Читать книгу One Summer in Italy: The most uplifting summer romance you need to read in 2018 - Sue Moorcroft - Страница 9

Promise #5: Drink Orvieto Classico in Montelibertà.

Sofia stopped short in excitement. ‘He still lives here? I know so little about him. For a long time the only family members Dad mentioned were his grandparents. Then one day he was feeling melancholy and said, “I should tell you about your Uncle Gianni.”’

Ernesto turned to wait for her, great eyebrows lifting. ‘And what did he tell you?’

Sofia’s breath came quicker as the slope steepened. ‘Just that Gianni existed, really. I was intrigued – I suppose I’d always assumed he would have mentioned siblings long ago if he had any. I asked a lot of questions but he just said Gianni was younger than him.’

‘Si. Two years, I think.’

‘Two years isn’t much. I thought it would be a lot more, that maybe they hadn’t kept in touch because they had nothing in common.’

‘They had much.’ Then Ernesto began to comment on the streets they were passing through, slanting ever upward. ‘In summer the town is full of sun. In winter, full of snow. This hill, like all the hills, becomes very difficult. We are surrounded by the mountain with only one piece going down. In the past, it was easy to defend. It is an old town, Montelibertà. We have less than ten thousand residents.’

‘But lots of tourists? You’re about midway between the airports at Perugia and Rome here, aren’t you?’

He nodded. ‘Many tourists, but often for short visits or day trips. There is not so much—’ He paused, clicking his fingers as if to summon up a word. ‘Entertainment,’ he selected, in the end.

Sofia replied in Italian to give him a break from speaking English and his smiles became ever more frequent as he chatted about the town with the knowledge and affection that came from lifelong citizenship. It was half an hour before they reached a cemetery so steep that the gravestones looked as if they had ranked to watch over the town, but to Sofia it seemed to whizz by.

She bought a bunch of yellow roses at the gates and Ernesto led her up several pathways until they reached a particular marker set in the floor. ‘This row, plot E54. We must search because the lines are long and the marks are old.’

He was right. It took them a good fifteen minutes of following row E, which wavered and wandered around trees and occasional outcroppings of rock, before they met with success.

In the end, it was Sofia’s eye that was caught by the sight of her own surname on a small squared-off column of black marble with a white marble angel on top. ‘Agnello Francesco Ricardo Bianchi, nato Dicembre 2 1938, morto Aprile 29 1997. Maria Vittoria Bianchi, nata Gennaio 21 1940, morta Aprile 29 1997,’ she read. Agnello born in December, Maria in January, and they’d died together in their fifties.

She lowered herself before the column, not as a mark of respect but because her knees felt as if someone had whipped them away.

There were two ovals of porcelain affixed to the column and on them were photos of her grandparents.

To suddenly know what her grandparents looked like gave her a strange, fizzing feeling. Aldo hadn’t brought family photographs away from Italy with him, and if anybody had sent him any Sofia had never seen them.

She gazed at the ceramic likenesses. Agnello’s strong straight nose reminded her of her father’s – and for that matter of her own, though she was glad to have a more ladylike, less beaky version. Maria’s face bore a smile both mischievous and sweet, a smile Aldo had inherited. Instead of merely being names, her grandparents became people. People she would have known as Nonno and Nonna … if she’d known them. But if they’d wanted to know her, wouldn’t they have travelled to the UK even if Aldo had been unable or unwilling to travel here?

Finally, becoming aware of minutes passing and Ernesto waiting in silence, Sofia glanced uncertainly at the flowers in her hands. There was a pot at the base of the black marble column containing a collection of crumbling lavender spikes. Would she cause offence to someone – perhaps her uncle Gianni – if her roses supplanted them? Finally deciding she’d cross that bridge if she ever reached it, she removed the dying spikes and, fingers trembling, arranged the roses in their stead.

Then, clearing her throat, she spoke to the photos. ‘Aldo was a very good man,’ she said in Italian. ‘He looked after me and I looked after him. At the end of his life he was sorry he’d lost you before he could rebuild your relationship, but he always loved you.’

