Chapter 8
8
On her arrival in Italy at the end of May, Sophie found her professionalism tested numerous times in just the first few minutes. Before she’d even entered the arrivals hall at Verona airport late in the afternoon, memories – mostly of previous Knodelling – assailed her.
She’d been here once to visit Andreas. He’d been late to collect her and when he’d finally swung by in his old Fiat Panda, she’d still been stupidly happy to see him. Any aggravation had disappeared when she’d caught sight of him in a worn leather jacket, peering up with a wide smile just for her. Then he’d kissed her for long enough that they’d nearly outstayed the short-term parking limit.
In hindsight, she could see there was something desperate in his affection. He’d always known there were limits to their relationship. Sophie had still stupidly thought they might cross the lines together and find a solution. She just wished she could switch off the shivers up her spine when she remembered the feel of his hand on the back of her neck as he kissed her.
She’d flown into Verona several times since then. Italy was perennially popular with her clients for its great food, charming locations for photoshoots and comparatively straightforward bureaucracy around tying the knot. But that morning, Sophie’s cynicism – usually kept well under control in the face of her clients’ starry-eyed optimism – was flaring and she could only see the questionable symbolism of marrying in the city that was famous for a pair of star-crossed lovers who came to a tragic – and foolish – end.
The words ‘tragic’ and ‘foolish’ drew far too many parallels with the last time Andreas had met her here. They’d had several weeks apart, talking on the phone every day – Sophie had always been the one to call, it mortified her to remember – and then she’d taken a few days off work to visit him.
She’d been starry-eyed herself, but she’d also been wrong. She’d imagined him taking her to his home – his real home, not the room he kept at Miro and Toni’s – introducing her to his parents and to the mountainous places that were part of him.
None of that had happened. Sophie had never even once set foot in South Tyrol. Andreas had picked her up from the airport and taken her hiking and climbing in the Veneto Dolomites. She hadn’t had time to be disappointed, because every view had been spectacular and every day gruelling, since Andreas didn’t do anything outdoors by halves. And at night, he’d wrapped his arms around her in the tiny tent he’d carried for them and she’d almost managed to forget she’d wanted an insight into the rest of his life and not just another spectacular adventure.
Now, she was only interested in the adventure – involving a summit cross where her clients could promise their lives to each other while Sophie resisted thinking about everything in her own life that had turned out differently from how she’d expected.
Holding her breath, trying not to wonder whether Andreas would smile for her, she sailed through the sliding doors and into the arrivals hall. Sophie’s eyes found him before he saw her. Although his baseball cap hid the grey highlights peppered through his hair, he still looked strikingly older than he had that autumn day nearly nine years ago. His face was weathered and freckled and she pictured him for a moment as an old man, growing to resemble his stony mountains – and just as quiet.
But neither the evidence that he’d recently turned forty nor Sophie’s strange mental image could reduce the inviting picture he made, staring off to one side lost in thought, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket – that jacket.
When he glanced over and saw her, he did smile, but there was none of the brightness of the last time he’d collected her here. She knew she looked different too. She’d had her hair styled in a long, layered bob and her fitted dress was one of her favourites for work.
Her heels clicked on the tiles as she approached and he met her in the middle. She clutched the handle of her suitcase as her mind raced, wondering how they were supposed to greet each other. He hesitated with the barest glance at her outfit, before grasping her upper arm and pressing a kiss to her cheek.
‘Benvenuta in bella Italia, Sophie,’ he said, his voice textured and rough even when he welcomed her in Italian.
‘Grazie,’ she thanked him with an uncertain look. ‘Or should I say “Danke”?’ She still didn’t quite understand the dynamic between his two languages. He said German was his mother tongue, but she’d rarely heard him speak it and he seemed entirely comfortable with Italian.
He didn’t answer – perhaps he’d thought the question was rhetorical – and she followed him uneasily outside after he’d snatched the handle of her case. She paused, nonplussed, when he led her to the same old Panda, the khaki paintwork even more faded.
‘There might be a bit of mud on the seat.’
Hoping he wasn’t serious, she settled gingerly on the passenger side while he rummaged in the boot to make space for her suitcase amongst his usual collection of dirty boots and pristine ropes. She breathed a sigh of relief when the car started on the first try.
