‘The pizzeria would have been more romantic.’ Gino grinned.
Stella gave him a dig in the ribs. ‘Very funny. Shall we go on?’
‘I hope the path isn’t too overgrown. We could have taken my car the long way round but it felt right to walk.’
‘I’m glad. It’s a nice day. I always used to manage all right, though I was a bit fitter back then.’
‘I’ll have to help you along.’ He took her hand. ‘Come on, up the last few steps. It will flatten out soon.’
‘I remember. I’d always start running as soon as I got to that bit.’
‘Ah, that’s why you always arrived looking so flustered. Do you remember how I used to wait for you there?’
‘I used to panic if Mamma kept me back to do some chores, knowing I’d be horribly late.’
‘No mobile phones back then. I’d just have to wait and hope.’
She took the last few steps and paused to catch her breath before saying: ‘Some things have changed for the better. I’d be lost without my phone.’
‘I’m glad we didn’t have them back then; Mamma would have fitted mine with some sort of tracker app.’
‘I wish we’d had something to track where Fernanda was and then…’ She looked across the hills. If Fernanda hadn’t found them, Papà wouldn’t have worked himself up into a rage. He wouldn’t have died. Stella wouldn’t have caused Mamma such pain, lost touch with her brother and sister. Their reckless kiss in the alley had cost her everything. She searched for a change of subject. ‘When did you last come this way?’
‘Not since the spring. Week after week I’ve been meaning to but you know how it is, life gets in the way. My daughter, Isabella, has been back in Alassio and every time I’ve come here to visit Mamma and Leo, I seem to get caught up in odd jobs at one of their houses, but it’s really time I checked on the trees. They didn’t get harvested last year, the family who rented the place these last thirty years had all sorts of personal issues so they gave notice and left. I should have taken time out and organised collecting the olives and a slot at thefrantoiobut I didn’t get around to it. A terrible waste.’ He tutted and shook his head.
‘These things happen. So, have you found someone else who wants to take over?’
‘No.’
She expected him to say more but he strode on, a serious look on his face. For the next half hour they walked side by side along the rough stony path, speaking very little, content just to be in each other’s company.
Therusticocame into view. A couple of windows were boarded up but the sloping roof and old stone walls were just as she remembered. Gino took a key from under a chipped urn. He unlocked the door. It opened with a creak; she stepped inside.
He glanced around. ‘Good, it seems just as I left it.’
‘I don’t suppose many people come this way. We haven’t passed anyone today.’
‘There would be no reason unless you were here to work on the trees. That’s what made it such a good hideaway for us.’
She rubbed her hand down one of the old wooden pillars.
‘Looking for where we carved our initials? I think it was lower.’ He crouched down. ‘Look, there!’
She joined him, tracing her finger over the marks he’d hacked with a penknife:G + Ssemprein a heart-shaped surround. ‘You and me always. Oh, yes. I remember when you did that.’
‘After we first kissed. And now here we are again.’
‘We haven’t been the only ones. I don’t remember the other carvings.’
‘There were a few initials and hearts when we used to come here but not as many as this. Maybe it was the kids of the family who rented from us.’
Stella stood up, she was getting cramp in her legs. ‘There’s a lot more stuff in here too.’
‘People accumulate things over the years: wheelbarrows, ladders, baskets…’ He stretched a piece of olive netting between two hands. ‘Looks decent quality, hopefully it isn’t too torn.’
She walked over to a short-legged wooden chest. ‘Amadia. My grandma kept her flour in one and she’d roll out the pasta on top. Hers was in the kitchen; it’s strange to see one out here.’
‘It’s the victim of one of Mamma’s tidying sessions. She keeps her flour in cannisters in the cupboard like most people these days. But Violetta would have used this during the war. Mamma won’t get rid of anything that belonged to her sister but when there was no more room in the house, she used to bring things out here. Like this.’ He patted the edge of an old iron bedstead, its striped mattress saggy and worn.
