From Italy With Love

‘He bought and sold classic cars. He would take commissions from wealthy people to go and find a specific classic car. You know … the last Ferrari designed by Enzo.’

Robert looked even blanker. Of course he did.

‘Enzo as in Enzo Ferrari.’

She’d forgotten she even knew that. Like pinpricks of light through dark cloth, snippets of knowledge lit up her memory. Dots suddenly joined in ever-expanding memories. Facts she’d forgotten she knew. How could she have forgotten how much time she’d spent here in the holidays as a child? During the battleground of her parents’ divorce this had been her second home.

‘Oh,’ Robert sounded distant. ‘Do you want to lead the way?

Stepping over the threshold was like snagging the trip wire of a booby trap, and a thousand more memories exploded in her head. In some ways nothing had changed in the huge airy entrance hall. Dappled sunlight still poured through the bank of leaded windows, just as it had every summer when she’d come to stay. The wicker baskets filled with piles of traditional green Hunter wellies; a size in there for everyone. The solid dark oak staircase looked as formidable as ever, the burgundy patterned carpet snaking down the middle held in place by brass stair-rods. The sight of the stack of Racing Posts, so high an avalanche was surely imminent, brought memories tumbling, stirring a lump in her throat almost choking her.

For a moment she could hear the sound of hooves thundering down on turf. York Races, just down the road. She’d forgotten that. The memory crystalized in her mind bringing with it the smell of horses, the crowd roaring on their favourite and the magpie chatter of touts shouting their odds. For a moment she faltered, as if caught between two worlds and then became aware of her surroundings.

An impassive waiter guarded the entrance to the grand hall, balancing a tray of wines, champagne in tall flutes, white in cut crystal and red in glass balloon goblets.

At least she could guarantee the quality of the wine today. When was the last time she’d tasted decent wine? Taking a glass from the waiter, she motioned to Robert to join her. He was still taking in the hall.

‘Are you sure you want that? It’s a big glass. Drinking at lunch time? Is that wise?’

‘Probably not but what the hell … it’ll be good. I guarantee it.’

‘Really?’

‘Definitely. Miles knew a thing or two about wine. Taste it.’ She took a deep sniff, poking her nose right into the glass and then swirled the wine around.

Robert pulled a face, making it quite clear he thought she was being pretentious, and took a tentative sip. His brows drew together and begrudgingly he said, ‘Very nice.’

‘Chateau Lafite. ’64.’ She had no idea how she knew that but she just did and although she didn’t mean to sound smug, she couldn’t help the small flicker of pride that she knew what it was.

‘’64 eh? Yeah right, Laurie. More like Tesco’s finest.’

‘No, it is.’

A sceptical expression crossed his face. ‘What do you know about wine?’ he scoffed.

Her brief moment of confidence faded for a second before reasserting itself. ‘It was Miles’ favourite.’

‘Ah, so you don’t know for sure. You’re just guessing.’

She faltered; maybe she was. See, that’s what showing off did for you. It had been a long time. It probably wasn’t the ’64, although she did think it was Chateau Lafite. She took another healthy slurp, savouring the gorgeous rich berry flavour. Definitely had that distinctive earthiness to it.

‘She’s right, actually.’ The deep, gravelled voice belonged to Mr Handsome from the church. The brief wink he shot her as he lifted a glass from the tray turned her stomach inside out. Blood rushed to her face and she prayed she wasn’t blushing. Just those movie-star good looks − they were overwhelming, that was all. With an ironic toast he took a cheerful glug and disappeared into the crowded room beyond.

As he walked off her eyes were drawn to his long lean figure, his butt outlined in well-fitting denim.

‘Tosser,’ said Robert, shaking his head. ‘Bet he knows even less about wine than you do. Come on, I hope there’s some food to soak it up.’ He put his arm across her shoulders and steered her into the crowded room.

She’d definitely drunk more wine than was sensible on an empty stomach but hadn’t been able to help herself and even now the third glass slipped down far too nicely. It had been lovely catching up with Penny, Livia and Janine and sharing lots of happy memories which she’d completely buried. Robert kept flashing her questioning looks across the room, as if she’d turned into some raving alcoholic, but luckily he’d been cornered by Norah pressing more sausage rolls on him.

