Under a Tuscan Sky

Chapter 5

Sweeping what seemed like miles of flagstone floor, Olivia was feeling very much like Cinderella early the next morning. Waking to her alarm that she’d set for six, she’d thrown on her scruffiest jeans and a T-shirt, still dreaming of her shining prince.

Her day with Alberto had been simply beautiful and everything he’d promised. Apart from driving through the breath-taking scenery, on – he claimed – the most romantic route in Tuscany, they drove through steep narrow roads of medieval cities and walled towns, some he told her founded by Etruscans: the Tuscans before the Romans, before he’d pulled into a charming hillside restaurant.

The waiter had shown them to a front table on the shaded terrace overlooking sun-drenched vineyards and there they had chatted like old friends as they soaked up the wine and many delicious Italian flavours such as the Caprese salad with sweet tomatoes and mozzarella splashed with fresh basil, ricotta ravioli pasta with a fusion of fresh herbs, and a delicious pork medallion with vegetables, all followed by a show-stopping and irresistible mille-feuille, or what Olivia recognized as a cream slice.

More than a dinner, it was a feast, and throughout Alberto entertained her with stories about his many failures as he attempted to find solutions to the numerous challenges involved in creating some of the greenest cars on earth. He also talked about how he enjoyed not only lecturing students, but engaging with them as well.

‘They believe anything is possible,’ he’d said, which is why he loved to learn from them as well as teach. Even younger kids had brought something to the table when he’d visited schools, whether ideas for fuelling future cars or designing them. She found it endearing that he drew so much of his inspiration from the younger generation, though was wholly ashamed at how little she knew about the subject herself.

She’d tried desperately to rack her brains for a name in car design and had said, ‘I’m sure Enzo Ferrari would have been wise to utilize wider resources for his research.’

Alberto had laughed, displaying beautifully strong teeth. ‘Ah, now that is interesting,’ he’d said, ‘and I won’t bog you down with all the detail but, although the industry was mainly selling speed and sex when Ferrari built and styled the V12 engine for racing, Enzo Ferrari also built a training institute for technicians; mainly for his company, but which still exists today. He was a big inspiration for me, in fact.

‘He realized too, I’m sure, that young minds can contribute to education and knowledge in the world of mechanics and physics. Perhaps it was because his son Alfredo – they called him Dino – died young. He was only in his early twenties when he died, and was still working to develop the 1500 cc V6 engine, which they released within a year. I know our cars sit on very different shelves in the supermarket,’ Alberto had said, providing her with a strong image of those magazines on top shelves in the shops, ‘but it’s not so dissimilar to your industry, really is it? A massage can have so many possible markets.’

He’d said it sliding a hand across the table and catching her wrist, his eyes brimming with lust as his fingers squeezed hers.

Usually Olivia would have snubbed such an unoriginal and corny comment about her work, but the way Alberto had relayed the inspiration behind his work and the ethos involving students was admirable. What he said was true. Plus, his touch was electric. She’d watched his glasses slide down his nose, his eyes instantly rousing her.

She would have fallen into his arms that very second, spellbound by lust. How she’d managed to keep her hands to herself when his lips found hers, she’d never know. Instantly her body responded like never before. Like her, however, Alberto had managed to restrain himself, and pulled away, leaving her panting for more.

It took her another glass of wine to recover, so after resting on his chest, watching the sun inch behind the distant hills, he’d driven her safely back to the villa and left her aching for his body all night.

***

Shifting heavy bedroom furniture and rugs to sweep underneath was becoming tiring. There were so many bedrooms, but it had to be done, as did the mopping of the floors and polishing of copious amounts of antique cabinets and ornaments. At least they could be packed away straight away after the viewings were over, she thought. Each room was smelling as fresh and as inviting as she could manage with dust removed from every nook and cranny, even the ceilings.

By the evening, she was physically exhausted but satisfied and every room had been reinvigorated. She hankered after the tasty pasta she’d eaten the day before. After closing up the well-aired rooms, she headed downstairs to the kitchen and reached for the dried pasta in the cupboard. Inspired by her time with Alberto, who was now probably tinkering with some new energy theory, she was reminded of the explosion of herbs in her mouth at the restaurant, along with the warmth of the afternoon sun.

She missed Alberto already and couldn’t wait for their next date. Whilst boiling the pasta she created a sauce with chopped tomatoes and a handful of fresh basil and thyme from the tub outside. The aroma was delicious, making her mouth salivate and the memory of Alberto surge to her mind – to the moment he’d first brushed his lips on hers before moving to the seat beside her and, gently, lifting her chin and placing his mouth on hers again. Their first kiss.

