Chapter 10
“I am very sorry,” says Giuseppe. “My men make a mistake.”
I’m standing behind the chapel, inspecting a stone wall that’s started to sag and looks like it’s about to fall down. The scaffolding the builders set up on the side of the cottage somehow put too much pressure on the wall’s foundations and undermined them.
“It is a modern wall,” explains Giuseppe, running a hand along his black beard. “Maybe thirty, forty years old. It is supposed to contain the land behind the chapel but it is not very strong. Maybe your uncle does not have enough money to build a good retaining wall.”
I’ve noticed that Giuseppe speaks great English but only in the present tense. Not that I have any right to criticize: I’ve basically given up on my Italian course.
“Well, if that’s the case, I’m sure it would have fallen down anyway,” I reassure him. “Don’t worry about it.”
But I can’t help thinking this is another job to be added to the list—and it’ll cost more money, which I don’t have. I wonder if there’s anything in the house I can sell. Anything I can be sure wouldn’t have been of sentimental value to Wilf.
Giuseppe explains that his men will clear away the stones and make it safe by pinning back the land until they can build a new wall.
“Brill,” I pipe. “Sounds like a plan!”
His builders start lifting the stones and piling them up, out of the way.
As they’re all shirtless—their muscles flexing and glistening with a light film of sweat—it feels indecent to watch.
I turn away and spot a stone that has landed near my feet and has some scratches on it.
I pick it up and read an inscription: WILF + ARNALDO.
The sight of it knocks the breath from my chest.
Is Arnaldo that man in the photos? Does this mean he and Wilf were boyfriends?
I’m not sure what to do with the stone. But I don’t want anyone to know about it until I’ve worked out what it means.
I slip away and stash it in my bedroom.
Luisa and Stefano stand by the stones from the dismantled wall. Luisa picks one up and turns it around in her hands.
“These stones were taken from the castle,” she declares.
“Really?” I say.
“Yes. This used to happen a lot when castles were destroyed: the stones were taken to reuse elsewhere.” She balances her stone carefully on top of the pile.
“So what do we do?” I say.
“We should take them back up to the castle. We can use them to rebuild what remains of the front wall.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. When you rebuild this wall you can use new stones. We have lots at our house. You’re welcome to take them. You won’t be able to tell the difference.”
I nod in agreement. “Thank you. I’ll speak to Giuseppe tomorrow.”
We walk round to the patio and join Theo and the kids.
They’re sitting around the outdoor table, which I had to clean thoroughly after the builders had finished for the day, even though they hadn’t been working anywhere near it.
They have an incredible ability to get dust everywhere—even through the plastic sheets we’ve thrown over furniture, even through the cotton sheets we’ve gaffer-taped around doorframes.
And we didn’t have enough outdoor chairs, so I had to bring out a rickety wooden one from the kitchen, which I’ve insisted on sitting on myself.
It doesn’t feel too safe but it’ll have to do till I can buy some more.
Although the sun won’t set for another hour or so, it’s low in the sky, giving off a soft, golden light that makes the view over the valley look particularly stunning, the sea sharp and clear.
The air is heavy with the smell of citronella, which is rising from the candles and spirals we’ve dotted around the patio to ward off mosquitoes.
We’ve invited Luisa and Stefano for dinner, as I wanted to get to know them. But this is our first time entertaining at the house and I’m on edge. I want it to go well.
“Who fancies a Prosecco?” I ask, once everyone’s seated.
I pour three glasses but Theo doesn’t like fizz so serves himself a beer.
“Cheers!” I say, holding up my glass.
“Salute!” chime Luisa and Stefano.
We bring our glasses together with a clink.
“Can I do it?” asks Archie, holding up his no-added-sugar fruit juice.
“Salute!” says Luisa, giving his glass a clink.
“Salute!” replies Archie, beaming.
Although it’s only an informal dinner, Theo and I wanted to change out of our scruffy work clothes so are wearing chinos, linen shirts and leather loafers.
Archie, too, looks smart in chinos and a little short-sleeved shirt with a pineapple print, and as a treat we’ve put some of my textured gum in his hair, so it’s sticking up all over rather than just at the kink.
Callum, on the other hand, refused to dress up and is wearing an England football shirt—which I hope doesn’t offend Stefano—and Mabel is dressed in one of her usual baggy tracksuits, hunched over and cowering behind her hair.