She smiled to herself, taking another sip of the Lafite. Sophisticated in the wine department, yes, but Uncle Miles had had a decided preference for proper man food. His rants on vegetarians were as legendary as his views on eating salad, which he likened to committing food crime. She could imagine he’d been quite specific about today’s menu, judging from the sideboard running the length of the dining room loaded with plates of good old-fashioned Cornish pasties, the pastry glistening with egg glaze, pork pies sliced to reveal solid pink insides and flaky sausage rolls, crisp enough to scatter dust motes of crumbs in the air.

The assembled glitzy gathering certainly seemed to be enjoying themselves from the sound of the animated buzz of chatter and laughter rippling through the room. Very Uncle Miles. Of course he’d want everyone to be happy. It seemed a lifetime ago that she’d stayed here, taking up residence every school holiday until that awful summer her mother left Dad. Then everything had changed. Dad wouldn’t let her come and stay anymore. He blamed Miles for encouraging her mother to hanker after this kind of lifestyle and for allowing her to meet the man she ran off with. Rather unfair, thought Laurie, as Dad knew as well as anyone what his wife was like. Laurie blamed Miles for something far worse.

Overwhelmed by the bleakness of her memories, a sense of panic rose up. Without saying anything to Robert, who thankfully was engrossed in conversation with another couple, she let instinct guide her toward the door, weaving between the maze of outstretched hands bearing glasses and plates.

Instead of turning left out of the salon to the nearest downstairs loo, a rather grand commode affair, she turned right and crossed the hallway passing the staircase and keeping a careful eye on her wine so as not to spill a precious drop. She’d forgotten the treat of a truly delicious wine.

Tempted as she was to slip up the wide flat stairs, she walked past ignoring the impulse to check the polish on the banisters. Once, long ago, she’d helped to clean and polish the wood – by sliding down them a on a towel. Uncle Miles believed in multi-tasking long before it had become a universal catch phrase.

She crossed the hallway, skirting the kitchen and ignoring the enticing smells of hot food. The sound of her footsteps on the flagstone floor was overpowered by the clatter of cutlery and the slamming of oven doors. Ducking through a series of wooden doorways, she passed the pantry, the laundry room and the mud room. The final door led out into the brick paved courtyard, the herringbone pattern embellished with vivid green moss.

Despite the balmy air, to her relief, there was no one out here. It would’ve been easy to stay there taking deep steady breaths to push away the hangover of emotion but instead she was drawn to the stable block.

The stables had been renovated with care to ensure that the essence of the house was retained. The wooden beams were still in place and the brickwork old, but huge, plate glass, modern windows replaced the draughty stable doors and the roof had been insulated to keep out the damp and the cold. High-tech security guarded the contents which replaced the old horse-power with the new – the engine. The key pad next to the heavy wooden door was a more recent model than she remembered.

It wouldn’t be the end of the world if she didn’t go inside, she could still press her nose up against the windows and peer inside.

Before she could get any closer she realised there was someone inside, a shadow moving with furtive purpose. The dark shape skimmed through the cars, their smooth aerodynamic shapes collected in the gloom, like a pod of exotic whales. The Aston Martin, a Rolls Royce Phantom, the Ferraris, a Lamborghini, she ticked off those she remembered. Her Uncle’s passion. The shadow stopped close to the plate glass at the end of the gallery, reaching up to the cupboard that she knew housed all the car keys. A beam of light pierced the dark like a lighthouse with a brief flash and then it clicked out as the shadow leaned into the cupboard and then withdrew again.

The figure then moved back to one of the cars in the garage, circling an area, stopping periodically as if weighing something up like an art critic in a gallery. Laurie frowned and took a thoughtful sip of wine. If the person in there was supposed to be in there, why hadn’t they put on the lights? Should she raise the alarm? The collection was extremely valuable. But then whoever it was clearly knew the access and alarm codes.

Hamstrung by indecision, she stepped back into the shrubbery which skirted the stables. She watched for what seemed like ages but the shadow, the height of which suggested male, stayed in the same part of the garage. It was difficult to see but as her eyes adjusted she could just make out a reverent hand being run over the bonnet of the car he’d appeared to have staked out. The car door was opened and whoever it was hunched down and eased into the drivers’ seat, leaving the door open.