At once her heart skipped at the recollection. Every nerve inside her had jostled before fusing to a monstrous heat and melting her body like liquid metal. A sensation alien to her. She regained her breath, and stirred the sweet-smelling tomato sauce. Alberto had scorched a part of her that she never knew existed and it had certainly left her body screaming for more.

Cupping her hands on her cheeks, as if covering her blushes, she recalled his parting attempt. As Alberto had stopped the car outside the villa, he turned his head to her, his eyes hungry, just like her own, but then, regaining control he averted them and gripped the steering wheel as if to tame his urge. The creases in the corners of his eyes had dropped. They both knew kissing would be highly dangerous.

Instead, he drew in his breath, stroked her wrist, and said, ‘I would love to see you again. Tuesday? I could pick you up at seven and take you into Florence.’

Biting her lip to curb a yell of extreme joy, she nodded, surreptitiously monitoring every minute flinch between them. ‘That would be lovely. Yes, I’ll look forward to it.’

They’d restrained their blatant hunger, possibly both subconsciously saving it for the right place. Olivia failed to understand how she’d managed. As he’d kissed the top of her forehead and said goodnight, he’d let her smoulder briefly in his arms.

***

Olivia woke Monday morning to the sound of the doorbell. With muscles refusing to cooperate from her cleaning binge the previous day, she tried to lift herself out of bed and took a few moments to stretch out before hobbling in her pyjamas to the front door. It sounded again as she unbolted the top and bottom.

‘All right, I’m here.’ She turned the lock and drew back the door, her eyes meeting with a pleasing plate of croissants along with a smile from a friendly face. ‘Gabriella, how thoughtful. Come on in.’

‘I cannot stop now. I have guests in the dining room but I would like us to sit and talk soon,’ Gabriella said, her eyebrows squeezing together. She stepped towards Olivia, lifting the plate slightly. ‘I thought you might want something fresh and filling this morning as you have people coming to look at house.’

Olivia took the neatly arranged croissants and raised them to her nose. The buttery essence wafting up her nostrils was heavenly and instantly reminded her of Nonna. ‘Mmm, delicious, thank you. Oh, but what a shame you can’t join me.’ She peered at Gabriella eagerly, hoping she would change her mind.

‘Always business – it will be quieter later today once the guests leave. Maybe we have time to talk then.’

‘I know. You are so devoted. Oh, but before you go, do you know where the key to Nonna’s wedding chest is? I’ve kept an eye out as I’ve been cleaning, but can’t find it.’

Gabriella shrugged, then pinched her chin, peering up as though inspecting the ceiling. ‘Now I did see that in Elena’s office I’m sure. But that was a long time ago. I’m sorry. I don’t know where it is now.’

Twisting her lips at the lost hope, Olivia gave a wave with her free hand. ‘No. Don’t worry. I’ll look there. I’m sure it will turn up. I’m thinking of having it restored, so I was going to empty it out, although I am curious as to what she kept in it.’

‘I’m sorry, I don’t know. I will see you later.’ Gabriella gave a little wave and scuttled away.

‘Yes and thank you.’

Catching sight of herself in the mirror as she walked back into the hall, Olivia let out a yawn. Should she shower first or tuck into the beckoning croissants?

‘Oh, definitely croissants first. I need energy,’ she told herself knowing it wasn’t just the physical cleaning that had expended her energy.

Chapter 6

Signor Ricci, the estate agent, arrived at her door before Olivia got back to the kitchen to sweep the crumbs away.

‘I’ve had a walk around the grounds and the accommodation, so now the villa,’ he told her as he clambered in through the door with a large digital camera fixed with flash in one hand and a briefcase in the other. ‘The sun won’t last today, so I’ve taken some outside shots first and hope it stays bright enough for the internal. The pictures will look better with the natural light in the rooms.’

‘Yes, please, feel free to have a wander,’ she said, grateful she had managed to shower.

He put down his case on the hall tiles and wriggled out of a rain jacket one-handed. ‘Signor St. James is running a little bit late. He got held up at the market, he says.’

‘No problem. I’ll put some coffee on.’ Olivia hung his jacket on a hook in the hall, and glanced at a large belly protruding from his beige suit. He swept a hand over a stripy-grey head, wiping beads of sweat.

