Far from Home: An unforgettable feel-good summer romance (Beneath Italian Skies Book 3)

Chapter 1

‘Tough day?’

‘Tougher than yours by the look of it.’

Amy dropped her briefcase onto a chair and slumped down alongside Gavin on the sofa, feeling completely washed out. He must have stopped off at his place on his way here from work and she saw that he had had time to change out of his suit into jeans and a T-shirt. From the way he was sprawled out on the sofa, he looked as if he’d been here for hours. His eyes were glued to the vast TV screen that occupied most of the opposite wall. He had persuaded her to buy it last Christmas and nowadays he was round here almost every night, and he seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time just sitting staring at movie after movie – when he wasn’t out schmoozing clients. Tonight she immediately recognised The Wolf of Wall Street with Leonardo DiCaprio and she snorted. Talk about coals to Newcastle.

He waved vaguely in the direction of the bottle of Sancerre Premier Cru that she had been saving for a very special occasion. It was on the table in front of him and already half empty. ‘Drink?’ There was only one glass and that was in his other hand, and she debated whether to get up and go and look for one for herself, before deciding she was too weary. Needless to say, he didn’t offer to get one for her.

She glanced back at him. ‘Have you eaten?’ No reply, so she nudged him with her elbow and tried again – louder. ‘Gavin, have you eaten?’

He nodded absently. ‘I had a burger at the squash club.’

She glanced at her watch. It was nine fifteen. He must have left work really early – unlike her. Theoretically her working day was supposed to finish at five, but it had been getting longer and longer as she climbed the ladder towards the glass ceiling. There were some – like her immediate boss, Scott – who reckoned she’d already smashed her way through it, but she knew better. Before she got that corner office on the seventeenth floor she knew she’d have to be prepared to fight tooth and nail in what was still very much a boys’ club.

She was mildly surprised to see Gavin pause the movie and turn towards her. ‘You look shattered, Amy. What’s happened?’

She stretched her arms above her head in a vain attempt to relax her neck muscles and chase away the nagging headache. ‘Nothing bad… but it could have been a disaster.’ Seeing his enquiring look, she explained, ‘We had a thirty-seven-million-pound deal going through involving yuan, rupees and ZAR. For a while this afternoon it was all looking very wobbly and we stood to lose a small fortune.’ She corrected herself. ‘Make that a large fortune. You could have cut the tension in the office with a knife. It finally all went through just a matter of seconds before close of play in Cape Town.’ Even just the memory brought a cold chill to her stomach and she reached out, grabbed his glass of wine from him and drained it without tasting it. Yes, she thought to herself, it had been a tough day.

‘Still, think of it this way: your bonus this year is going to beat all records.’ He returned to his movie and she knew she’d be lucky to get any more out of him for another hour or more.

‘Yes, I suppose you’re right, but I could do without days like this.’

Something in her voice must have got through to him, although he didn’t take his eyes off the screen. ‘Why don’t you have something to eat? You’ll feel better afterwards.’

Pleasantly surprised, she mustered a little smile, despite his attention still being trained on the movie. ‘What’s in the fridge?’

‘Not a lot, unless you like carrots and onions. Don’t ask me why you have so many.’

‘I thought for once you were going to do the shopping.’ It had sounded too good to be true when he’d offered last night.

‘I was running late for squash. Don’t worry, I’ll do it tomorrow – or you can.’ He somehow managed to reach for the phone without taking his eyes off the TV and handed it to her. ‘Get yourself a pizza. It should be here in twenty minutes or so.’

They had already had pizza twice this week and she shook her head. ‘I’m not that hungry. I’ll go and make myself a bowl of porridge and then I’m crashing out.’

‘Cheer up. Tomorrow’s Friday and then you’ll have the whole weekend to rest and recuperate.’

‘The way I feel right now, I’ll probably sleep straight through to Monday morning. God, I’m tired.’

She heaved herself to her feet and went through to the kitchen, feeling unusually dopey. The porridge packet was in the cupboard alongside the slick Neff oven and she bent down to retrieve it. As she did so, her head started spinning, everything around her blurred and she toppled forward into unconsciousness.

‘You had me worried back there for a while.’

The touch of his hand on her arm roused her and she opened her eyes to see Gavin sitting alongside the bed with an expression on his face that somehow managed to combine concern and relief at the same time. She gave him a little smile.

‘I had me worried, too, Gav.’ Her voice sounded as weak as she felt.

‘At least it wasn’t a heart attack.’ His expression darkened. ‘But it was the next best thing. The paramedics were really worried and the doctors in AE were all over you like locusts. They told me what they think it was but I’ve forgotten the word. Basically a collapse due to overwork and excessive stress.’

‘What time is it?’

‘Eight thirty.’

‘AM or PM?’

‘It’s eight thirty in the morning and, before you ask, it’s Friday.’

‘Have you been here all night?’

He shook his head. ‘No, after they sent you to this ward last night, they told me to go home and get some rest. I’m okay.’ As usual he looked impeccable, without a hair out of place, and his crisp white shirt – which she had ironed – didn’t have a single crease in it.

