Italian Escape. Liz FieldingЧитать онлайн книгу.
gelato. I vote we head that way.’
He nodded and strode off without waiting to see if she was following. It was, Minty thought, a good thing that she was long-legged, otherwise she’d have had to scuttle to keep up with him. And that would have been most undignified.
She caught up with the tall Italian and fell into step beside him, arms swinging, unabashedly enjoying the air, the sun, the exercise. She looked around her with approval. The views had been glorious from the farmhouse, but as they approached the bottom of the valley the countryside was not just a view, something to admire—it enclosed them; they were a part of it.
It wasn’t silent; it was too real for that. A cacophony of birds competed with each other to make the loudest call, sing the most tuneful song, like some avian reality show. She almost expected to see a row of small feathered judges sitting on a branch ready to destroy the enthusiastic chirpers’ dreams. She could hear the sound of engines in the distance—some farm machinery doing something she probably wouldn’t be able to identify if she stood and watched for an hour—mingled with the ever-present lowing of the cattle.
Definitely not quiet, but somehow so peaceful. In just a few weeks the corn poppies would explode into a vibrant slash of red in the green landscape. She wanted to be around to see it.
‘I am usually all about the city,’ she said. ‘Yet this place is so special too. I missed it. No wonder you wanted to stay here. You must love it that it’s yours, part of you.’
Luca nodded. ‘It’s part of the family history, in my blood. It’s a good marketing gimmick too; all the milk we produce is used in our ice cream, although we have to buy in a lot more. It’s tenanted out, though, I don’t get involved in the day-to-day work much.’
Judging by the firm muscles under the snug jeans and T-shirt Minty suspected he did more than he let on. If sitting at a desk and testing ice cream led to bodies like that, London’s gyms would be a lot less full. And a lot less sweaty.
The sun was still shining down from the cloudless sky bathing the earth below in a benevolent warmth, yet Minty’s arm goose-pimpled and she suppressed a sudden shiver. Walking with this man, in this place, suddenly filled her with a melancholy, a lonely nostalgia.
A babble of shallow water interrupted her thoughts, and pushing through a line of small trees brought Minty to the edge of a wide, shallow stream liberally carpeted with pebbles and rocks. Luca was leaning against a tall oak tree, staring thoughtfully into the water.
‘There won’t be any fish in there,’ Minty said, walking next to him and following his eyeline. ‘Too shallow.’
‘I didn’t know you fished.’
‘I don’t.’ She shuddered. ‘Too much sitting around for me. And I always feel so sorry for them, with their mouths gaping and their cold little eyes. Daddy fished, of course. I think he almost has to; it’s in the earl charter or something.’
She stopped, looking down at the shallow water. ‘Spike liked country sports too. In some ways he and Daddy were better suited than he and I. You know, I watch some of those TV programmes about music. Spike was so anti-establishment when he was young, all about the shock value and creativity. And now he has a country estate, fishes and wears tweed. I kid you not. And loads of his friends are the same. The ones who didn’t die of drug overdoses, that is. They don’t even see the irony.’
‘Are you still friends?’
She shook her head. ‘Not at all; he didn’t want to be friends.’ She sighed, almost imperceptibly. ‘They never do.’
For a moment he didn’t say anything, just stood there, a reassuring presence. The silence was oddly comforting.
‘Come on, Minty, accompany me to Florence.’
Her heart gave a funny little jump. It felt almost like hope. What harm could there be in a weekend away?
‘A couple of days in Florence would be nice. And...’ she gave him her best cheeky smile ‘...grandfathers usually love me. Grandmothers not so much, but we can’t have everything.’ She eyed him suspiciously, trying to remain objective, not to allow her gaze to dwell on the stubbled cheeks and the way his hair fell unguarded over his forehead.
‘Why do you want me to?’
‘Does there have to be a reason?’
For Luca? Usually yes, unless he felt sorry for her, just like the old days.
She didn’t want to be the object of his pity.
He shrugged. ‘He does like you. I know I shouldn’t care about pleasing him and, to be honest, I find it insulting that he will be far more impressed if you accompany me to this event than he is by my multi-million-euro turnover, but...’ He paused, oddly vulnerable. ‘But he’s old. Frail.’ Another pause, longer this time, then, almost imperceptibly, ‘He and Gio are all I have left.’
Minty was torn between conflicting emotions. If there was one subject she didn’t do, it was families. Oh, she could laugh at her own situation, turn her childhood, her failed relationships, into a self-deprecating stand-up routine that had them rolling in the aisle. But deep, heartfelt, emotional discussions? Not her style. And yet, she sensed that this man rarely opened up, that he carried his shame, his fears, tightly boxed up inside him.
For some unfathomable reason he was choosing here and now to release them—he was choosing her. It terrified her and yet at the same time she was touched, gratified that he didn’t think she was too shallow to understand.
‘He’s a link to your mother,’ she offered shyly.
‘Yes!’ He turned to her. ‘Exactly. Would she approve of me, of the man I’ve become? Or, like him, would she be disappointed that I don’t attend balls and charity events and the opera in Verona? Would she think I was an uncouth country farmer who thinks of nothing but ice cream?’
‘She married a farmer,’ Minty pointed out. ‘And for what it’s worth I think she would be ridiculously proud of you. So proud she’d have to bite her tongue at parties so as not to bore all the other guests with a long list of your virtues! I think she would look at you and see a man proud of his home and his heritage. A man who has no reason at all to make his grandfather happy, but wants to anyway, because that’s the kind of person he is. That’s what she would see.’
Minty stopped abruptly, heat flushing her cheeks. Where on earth had all that come from? ‘Anyway,’ she said gruffly. ‘That’s what I think. For what it’s worth.’
Consumed with embarrassment, she couldn’t look at him. Instead, kicking off her shoes, she padded forward, enjoying the unaccustomed feel of the soft spring grass under her bare feet, still pale from months of London winter, from the restriction of tights, thick socks and boots. The stream rushed merrily on over the flat pebbles, a cool, enticing blue. Minty dipped one toe in and inhaled in shock. Goodness, it was cold.
‘It’s not just about you, though. These occasions—charity balls, trips to the opera—they’re all good for networking.’ She shrugged, leaning forward until all her weight was on the submerged foot, wiggling it over the flat pebbles until it was comfortable. She dipped her other foot in until she was standing in the stream, water swirling round her ankles. ‘It all depends,’ she said, horribly aware that he still hadn’t spoken. ‘Depends on what you want to do. I’m happy to go with you. It could be a good business step. You should start to think about sponsorship opportunities as well. It’s the missing link in your marketing strategy.’
She swivelled to face him and instantly wished she hadn’t. If he looked this good in a black T-shirt, what on earth would he be like in black tie? Her pulse sped up.
Minty shuffled backwards, carefully testing her weight on the pebble bed before shifting. Her skin had adjusted to the temperature; it was gloriously refreshing. Bending down, she trailed her fingers in the water. ‘I wish it was deep enough to swim in.’
He was giving her a quizzical look. ‘It must be freezing.