Who was in there and what were they up to? At the very moment she’d decided to slink back to the house, the man got out of the car, threw up his head and strode back through the other cars. Even without the ambient light that cast a quick strobe across his face Laurie recognised his silhouette, the mane of long curls, the broad shoulders and his loose limbed walk. As he carefully closed the door behind him, she heard the chink of keys as she watched him weigh them up in his hand before slipping them into his pocket.

With nowhere to hide, she backed into the shadow and bumped into one of the wisteria branches trailing across the wall; there was an eggshell crack of fragile glass and she froze. A few shards of the handsome balloon tinkled on the floor leaving her holding the stem and the fractured glass. The tall shadow paused briefly and looked her way. She held her breath, her heart suddenly pounding. It felt so fierce that she could almost imagine he could hear it. Stupidly she closed her eyes as if shutting out his image might make her invisible. A mistake because then all she could focus on was the soft crunch of footsteps on the brick-paved ground and for a horrible moment she thought he was heading towards her. A pause. And then silence. If he could see her now, she’d look really weird with her eyes squeezed tightly shut but then if she opened them, she’d have to face him. Feeling more stupid and awkward than she ever had in her life, she kept her eyes shut. Just as the silence threatened to swallow her up, she heard his steps retreating as he turned back towards the house.

Catching a breath, her relieved sigh puffed out into the night air. It would have been so embarrassing to be caught. And why couldn’t she have just called out hello? What a nice evening? Isn’t it hot inside? Instead she’d acted like a complete idiot and made it look as if she were spying on him, like a horrid suspicious family member. People behaved badly when inheritance and money was at stake. She hated that he might think she was mercenary enough to worry about such things. Her mouth twisted, she knew all about probate and the murky things families thought when they believed they were owed something.

Of course if he knew her, he’d have known she had no claim on Miles nor wanted anything from him, except perhaps for one last postcard. The incredibly valuable collection of cars and the properties scattered across the world would belong to her aunts now or once probate had been sorted. Miles was fair though, no doubt he’d sorted everything out to everyone’s satisfaction.

‘Enjoying the wine?’

The voice interrupted her reverie and she stared up at him, her cheeks turning pink. She’d just managed to snag a new full glass of the Lafite, abandoning the broken one out of sight in the laundry room on her way back in. Had he heard that tell-tale tinkle of glass? Did he know it was her? Was he about to challenge her on it?

He lifted an eyebrow while she struggled to think and speak before finally managing a squeaked, ‘Yes’.

If only she could have come up with something wittier or clever to say. Ever since she’d followed him back indoors, her eyes kept straying towards him. The vibrant coloured shirt stood out in the room; it was impossible not to notice him. He seemed to know everyone and the women all seemed to know him. He’d charmed his way around the room.

For a moment he held up his glass, tilting the wine in it in consideration. Any minute now he was going to say something. Her stomach clenched with nerves.

‘So how did you know it was Miles’ favourite wine?’ he asked with a flirtatious smile toying around his mouth. She almost sagged with relief.

His default expression, no doubt. Definitely a ladies’ man. Although why not with those looks? No one with any sense would take him seriously. Love them and leave them was written all over him.

‘Why shouldn’t I?’ Her words came more sharply than she intended. ‘You knew?’ She gave him, an uncharacte‌ristically challenging look. Something surged in her blood, heady power buoyed up by nothing more than Dutch courage.

In response, the smile blossomed into a knowing grin as he gave her an unhurried look up and down, a leisurely perusal that tugged at her.

She gulped. He was good. And she was not his type. He knew that as well as she did. And he certainly hadn’t looked at her like that in the church.

Her eyes must have signalled something because he looked surprised and then intrigued for a second. He took a step back and this time studied her more carefully.

And she blushed … again.

‘Hi,’ the overly-loud voice cut through her stupor, ‘I’m Robert Evans. Lauren’s boyfriend.’ He thrust out his hand towards the other man.

‘Cameron, Cameron Matthews.’ His eyes glittered with mischief. ‘No one’s boyfriend.’