‘Have you any idea how long they’re going to keep me in?’

‘The nurse outside told me they won’t know until the specialist does his rounds later on this morning.’ He glanced at his watch and stood up. ‘To be honest, she said I wasn’t supposed to come in here, but I turned on the charm.’ I bet you did, Amy thought to herself. ‘She said just two minutes, so I’d better disappear before she gets into trouble.’

Amy caught hold of his hand and gave it a squeeze, impressed that he had made the effort. ‘Thanks, Gav. I’m sorry you’ve had all this bother. Will you call Scott and tell him what’s happened? Tell him I’m sorry and I hope to be in on Monday morning.’

He bent down towards her and wagged his finger at her. ‘You’ll go back to work when the medics say it’s okay for you to go back to work and not before. Got that?’

‘Yes, sir.’ She gave him another smile. ‘And thanks again.’

He kissed her on the cheek and left. She lay back against the pillows, reflecting that this was the most attentive he’d been for months.

The day passed unexpectedly quickly – mainly because she spent a lot of it sleeping. The highlight was the appearance of the specialist accompanied by a cohort of junior doctors. Amy had been expecting this to be an august older gentleman in a pinstripe suit, collar and tie – probably as a result of watching too many movies with Gavin – but this turned out to be a tall, good-looking woman only a few years older than Amy, and she was wearing red scrubs. She announced to Amy and to her coterie of junior doctors that she believed the collapse had been due to nervous exhaustion, but that there was still the possibility that it might have been what she called a ‘heart event’, and she wanted to keep her in for another night while they did a series of tests. Amy thanked her and all of the staff around her for their care.

In the course of the day she had her blood pressure checked over and over again, more blood taken for analysis through a cannula taped to the back of her hand, another ECG, an X-ray and a CT scan. From what she could glean from the junior doctor who popped in to see her on a number of occasions, the results were looking ‘promising’ and he predicted the specialist would discharge her next morning. This news heartened Amy and she even managed to eat some of the chicken pie and mash at lunchtime followed by orange jelly – something she hadn’t had since she was a little girl, and after eating it she felt pretty sure it would be another thirty years before she would feel like trying another. She was just finishing her meal when she received a visitor. It was Lucy, her best friend from work, and she came in looking far more worried than Gavin had been. In her hands was a packet of grapes from the Waitrose shop near the office.

‘Amy, look at you!’ She sounded genuinely concerned. ‘What have I been telling you for the last God knows how many years? You need to start looking after yourself.’

Amy looked up and smiled. ‘Hi, Luce, thanks for coming. There was no need.’

Lucy set down the grapes on the bedside table and pulled up a chair. ‘There was every need.’

‘How’re things at work?’

‘Forget work. It’s like I’ve been telling you: you’ll work yourself into an early grave if you go on like this.’

‘You sound like my mum.’ Thought of her mother wiped the smile off Amy’s face. Of course her mum was never going to be able to tell her anything ever again.

‘And she was right. Is it true you had a heart attack?’

Amy shook her head and related what the specialist had said, but Lucy wasn’t convinced. ‘You’ve got to take it easy. Your health’s far more important than work.’

Gradually Amy managed to wean her off the subject of health, but Lucy steadfastly refused to talk about work. In fairness, she worked two floors below in Insurance and probably didn’t know much about the foreign exchange side of things anyway. Instead, she recounted how things had gone with her latest conquest – the most recent in a seemingly never-ending stream of paramours. Amy never ceased to be amazed at her friend’s voracious appetite for men. By the time Lucy mercifully changed the subject, Amy was feeling slightly dazed at the degree of anatomical detail Lucy had shared with her. Certainly the two of them, although best friends, were very different in that respect.

Needless to say, Lucy then queried yet again when Amy and Gavin might be going to formally move in together and Amy’s answer to that one remained the same as ever – not yet. Their conversation then changed to the weather and politics, and Lucy’s latest attempt to lose weight – which she didn’t need to lose – by joining a gym. Her parting words were a further exhortation to take it easy. Easier said than done.

Amy spent much of the afternoon dozing and by the time Gavin reappeared at half past five she was feeling much more like her normal self. This didn’t go unnoticed by him.

‘You look a whole lot better than you did earlier. My nurse friend tells me she reckons you’ll be out of here in the morning.’

She held out her hands to him and he bent down to give her a kiss, somewhat hampered by the apparatus alongside the bed. ‘I can’t stay long. I have to take a couple of Taiwanese gentlemen out for dinner a bit later on and I’m just on my way home to change.’ To reinforce the message that this was only a flying visit, he shot an ostentatious look at his watch and didn’t take a seat. She wasn’t surprised and her first question probably didn’t come as a surprise to him either. They both knew each other so well after more than a year of going out together.

‘Did you speak to Scott? What did he say?’

‘Yes, I called in this morning on my way to the office.’ Gavin’s firm was in the next high-rise block to hers. ‘He was very sympathetic and he told me to tell you to take all the time you need.’