‘Thank you,’ he said as he lifted his camera and pointed to Nonna’s sitting room. ‘I’ll start in here.’

She nodded and returned to the kitchen, leaving the flustered man to it. She added fresh water to the coffee percolator, arranging three cups and saucers on a tray. Pausing, she grabbed another, in the likely event Signor St. James was viewing with someone else. Signor Ricci hadn’t mentioned a wife or partner, but it was better to be prepared – at least in some way, because she didn’t feel it where the house was concerned.

She only hoped Signor St. James didn’t have too many questions, as she didn’t feel equipped to answer them. If only she had thought to make a list of some obvious ones and had asked Gabriella – or she could have tried to contact her mother. If only she had taken more interest over the years. Having only yesterday discovered files with Nonna’s bills and papers relating to the house, she hadn’t had a chance to even glance at them, let alone read them.

She was just sweeping off the croissant crumbs lurking on the worktop when, from the corner of her eye, she caught sight of something running past the window outside. Hurling herself in front of it, she peered out and saw a large golden retriever sniffing in the lawn area.

‘Hmm strange,’ she uttered, craning her neck to the side of the drive. It was unusual not to hear a car’s tyres approaching on the shingle. However, at the top by the entrance was a large black 4x4 vehicle with its rear door open and a British number plate. Unable to see any owner of either the car or dog, she ran across the hall to the study.

From the window, she could see the driver door open too, and the car – a right-hand drive, informing her that whoever it was, was sure to be British. Of course, the name St. James was a clue, but never a certainty. She calmed herself thinking the potential purchaser must have taken himself for a look around the grounds.

She headed back to the kitchen but the thought of a dog potentially living in the house moved her. It would make it much homelier. Not that she would be there but it made her think of Charlie, the little Westie her gran Nora and grandad Ronnie had bought her for her eighth birthday.

She’d loved the way he rushed to the front door and jumped up to lick her when she came home from school every day, his tail thrusting around in excitement as she knelt down to his level. It was such a warm, if somewhat wet, welcoming. He was the only one to ever make her feel loved unconditionally, and not like she was living in limbo, and she’d loved him so much. He was her family.

Gran had insisted she was to be responsible for him, however. Not totally, of course, but she made her save her pocket money for his grooming every six weeks and for any treats. Feeling choked, she swallowed a tear. She’d practically lived in that pet shop at times, taking with her a small list each week of his favourite chews and doggie sweets.

He was such a character and always getting himself covered in mud in the local park or in Gran’s garden. He continually had to be bathed. She missed him still, but when he died at seventeen years of age, she vowed she would never replace him. It was impossible. He was irreplaceable and locked in her heart for ever.

The aroma of coffee evoked her senses. It was drifting through the air as far as the study. After vaulting back through the hall to the kitchen, she was just about to pour herself a cup when the doorbell sounded. Assuming it to be Signor St. James, she headed back to the hall. Signor Ricci was still upstairs, so checking herself in the mirror, she scooped back some stray long hairs, twisted her hair together, and tied it up before pulling back the door.

Eyes as blue as the sky, framed by dark lashes and brows, took her breath away.

‘Ah, Signorina Montague?’ The man spoke in posh tones but was casually dressed.

Staring with her mouth open, Olivia rocked on her heels, and attempted to speak after clearing her throat. ‘Y … yes.’

From his old green Barbour sleeve appeared a hand. ‘Hugh St. James.’

Feeling the strong grip of his hand, her eyes remained fixed on his. Like buses, she told herself. Her insides babbled before what she imagined was a thick steel coil suddenly unleashing inside her, sending blood pulsing to every nerve. She stood rooted to the spot barely able to believe she could be struck in the heart twice in as many days. A loud bark close by stole her attention, bringing her out of the trance.

Peering at the car momentarily before blinking back at him, she said, ‘Dog,’ under her breath.

‘Yes, that is a dog,’ his voice mocked.

‘Bring the dog in.’ Her voice monotone, still under his spell. ‘You can’t leave him in the car.’ She watched as he pulled his head back as if surprised by the command, and a dimple appeared on one of his cheeks as his eyes widened.

‘He’s fine. The car is ventilated; the window’s open – or he could lie out here in the shade.’

‘No, really, he’s very welcome, Mr James, sorry, St. James.’

‘Hugh. Please, call me Hugh.’

Blinking hard again to gather her senses, she urged him, ‘Hugh, bring him in.’