I’m hoping she and Callum will be shamed into toning down their hostility in the presence of our guests.
“So how’s the dig coming along?” I ask Luisa.
“It’s always slow at the beginning as it’s rare to find anything interesting near the surface,” she explains. “But I’m very happy that we’ve started. This is the very first time the castle has been excavated.”
“What’s excavated?” asks Archie, tucking his hands under his thighs.
“Dug up, squirt,” says Theo.
“You know, I love your red hair,” Luisa says to Archie, her eyes sparkling. “That’s something we don’t see very much in Italy.”
Archie doesn’t know how to react to the compliment. “Does the castle have a dungeon?” he asks.
“We don’t know yet,” answers Luisa, “but it may do.”
“Is it true it’s a thousand years old?” Theo asks, rolling up his sleeves. Even though it’s 7.30, it’s still very warm.
“The truth is, we don’t know, exactly,” says Luisa. “But it’s mentioned in local archives for the first time in 1099.”
Theo’s eyes widen. “Did you hear that, gang? So it could be more than a thousand years old.”
Callum and Mabel shrug.
I pick up a plate. “Would anyone like a bruschetta?”
Not only is this our first time entertaining at the house but it’s also the first outing for my new crockery set—which is plain white and the cheapest I could find.
In just over half an hour I’ll be using it to serve lasagna with a big salad.
I was slightly nervous to make lasagna for real Italians—especially as the kitchen here is so basic—but I learned it on the cookery course Theo and I did in Manchester and whenever I’ve made it for my sisters, they’ve loved it.
The choice of menu also means I can do all my preparation in advance, put the lasagna in the oven, then relax and nibble on bruschetta, plates of fat, juicy olives, cubes of Parmesan and slices of prosciutto.
Theo turns to Stefano and the hairs on his forearms catch the golden light. “Adam tells me you’re a farmer,” he says.
“Yes. I have a vineyard that is small but more big than this one. I also grow tomatoes. But mostly olives.” Stefano isn’t confident with his English and it comes out falteringly. He’s a short, stocky man, with black hair and weather-beaten skin.
“When is the olive harvest?” I ask.
“The end of October,” says Stefano. His expression hardens. “But this year will not be so good.”
“Oh no. Why?”
Stefano gives Luisa a long explanation in Italian. She turns to us and translates: “There’s a type of fly that punctures the olive and lays an egg inside. When the egg hatches, it eats the olive from within.”
I pull a face. “That sounds a bit grim.”
“We have a plague of these flies,” Luisa continues.
“There’s a spray to kill them but we only used to have to spray twice a year—now we must spray four times a year.
So it’s expensive. Also, it only works up to thirty degrees and climate change is making our summer much hotter.
And olives need rain and it hasn’t rained much this year. ”
“OK, so we won’t expect many olives,” I joke.
“Yes, but you’ll discover that Stefano is always pessimistic,” Luisa quips. “A typical farmer!”
We laugh and I offer around the Parmesan. “Have you two always lived in Montemagno?”
“No,” Luisa answers. “We’re from other villages in Versilia.”
“What’s Versilia?” asks Archie. I notice that his glasses are smudged with fingerprints and take them off to clean them on my shirt.
“This area of Tuscany,” says Stefano, his chunky arm leaning on the table. He has earth under his fingernails and scratches on his hands. “It is very special because it has both the sea and mountains.”
“We moved to Montemagno fifteen years ago when I got a job—a promotion—at the high school in Camaiore,” expands Luisa.
I position Archie’s glasses carefully back on his nose.
“How did that work for Stefano?” asks Theo. “I would have thought it’s difficult for farmers to move.”
“He wasn’t always a farmer,” says Luisa. “He used to work in logistics, for a marble distribution company.” She pops a cube of Parmesan in her mouth.
“Marble is very typical of this region,” explains Stefano. “Carrara marble is famous but there are lots of mountains in Versilia that are made of marble.”
Luisa swallows her Parmesan. “You’ll see it as you drive around. Some of the mountains have white tops, with chunks of marble sliced out of them like a cake.”
“Superb!” Theo looks at the kids. “Gang, are you taking this in?”
Callum kicks at the patio but says nothing.
“I’m not into marble,” comments Mabel, with the faintest suggestion of an eye roll.
“What’s marble?” burbles Archie.
Theo explains. “So why did you give it up?” he asks Stefano.
