Chapter 10
The next day dawned bright and clear, and as Amy opened the doors onto her tiny balcony, she realised she still hadn’t confessed to Billie that she had a view of the lake from up here.
From her second-storey room, Amy could look out across the umber roof tiles of some of the squatter buildings as they cascaded away from Casa.
Here and there was a splash of primary colour from a wall, or the crisp white of somebody’s washing strung between windows, rippling in a breeze too soft to feel.
Birds flapped about, presumably as disorientated by the start of the new day as Amy was, if their lack of intent was anything to go by.
And there, in the distance, was the sparkling ripple of water.
She pulled in a deep breath, took a moment to centre herself. The rich colour of the tiles made a perfect backdrop for the soft blue of the sky and the water in the distance. It was as though this room, this whole place, had been designed as someone’s version of heaven.
She smiled, turning away from the view. For once, her hotel room didn’t look as though a bomb had gone off in it.
Mostly because her luggage still hadn’t arrived.
If she was being honest, even Amy would struggle to bombsite a room with such generous dimensions as this, armed only with a handful of T-shirts, a pair of jeans and a selection of underwear she’d been adding to from the boutique as the days went on.
And she’d been sure to hang the evening dress she’d borrowed from Billie in the wardrobe; with the pair of strappy sandals she’d also nabbed nestled below.
Talking about lost property, she should try to phone Verona airport today, find out if they had any further updates on her suitcase.
Luggage or not, for now she was wrapped in a generous, fluffy hotel dressing gown, having luxuriated underneath the waterfall showerhead for way longer than was necessary.
A check on time had her relaxing further; she had ages before she needed to leave the quiet calm of her bedroom and head for breakfast with Billie and Malcolm.
Time enough to sneak another few minutes under the incredibly squashy duvet.
Sliding onto the bed and wrapping the duvet over her legs, Amy sank back against the pillows and reckoned she was about as comfortable as it was possible to be.
It was a shame, then, that it still felt as though something was missing.
Amy drummed her fingers on the crisp white of the duvet cover.
She’d done her best to make the entire king-sized bed her own, but she couldn’t fail to notice the feeling spiking at her again.
Being on her own was fine, but feeling lonely wasn’t.
And even though she spent her days surrounded by people, her job endlessly demanding and fulfilling, the kudos of working for a celebrity enough to impress family and friends – when she got to see them – there remained a gap.
Something was missing. It was a feeling she had been able to ignore since she’d split with Shaun a couple of years ago, but it was a feeling that was now becoming more insistent.
After what had been a difficult and messy break-up from Shaun, she had taken a long time to recover, had found it hard to ignore the worry that she wasn’t ever going to achieve a solid relationship with someone.
No – not a solid relationship – that sounded dull enough to send its participants into a coma.
What she wanted was fireworks and passion alongside the knowledge that he was in it for the long haul.
A partner – and an equal. Someone she could share her hopes and dreams with, someone who would support her decisions – when she finally decided what she really wanted from her life, because she wasn’t sure that working for Billie was something she could do indefinitely.
Closing her eyes, she sank further into the soft pillows of her Casa del Cibo bed, doing her best to chase it all away for a moment or two.
Frowning as her eyelids refused to block out Tad, or his smile, or her confusing reaction to him.
She pulled in a deep breath. Maybe it wasn’t all that confusing, maybe it was extremely simple.
She fancied him. A lot. And the fact that her feelings didn’t fit with the narrative for this week was complicating things for her.
At least today would be relatively easy.
There was no cookery lesson this morning; instead the guests were free to roam the shores of the lake and be tourists, experience some of the local cuisine at lunchtime, before they were due to meet up again for a pre-booked dinner at one of Lake Garda’s top restaurants.
To see what they should be aiming for with their own cooking, Amy supposed.
But all that could wait for a while longer, because the bed was so gloriously comfortable, and Amy decided she might have a tiny nap before she got organised and headed for breakfast.
* * *
The thumping at her door sounded as though it happened moments later. Amy was sure she’d only closed her eyes for a few minutes. Five at most. And yet a quick glance at the bedside clock told her an hour had passed since she’d slipped beneath the duvet and closed her eyes.
Scrabbling from her bed and rewrapping her bathrobe, she fumbled to unlock the bedroom door.
‘I’ve been pummelling this door for ages,’ Billie said, a frown buried into her forehead. ‘Malc thought maybe you’d died in the night, or something. Are you OK?’
‘I must have dozed off,’ Amy said.
‘No shit, Sherlock,’ Billie said. ‘You’ve missed breakfast, obviously.
We didn’t come and get you – after all, you did say you were so tired you needed some time off, so we left you to it.
And for once in my life, I’m running ahead of schedule, so Malc and I plan to head to Monte Baldo – apparently, it’s a good idea to get there early to avoid massive queues for the cable car.
At least, that’s what Tad told me. He came and sat at our table this morning and gave me the low-down on all things Baldo. ’
‘I can be ready in—’
Billie shook her head. ‘No, you need some time off; you take some time off. Malc assures me if I say anything worth noting, he’ll voice-record me on his phone and send it to you, so you can catch up your notes later.
That is if I don’t sack him first for suggesting my verbal gems will be anything other than frequent and completely memorable. ’
Amy wanted to go up the cable car, had pencilled in a trip to Monte Baldo as one of the things she was determined to do. She should ask Billie to wait, to give her a chance to get ready, and yet Billie was already backing away from the door, uncharacteristically keen to get going.
‘I won’t need long to get dressed,’ Amy said.
