‘Thanks for being so understanding.’ He stood up.
She picked up her bag. ‘I might take a long walk in the hills, there’s only so many times I can potter around the backstreets before someone reports me to the police for suspicious activity!’
‘Come with me. I can point out the start of a good path. It is a roundabout way into the countryside but a beautiful one.’
Amy had been meaning to pass by Stella’s shop to ask after her necklace, but she wasn’t going to turn down the opportunity to spend a few more minutes with him.
‘Thanks, Leo, I’d like that. If you’re sure it’s no bother.’
She followed him through the winding streets until they were nearly at the entrance to his workshop. He pointed through an alleyway.
‘If you cut down between those two houses, you will find a road at the bottom of the steps. It curves to the right and winds down to the stream. You cross over the little donkey-backed bridge by the old mill house and take the sloping path from there that takes you up into the hills. You cannot miss it.’
Amy nodded, hoping he was right.
‘Honestly, you cannot go wrong. You will see the bridge as you descend. Once you are over it, you follow the path. It slopes upwards again until you reach a crossroads, you can see the Old Chapel from there. Don’t take that path, follow the other path and keep going. After three or four kilometres you will come to an oldrusticoset amongst olive trees, my great-grandparents’ old place. It should be a nice day but if the rain comes and you want to shelter, there is a key under the urn by the front door.’
‘That’s very trusting of you.’
‘There’s not much there but old farm equipment and furniture Nonna could not bear to get rid of. Most of it is too heavy to lift. You would need a van and a forklift truck to empty the place.’ He laughed. ‘And anyway, why wouldn’t I trust you?’
‘You hardly know me.’
‘I know enough. Have a good walk.’
‘Ciao, Leo.’
‘Wait a moment.’ He pecked her on the cheek, just as she turned her head. His lips just brushed the edge of hers, sending a shiver of pleasure through her. ‘Would you fancy coming over to the workshop tomorrow morning? I’ve got something you might be interested in.’
‘Yes, sure. If I don’t turn up, you’ll know where to send the search party!’
After she’d walked a few yards, she glanced back over her shoulder. He was still standing by the entrance to the workshop, watching her.
* * *
The first part of Amy’s walk had been easy enough but she could see that the next part of the path spiralled its way upwards. There would be some steep stretches before she reached the crossroads that led to the Old Chapel. She leant over the humpbacked bridge, glad to stop for a while. There was no one in sight, the gurgling stream the only sound. The stream was wider than the trickle she’d expected. It must have been the main source of water for the village, once upon a time. But now the mill it had once powered stood abandoned, its huge spoked wheel nothing more than a decorative feature for a passerby like her to admire.
After a few minutes she walked on, glad to have something more concrete to do than ambling around the village. She didn’t hold out much hope she’d find further clues to the time Grandpa might have spent in Liguria. But she wasn’t yet willing to leave. She’d already decided to stay for the service to commemorate the return of Pietro Parodi’s bones. She was determined to be in the congregation when Leo’s plaque was unveiled.
She didn’t want to think about what would happen after the celebrations. She and Leo were only friends but she knew she was falling for him. And that quick brush of his lips, which she wasn’t sure was entirely accidental, had her believing he was starting to feel the same way. But staying in the village and pursuing a relationship with him was just a fantasy, a wonderful way of putting off the inevitable decision of what to do with the rest of her life now that the person who’d meant the most to her had gone.
30
‘One pizzanapoletana, onequattro stagioniand a bottle ofrossese di Dolceacqua. Very good.’
Gino handed the waiter their two plastic-coated menus. ‘I always wanted to bring you here,’ he said.
Stella laughed. The pizzeria had barely changed in the time she’d been away. A set of framed posters looked new, but the walls were still the same shade of yellowy-orange and the sepia photograph of the Bruzzone family taken some time in the 1920s still hung behind the till. She could swear the menu was identical to the one she’d salivated over as a teenager. Only the prices had changed.
‘I’m glad you’ve brought me here at last,’ she said. After more than forty years they were spending the evening together, out in the open, no longer hiding away. It was strange to think how young they’d been back then but in so many ways Gino hadn’t changed at all. His eyes still lit up at the thought of a four seasons pizza; he still only had to smile at her to send miniature rockets zinging around her insides.
The waiter returned with their bottle of red, uncorked it and poured out two glasses.
‘Salute!’ Gino kept his eyes on hers as he took the first sip.
‘Tell me about your family.’ She had to find out how things stood with the ex-wife he’d mentioned so briefly. That might help bring her back down to earth.
‘You heard I married Gaia.’ The classmate who’d played the tuba in the village band. They’d married less than two years after Stella had gone.
