Chapter 31
Stella opened the kitchen window, blinking as bright sunlight flooded the small kitchen.
She set a saucepan of water on to boil. She still hadn’t got round to searching the rest of Domenico’s stock for a kettle.
The squashed cocktail hat sat mournfully on top of her uncle’s battered copy of In Cucina.
Steaming that was another job she needed to do, along with searching for some sort of chain for Amy’s necklace before the girl returned to the shop.
She’d been planning to catch up today during Sunday closing but she wasn’t going to miss the chance to spend the day with Gino.
She poured water onto a camomile teabag; she was jittery enough without a shot of caffeine.
In less than an hour she’d be seeing him.
How easy it had been, how natural and right it felt to be back in his arms. How they might mesh his life in Liguria and hers back home was a question she wouldn’t worry about now.
They were back together and that was all that mattered.
She took her phone off the charger, not surprised to see a message from Lauren there.
Stella had been on such a high after her evening at the pizzeria she’d thrown caution to the wind and sent her daughter a rambling email telling how she’d reconnected with her old love.
Bracing herself for Lauren’s brusque assessment of how foolish her mother was being, she was stunned to see words of encouragement and the comment ‘he sounds hot!’ Goodness!
What on earth had she written in that email last night?
The knock on the door came fifteen minutes before she planned to leave.
She flew through the kitchen, almost tripping in her haste to answer it.
Gino stood on the doorstep. The sleeves on his orange shirt were rolled up, showing arms more muscular than the boyish body she remembered.
‘Ciao, Stella.’ He kissed her lightly on the lips. ‘I know we said we would meet at the bar but I could not wait to see you.’
‘Lucky I’m ready, isn’t it?’
He grinned, clocking the trainers already on her feet, the keys in her hand.
They were too keen to get going to linger long in the bar over breakfast. Soon they were passing under the old stone arch, pausing only for a few seconds to take in the view of the hills.
Gino squeezed her hand. Was he thinking, like her, how wonderful it was to walk through the village together, nodding and smiling and exchanging greetings as they went?
Some people did a doubletake when they saw them – she recognised a few of her parents’ friends and a couple of old classmates – but no one was hostile or disapproving.
There were no angry villagers storming out of their houses to accuse her of causing her papà’s death.
No one shaking their fists or raining curses upon her head.
People wouldn’t have forgotten but time had moved on. It seemed she’d been forgiven.
She set off along the path by the vineyard, half-expecting old Francesco’s dog to run up to the fence, loudly announcing to the world that they were there. There was no dog now, just a wire mesh chicken run. A tortoiseshell cat, head low, bottom in the air was eyeing up its feathery residents.
The steps leading further up were even crumblier than she remembered, weeds sprouting between the cracks.
Wiry mountain thyme grew on the scraggy hillside, the beloved snapdragons of her childhood still bloomed.
The sky was blue enough to make a whole fleet of sailors’ trousers; the sun warmed her right through to her bones, Gino was by her side. She hadn’t felt so happy in years.
Ahead of them was the Old Chapel, smaller than she recalled but her heart leapt at the sight of it.
‘Oh, look! I’m so pleased to see it’s still there!’
‘What did you expect? A pile of rubble?’
‘I don’t know. Everything’s changed so much around where I live in England but almost everything here is just the same, as if I’ve never been away. Does Fernanda still look after this place?’
‘She did until recently. It’s too far for her to walk these days. But she’s so stubborn I wouldn’t put it past her to try and get here if Leo hadn’t taken over.’
‘Your son? That’s good of him.’
‘He’s fond of my mother. He doesn’t want her fretting over this place, worrying about vandals or vermin. He doesn’t get out here as much as she did, of course, but he did come here the other day. He brought that girl, Amy, to help.’
‘Even the windows are sparkling.’ Stella stood on tiptoes to peer in. ‘They gave the place a good onceover by the look of it but that’s not my idea of a date.’
‘The pizzeria would have been more romantic.’ Gino grinned.
Stella gave him a dig in the ribs. ‘Very funny. Shall we go on?’
‘I hope the path isn’t too overgrown. We could have taken my car the long way round but it felt right to walk.’
‘I’m glad. It’s a nice day. I always used to manage all right, though I was a bit fitter back then.’
