They carried on walking. Outside thefruttivendolothe owner looked over her wooden crates of apricots and cherries. Her twenty-something daughter was arranging some peaches in a velvety pyramid. This will be the same again tomorrow, and the day after, Amy thought. A daily ritual – except for Sundays and holidays – perhaps unchanged for years. But everyone she passed seemed quite content.
They stopped for a moment under the stone archway, the lower part of the village falling away, a mishmash of terracotta roofs beneath them, dark green hills stippled in the sunshine like an oil painting.
‘Is that it?’ Amy pointed to a pale building on the horizon.
‘No, we don’t have to walk that far but we can go there on another day. That’s the way to my great-grandparents’ oldrustico.’
‘A sort of farmhouse?’
‘Yes, a rough sort of dwelling mainly used for storage but the farmers would sleep there in summer to make use of the long days.’
‘I’d like to see it another time. Shall I carry the bucket for a bit?’
He switched hands. ‘No, it’s nothing, you concentrate on the views, I’ve walked up to the chapel a hundred times.’
Amy strode on in the fresh air, breathing in the scent of thyme, marvelling at the delicate two-tone purple petals of the wild sweet peas. Past the vineyards, the steps became steeper. Red valerian sprouted from the gaps in the stone walls, its stems curving outwards towards the sun. Across a scrubby patch of ground dotted with clumps of light blue harebells bleached pale by the bright light was a single-storey white building with a simple wooden cross over the entrance. A small stone fountain stood nearby.
Leo reached above the lintel, retrieving a key on a piece of string. He turned it in the lock and pushed open the plain wooden door. Amy followed him in.
The chapel felt even smaller than it looked from outside. Whatever seating there once was had been removed, leaving just an empty space. Three of the walls were painted a soft white but one still bore the patchy remnants of its original fresco. It was sad there were no longer any worshippers to appreciate the carefully executed drapery in the faded portraits of the saints.
Leo emptied his bucket and went back outside, leaving her gazing at the wall. She heard the sound of running water; he returned with a pailful.
‘It would be an easier job if we could heat this water up but there’s no electricity here and I can’t risk lighting a fire, it’s so dry this time of year.’
‘So, why is this your job?’
‘Nonna Fernanda has looked after the place for years. She came every week to clean and dust, to check the windows for cracks and the corners of the floor for mouse droppings. But now, finally she admits she cannot easily walk up here, though she’s still incredible for eighty-seven.’
‘You’ve taken over then, that’s good of you.’
He shrugged. ‘It isn’t much to do but I can only get here once a month.’
He rolled up his sleeves, exposing the tattoos on his biceps. She tried not to let his well-honed golden arms distract her from the task in hand.
‘Come on then,’ Amy said. ‘Chuck us those rubber gloves.’
They scrubbed and mopped and brushed every corner. It was cool inside the Old Chapel but the work was making her hot. It was certainly nothing to do with Leo’s close proximity.
Finally, they finished cleaning every nook and cranny. There was no longer anywhere she could write her name in the dust. And definitely not a mouse dropping in sight.
‘Fernanda will be pleased with you,’ Amy said.
‘I am glad to do it. She has always been good to me. I know grandparents aren’t supposed to have favourites, but I knew I was hers. When I was a child she used to call me her little man around the house. I think she missed my grandpa a lot. Of course, I still had to behave myself. I could not swear or make a mess but she baked all my favourite treats, all the things she would not allow Papà to have when he was a boy.’
‘She will be so proud when she sees your plaque being unveiled.’
‘She will be there for the first part of the church service but she will not stay for the unveiling. She will come and see it the next day.’
‘She must get tired at her age.’ Though it had not stopped Fernanda staying up until past eleven the night before, drinking wine and chatting to Amy.
‘Some people would think it wrong for her to be there.’ He crouched down, wiping some non-existent dirt off a flagstone.
‘Because her sister was a Nazi sympathiser?’
Leo’s head jerked up. ‘Who told you this? You have only just arrived and already you hear these rumours? Honestly, this place…’
Amy sat down, cross-legged on the stone floor beside him.
