One Summer in Italy: The most uplifting summer romance you need to read in 2018. Sue Moorcroft
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was a select but significant tourist destination, much of it made from the same rock it perched upon, like a little brother of the city of Orvieto to the north. Casa Felice stood on the edge of the town, secluded in its own grounds yet only a ten-minute walk from the centre. According to the website it boasted fifty guest bedrooms over three floors. The road outside, Via Virgilio, led out of town to an extensive country park. Il Giardino, he reflected, was neatly positioned to tempt those who’d worked up thirst and hunger with a country walk.
The ground fell away from the hotel at the back too, and he paused to drink in the view over the shrubs and lavender of the gardens below the terrace where the valley steepened. Large tracts of the slopes were darkly clothed with trees below the hazy purple peaks, some with other towns on the summit. He itched to get out the watercolour paints that had provided his major means of relaxation since his school days. Instead, conscious of his rumbling stomach, he returned to the cool indoors to take a shower and make his way downstairs to seek refreshment.
Half an hour later he was seated beneath the shade of one of Il Giardino’s off-white parasols. He had no trouble finding a vacant table. It was now three o’clock so perhaps many tourists had lunched already. Both waitresses were still working and the dark one appeared before him, producing her pad and pen from her apron pocket.
‘Buon giorno,’ she greeted him brightly. ‘Would you like to order?’ Her eyes were brown and her skin golden. If he hadn’t heard her speaking English he would have taken her for Italian.
‘Buon giorno.’ He ordered a large beer and an arancino rice ball stuffed with ragù.
‘Coming right up.’ She returned in a couple of minutes bearing a tall glass of pale beer and deposited it on the table. ‘Your arancino will be ready shortly.’ She shot a swift glance around and then lowered her voice. ‘Thanks for your help earlier. It made things a lot easier.’
‘It felt like the right thing to do.’ He took a long, satisfying draught of his beer, the chill liquid cutting through any remaining journey dust in his throat. As she’d raised the subject he asked, ‘Is the other waitress OK?’
‘I think so.’ Her eyes smiled. ‘I’m not sure how you saw the incident when you and your motorbike didn’t arrive until after it had taken place but I’m grateful, and I know Amy is.’
Levi shrugged off the first part of her sentence. ‘That guy – Davide? He’s not around right now?’
She grinned, her teeth white and even. ‘Benedetta thought it was a good idea to send him on his break.’
He chuckled. ‘I suppose Casa Felice’s not like one of those massive places where it’s easy to assign staff members to opposite ends of the building and know they’d be unlikely to see each other.’
She nodded. ‘Especially as Amy and I live in at Casa Felice.’
‘Do all the staff?’
‘No, most of the kitchen and housekeeping staff are local and many of the wait staff are too, but Benedetta likes some native English speakers for the tourists. Amy speaks German as well.’
‘Remarkable,’ he said. ‘What time does your shift end?’
Her smile faltered. ‘I’d better get back to work.’ She turned smartly away.
Watching her glide off to a nearby table and begin to clear, he realised that she’d taken his question as a prelude to asking her to join him once she’d finished for the day.
He hid a rueful grin as he lifted his beer glass. Her hasty evasion had certainly put him in his place.
Promise #4: Lay flowers for your grandparents
It was Monday before Sofia got a break after seven straight days on duty.
It was a shame that, as long as Sofia and Amy both worked in Il Giardino, their time off together would be limited. They’d bonded right from their first evening when Sofia, thinking Amy looked a bit lost, had suggested eating together. Over pasta, Amy had been wide-eyed to hear about the string of waitressing jobs Sofia had fitted around caring for her dad. In turn, Sofia had been green with envy over Amy’s tales of living in Germany with her expat British family.
The evening had ended in giggles as they pored over the list of rules that had awaited them in their rooms, Benedetta’s name printed in capitals at the foot. ‘Wow,’ Sofia had commented. ‘Staff are required not to go here, wear that, do the other. We’ll be sacked for sure.’
They’d each managed not to transgress so far.
Benedetta had given Amy the weekend off as Amy was used to handling euros, but her Italian was sketchy so she needed to concentrate hard when serving the locals. Also, she was visibly exhausted by long shifts on her feet in the bright sun or late into the evening.
Sofia hadn’t minded waiting until training was over and she was established on the staff rota for her precious two days off – and now they were here. She could catch up on laundry in the staff kitchen-cum-utility-room this evening but this morning, after a couple of extra hours in bed, she meant to embark on the fulfilment of another promise to Aldo, one that had felt too important to be squeezed into the few off-duty hours she’d enjoyed so far.
It meant flouting Benedetta’s rule that staff should avoid any area of the hotel where their duties did not take them, especially when not in uniform. However, Sofia risked entering the coolness of the reception area when she saw Aurora on duty because she was thought Aurora would be less wedded to the rules than Benedetta. Sofia had learned to like Aurora as readily as she’d learned to dislike her brother Davide, who seemed to go through every day resenting working for his mum and serving food to pink-faced tourists.
In contrast, Aurora obviously loved working in Casa Felice and had the happy knack of getting on with everyone. Like many Italian women, she had an air of effortless glamour. Her nails were immaculately crimson, her makeup pristine and her not-a-hair-out-of-place plait hung dead centre down the back of her smart black jacket. She beamed when she saw Sofia. ‘Now you have some time to explore Montelibertà?’
‘I can’t wait,’ Sofia returned frankly. ‘Is there somewhere in town I can buy a map?’
Aurora opened a drawer. ‘Of Montelibertà? Informazioni turistiche gives to us their maps.’ She brought out a neatly folded rectangle and shook it out to display a colourful street plan. ‘See, here is Casa Felice.’ She tapped with a perfect fingernail. ‘Follow Via Virgilio down the hill and into the town and you see the church, many restaurants and museums. Here for good Italian ice-cream.’ She tapped a different point on the map. ‘Gelateria Fernando – my favourite.’
‘I’d like to find the cemetery.’ Sofia tried to sound as if this destination was on the ‘must see’ list of every seasonal worker.
Aurora’s wide eyes and flipped-up eyebrows suggested interest. ‘Your family name, Bianchi, it is unusual for Umbria. But there are others in Montelibertà.’ Her expectant pause invited Sofia to fill in any blanks.
Sofia saw no reason to be secretive. ‘My father was from Montelibertà. I promised I’d put flowers on his parents’ graves. He was ill for a long time before he died so hadn’t been able to return to Italy.’
The corners of Aurora’s mouth turned down. ‘I’m sorry you have lost your papà.’
Sofia tried to smile but it didn’t quite come off, though the memory of Aldo’s breathlessly cajoling ‘Non frignare, Sofia,’ reverberated in her mind. It was hard not to mope when, as now, grief gripped her like a fist around her lungs. Sofia swallowed hard and forced her voice not to tremble. ‘Thank you. He’d be glad I’m here.’
Aurora switched her smile back on. ‘It is a large cemetery. Did