‘It still works,’ he rumbled carelessly. ‘Still got power steering.’ He shrugged out of his jacket before grasping the gear stick and shoving it into reverse, making Sophie jerk her gaze up when she caught herself watching the play of bone and ligament and muscle in his arm.
‘I suppose I’ve been doing weddings for too long,’ she said, keeping her gaze strictly forward. ‘Most couples want a Ferrari here. I have a list of hire companies.’
‘Vintage cabrio?’ he asked with a chuckle. ‘Or would that blow away the veil? Just make sure they don’t stop to take photos on the Stelvio Pass. They might never make it all the way up.’
‘I did have one couple who wanted to take photos up there, but it was in spring and when they discovered how much snow was left, they decided on Verona instead.’
‘I don’t suppose the same might happen with your current clients?’
‘There won’t be any snow around Lake Garda in September,’ Sophie said drily. She peered at him. ‘You’re still sceptical about their plan to get married on a mountain summit?’
‘Do you remember when we went hiking near Cortina?’ he asked instead of answering.
Sophie resisted rolling her eyes. ‘I’m not likely to forget.’ As much as she might want to.
‘We did the via ferrata Marino Bianchi.’
If she closed her eyes, she could still picture the dizzying drops, the grey limestone peaks that dominated the equipped climbing route. She could hear the clink of the safety equipment and feel the steel cable of the via ferrata – ‘iron way’ in Italian – under her hands.
Andreas continued, ‘I still remember the look on your face when you reached the top of the Cima di Mezzo.’
Sophie hoped he was concentrating on the road, because the multi-lane highway and the toll gates all disappeared from her vision. She was lost in memories of how it had felt to stand on that crag and know she’d hauled herself up, fought gravity literally with all her muscles, with her fingernails and her determination. She’d floated on the crisp air and the sunlight, as though she’d just discovered a new dimension to life and to herself.
‘Can you imagine reaching the top and then marrying someone?’ Andreas snapped, sending Sophie’s thoughts crashing back down.
Actually… she could imagine it. And somehow, the only groom she could imagine in that picture was Andreas.
‘The bride isn’t planning to do a via ferrata in a wedding dress. You won’t have to lug the champagne to the top in a cool bag or produce a violin quartet out of your pocket!’
‘No, because I’ll be long gone by the time they actually get married!’ he said, his voice irritatingly light. ‘I can just about bring myself to help you find them a place.’
Sophie gritted her teeth. ‘I know you’ll never get married and don’t appreciate the idea of combining a wedding and challenging sports, but surely you can appreciate the parallels. It’s all about the big feelings; getting married is a moment of adrenaline too, a destination and the continuation of that journey along the same path. There’s symbolism that you should grasp at least intellectually, if you’re incapable of appreciating it emotionally.’
He was silent for a moment, his hand gripping the worn vinyl of the steering wheel tightly. ‘I can see why you’re a good marriage celebrant,’ he said eventually. ‘If the couples need one last pep talk, you’re there to convince them to take the plunge.’
‘I do no such thing,’ she retorted. ‘If someone doesn’t want to get married, then nothing I say is going to change their mind – as you well know!’ She took a deep breath. ‘It’s not my job to convince people to get married.’
‘But your livelihood does depend on it.’
‘I wouldn’t make comments about my livelihood when yours seems a little tenuous. And I don’t know why you’re criticising me . It’s been barely half an hour and we’ve degenerated to this already,’ she mumbled at the end.
‘What did you expect when you roped me into helping with your wedding research?’
‘I thought we’d cleared the air – somewhat at least.’
His injured tone put her off-balance. She still didn’t understand why he seemed to resent her for asking him to marry her. He hadn’t lost anything by her asking.
‘Yes, we cleared the air but it doesn’t mean I’m going to cry at their wedding. I’ll show you around different places so you can do your research, take your photos. Kira and I can plan the hen and bachelor parties, but the ceremony is your thing. I don’t have to like it.’
Sophie blew a long breath out through thinned lips. ‘Fine. That’s fair.’