‘I’ll have to help you along.’ He took her hand. ‘Come on, up the last few steps. It will flatten out soon.’
‘I remember. I’d always start running as soon as I got to that bit.’
‘Ah, that’s why you always arrived looking so flustered. Do you remember how I used to wait for you there?’
‘I used to panic if Mamma kept me back to do some chores, knowing I’d be horribly late.’
‘No mobile phones back then. I’d just have to wait and hope.’
She took the last few steps and paused to catch her breath before saying: ‘Some things have changed for the better. I’d be lost without my phone.’
‘I’m glad we didn’t have them back then; Mamma would have fitted mine with some sort of tracker app.’
‘I wish we’d had something to track where Fernanda was and then…
’ She looked across the hills. If Fernanda hadn’t found them, Papà wouldn’t have worked himself up into a rage.
He wouldn’t have died. Stella wouldn’t have caused Mamma such pain, lost touch with her brother and sister.
Their reckless kiss in the alley had cost her everything.
She searched for a change of subject. ‘When did you last come this way?’
‘Not since the spring. Week after week I’ve been meaning to but you know how it is, life gets in the way.
My daughter, Isabella, has been back in Alassio and every time I’ve come here to visit Mamma and Leo, I seem to get caught up in odd jobs at one of their houses, but it’s really time I checked on the trees.
They didn’t get harvested last year, the family who rented the place these last thirty years had all sorts of personal issues so they gave notice and left.
I should have taken time out and organised collecting the olives and a slot at the frantoio but I didn’t get around to it.
A terrible waste.’ He tutted and shook his head.
‘These things happen. So, have you found someone else who wants to take over?’
‘No.’
She expected him to say more but he strode on, a serious look on his face. For the next half hour they walked side by side along the rough stony path, speaking very little, content just to be in each other’s company.
The rustico came into view. A couple of windows were boarded up but the sloping roof and old stone walls were just as she remembered. Gino took a key from under a chipped urn. He unlocked the door. It opened with a creak; she stepped inside.
He glanced around. ‘Good, it seems just as I left it.’
‘I don’t suppose many people come this way. We haven’t passed anyone today.’
‘There would be no reason unless you were here to work on the trees. That’s what made it such a good hideaway for us.’
She rubbed her hand down one of the old wooden pillars.
‘Looking for where we carved our initials? I think it was lower.’ He crouched down. ‘Look, there!’
She joined him, tracing her finger over the marks he’d hacked with a penknife: G + S sempre in a heart-shaped surround. ‘You and me always. Oh, yes. I remember when you did that.’
‘After we first kissed. And now here we are again.’
‘We haven’t been the only ones. I don’t remember the other carvings.’
‘There were a few initials and hearts when we used to come here but not as many as this. Maybe it was the kids of the family who rented from us.’
Stella stood up, she was getting cramp in her legs. ‘There’s a lot more stuff in here too.’
‘People accumulate things over the years: wheelbarrows, ladders, baskets…’ He stretched a piece of olive netting between two hands. ‘Looks decent quality, hopefully it isn’t too torn.’
She walked over to a short-legged wooden chest. ‘A madia. My grandma kept her flour in one and she’d roll out the pasta on top. Hers was in the kitchen; it’s strange to see one out here.’
‘It’s the victim of one of Mamma’s tidying sessions.
She keeps her flour in cannisters in the cupboard like most people these days.
But Violetta would have used this during the war.
Mamma won’t get rid of anything that belonged to her sister but when there was no more room in the house, she used to bring things out here.
Like this.’ He patted the edge of an old iron bedstead, its striped mattress saggy and worn.
‘That explains how these got here.’ Stella stooped to examine a pair of vases sitting on a wooden ledge. She reached inside one and plucked out a pack of playing cards, the edges splayed and curled. She blew off a coating of dust. ‘Now, these I do recognise. We played for hours.’
‘It took my mind off what I really wanted to do with you.’ He smiled.
She stepped towards him. ‘I was scared back then but now there’s nothing stopping us.’
His eyes strayed to the dilapidated bedstead. ‘Do you think there’s a chance that old thing will hold up?’
‘I guess there’s only one way to find out.’
‘I’m game if you are.’ He slipped his arms around her.
* * *