Читать книгу The Secrets of Villa Rosso: Escape to Italy for a summer romance to remember - Linn Halton B. - Страница 16

The Città di Lamezia Terme airport is bewildering, not least because I already feel completely drained. And that’s before joining the long queue for passport control. Although the flight left Heathrow at just before five this evening, there was a stopover at Rome Fiumicino airport with an hour-and-twenty-minute wait. Now, at least, I’m about to begin the last leg of the journey. By the time I locate the driver holding up a card with Livvie’s name on it, it’s nearly midnight. There’s little point in trying to explain I’m her representative, so I just point to the card and nod by way of acknowledgement.

I settle back into the rear seat, grateful to be starting the last leg of the journey. Livvie’s schedule confirms it’s going to be an hour and a half’s drive. Having established the fact that the driver doesn’t speak any English, there is little chance of striking up a conversation. My Italian consists of three words, ciao, per favore and grazie, but in my defence I’ve had no time at all to prepare for this trip. Tiredness is now making my eyes blurry and my head is throbbing, so I swallow two painkillers with a mouthful of water, hoping relief will kick in quickly.

A business trip is nothing at all like going on a family holiday, where the main concern is ensuring no one wanders off. All I usually do is rely upon Josh’s direction and focus on keeping everyone happy. Here, alone, looking out into the gloomy darkness I feel totally disorientated.

Once we’re away from the terminal the car speeds along a little too fast for comfort. We seem to be on a motorway, as there are several lanes, by the look of it. However, it’s dark and everything is flashing by so quickly that my brain is refusing to take in any of the detail. What if we have an accident? How would I cope, with no grasp of the language and no real idea of where I am? Even the air smells different, a perfume of tantalising scents that leave me feeling uncomfortably vulnerable. I gulp down a lump that rises up in my throat. Already I’m feeling homesick and I know that I have to get a grip on my emotions. This is business and Livvie obviously thinks I’m capable of being her eyes and ears. So I have to work on my self-belief and stop undermining my ability to cope with the unknown. I shift around in the seat, hoping I’m out of view of the driver’s rear mirror. I close my eyes to concentrate on my breathing.

Gradually my short, shallow breaths became longer and deeper, slowing my racing heartbeat. I focus on the dashboard clock and then, quite suddenly, my head jolts forward. I realise I’ve been asleep and the driver has turned in his seat to look at me. The car is at a standstill.

‘Villa Rosso,’ he nods.

‘Ah, grazie. Grazie.’ As I speak it raises a tired smile. I even manage a sense of intonation and he looks back at me, eyebrows slightly raised in surprise. Then he rolls off an entire sentence which means absolutely nothing to me and I wish I’d just said the anticipated ‘thank you’ in English.

To my relief the passenger door opens and an older man offers his hand to help me out.

Standing, I see that the driver has already unloaded my luggage and given it to another member of the hotel staff. I pull out the ten-euro note I stuffed into my jacket pocket earlier and give it to the driver, who looks surprised, but pleased. He says something I don’t catch and I nod my appreciation to him, then turn and follow my new companion.

The old building looms up in the darkness. The lights from several ground-floor windows flood out, illuminating only one small corner of what seems to be quite a vast terrace. I’m bewildered by the strangest sensation that comes over me without warning. I’ve never seen this place before, how could I? But I feel that same sense of well-being that I have when I arrive home after a difficult day. Cosy, familiar and safe.

Suspecting that the other guests have been asleep for quite a while, all I want to do now is to drop into bed. I’m conscious of several staff hovering, but am quickly whisked away and handed a key that looks like it would unlock a castle.

As the door to my room on the first floor swings open, once more I utter ‘grazie’ and will my legs to carry me inside. Grabbing my phone I text Josh, telling him I’ve arrived safely but am totally exhausted. Within minutes my weary head is touching the pillow and I sink into a deep, untroubled sleep.

~

When my ear begins to buzz it takes me a moment or two to realise where I am and what’s happening. I must have pushed my phone up under the pillow during the night. Reaching for it, I see it’s the alarm I set on the flight over. I had visions of waking up to find it was late morning and I’d totally messed up before I’d even begun.

I sit up, leaning back against the old, carved wooden headboard and take in my surroundings for the first time. The room is spacious and surprisingly modern. Whitewashed walls, dark-stained floors and furnished in a distinctly minimalist way. This is no dusty old villa that time forgot, that’s for sure. The style of the room is in keeping with the reception area I briefly visited in the early hours of this morning. It’s like something out of a glossy magazine and that’s the last thing I expected. However, it bodes well for this visit, as clearly whoever is running the business has their feet firmly planted in today’s marketplace.

The exposed chestnut beams overhead are commanding, so high above the bed. Two beautifully upholstered chairs, a small coffee table and a large wooden armoire seem almost lost in the vast space. Similarly styled bedside tables with oversized lamps complete the decor without making it feel fussy.

The bedding is crisp and white, only the drapes at the large window add a splash of colour, with rich purple, mauve and a thread of silver running through them. It was so dark when I arrived that I didn’t think to close them and now the early morning sun is beginning to filter in through the window.

The overtly contemporary styling is rather sophisticated and that’s a real surprise. I really was expecting to be transported back in time, but even the ensuite is of the same standard. There are no in-room facilities, so all I have is bottled water. But I’m content to wander over and sit in one of the armchairs while I read Livvie’s itinerary again and her hand-written notes, to bring me up to speed.

