‘Seriously, thank you for helping. You didn’t need to do that – you’re supposed to be on vacation.’
‘Anytime,’ I said. ‘I like to stay busy. And I was happy to help you –all of you. I can’t believe we got so much done in such a short time.’
Tony took a photo of the strawberry skies over the vineyard, and a selfie of us with our prosecco. ‘They don’t make them like you anymore, that’s for sure. You’re a good friend.’
I felt irrationally stung, but what else could he call me? He’d tried for something more and I’d said no. I’d made my feelings clear, and he was just being respectful.
‘I’m here for you –for all of you– you know that don’t you?’
‘Sure. For a limited time only,’ Tony said with a nod, and took another swig of his prosecco.
Nineteen
Saturday 31stAugust
It was finally the day of the party and I woke up feeling like a kid on Christmas morning. The vineyard had been gradually transformed and was now dressed in its very best, with ribbons flying from the windows and fairy lights strewn in every direction. It was officially the height of summer and the tourists had been arriving by the busload into San Gimignano and staying in the hotels, instead of draining away at the end of each day. There was a sense ofjoie de vivrein the air and the town felt alive. I’d been helping Tony and Mia set things up since first light. We’d combined two dining tables into an enormous wine stall and decorated it to blend seamlessly with the green surroundings. Frilly sage tablecloths that hung down to the floor, with olive trees in terracotta pots standing guard at each end. Vines were interwoven and tacked in plaits along the edge of the stand, with tiny bunches of grapes hanging down. My face-painting stall was hitched alongside like a sidecar, with a table, two chairs and my glitter glues, all ready for action.
I’d written FACE-PAINTING in English and Italian on a big piece of card and propped it up on one of Mia’s easels, decorated with fairy lights and purple balloons. I couldn’t wait to sparkle up the kids of San Gimignano – the stall was kind of ramshackle, but I hoped my efforts exuded the intended charm. Holly and Xavier had the stall next to me and were getting ready to sell a couple of authentic Tuscan dishes.Panzanella– a dressed salad of bread, tomatoes, onions and basil, andtagliatelle al tartufo– with garlic, truffle and parmigiano. I’d done a taste test when they’d arrived and both dishes were dangerously delicious. Several other vintners had brought along their variations of Vernaccia and limoncello, and there were stalls with focaccia, smoked cheeses, meats, and homegrown tomatoes – a gastronomic feast of foods to pick and mix among and enjoy, with a glass or two of wine.
Paolo was sat with his leg up on a stool, calling out instructions to Tony and Mia.
‘Yes, Paolo, I know,’ Mia said, in frustration, for the third time.
‘I know you know, but they still aren’t right. The barrels need to lean at forty-five degrees,’ he said, pointing at them with his crutch. ‘For the sediment.’
Tony wrestled barrel after barrel out of the cellar, then stacked them behind the makeshift bar, his muscles working hard as he positioned each one on the back shelf at the correct angle. Mia then followed behind him, fitting each barrel with a small tap.
‘Would you like a glass, Abi?’ Mia asked, testing the taps were working and watching the wine gush out. She nodded in satisfaction.
‘Not just yet, I need to keep a clear head for my face-painting.’ I laughed. ‘I can taste it though, if you need a medieval court jester?’ Mia poured me out a mouthful from each of the barrels and I dutifully tried each one and gave her five lots of thumbs up.
‘SO good,’ I said.
Mia nodded, pleased.
‘This will be our first public trial with the new recipe,’ Tony said. ‘I’m hoping we get a good response.’ He pointed at the two bins in front of the stall. A banner was pinned between them that read: ‘DO YOU LIKE OUR NEW VINTAGE?’ One bin had ‘YES’ painted on it in thick white paint and the other had ‘NO’.
‘Happy to help with the market research,’ I said, dropping my plastic glass in the YES bin. ‘You get my vote, but you already knew that. And if you decide not to sell it to the masses – can you still ship me out a bottle at Christmas? Now that I’m part of the gang?’
‘No problem,’ Tony said, with a smile. ‘Obviously I’ll need your contact details to fulfil the er… delivery. Full name, address, phone number, star sign…’
‘Obviously,’ I replied, feeling my cheeks flush. He was too easy to flirt with.
‘Abi, I wanted to say thank you again for helping us with the Vendemmia this week,’ Paolo said. ‘We were very close to being in trouble there and we couldn’t have done it without you.’
‘I was happy to help,’ I said, pleased to have made a difference. ‘It would be a crime against grapes to miss a year of producing this wine.’
‘Mammaalways loved it too,’ Paolo said, holding up a small glass.
‘She was so proud of our vintage,’ Mia agreed. ‘She wanted us to do more with it.’
‘How long until we open the doors?’ Tony asked, breathless from lifting all the barrels.
‘I think we’re nearly ready,’ Paolo said, looking around at the grounds and smiling. ‘Half an hour?’ The stalls were all set up in front of the farmhouse, each one decorated a different colour. The band had positioned themselves opposite the wine stand and there was space for dancing in between. The strings of fans I’d made with Mia and Holly were festooned around the square, binding the whole party together andVigneto Almagnolooked almost good to go.
‘I can do you some glitter make-up if you like?’ I said to Mia. ‘It won’t take a sec.’
‘Really?’ she said, her face lighting up.