The heat of the room or maybe it was the wine started to catch up with her, a flush suffused her face and she rocked, feeling dizzy.

‘So,’ Cameron’s gaze took both of them in, ‘how do you know Miles?’ He looked at Robert’s suit and then down to the shiny polished brogues. ‘His accountant?’ He nodded at Laurie, ‘Wine broker?’

She didn’t think Robert realised he was being insulted but she’d underestimated him.

‘No, family.’ Robert informed him.

The wine must have really got to her because she felt unexpectedly embarrassed at his pompous tone and aggrieved he’d applied the term to himself.

Cameron Matthews looked surprised.

‘I’m Laurie, Miles’ niece.’

‘Laurie?’ His voice went up in question. Disbelief etched across his face as he stepped back and said, ‘You’re Laurie. Aw shit.’

She flushed at the vehemence in his tone and watched as he turned on his heel and stomped out of the room, parting the crowd and leaving everyone staring their way with hushed voices.

‘Rude bastard,’ said Robert. ‘What the hell was that about?’

‘I have no idea.’

Chapter 2

‘You happy to close up?’ asked Gemma, the other librarian, as if it was an unusual occurrence. Leighton Buzzard Library had been dead for the last half hour.

Laurie nodded. Thank God, today was almost over. From the moment the alarm clock had gone off this morning, set for exactly 6.30 a.m. so Robert had time to make both packed lunches before he caught the train into London, she’d found herself checking the clock almost hourly. The damn long-hand seemed to be on a go-slow. The day just wasn’t right. She couldn’t put a finger on what was wrong. It just felt wrong. And as for what ‘it’ was, she had no bloody clue.

Served her right for drinking all that wine yesterday. Her spirits had been well and truly dampened. Alcohol did that, didn’t it? And she wasn’t used to it. Drinking more in one afternoon than you did in an entire month was bound to have an effect.

She stacked the last of the books on the trolley. Oh stuff it, just this once sorting the thrillers from the romance and Sci-Fi could wait until morning. In fact Gemma could do it. Time she pulled rank, she was the senior librarian, after all and Gemma needed reminding that librarians are well-read, not well-informed on celebrity gossip. And didn’t that make Laurie sound a dried-up old stick. Part of her wondered whether maybe Gemma had got it right; the magazines seemed to be a stronger draw than books in the library these days. Other people’s lifestyles proving more exciting than their own. Even Gemma’s life seemed a lot more exciting than hers.

What was the matter with her today?

She had a job, home of her own, a live-in boyfriend and her health. She was being ungrateful and stupid. Security, stability … you knew where you were with them. For a moment she wondered if she was trying to convince herself just a little too hard.

OK, so they didn’t lead the most exciting life, her mouth turned down in disgust, they didn’t lead an exciting life full stop, but then excitement wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Loads of people would kill for that type of security. She thought of her mother and then tried hard not to. She’d left Laurie’s dad in her quest for excitement and had found fulfilment in fast cars, rich husbands, glitzy parties, designer clothes and visits to one exotic location after another. Quite what her mother had ever seen in Dad in the first place was a mystery. There were poles apart but he had clearly adored her at one point.

A tap on the window was an unwelcome reminder she should have switched out the lights and locked up.

‘Hello dear, I know it’s late but can I just …’

Laurie wasn’t supposed to stay open after six. ‘Go on, quickly.’

Mrs Wright slipped into the door and headed straight down to the crime section. ‘You are a dear,’ she called over her shoulder.

Laurie might as well start re-homing the books on the trolley.

Luckily Mrs Wright found something straight away.

‘Thanks love, you’re a lifesaver.’

Laurie smiled. The widow inhaled books like other people took in air. Her taste in gruesome killers obviously provided the escape from killing loneliness.

Rattling around on your own in a house when someone had died was so hard.

The ring of her mobile coincided with the click of the door when Mrs Wright finally left. Robert.

‘Hi.’

‘Hi, you still at work?’

‘Just leaving. I’ll be a while. I’ll heat up that shepherd’s pie for you when I get back.’

‘I’m already home. Actually, I thought I’d take you out to dinner.’ Robert sounded very pleased with himself.

‘Why, have you had a promotion or something?’