She stood up and dusted off her hands, sending Ernesto a tentative smile. ‘Do you think that was OK?’

He made a movement of his fulsome eyebrows and the moustache twitched. ‘Perfetto.’ Perfect.

They ambled back down the hill together, Sofia beginning to wish she’d brought a bottle of water. At least the view as they trekked back down provided distraction. She could see clearly how Montelibertà lay in a bowl on three sides, the fourth plunging down to the valley. The distant peaks rising beyond were like giants wearing lilac bonnets and cloaks of grey-green woodland.

Shifting her gaze to the town, Sofia picked out Casa Felice and the roof of the church of Santa Lucia. Ernesto pointed out a couple of smaller churches, the library and the town hall. Skyscrapers had never come to the historic town and she saw not a single ugly building amongst the orange-brown roofs and shuttered windows.

Now she could tick off one promise from her list, but another was crowding to the forefront of her mind. ‘If you know my Uncle Gianni, do you know whether he has children? Cousins of mine?’

‘Yes, you have a cousin. I do not remember her name. And you have an aunt, of course – Gianni’s wife is called Mia.’

‘Wow.’ Sofia laughed, almost giving a little skip of excitement. ‘I feel as if my head’s going to explode, trying to take it all in. Do you know where I can find my uncle? My father left him a message.’

Ernesto wiped his sweating forehead on the sleeve of his shirt. ‘A message?’ He gazed at the distant peaks and his steps slowed as if with the weight of his thoughts. Eventually he offered, ‘I don’t have his address in my head but I’ll see him on Sunday, I think, because we attend the same mass. If you wish, I’ll tell him where you’re living and then he’ll find you for himself.’

‘OK.’ The urge to skip faded. Ernesto seemed to be picking his words. Maybe he thought Gianni might not want to meet her? It was fair enough that he be given the choice, she acknowledged reluctantly, quashing a tiny wriggle of hurt. She’d known for months she was going to make this trip but Gianni might want time to digest the fact of her presence – even her existence – before they came face to face. Several times she’d thought of trying to locate him and sending a letter or email before her visit, but she hadn’t known where to start and it had seemed one task too many in the tedium of tying up Aldo’s affairs. ‘Yes, please,’ she answered eventually. ‘But is it possible to leave it to me to tell him about Dad dying? I think that was what he wanted. My uncle can leave me a message at Casa Felice on Via Virgilio … if he wants to.’

Back on the edges of town again, they found shade to walk in. Ernesto asked about Sofia’s job and her plans to travel for at least two years.

‘You are an independent young woman.’ He smiled as they once again entered the Piazza Santa Lucia.

‘In practical ways,’ she agreed cautiously. ‘I’ve spent so many years feeling as if the world was passing me by. Even after Dad died—’ her voice quavered for an instant ‘—I had to arrange the funeral, deal with his estate and sell the house in time to get out here for the summer season. I need to have fun. To experience the world.’ Then, to cheer herself up, she asked Ernesto for suggestions for what to see in Umbria and left the emotion behind in the excitement of talking about Lake Trasimeno and ‘Il Duomo’, the cathedral in Orvieto.

It was nearly six o’clock by the time they kissed cheeks, called ‘Ciao!’ and went their separate ways. Sofia had an overwhelming desire for a glass or three of cold wine. As she trailed through the arch to Piazza Roma, legs heavy from the walk, she almost flopped down at the nearest shady café. But she would enjoy it so much more after a shower and a change, she told herself, and there was no rule to prevent her drinking in Il Giardino as a paying customer. Amy was scheduled to be serving there this evening. Would Davide have been given the same duty?

His English was good, which was one of the reasons his mother liked him out there, and so he’d returned to Il Giardino, practising the fine art of throwing his weight around while simultaneously avoiding work himself.

Sofia bought a bottle of cold water and began climbing the hill, taking her mind off her burning calves by checking out bars and cafés that might provide the kind of nightlife she thought a young single woman ought to be sampling.

