken out and relived when life got too overwhelming.The hotel was located just a short walk up the coast road from the centre of Mulberry Bay.
There was just one main street in the little coastal town, which led directly to the sandy beach. The street was cobbled with red sandstone and no cars were allowed to drive through, the space being reserved for walking and simply enjoying the pretty little shops and eateries. The lamp posts were old wrought iron style, brightly coloured flower pots hanging from them, in keeping with the town’s tourist heritage status.
Elle knew all the shops in the main street: artisan bakeries boasting homemade bread, charming organic produce shops, little boutiques and craft stores with candles and jewellery made to order: tourist mementoes of time spent at the picturesque seaside town.