Max Jackson manages Villa Rosso and aside from being a hotel, the main business of the estate is the olive groves and oil refinery plant. In recent years it has also been involved in a new cooperative exporting textiles, metalwork, carved wooden items and ceramics, in celebration of the local artisan craftsmanship. And that’s why Livvie was coming here, to meet Max in person. Being escorted on a tour of some of the individual workshops, which are a part of the new business set-up would allow her to gauge if this operation was really viable as a new source. The worst-case scenario is that we’ll struggle to find enough items to fill a container to ship over to the UK. Or that they won’t be organised well enough to guarantee they could meet deadlines, which would be a total disaster. We want variety and for some items we will also need quantity. When we are refurbishing a hotel with a hundred rooms they all have to reflect the same style. My phone pings and then pings again and the first is a message from Josh.

Love you, honey. Miss you. No pressure, but if you get time to ring me for a quick chat this morning it would be lovely to hear your voice. Everything is fine here. Jx

The other ping is an email from Livvie.

Morning

Hope you slept well. Sorry it was such a late arrival time, it wouldn’t have bothered me but I realise it was really throwing you in at the deep end.

Mum is having an operation to pin the bone in her arm later today. Did I tell you I’m squeamish? Even the thought of it makes my stomach heave!

Right – work. Max is easy to deal with, he doesn’t play games and there’s no issue over getting a good price if we buy a container load at a time. I’m guessing he’s probably the only English-speaking person you will come into contact with on your trip. He will escort you everywhere, so don’t worry about that. Your job is to suss out whether what’s on offer will fit into our new hotel refurbishment schemes. If it’s a big hotel we are kitting out, but it’s clear they couldn’t scale up to meet our order, then we know we can only look at them as a supplier for our bespoke service. But if there aren’t enough items that jump out at you as being what we’re looking for, then it will make it too costly; even if, as Max has suggested, we could share part of a container with another client. Sorry I’m waffling but I’m so tired my brain feels like cotton wool.

If you send me photos of what you think is right for us and it starts to look promising, then this trip will have been worthwhile. What I also need is your view on whether the operation is robust enough. The last thing we want is to place large orders and then suffer constant delays because there are weak links in their chain. I really appreciate the sacrifice on your part, my lovely friend. I know you – bet you are already homesick!

Anyway, enjoy the sun. It’s pouring with rain here and I’m off to the hospital. Shudder. Even the smell as I enter the building makes me want to turn and run away. And have some fun!

Hugs,

Livvie

PS Don’t forget to send me pics of the villa. I’m really gutted not to be experiencing it first-hand.

Poor Livvie, or maybe I should be reserving my sympathy for her mother. As I begin typing a reply there’s a tap on the door. With no further hesitation a smiling young woman steps inside, a breakfast tray balanced on one upturned hand.

‘Good morning, Mrs Maddison, I hope you slept well.’

My jaw drops, as the last thing I expected was to be greeted by a young Englishwoman. She’s probably in her early twenties; her dark hair has vivid blue streaks running through it, clearly visible even though it’s neatly tied back in a ponytail.

‘You’re English, this is a surprise.’ The words are out of my mouth before I engage my brain. She turns to smile at me, one eyebrow raised. I feel the need to explain myself.

‘Sorry, my boss just emailed me to say the manager here is probably going to be the only English-speaking person I’m likely to meet.’

She laughs.

‘I’m Bella and your boss is almost correct. Some of our hotel staff can speak a few words of English, but I gather you’re here to tour some of the outworkers’ locations. Mr Johnson will be escorting you, so there’s no need to worry. Everyone calls him Max, by the way.’

‘Thank goodness. I had to switch places with my boss at the last minute and so I had no time to prepare. It feels wrong, and a bit rude, not being able to speak at least a little of the language. Ironically I can speak French quite well and a little German, but this is my first trip to Italy. Have you lived here a long time?’

As we talk, Bella’s hands busily uncover several plates with a range of fruits, cheeses and pastries. The aroma from the coffee pot makes my mouth salivate.

‘I came here for my gap year, mainly to please my mother. She’s Italian and my father is a Londoner. We’ve always spoken mainly English at home, so I thought what better way to brush up on my Italian than to come and live here for a year? It put me in her good books for a while; we don’t always see eye to eye.’

We exchange sympathetic glances.

‘For a while?’

She gives me a broad smile, accompanied by a hearty laugh. ‘When the year was up the family asked me to stay and so here I am. My mother wasn’t impressed as she had high hopes for me. She says I’m not ambitious enough, but in an ironic twist of fate I’ve fallen under the spell of the Italian way of life. Anyway, Max thought you’d want to have a quiet breakfast and says he’ll be at your disposal any time after ten this morning. Just let reception know when you are ready.’

‘Thank you, I will. I’m hoping I’ll pick up a few Italian words over the next couple of days.’

‘Dove c’è una volontà, c’è un modo.’

I look at Bella blankly and she immediately interprets it for me.

‘Where there’s a will, there’s a way – more, or less. But doesn’t it sound better in Italian?’

‘You’re right. It’s just hard not being able to pick up any clues. You could have been saying anything to me.’

We exchange friendly smiles.

‘Max will do everything to make your visit pleasant and enjoyable. He’s a lovely man and very personable. I don’t know what the locals would do without him. If there’s anything you need, you only have to ask.’

‘Thank you, but right now that coffee is calling to me.’

‘I’ll leave you to enjoy it, then. Have a good day.’ As the door is about to close Bella says, ‘That’s buona giornata.’

‘Grazie, Bella.’ I think I just said thank you, beautiful!

Right, coffee first and the next task is to ring Josh, tell him how much I’m missing him and say good morning to my girls before my big adventure begins.