‘Does there have to be reason? I just thought you might like to be spoilt for a change.’

‘That would be lovely. Thank you. I’m on my way.’ If she got a wiggle on she could just catch the next bus.

See, she was just being a miserable old harpy. She had nothing to moan about. Her life was pretty good.

It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. Not that she did know how it was supposed to happen but this felt pedestrian, as if she’d been short-changed.

The candle on the table danced, casting shadows on the red damask tablecloth as Robert pushed the box across the table towards her.

Her heart sank, leaden to the very pit of her stomach. The waiter loitering with a bottle of champagne looked on expectant.

‘I know we said that we were fine as we are but …’ he shrugged, ‘we don’t have to have a big wedding. That would be a waste of money. I thought we could be spontaneous … just book the registry office next week. They’ve got a slot on Monday at lunch time. How romantic would that be? Spur of the moment!’

Robert’s face lit up with the thought. With a quiver of disappointment, she realised he felt genuinely excited by the idea.

Smiling took effort – she could feel the tautness of every muscle in her face. Robert had pushed the box right across the table, to sit centre stage in her place-setting like a dainty dish she needed to tuck into.

It sat there like an unexploded bomb that she was expected to diffuse. She didn’t dare look at him, but she could tell, as he leant forward, his body language shouting eagerly, that he wanted her to open the box.

Her hands shook as she lifted them above the table.

‘Aw … you don’t need to be nervous. It’s not the Rockefeller. Just a token really. We don’t need to waste our money on symbols. We know what’s important.’

Of course he was right. Having values. Being loyal. Maintaining integrity. Honesty. Unselfishness. They were the important things. Real love was based on friendship, stability and trust, not giddy emotion. She pushed away the thought of her mother, currently madly in love with husband number three.

Her fingers touched the box and she opened it. The ring, an emerald with a diamond chip on either side, was pretty. Really pretty. A lovely engagement ring and only a miserable, ungrateful, shallow cow would have even thought they would have preferred a sapphire.

She looked up at Robert. He beamed.

‘Like it?

‘It’s … lovely.’

Even as she blinked back tears, one escaped making a lonely trail down her cheek.

‘So, what do you say? Monday?’ He grinned hopefully, mistaking her tears for something else.

Numb, she stared at him. ‘Monday? What, this Monday?’ Frantically she tried to think was she was doing on Monday.

‘Yeah. Twelve-fifteen.’ He pulled the crinkly great-isn’t-it face, as if chivvying along her enthusiasm.

‘But … but I’ve got work.’

‘Come on, Laurie. They won’t notice if you take an extra half an hour … and if they do, just tell them where you’ve been. That lot will think it’s so romantic … just like one of those Mills & Boons.’

‘I … I … This is all so …’ She sounded even more clichéd than him.

‘Not really.’ Robert had that let’s be reasonable face on now, ‘We’ve been living together for a while now. It’s the next logical step isn’t it? We’re not getting any younger. We’ve got a house. We’ve no mortgage. We’ve both got steady jobs. Why not?’

She frowned. Actually, her house and her ‘no mortgage’.

They’d not been going out that long when Robert moved in pointing out it didn’t make sense paying bills on two separate homes. He’d been such a rock when her dad died so unexpectedly, leaving her so stricken and lonely she was incapable of deciding anything.

A nagging headache gnawed her right temple as she stared down at the ring. She didn’t like green, never ever wore it. Her school uniform had been bottle green, enough to put anyone off.

This wasn’t what she’d thought getting engaged would be like.

Was she crazy? Most girls dreamed of this? A steady, reliable man who didn’t watch endless football, didn’t spend money foolishly, did his share of the cooking and was a dab hand with the washing machine. Even came to Sainsbury’s every Friday with her. Dependable, reliable, trustworthy.

Someone who wouldn’t up and leave her behind.

So it wasn’t the most romantic of proposals, but they weren’t like that were they? She’d had a few serious boyfriends over the years and Robert was the only one she’d lived with but still she couldn’t quite bring herself to say yes. This didn’t feel right but how could she articulate it without upsetting him? As excuses went it was pretty rubbish.

‘I … I don’t know Robert. It doesn’t feel right. The timing. Maybe because Uncle Miles …’