The Secrets of Villa Rosso: Escape to Italy for a summer romance to remember. Linn Halton B.
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Max looks resigned, but the deep lines between his eyebrows are furrowed. The tension he feels for a situation that must seem like an endless battle against a nameless enemy, is etched on his face. His profile shows a firm jaw line, rigidly set. I wonder what is going through his mind at this precise moment.
‘And here we are.’
The track we’re on is bumpy and for the last hundred yards, or so, the car has been literally crawling along.
Max parks up in front of a series of large sheds, similar to outbuildings seen on farms in the UK. But whereas we’d use them for cattle feed and machinery, I realise that for the owner this is a huge investment in a business venture that’s a considerable gamble. It isn’t just the locals who carry a heaven burden on their shoulders. Max, as their representative, knows exactly what these proud people stand to lose.
There’s no ceremony – in fact Max escorts me inside the first shed as if it were in the grounds of Villa Rosso. He waves to two men wheeling large wooden trolleys with a collection of clay pots ready for the kiln. This appears to be a holding area and along the far wall five women of varying ages are busy packing boxes. From a young girl of indeterminate age, to a grandmother who must be in her nineties, they chatter as they work. The elderly woman looks up and smiles at Max, her toothless grin a happy one and the other women giggle, shyly.
Max steers me through a doorway into another shed, where seven or eight people are hand-painting designs onto a wide range of different pots.
We’re attracting some curious glances, but no one approaches and I simply follow in Max’s footsteps until he opens another door and ushers me inside. I suppose this is more like an office, although it’s still only a wooden structure with a tin roof. But the floor-to-ceiling shelves hold an array of colourful and well-crafted ceramics that would grace any European showroom.
‘I wasn’t expecting such a departure from the old traditional styles,’ I admit. ‘Max, these wall tiles are amazing and the table lamps are exactly what we’re looking for!’
For the first time since we set off, Max’s forehead relaxes a little and he nods in appreciation.
‘It’s a big step for us to depart from the traditional designs people have come to associate with Italian majolica. We are focusing on a different clientele and market, hoping to give interior designers the quality and statement pieces they are looking for, at a very competitive price.’
‘Can I take some photos to send to Olivia?’
‘Of course. Take your time. I’ll go and do the rounds as they’re all holding their breath, wondering what the English lady will think.’
The pressure isn’t just one-sided, but I suspect they have nothing to worry about. This is exactly what Livvie was hoping to find. I snap away quite happily until Max returns, stealing a glance at his watch.
‘We should go shortly, as I want to show you around our next stop before we head back for lunch.’
‘Can I purchase a few things to take back as presents?’
‘Of course.’ I follow Max through to the packing area and select a couple of items for the girls and something for Dawn. At first the elderly Italian woman refuses to take the notes I offer, but I insist and she nods her head in gratitude.
I make an effort to smile at everyone I pass who looks our way, as we retrace our steps.
‘The tension is palpable. Can one order make that much of a difference?’
‘More than you probably realise. This is a fairly new venture still and we have a long way to go to get a full order book. A deal with your company could kick-start this initiative and give us the cash injection we need to expand. A lot is riding on your visit and there’s no point in pretending otherwise.’
‘Can’t you use a middleman? Someone with contacts already in place?’
Max shakes his head.
‘Not all of the operations are as large, or advanced, as this one. In order to offer people like Olivia the deal they are looking for we need to keep non-production costs to the minimum. It’s one less link in the chain taking a cut out of the profits and this is diversity for survival of the whole. Besides, I seriously doubt we’d consistently be able to meet the sort of production levels required to fill global orders, because of the investment levels required. So we are going for the niche, interior design market. If you want two hundred table lamps, that’s not a problem. But if you wanted five thousand—’
‘Ah, now I understand. Where are we going next?’
I try to sound upbeat, despite feeling the pressure beginning to mount.
‘Our biggest producer of textiles. I think you’ll be impressed by the set-up. It’s actually attached to one of the local churches.’
Max opens the car door as I slide into the seat. A young woman calls out to him, holding something up and Max strides across, placing his hand on her shoulder and taking the item with his other hand.
When he returns he hands me a chilled bottle. ‘Here, this is for you.’
‘What is Gassossa Neri, exactly?’ I ask, wondering if it’s some sort of locally distilled alcohol that will take off the top of my head.
‘It’s good to drink, just carbonated sugar water, really. It’s old school, hard to find these days, so treasured amongst the older people as it was the soft drink of their childhood. Notice that I wasn’t offered one.’ He drops the corners of his mouth in an exaggerated fashion.
‘What a nice gesture.’
Max holds out his hand, pulling a bottle opener from the side pocket of the door.
‘Enjoy. It seems you are making quite an impression.’ Flipping the lid, he hands it back to me and I can’t resist taking a long sip and letting out an appreciative sigh of satisfaction.
As he kicks the engine into life he starts laughing and it’s a heart-warming sound.
‘You sound different.’ Josh’s words are tinged with sadness, or maybe it’s simply loneliness. Suddenly finding ourselves apart, and in different countries, is something neither of us would ever have expected.
‘It’s the distance and I’m, you know, wearing my business head.’
He yawns.
‘Sorry, I didn’t get much sleep last night. Rosie woke up in the early hours and had a little cry when she remembered you weren’t here.’
Guilt washes over me as, suddenly, what I need more than anything is a hug from my girls.
‘Did she settle back down?’
‘She jumped into our bed and was soon snoring her head off. I really didn’t mean to tell you about that. Everything is good this end, honestly. Dawn is being a star and brought over a homemade chicken pie.’ I can feel he’s annoyed with himself for mentioning Rosie and now he’s trying to make light of it. But it’s unlike Josh to sound so … insecure and I wonder if something has happened that he feels he can’t tell me. Or maybe it’s just my imagination working overtime. He’s tired and the girls can be a handful at times, especially if they aren’t in the best of moods.
I’m lazing on a bed in an Italian villa. The breeze wafting in through the window carries the scent of oleander blossom and a hint of thyme from the tubs on the terrace. A conversation doesn’t get any more surreal and I’m sure I’m worrying for the sake of it. The resulting smile on my face lifts my voice, even though my heart aches to think of the distance between us all.
‘I know you are in safe hands. And tomorrow will fly by, then I’ll be up early the next morning and on a plane home before