Finally she reached Casa Felice, intending to skirt Il Giardino and cross the car park to the utility yard where bins and crates were stored and deliveries received, and staff could access the hotel. Glancing over the greenery that marked the division between pavement and Il Giardino she saw Davide was indeed threading between tables, tray high. Amy was at the bar, balancing an order of drinks on her own tray, and another waiter Sofia had shared a shift with a couple of times, Thomas, was picking up food from the kitchen hatch.

As she watched, Davide called something to Amy, who cast him a sullen look in reply.

Hmm. Picking up her pace, Sofia whisked through the utility yard and out the other side, taking the steps down to the low, staff-only gate that led to the strip of garden overrun by vine that disguised what Benedetta grandly termed the two ‘apartments’ beneath the terrace for the live-in staff. Hotel guests wandering about the sloping gardens below the terrace would have to approach almost up to the fence of the utility yard in order to stumble upon the gate. The Morbidellis shared an apartment up in the eaves of the hotel and Sofia suspected it was not the kind best hidden behind a garden filled with rampaging vine.

Once through the gate, Amy’s accommodation lay behind the first faded green door and Sofia’s behind the second. She let herself into her room and breathed a sigh of relief at the drop in temperature that came along with stone walls, tiled floor and only one window. Despite it being furnished economically, Sofia liked her room. The white walls made it airy, the bedclothes were pretty but simple in blue and white. There was enough room for the clothes she’d brought with her and the chest of drawers provided somewhere for her box of costume jewellery and makeup bag.

She stripped, left her clothes in a heap and stepped into the small shower room. The lukewarm water felt fantastic as it sluiced down her body and, defying Benedetta’s warnings about not wasting water, even though Umbria received more rainfall than most of Italy, she gave herself up to the pleasure of being cool for several blissful minutes. Finally, she stirred herself to wash. When dry, she teamed a white dress with shiny black flip-flops, then brushed her hair into a high ponytail and picked up her purse.

After retracing her route to the front of the hotel she cut across the car park to Il Giardino. From there she could see Amy hurrying through the tables wearing a set expression while Davide grinned slyly at her rear view. It looked as if Davide had bagged the centre section again and as the only empty table in the place was in that area, Sofia headed towards it.

She noticed two things simultaneously. A group of tourists was racing her for the table; and a neighbouring table had just one occupant: Levi the Biker Man. Sofia paused.

Davide spotted what was happening and indicated, by pointing rapidly between the tourists and the empty table, that the two were destined to be together.

Sofia nodded, quite understanding that the tourists had the greater revenue potential, and pointed to herself and the vacant seat at Levi’s table. Benedetta couldn’t complain about her mixing socially with a guest in this circumstance and she had an urge to learn a little more of what this particular guest was up to.

Decision made, she headed towards Levi. ‘Would you mind if I shared your table?’

He’d been engrossed with his phone but glanced up at the sound of her voice, his hair lifting in the early evening breeze. ‘I’d count it as a bonus.’ His smile was slow and interested.

Knowing she’d probably have sent an equally interested smile back if she a) wasn’t banned from cosying up to guests and b) didn’t suspect him of making a goon of himself over a girl half his age, Sofia pulled out the chair. ‘Thanks.’

Levi put down his phone and turned to catch Davide’s eye. ‘I was just about to order.’

Approving of his discreet getting-the-attention-of-the-waiter etiquette – she had a hatred of finger clickers and, even worse, those who thought it OK to whistle – Sofia watched as Davide jettisoned a tray of empty glasses at the bar and arrived with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. ‘Buonasera.’

Not certain whether he’d been so prompt because he was watching her with a guest, Sofia replied, ‘Buonasera.’ And, when Levi made a courteous gesture that she should order first: ‘Un bicchiere grande di Orvieto Classico, per favore.’

Levi’s eyebrows flipped up. They, and his eyelashes, were darker than the tawny locks on his head. His eyes gleamed silvery blue in the twilight. ‘What did you ask for?’

‘A large glass of Orvieto Classico. It’s an Umbrian white wine.’