As he scrunched across the gravel, Hugh removed his coat before tossing it in through the rear door of the 4x4.

‘Come, Boris.’ The sprightly bundle leaped out, but then braked at his master’s soft command. Tongue out and tail wagging, he strode elegantly at his master’s knee, his mane moving swiftly in rhythm, reminding Olivia of an Arab thoroughbred.

‘Oh, he’s so beautiful. Was that Boris you called him?’ Olivia said, immediately bending to greet him.

‘Yes, that’s right.’

Stroking his soft head, and then cupping his chin, she instantly warmed to him. ‘Hello, Boris. You are a handsome boy aren’t you. Come on in.’

‘Yes, he has it all.’

Like his owner, Olivia immediately thought, as she stepped back and let him in, feeling unnerved by such a gut-wrenching and overwhelming presence.

‘Perhaps you’d like to wait in the sitting room. Signor Ricci will be down soon I believe. Would you like a coffee?’

As he gazed around the walls and ceiling, his focus rested on her briefly. ‘That’s very kind of you, yes please.’ He tentatively sauntered in towards the sitting room. ‘Thanks.’

‘Yes, through there, Boris too. Would Boris like some water?’

‘He has just had some, but thanks.’

‘Well, help yourself to a seat or a look around. I’ll get the coffee.’

Placing the coffee on the tray, Olivia couldn’t decide whether she should pour it out beforehand; her limbs trembled so much she couldn’t trust herself. What on earth was going on? Two gorgeous men suddenly entering her life?

Walking with the tray into the sitting room, she saw Hugh squatting by her grandmother’s bridal chest whilst Boris had settled, lying down on the hearth rug. She placed the tray on the stand and began pouring two fresh cups of coffee, managing to keep her hand steady. Glancing over, she watched Hugh. He rested one hand on the top of the chest whilst running the fingers of his other over the intricate carving along the front.

‘It’s an impressive piece. Nineteenth century?’ he asked.

‘I’m not sure of its age exactly. It was my nonna’s. She died recently.’

Hugh raised an eyebrow as he sucked in his breath. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. It was possibly her mother’s then, grandmother’s even. It’s beautiful, a little damage here and there, but …’

‘I know. I’m thinking of having it restored. It’s one of my favourites, which I’d like to keep.’ She pursed her lips. ‘You seem quite knowledgeable.’

He stood back and folded his arms, sliding back sleeves of what looked like a cashmere sweater. ‘I’m in antiques. I’m a dealer. That’s why I’m seeking a base in Tuscany.’

‘Oh, right. That must be an interesting job?’

‘Yes, I’m a sucker for the antique and flea markets around here,’ he said, his tone more casual, ‘and they often come up trumps for furniture, even pieces of art occasionally. I know a brilliant restorer here too, if you need one. Not far from here either. He would do a great job on this.’ He gave the side of the chest a closer inspection and wiped his little finger along a bead of wood.

Enthusiasm brimmed from his eyes and Olivia licked her lips with cautious hope. ‘Maybe you could leave me his number?’ she said.

Hugh raised an arm and swept a wedge of his hair through his hands. ‘It might be better if I speak to him first. It’s just that he’s getting on a bit and is choosy about what he takes on.’ Lifting his phone from his trouser pocket, he scrolled down. ‘I’ll see him later, so you could give him a call tomorrow.’

Olivia clambered with excitement to the sideboard and opened a drawer. The bridal chest, or cassone as Nonna would call it, had always intrigued her. When she was young she remembered Nonna telling her it was a special box because it contained all the gifts for a bride from her husband and his family, including clothes and jewellery.

Nonna had shown her inside it once. All it contained was linen and lace household items. No beautiful jewellery or clothes. It was such a romantic idea though, and one that had captured Olivia’s imagination when she was just seven years old. As she riffled through the drawer for the pad and pen, she turned at the patter of footsteps nearing.

‘Ah, Signor St. James.’ Signor Ricci trotted into the room swiping his damp brow. ‘You’ve met Signorina Montague I see.’

Hugh held out his hand to the Italian agent. ‘Yes, I’m delighted to say.’

Standing by with pen and pad in hand, she said, ‘Olivia, or Liv. It’s easier. Yes, he arrived on time after all.’ Hugh passed her his phone and she took the restorer’s number. ‘What’s his name?’

‘Signor Nasino, but he’ll prefer Cesare.’

‘Thank you. You two need to get on. I’ll leave you to it, and I’ll pour you a coffee, Signor Ricci.’