Stefano pauses. An emotion zips across his face but it’s too fast for me to read it. He looks to Luisa.
“He was not happy,” she answers. “He had a little depression. So we decided to make some changes to his life. And he’d always enjoyed working on the land.”
“My father was a farmer,” Stefano adds, rolling up a slice of prosciutto and driving it into his mouth.
“So we bought several hectares of land off Wilf,” Luisa goes on. “He needed the money and was selling some of his estate. That was twelve years ago.”
“And are you happier now?” I ask.
“Yes, very much,” answers Stefano. “And we like living in Montemagno. It is not too busy.”
“What’s the population?” Theo asks, stretching out his legs.
“Four hundred people and twenty-one swimming pools!” pipes Stefano.
We laugh.
“Shame there aren’t twenty-two,” mutters Callum.
Luisa doesn’t hear him—or at least pretends not to. “Do you like it here?” she asks the kids.
“Yeah!” bursts out Archie. “We’ve got two lizards! They live in the larder.”
“It’s alright,” mumbles Mabel. “But I miss my friends.”
“Yeah,” concedes Callum. “But it’s really hot and there’s dust everywhere. It’s ruined my creps.”
“That means trainers,” I tell Luisa. I decide to deflect the attention away from the kids. “By the way, how come you speak such fab English?”
A smile lifts her fine features. “Thank you. I’ve been to England several times, to London and Brighton, Hastings and Cambridge.”
Callum looks up. “What about Manchester?”
“No,” says Luisa. “I’ve never been to Manchester.”
“But Manchester is very famous,” chips in Stefano. “Everyone knows Manchester United!”
“I support City,” Callum states. “I’m missing the first match of the season.”
Theo shoots him a glare. “You can’t have everything, Cal.”
Luisa gestures with her arms to the scene around her. “And how lucky you are to live in this beautiful house for the summer. With your two dads!”
“Adam’s not our dad!” Mabel barks at her, clearly horrified by the suggestion.
Luisa’s face falls. “Sorry, step-dad.”
“He’s not my stepdad!” Mabel fires back. “He’s our dad’s boyfriend.”
A flush of humiliation works its way up my body.
I tell myself not to be so sensitive. I’m pretty sure I said worse about my stepmum. And she actually was my stepmum.
I fix my features into something approaching a smile. “I think what Mabel means is Theo and I haven’t been together that long.”
“Their mother and I separated a while ago but only recently got divorced,” clarifies Theo. “It’ll take some time to adjust.”
“Now, who wants a top-up?” I ask, perkily.
Stefano and Luisa hold out their glasses and I fill them with Prosecco, some of it frothing over and onto the patio. Theo goes inside to get himself another beer.
“You know, you look like your uncle,” Luisa says, examining my face. “Of course, by the time we knew him, his hair was gray, not brown. But he had the same dimples.”
“How well did you know him?” Theo asks, sitting back down.
I’ve asked them this on our previous meetings so already know the answer.
“Not very well,” says Luisa, pausing to sip her drink. “He kept himself to himself.”
“I just don’t understand how a working-class bloke from Manchester ended up here, in the hills of Tuscany,” Theo presses on. “Do you have any idea?”
“I’m sorry, we don’t,” says Luisa. “Wilf was a very private man. He always refused my requests to do a dig at the castle, saying he didn’t want strangers coming and going. And he didn’t like it if we asked personal questions. So eventually, we stopped.”
“There are a few photos around the house,” I say cautiously, “and they’ve all got another man in them. I don’t suppose you know who he is?”
I spot Callum and Mabel looking up from their plates.
Luisa puts her glass down. “I think in the past Wilf lived here with a friend—a special friend.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Do you mean a boyfriend?”
“Yes, I think so.”
So he was gay!
“You don’t happen to know this man’s name?” I ask, my heart rate soaring.
“I’m afraid not. When we arrived here, he’d already died and Wilf was on his own. But people in the village mentioned him. I know he was Italian.”
Arnaldo! That’s him!
Suddenly, I’m desperate to know more.
I remember the letters hidden in Wilf’s old bedroom. There’s no way I’m going to be able to stop myself reading them now.
But what if they contain something shocking? Or something I wouldn’t want to know? I’ll just have to wait for the right moment, when no one else is around.
Inside the house, the timer on the oven gives a ping.
I get up to take out my lasagna.