‘I can’t spend two weeks sitting around in the square!’ I said, horrified. ‘There’s so much to see. It’s going to be hard enough to get it all done as it is.’
‘Exactly.’ Holly nodded slowly. ‘In fact, spoiler alert, you’llnever get it all doneso there’s no point in trying. You have to relax into the ebb and flow of everyday life if you want to see the real Italy. You’ll never visit all the churches or see all the buildings. I promise.’
I looked around the restaurant at the locals sitting and talking. Eating their small plates of black and white squid with celeriac, and caviar-roasted potatoes. They were taking their time. No phones. No rush. Just the pursuit of pleasure. Enjoying life for enjoyment’s sake.
‘The old dolce vita, eh?’
‘If it ain’t broke...’ Holly smiled. ‘That’s one of the reasons Xavier loves it here so much. The Italians are so like the French when it comes to prioritising their food. Family, Food, Work – I think that’s the order. Or maybe Sleep comes before Work.’
‘Work clearly comes last, whatever else is on the list,’ I said, thinking back to all the closed signs in the shop windows. ‘I hear what you’re saying, but it’s hard for me to sit still after all these years of keeping busy. You know I hate the quiet – it gives me too much time to think.’
‘It’s been a long time now, Abs. How many years? Why not give it a try for a week or so and see how you feel? Nothing to lose, is there? You could start with a few minutes of people-watching each day and build yourself up to a full day stare-a-thon. Like the opposite of “Couch to 5k”.’
‘Until I’m completely on the couch?’ I stuffed another piece of focaccia in as the waiter arrived with a selection of miniature risottos, pointing each one out and talking us through the ingredients: crispy pancetta, veal tenderloin and liquorice butter, served in tiny green bowls with mint, cinnamon, and pecan sauce. A puzzling combination for the taste buds.
‘Did Mia mention the activities they’re trialling at the vineyard?’ Holly asked.
‘Only the yoga and the bikes. Yoga starts tomorrow morning, doesn’t it?’
‘Yes, the yoga and some other things. Mia is an brilliant artist, so she’s going to run a couple of painting classes as well this week.’
‘Is she? I’d love that. You know me, any excuse to get my crayons out.’ I laughed.
‘And you’re amazing at it,’ Holly said, fondly. ‘You probably don’t get to paint for fun anymore. Too busy slapping on the slap for all the theatre luvvies.’
Xavier appeared at the table, with yet more food.
‘Buonasera,’ he said, with a big smile. ‘How are you settling in?’
‘Very well so far! There could be something in this holiday idea, after all,’ I said. ‘And this place is magical, Xavier. I feel like a celebrity to have an in with the chef.’
‘Holly has made it like this,’ he said, bending down to kiss her.
‘What? Not at all!’ Holly said, gazing dreamily into his eyes. ‘It was all you.’
Xavier shook his head. ‘Mostly you, my love,’ he said, and kissed her again.
‘Alright, alright, break it up,’ I said, both happy and jealous that they were so cute and gooey with one another.
Xavier put his professional face on and cleared his throat. ‘I have a little angel hair here for you both. I hope you like it. Red shrimp, chickpeas, pecorino, chestnut. Very simple.Capelli d’Angelo.’
‘Merci, Xavier,’ I said, twiddling up the pasta as he stroked Holly’s nose then rushed off back to the kitchen. It was superb. How could something with so few ingredients taste so good? My calorie situation was going to be in severe crisis with these kinds of dishes on my doorstep.
‘He seems keen,’ I said, with an eyebrow.
‘He’s a bloody dream,’ she squealed. ‘Life out here has been so easy and happy compared to living in London with George.’
‘What a difference a few years can make.’ I closed my eyes to fully appreciate the food. ‘Mmm-mm-mm.’
‘Pretty special, huh?’ Holly said, smiling.
‘I mean, I thought Margot had it going on… but this is something else,’ I replied, spinning together another mouthful, then checking myself in alarm. ‘Thisisit, isn’t it? He’s not going to bring us out any more food?’
Holly laughed. ‘Of course it’s not it. We haven’t had our main course yet. Starter, pasta, main course, pasta, dessert, then pasta and then maybe a liqueur to finish off, with another side of pasta.’
That would do more than finish me off. Christ. My stomach popped just thinking about it and I regretted the focaccia. No. I’d never regret that focaccia. Ah. The Italian way of life was starting to make sense. Sleep must definitely be the third point on that list.
‘So. Any excitement on the man front to tell me?’ Holly asked, lightly.
