Chapter Five #3
And then they were at the top of a hill, surrounded by land in every direction, stretching as far as the eye could see.
Ettore stopped the bike and they dismounted. ‘This is it. This is our land. My grandfather used to say, “If you can see it, we own it.”’
‘Is that the sea?’ she asked, pointing to a distant blurred blue between the land and the sky, more to hide her stunned reaction than because she cared.
‘It’s closer than it looks. Hence the pirates I mentioned in the car.’
Her gaze pulled down to a field of trees with pale green leaves. They were silvery with age, and they had an almost architectural stateliness, like tiny cathedrals.
‘I thought you’d only just started growing olives. Those look old to me.’
‘They are. Some are hundreds of years old. But until a few years ago, we only picked and pressed them for ourselves. But then small-batch estate oils became a thing, so we started selling commercially. We average about three hundred bottles a year. Aside from that they help the biodiversity of the vineyard.’
‘Is that why you grow almonds too?’
He nodded. ‘In the past, our estate managers were always wedded to fertilisers and chemicals and my forebears were wedded to maximising profit over the environment. But for the last fifty years, the yield has been dropping incrementally. So about five years ago, I started to look at sustainable viticulture. My aim has been to promote a healthy ecosystem rooted in more historical traditions like vite maritata, training vines to grow on living trees.’
Dulcie nodded. ‘Is it just olives and almonds?’
‘No, we have maples, cherry, plum, fig—’
‘How is that working?’
His face softened a fraction and a tension she hadn’t realised he was holding in his shoulders seemed to lift a little.
‘It’s been a challenge. During the transition from chemicals, we took a hit financially, but since then it’s been on an upward trajectory in terms of yield and last year we had our best year ever.’
She could believe it. There was a promise of abundance, the potential for a bountiful harvest everywhere she looked. And a sense of nurturing and meticulous care, of human intervention but in harmony with nature.
All of it apparently down to Ettore.
It was strange and a little sad to think that they had been husband and wife and yet she had known nothing about any of this.
How had that happened? But she had never pushed him to talk about his life before her, because that would have meant talking about her home life, her past, herself and, of course, the decision she’d made to abandon her brother.
And if she couldn’t forgive herself for what she had done to Oscar, how could she expect anyone else to?
It was why everything they’d ‘shared’ had been superficial.
Except in bed. That was when, how, they had communicated deeply. But why get married, then? Why hadn’t they just stayed in bed until the fire that blazed between them had burned out?
A shrill, repetitive ringing sound punctuated that thought and Ettore fished out his phone. Glancing at the screen, he frowned. ‘I need to take this.’
‘Go ahead.’ She gave him a small, stiff smile. ‘I can entertain myself.’
As Ettore answered his phone, she walked back over to where the bike was parked.
She swung her leg over the seat, and sat down, letting her gaze drift across the landscape.
It was a paradise. And finally, and without any kind of strange, artificial intervention, she and Ettore had found a common ground.
If only she didn’t have to lie to Edoardo.
Her fingers tightened around the bike handles, and she felt a sudden urge to flee the scene of the crime. Except she didn’t know how to ride the bike. Or perhaps she did. How hard could it be?
Tentatively, she turned the key as Ettore had done, then flicked the engine on switch. Now, just a little bit of throttle. She turned the handlebar—
There was a roar, much louder than she’d anticipated. Startled, she let go of the handlebars as the bike jerked forward, rearing up like a startled horse, and then she was falling backwards, her breath punching out of her mouth audibly as she sat down heavily on the ground.
The bike was still moving, speeding forward down the slope and then there was the sound of wood splintering and fibreglass cracking as it collided with a fence post and slid sideways, its wheels spinning in the air.
‘Ma che cazzo fai?’
Ettore was by her side, leaning over her, his face in shadow, his eyes moving over her anxiously and she didn’t need to speak Italian to know that he was swearing.
‘What are you playing at?’
‘Nothing. I was—’ It was too complicated to explain.
‘Are you hurt?’
‘No.’ Bruised maybe, but mostly that was just her pride, she thought, watching his face harden as she shook her head.
‘Wait here.’
He got to his feet and stalked down the hill to where the bike lay on its side beneath a fence post, wire tangled around the chassis. It took a moment or two of twisting and tugging, but he managed to pull it free and lift it upright.
‘Is it okay?’
‘It’s fine,’ he said tersely, and the easy mood between them was a distant memory now. ‘We should get back. Are you okay to ride?’
‘Yes, of course.’
He stared at her for a moment as if debating whether or not to believe her and then he handed her a helmet.
Her coccyx was already starting to feel sore by the time they reached the barn. Ettore spoke to a man wearing overalls about the bike and then he took her hand and practically frogmarched her back to the castle.
‘I have a couple of calls to make. Dinner is at eight. We’ll eat on the terrace. What? What is it?’ He was staring at her face, frowning.
‘You’re hurt—’
She stared anxiously at where blood was seeping through the fabric of his shirt.
He glanced down, frowned.
‘Oh, that, I caught it on the wire when I was pulling the bike free.’
‘Let me see.’ She reached out.
‘No.’
Her chin jerked up as his hand clamped around hers. ‘I can manage. There’s no one watching, you don’t need to pretend you care.’
She flinched. ‘I’m not pretending. I just wanted to—’
His beautiful mouth was set in a taut line, and there was a knife-edged tension to his body now. ‘And I just want you to go to your room and try not to do anything reckless or stupid.’
There was a pulsing silence. She stared at him, frozen with shock and misery.
‘Given that I agreed to come here as your wife, I’d say it’s way too late for that,’ she said slowly, and she turned and walked up the stairs and into her room.