‘No. I insist you have some time to yourself. I ask far too much of you, Amelia – I know I can be a bit demanding, and on occasion I forget my staff deserve some downtime. I don’t mind at all if you hang out here.
’ She turned to leave. ‘I’d better get going.
Tad’s waiting. He told me he hasn’t even been up in the cable car yet and I persuaded him to come with us.
Well, when I say persuaded, I don’t think it took much, if I’m being honest. He jumped at the chance, truth be told.
’ Billie shrugged. ‘How to say he’s into me without saying he’s into me – don’t you think?
And it will make for a few fun photos, having him there with me – I’m sure Malc will come up with some ideas when we see what it’s like up the mountain. ’
Amy frowned. Billie seemed to have forgotten all about her disparaging comments about Tad not being swarthy and Italian and photo-worthy.
Plus, Amy’s stomach was reacting strangely to the news they were all happily discussing Monte Baldo without her.
She and Tad had been talking about the mountain only the evening before, but now it seemed he’d forgotten, or didn’t think she would want to join them.
‘Who knows,’ Billie continued, ‘if he plays his cards right, perhaps I can get him a segment on a morning show. Tad Cooks up a Storm, or something similar. They’d love it on one of the terrestrials.
He might even end up with his own show – maybe he can do the cooking, and I could do the links, visit the places the ingredients come from and meet the producers.
I’ve always fancied doing a TV series. Or, even better, I could complete the holy trinity – restaurant critic, food writer and TV chef, with a bit of help from Tad.
I could be a modern-day Fanny Cradock, and Tad could be my Johnnie… if you see what I mean.’
Amy did her best to hide the rise in her eyebrows, almost certain Billie had no idea why Fanny Cradock’s stardom had finally faded.
How she’d managed to get herself cancelled before it was even a thing.
Although if Billie did know, Amy felt sure she wouldn’t for a moment contemplate herself doing anything so self-combusting or career-damaging – she considered herself far too savvy for that.
Billie drew breath, then said, ‘There are some fun cafés and gelato sellers down by the lake, so you won’t starve while we’re gone.’
In a final flourish, Billie pointed to Amy’s hair, waving towards it as though it was a separate entity that happened to find itself on Amy’s head. ‘And anyway, that’s going to take you hours to sort out, isn’t it?’
Phrased as a question, but with no pause for an answer, Billie was gone, leaving Amy standing in her suite doorway. She should feel pleased that she’d been given the day off, but instead she felt like she’d been road-rollered.
Once downstairs, Amy made herself some coffee in the dining room, wandering through the empty reception area and peering into the teaching kitchen, then on into the professional kitchen.
She didn’t know what she was expecting to find – or whom – and as she retraced her steps, strangely off-kilter at not finding Tad in the kitchen, she decided to take her coffee out into the garden.
In the shade of the almond tree, with their back to the double doors that opened from the dining room to give guest access to the garden, someone was reclining in one of the teak garden chairs.
By the looks of the shoe, gently bobbing up and down on the toes of a crossed leg, it was Hugh.
He seemed to be alone. Quietly enjoying the solace of the beautiful and totally secluded green space.
Would he mind company? There was only one way to find out.
‘Good morning, Hugh. Can I join you?’
He startled at the sound of her voice, his shoe bouncing and dropping onto the paving slabs as he turned.
‘Amy? Good morning – are you all right? I noted your absence at breakfast.’ He patted at the empty recliner beside him. ‘Please, do sit down.’
She slid into the chair. ‘I’m fine. Bit embarrassing, actually. I dozed off and lost track of the time.’
Hugh pulled in a breath. ‘You missed a wonderful breakfast. The lightest sfogliatella I’ve ever eaten, served with seriously strong espresso coffee. Tad really has such an excellent grip on traditional Italian cuisine. Not totally surprising, I suppose.’
‘Sfogliatella?’
‘They’re flaky pastry buns, filled with ricotta cheese and candied orange peel. Tad uses a mixture of orange and lemon peel in his for a bit of variety. Delicious, especially if you have a sweet tooth.’
‘Sounds like I really missed out.’
‘Well, yes – I’m rather afraid you did. Every puff of pastry consumed, every morsel of filling scraped from the plate. Seems that’s his signature, isn’t it?’
‘What is?’
‘Scraped plates.’ Hugh grinned at his own observation.
Amy nodded. ‘You might be right about that.’
‘He’s headed off to Malcesine to get the cable car with your boss lady and her photographer. Now that Malcolm is a man with the patience of a saint, if you ask me. Didn’t you want to go up Monte Baldo while you’re here?’
She frowned. ‘I’d like to go, but I’m not going on my own.’
‘I don’t understand, then. Why didn’t you go with the rest of your group?’
Amy sighed. Why hadn’t she asked Billie to wait for ten minutes?
She knew why. Because it had stung her when Billie had said Tad had chosen to sit at their table this morning, when she wasn’t there.
And she hadn’t wanted to sound as though she cared at all about it, even though, as she sat in the garden nursing a cup of coffee she didn’t want, she realised she did care.
Although there was no way she could vocalise any of that to Hugh.
Instead, she smiled. Tried to appear off-hand. ‘Oh, Billie was in a bit of a rush. It doesn’t matter, it’s not the end of the world if I don’t go, is it?’
Hugh swung his frame to face her, his expression serious and unexpectedly sharp. ‘Do you want to go up in the cable car to Monte Baldo, Amy?’
‘Yes. I do,’ she said.
‘Right then,’ Hugh said, levering himself to his feet and shuffling his errant shoe back on. ‘Best you don’t miss out on anything else today, don’t you think? Meet you outside the front of Casa in ten minutes. We’ll go together.’