‘And the South African deal? No complications?’

‘He thought you’d ask that, and he says to tell you it’s all fine.’ He reached down to his Louis Vuitton briefcase – her present to him last Christmas – and brought out a long envelope. ‘By the way, I popped round to your place on the way here and I found this.’

She took it from him and recognised it immediately as being from the firm of solicitors who had been handling her mother’s affairs. Even though her mum’s death had been almost three months ago now, Amy felt tears springing to the corners of her eyes as it awoke so many memories. She slit the envelope open and pulled out a letter along with another, slightly smaller, envelope. The letter was from Diana Carstairs, the solicitor dealing with her mother’s estate, and it was brief and to the point.

Dear Amy

I hope this finds you well. This envelope has been forwarded to us by the agents handling the sale of your mother’s house. They found it on the mat and thought it looked important.

Yours sincerely

Diana

Amy set down the letter and picked up the enclosed envelope, noting that it bore an Italian stamp and it had been addressed to her, care of her mother’s old address. Considering that she hadn’t lived there for almost thirteen years, she was intrigued. She opened it and pulled out a formal-looking letter from a notaio, a notary, in a place whose name she didn’t recognise. Correspondence from Italy in itself wasn’t too unexpected, as Amy’s mum had originally been from there. Since her death, Amy had been receiving sporadic letters, cards and messages of condolence from old friends of the family in and around her mum’s birthplace near Turin. Her mum had always spoken Italian to her as she grew up, even though Amy had been born and brought up here in the UK, and so she had no trouble reading it. As she digested the contents of the letter, she did a doubletake and glanced up in amazement.

‘Gav, you’re not going to believe this. It’s from a notary, a lawyer in Italy…’

‘What does it say? Is it bad news?’ Amy didn’t react. She just went on staring blankly at the letter in her hands. He pulled out the chair and sat down, leaning towards her. ‘What is it, Amy? What’s the matter?’

It was a while before she managed to tear herself away from the letter, struggling to take in what she had just read.

‘It appears that I’ve just been left a house.’ She could hear the disbelief in her own voice. ‘In a little town in Tuscany.’

‘A house? Who by?’ He looked at her with increased interest.

Amy shook her head blankly, her mind still trying to digest this totally unexpected news. ‘That’s the thing. It makes no sense. The man’s name is… was… Martin Thomas Slater.’

‘Doesn’t sound very Italian. Are you sure you don’t know who he is? One of your mum’s friends maybe.’ He was looking happier now and he grinned at her. ‘Not some secret lover you’ve never told me about?’

She was still shaking her head in bemusement. ‘Nope, I’ve never heard of him.’ For a moment an image appeared in her head of her Italian grandparents’ old house in the foothills of the Alps and the happy holidays she and her mum had spent together over there, and another little wave of melancholy swept over her. ‘And, of course, there’s no way Mum will ever be able to tell me now.’

‘And this guy’s left you a house? Are you sure?’

Amy looked up and nodded. ‘Yes, that’s what it says, but why…?’ Her voice tailed off helplessly.

‘Let’s see where it is. What’s the name of the town?’

‘Sant’Antonio.’

He pulled out his phone and tapped in the name but immediately raised his head again. ‘We might have a problem. Do you know how many places in Italy are called Sant’Antonio? As saints go, he must have been a popular chap.’

‘This place is in the province of Pisa, if that helps.’

‘Hang on.’ A few seconds later it popped up and he read the results out loud. ‘Sant’Antonio is in Tuscany, thirty-eight kilometres southeast of Pisa. Main industry: agriculture, principally olive oil and wine production. According to this, there are 2497 inhabitants. Not the biggest of towns, but it does have the remains of a medieval castle. There’s a photo. It looks quite pretty actually.’ He held his phone out so she could see. ‘And some random man has left you a house there? What does this mean? Are you going to have to take a trip to Tuscany to see for yourself?’

‘I suppose I should.’ Amy was still trying to get her head around what had just happened. ‘It’s just so weird… Mum was from the very north, up in the foothills of the Alps. As far as I know she had no connections with Tuscany… or with anybody called Martin Thomas Slater.’

‘Does the letter say anything about the man, or the house for that matter? Seeing as the guy’s got an English name, could he be some distant relative or friend of your dad’s? He was British after all, wasn’t he?’

Amy nodded. ‘Yes, but I’ve no idea if he had friends in Italy. He and Mum met when she was already living and working in the UK and she said the first time he ever went to Italy was to meet her parents just before they got married…’ Her voice tailed off. ‘And then he was killed only a year later.’

‘Is there anybody you could ask?’

‘He only had a handful of relatives in the UK and, to be honest, Mum had pretty well lost touch with any of them.’

‘What about your grandparents? Your British ones, I mean?’

‘Dead, just like my nonna and nonno in Turin.’ She shrugged helplessly. ‘I can’t think of anybody I can ask now that Mum’s dead too.’ She glanced back down at the letter in her hand. ‘Maybe this Alfredo Lucchese, the notary, will be able to fill me in. It’s just plain weird.’