The villa stood at two storeys with a terracotta tiled roof. Many tiles were cracked or missing, while some had been dislodged and had banked up in the guttering, where clumps of weeds and grasses had taken control. Each floor was marked by a row of pine-green shuttered windows – six across the top floor and four across the ground floor – allowing for the large ornately carved double wooden doors of the front entrance. Above the door was a half-moon-shaped leadlight window also in need of repair.
The building sat on an angle, not facing directly up the driveway. On the side of the building was a smaller, simpler version of the main entrance door, covered in peeling paint. On either side were small, shuttered windows matching the shape and colour of those on the front of the building. There were two per storey, all brandished smashed glass and broken framework.
The building, which looked battered and beaten, was a creamy sandstone colour. The façade had been rendered many centuries prior, and its current state revealed deep cracks and exposed brickwork underneath.
‘It’s so beautiful,’ Sarah said softly, appreciating the incredible bones and history of the villa.
They were mere mortals in the shadow of Convento delle Viole. It had seen and experienced so much, yet still stood so strong, so resolute.
Wishing he might borrow Sarah’s rose-coloured glasses, Matthew’s eyes couldn’t help but find all the things that required attention: the smashed glass, the broken tiles, the mossy waterlines trailing from the gables, the contorted shutters – most intact, others swinging in the breeze on one rusty hinge – birds’ nests in the guttering, the overgrown garden and the weed-lined driveway.
He closed his eyes, knowing that if he looked any closer, he would only find more. ‘What’s the chance of opening my eyes to find this has all been a bad dream?’
Sarah looked across at him. The passing wind tousled his dark brown hair and his skin – which took on the most divine glow in the sun – reflecting the light which bounced from the golden façade. She cleared her throat. ‘It won’t be that bad. I bet it’s mostly superficial.’
Matthew opened his eyes and Sarah caught the bright glisten of their trademark green. ‘Shall we?’ He raised his eyebrows with trepidation.
‘Let’s go.’
Leaving their possessions by the door, they made their way around to the front of the building. Sarah loved how the gravel scrunched under her feet. It was a truly satisfying sound, though she wondered what kind of mess it would make after a heavy rainfall.
The courtyard which faced the front of Convento delle Viole was flat and wide. The boundaries between gravel, grass, garden bed and paving were completely blurred. They walked towards the farthest edge of the courtyard, hoping to take in the immensity of the villa at the best vantage point. What met them, however, was an astonishing sight. Sarah clasped her hands over her mouth, taking in the view.
‘I guess that’s why the building faces this direction,’ Matthew said.
The edge of the courtyard was marked with a low bricked ledge, the perfect height to sit and lose oneself in the view below. Sat high above the valley, Convento delle Viole enjoyed one of the most enviable views along the mountain. The land which unfolded beneath the courtyard had been cut back at different levels. The first level, perhaps four or five metres below, was an open grassy plain, the same width as the courtyard above. It was bare of anything but weeds and overgrown shrubs. The second level was much narrower, perhaps only three or four metres in width, and featured the same sandstone-coloured gravel as the drive. A few broken marble ornaments lay about in pieces and a pair of two ornate planter pots, a metre-wide at least, sat at either end, marking the boundaries. The third and final level was an orchard. Wild and unkempt, it was difficult to discern from a height what was growing down there.
‘Are they olives?’ Sarah asked, pointing to the spindly silver-leaved trees.
‘Looks like it.’ Matthew squinted. ‘And those further down, right down there before the drop,’ he caught Sarah’s shoulder and pointed off into the distance, ‘those are grapes. It’s a vineyard.Was. Is?’ He shook his head.
Across the valley, they could see waves of tended land, all different patchwork colours and shades of green, brown and gold. Farms and properties punctuated the landscape, with the faint outline of cars on the winding roads only just visible to the naked eye. To the right, at the farthest edge of the courtyard, was a wrought-iron handrail which led down to the levels below. The stairs, in the same pale red brick as the ledge, formed the steps.
‘We’re very high up,’ Sarah said, trying to make out their counterpoint across the valley.
‘That’s Fiorellino sul Monte, I’m guessing.’ Matthew nodded in the direction of the town sat atop the mountain directly ahead of them. ‘That’s going to look beautiful lit up at night.’
Sensing a flicker of positivity in his voice, Sarah stifled a wry smile by gnawing on her bottom lip. ‘Sure will.’
‘What do you think is waiting for us inside?’ Matthew’s gaze never left Fiorellino sul Monte.
Inhaling deeply, Sarah was rejuvenated by the clean mountain-top air. ‘Your destiny, apparently.’
sei
‘This feels like one of those cliché Hollywood moments that will change our lives forever.’ Matthew stood beside Sarah at Convento delle Viole’s double-front door.
‘That’s because itis.’ Sarah smiled and nodded in the direction of the folder under Matthew’s arm. ‘Key?’
‘Right.’ Removing the large ornate key from the folder, he held it out between them, flat in the palm of his right hand. His eyes went to the door’s rusted keyhole. ‘That’s not in good shape at all.’
Sarah dropped to her knees at the door and peered through it. Though she couldn’t make out what lay beyond the door, she could see that the inner-mechanism of the lock was broken, and most certainly wouldn’t allow the key to pass. ‘Give it a try, but it doesn’t look promising,’ she said, coaxing his hand to the door. Just as she had predicted, the key wouldn’t so much as enter the lock.
‘Damn it.’ Matthew tried a number of times to force the key into the hole, only further damaging the internal mechanism. ‘Ok, make a mental note. Replace this ASAP.’
‘Something tells me it will lead a very long list of fix-its.’ She ran her hand over the rusted hinges that connected the door’s wooden panels to the rendered brickwork. As she did so, some of the paint flaked away. She winced, wiping her hand clean on the back of her pants.
Matthew grew increasingly more resolute to open the door. He paced back and forth, stood back to assess the door at a short distance, then attempted to wriggle his smallest finger into the hole to readjust the mechanism. ‘No good,’ he finally conceded.