She stared out of the window, seeing only streaks of green and the ribbon of the grey road. Hopefully, his disparaging remarks would be the nail in the coffin of this old attraction and she might find some much-needed closure.
‘You said the Great Heart accommodation is in Brenzone?’ she asked, changing the subject. ‘That’s about an hour from the reception venue. Kira and whichever other guide we have during the wedding might be able to stay there, but I’ll have to sleep at the venue.’
‘They’re having a normal reception?’
‘Since she can’t have the nice dress for the ceremony, we’ve planned a traditional wedding reception. That’s my area of expertise, don’t worry. I’ll need to drop by the venue at some stage, but I can hire a car and go alone.’
‘I can be a taxi service.’
‘At your mountain-guide rates? You’ve just taken great pains to remind me how much you hate weddings. You don’t have to chaperone me around the lake. If there’s a kettle in my room, you won’t even need to see much of me.’
He didn’t respond, but the bob of his throat suggested he was working up to saying something – probably something she wouldn’t like. ‘About the accommodation…’
‘Oh, God, don’t tell me. Is it bunk beds? I knew when you said we should stay at the Great Heart property that there would be a catch.’
‘No catch. It’s a small place – two bedrooms and a kitchen-diner. We usually use it for the guides before and after a trip, rather than clients, but… when I said it was Great Heart accommodation, that wasn’t quite true. The place belongs to my family. My grandparents bought it.’
‘To go on holiday? I thought your family didn’t like leaving South Tyrol.’
He eyed her. ‘They like to come to the water where it’s a little warmer.’
‘So it’s not free accommodation then? You give us mates rates or something?’
‘No, I don’t charge,’ he said with a vehement shake of his head. ‘We don’t rent out the apartment at all. It’s usually sitting empty.’
She stared at him, perplexed. ‘Why?’
When he didn’t immediately answer, she suspected there was more bad news.
‘It’s in an old building. It needs renovation, but none of us can afford it, so…’ He shuffled in his seat, taking a hairpin curve with practised hands. ‘It’s liveable. It’s fine, just don’t expect a nice hotel.’
‘I didn’t,’ she insisted. ‘But you should charge. You’re not only working for Willard now.’
‘Just wait until you see the place.’
She shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter what—’ The Panda had trundled around another hairpin curve and Sophie’s words trailed off. Tall, narrow cypress trees swished past the windows, interspersed with stone pines. Rhododendrons tumbled over the chain-link fence at the side of the road, blooming vivid red. Clay rooftiles baked in the afternoon sun with a little haze that suggested warm temperatures for late May.
But it was the view that forced air into the deepest bronchioles of her lungs, that loosened the muscles in her forehead.
She sighed. ‘I always forget.’
‘Forget what?’
‘How beautiful it is here,’ she said with a smile.
Swerving hard, Andreas brought the car to a sudden standstill in a lay-by. Flung forward against her seatbelt, Sophie floundered for purchase against the dashboard, but when she’d steadied herself and given him a sharp look, she remained leaning forward, peering through the windscreen as he turned off the engine.
The lake was wide at the southern end, blue-green water rippling lightly, stretching out under a sky streaked with frothy clouds. Mountains rose into view on the other side, growing higher and craggier to the north, where the ground had been crinkled and concertinaed into incredible shapes over the aeons.
Glancing at Andreas, she found him following her gaze, one arm propped on the steering wheel. As usual, she couldn’t read his expression.
‘I suppose you come here all the time,’ she prompted.
His only answer was a small nod.
‘And the views are better at home anyway?’
‘The views are better from higher up,’ he said after a pause.
Their conversation from the pub back in April came alive between them again. He lived for altitude and adventure. She organised weddings. The gulf between them couldn’t be spanned by a simple suspension bridge.
‘But I forgot how beautiful it is too,’ he said, his voice rough. Turning away with a deep breath, he started the car and backed it out, his arm draped over the passenger seat as he watched for traffic over his shoulder.
Sophie didn’t move, his words echoing unexpectedly between her ribs. The proximity of his hand to her neck was palpable. She stared straight ahead as he reversed the car onto the road and drew his hand away, but not before the backs of his fingers whispered over her nape.
She must have imagined it.