‘Is that so?’ He smiled. ‘That would be nice but unfortunately I cannot take you back to my son’s house either. I do not know what I can do except kiss you again.’
‘That works.’ She wrapped her arms around him, melting into him. The surge of longing felt so sweet.
Eventually he broke away. ‘So, have you plans for tomorrow? I could be finding something to do around Leo’s house, he’ll be at his workshop all day. But for me, it does not feel right to work on a Sunday. If I do anything more than a bit of washing up, I see Mamma’s face glowering at me, pursing her lips, clutching a rosary.’
‘She does have a point; it’s nice to have a day that’s different. I’m glad Domenico keeps the traditional hours.’
‘So, you are free? Will you come for a long walk with me? I wanted to go up to my grandparents’ oldrustico, to see if the place is still standing and to check on the olive trees now the tenant has left.’
‘Our hideaway.’
‘How could I forget? So, you’ll come with me?’
‘There’s nowhere I’d rather go.’
‘Not even back to that very romantic pizza restaurant?’
She laughed. ‘See you tomorrow, Gino.’
‘Shall we grab breakfast at the bar first, say eight o’clock? I’ll meet you there. Or is that too early?’
‘Not at all.’ No time would be too early; she’d be too excited to sleep a wink.
31
Stella opened the kitchen window, blinking as bright sunlight flooded the small kitchen. She set a saucepan of water on to boil. She still hadn’t got round to searching the rest of Domenico’s stock for a kettle. The squashed cocktail hat sat mournfully on top of her uncle’s battered copy ofIn Cucina. Steaming that was another job she needed to do, along with searching for some sort of chain for Amy’s necklace before the girl returned to the shop. She’d been planning to catch up today during Sunday closing but she wasn’t going to miss the chance to spend the day with Gino.
She poured water onto a camomile teabag; she was jittery enough without a shot of caffeine. In less than an hour she’d be seeing him. How easy it had been, how natural and right it felt to be back in his arms. How they might mesh his life in Liguria and hers back home was a question she wouldn’t worry about now. They were back together and that was all that mattered.
She took her phone off the charger, not surprised to see a message from Lauren there. Stella had been on such a high after her evening at the pizzeria she’d thrown caution to the wind and sent her daughter a rambling email telling how she’d reconnected with her old love. Bracing herself for Lauren’s brusque assessment of how foolish her mother was being, she was stunned to see words of encouragement and the comment ‘he sounds hot!’ Goodness! What on earth had she written in that email last night? The knock on the door came fifteen minutes before she planned to leave. She flew through the kitchen, almost tripping in her haste to answer it. Gino stood on the doorstep. The sleeves on his orange shirt were rolled up, showing arms more muscular than the boyish body she remembered.
‘Ciao, Stella.’ He kissed her lightly on the lips. ‘I know we said we would meet at the bar but I could not wait to see you.’
‘Lucky I’m ready, isn’t it?’
He grinned, clocking the trainers already on her feet, the keys in her hand.
They were too keen to get going to linger long in the bar over breakfast. Soon they were passing under the old stone arch, pausing only for a few seconds to take in the view of the hills. Gino squeezed her hand. Was he thinking, like her, how wonderful it was to walk through the village together, nodding and smiling and exchanging greetings as they went? Some people did a doubletake when they saw them – she recognised a few of her parents’ friends and a couple of old classmates – but no one was hostile or disapproving. There were no angry villagers storming out of their houses to accuse her of causing her papà’s death. No one shaking their fists or raining curses upon her head. People wouldn’t have forgotten but time had moved on. It seemed she’d been forgiven.
She set off along the path by the vineyard, half-expecting old Francesco’s dog to run up to the fence, loudly announcing to the world that they were there. There was no dog now, just a wire mesh chicken run. A tortoiseshell cat, head low, bottom in the air was eyeing up its feathery residents.
The steps leading further up were even crumblier than she remembered, weeds sprouting between the cracks. Wiry mountain thyme grew on the scraggy hillside, the beloved snapdragons of her childhood still bloomed. The sky was blue enough to make a whole fleet of sailors’ trousers; the sun warmed her right through to her bones, Gino was by her side. She hadn’t felt so happy in years.
Ahead of them was the Old Chapel, smaller than she recalled but her heart leapt at the sight of it.
‘Oh, look! I’m so pleased to see it’s still there!’
‘What did you expect? A pile of rubble?’
‘I don’t know. Everything’s changed so much around where I live in England but almost everything here is just the same, as if I’ve never been away. Does Fernanda still look after this place?’
‘She did until recently. It’s too far for her to walk these days. But she’s so stubborn I wouldn’t put it past her to try and get here if Leo hadn’t taken over.’
‘Your son? That’s good of him.’
‘He’s fond of my mother. He doesn’t want her fretting over this place, worrying about vandals or vermin. He doesn’t get out here as much as she did, of course, but he did come here the other day. He brought that girl, Amy, to help.’
‘Even the windows are sparkling.’ Stella stood on tiptoes to peer in. ‘They gave the place a good onceover by the look of it but that’s not my idea of a date.’