Levi switched his gaze to Davide. ‘Make that a bottle and two glasses, please, with a cooler.’

Sofia sent him a mock-reproving look as Davide ambled off. ‘My dad told me good white wine shouldn’t be served too cold because it “destroys the bouquet.”’

‘Blame it on my Englishness.’ He smiled that slow smile again, causing Sofia to heave an inner sigh that he was out of bounds. ‘Are you enjoying your day off?’ he asked.

She was about to answer, but then his gaze flickered to Amy, and Sofia had to refrain from snorting, ‘She’s too freakin’ young for you!’

‘Yes, thank you,’ she murmured instead. She caught Amy’s eye and sent her a smile as the younger woman charged up the aisle in their direction, tray piled high with dirty crocks. ‘All right?’ Sofia mouthed, indicating Davide with a tiny movement of her head.

Amy answered with an enormous tragic-teenager roll of her eyes, making Sofia smile sympathetically, though she would be angry if Amy was still being harassed. What was it about her that was getting her attention from older guys? Her pale blonde hair? Her air of youthful naïveté? The slender, boyish figure Amy made as she paused beside their table?

Sofia patted her arm. ‘Are you on at eleven tomorrow?’ Amy currently got all her seven-hour shifts in Il Giardino beginning at either 11 a.m. or 6 p.m. Benedetta didn’t yet consider her up to serving in the more formal residents’ dining room, nor to taking the 8 a.m. shift serving coffee and snacks in Il Giardino. The latter, though a popular duty with those servers who enjoyed having their day’s work over at three in the afternoon, was a solo shift only given to the experienced, such as Sofia herself.

Amy made a face. ‘No, I’m on at six again.’ Il Giardino shut at midnight but the shift went on another hour to allow for the departure of stragglers and the clean-down. Sofia had an unpleasant vision of a weary Amy being circled by Davide as the lights went down and witnesses to his actions became fewer.

Casting a quick look his way to check he hadn’t noticed Amy chatting, Sofia asked, ‘Are you doing anything for lunch tomorrow? If not, we could go into town together.’

A smile lit Amy’s face. ‘That would be wicked. I haven’t been away from the hotel enough.’

If at all, Sofia added silently, strongly suspecting that Amy was feeling isolated and out of her depth in Italy. Almost every time Sofia sought her own quarters when Amy was off duty, the younger girl would be hunched on a past-its-best bench outside her room so as to get a signal for her phone.

Although Amy seemed to be trying valiantly to learn the waitressing ropes, Sofia would never have picked her out as the type of teenager to leave her home to travel to another country in search of a summer job. Apart from the flash of spirit that had seen Amy wielding a tray as a weapon, she frequently looked lost and uncertain.

Sofia’s own late teens were fresh enough in her memory for her to acknowledge how patronising sympathy could feel, though, so she kept her voice upbeat and friendly. ‘Great. I’ll tap on your door at about twelve.’

‘Cool!’ Amy gave Sofia a quick smile, then turned her attention politely to Levi, probably realising he’d been excluded from the conversation. ‘Are you enjoying your holiday?’

Levi returned her smile. ‘Enormously. I hadn’t realised how beautiful Umbria is. I paint landscapes for relaxation and Montelibertà has fabulous views. Do you like it here?’

‘Mostly.’ Amy cut her gaze meaningfully towards Davide. ‘But not entirely.’ She flashed them both a quick smile before beetling off to the kitchen hatch to dump her full tray.

The brief exchange between Amy and Levi was so unexceptional that suddenly Sofia wondered if she’d imagined he’d been showing too much interest in Amy before. Levi hadn’t taken the opportunity to flirt or even to hold Amy’s attention by delaying her from going about her duties. Experimentally, she tested his reaction to being asked about himself. ‘Are you a family man? Wife and kiddies waiting for you at home while you roar around Europe on your motorbike?’

He showed no inclination to avoid the question. ‘No wife or current life partner.’ He paused while he took another sip of wine. ‘One daughter.’

‘A daughter?’ Reassured, Sofia resisted the temptation to ask whether she was older or younger than Amy. ‘Are you close to her?’

His eyebrows rose slowly, as if processing the question. ‘Depends how you look at it. How about you?’

‘Footloose and fancy free,’ she replied flippantly as Davide arrived at their table with an ice bucket, a bottle of wine and two glasses. Opening the wine with a flourish, he hovered the mouth of the bottle over Levi’s glass. ‘Would you like to taste the wine?’

Levi began shaking his head but Sofia said, ‘Sì, grazie,’ and when Davide poured a small amount in her glass, sipped appreciatively. ‘Bellissimo,’ she said, which earned her a nod before Davide half-filled both glasses and departed for tables new.

‘Is that performance obligatory?’ Levi lifted his glass.

Sofia wrinkled her nose. ‘Not unless you’re a member of the owner’s family showing off in front of “the help”, or a waitress who recognises the value of kissing up by playing along.’

He laughed and took a sip of his wine. He paused, looked into the contents of his glass, then took several more sips. ‘This is fantastic.’

‘Dad said I’d have to visit Umbria for the real thing. We used to buy it from the supermarket at home but he’d always wrinkle his nose and say it wasn’t the same.’ Sofia took a sip and let it roll around her mouth, giving herself a moment to absorb the pain at the memory, then let it go, content for the evening to pass comfortably over wine, a large shared pizza and casual conversation. Sofia discovered Levi lived in Cambridgeshire and ran some kind of website. She didn’t ask for details. When Aldo had been alive she’d depended far too much on the internet for entertainment and human communication and now she wanted to concentrate on reality and flesh-and-blood people.

Levi was good company. He made her laugh, his smile was the kind to make her tummy turn over and, in other circumstances, he would have crossed her mind about once every minute as a candidate to be her first ever – hopefully wild – one-night stand.

It would be exciting to see what developed from the expression in his eyes when they rested on her. He looked … hungry. It made her feel fizzy inside, even though she kept fighting down the attraction.

But he was a hotel guest and though Sofia let him draw her out about her dad, her promises, her intention to travel for at least a couple of years, her grandparents and the exciting knowledge that she apparently had living relatives in this very town, she made certain not to let her gaze linger too long on the way his body filled his clothes.

It was Levi who made the move, as Il Giardino began to empty. He let a finger rest softly on Sofia’s wrist. ‘Can I persuade you to go on somewhere? Maybe down into the town?’ And then he turned and took a good long look at Amy before checking out Davide, for all the world as if making sure Davide wasn’t making any progress before he left. Davide turned and obviously caught the look. After an initial start of surprise, he stared right back. Levi’s gaze didn’t waver.

What? Were they doing the alpha-male confrontation thing over Amy?

Infuriated that she’d obviously been totally wrong to give Levi the benefit of the doubt over Amy, Sofia didn’t see a need to explain that staff weren’t to mix too closely with guests. Her manners deserted her. ‘I don’t think that would be a good idea. At all,’ she snapped.

Levi turned back, blinking. Encountering her glare, he took back his hand. ‘I see.’ He waited, as if he thought he might get an explanation for the sudden frost in the air. When none was forthcoming he glanced around at Davide again, this time with the international gesture of pretending to write on his palm to indicate his readiness to pay.

Davide came straight over – waiters hardly ever failed to notice a customer ready to settle up, especially when it was late and they were grateful one more punter was ready to leave. Perhaps he was particularly glad to see this one leave.

Sofia paid her half of the bill in stiff silence.

Levi rose, his mouth set. ‘I take it you’re not going to invite me to your place for coffee either,’ he said sarcastically.

Sofia remained in her seat. ‘I’m going to hang around and help clear tables so Amy will have female company on the walk back to the staff accommodation. I think she could do with someone around.’

Levi nodded curtly. ‘I think so too.’ Then he spun on his heel and strode towards the front doors into Casa Felice.

Sofia stared after him. ‘You don’t have the moral high ground here, mate,’ she muttered to herself. Then she tossed back her last mouthful of wine and jumped up to grab a tray and help clear tables.