Page 40 of In Italy for Love

‘I think that one needs an exorcism.’

‘Speaking of which…’

She jerked her head up. ‘Do I want to hear what you have to say?’

‘Yes,’ he said, stroking a soothing finger along her temple before snatching his hand away again as he realised what he’d done. ‘There’s a walking tour of Cividale on the evening of the 31st of October. You should keep it free. Berengario is taking one of the routes. There’ll be some music afterwards.’

‘Sounds great. The olives will be harvested by then. Hopefully Maddalena will take her foot off the accelerator.’

‘She rarely does that.’ His arms tightened again. ‘It’s a shame you’ll miss San Martino. We have a big fair with craft stalls and local businesses – and eat pumpkin and drink wine.’

‘Any excuse to drink wine?’

‘You don’t need an excuse to drink wine,’ he quipped. Stifling a yawn, he sighed deeply enough that Jules felt the movement against her cheek.

‘Are you going to sleep?’

‘Bed? Yes. Sleep? I never know,’ he said with a tight smile.

‘Want to keep doing this… horizontally? Just the hugging? Nothing more,’ she managed to say, even though the words were pulled out from under her mortification like a magician’s tablecloth.

‘Julia…’ he began.

‘I think you should probably call me Jules,’ she mumbled into his shirt. ‘No one actually calls me Julia.’

‘Jules,’ he said experimentally, his deep voice forming the syllables with a devastating ruefulness. ‘I don’t think that’s the best idea.’

‘Of course it’s not the best idea! But I thought—’ She drew away, ignoring how cold she suddenly felt.

‘I only meant…’ He dropped his hand from where he’d clutched her arm for a moment. ‘You know I don’t sleep well. I wouldn’t want to disturb you.’

‘What if I don’t mind being disturbed?’ she said, but her voice was tentative. She wasn’t sure if they were talking about cuddling all night or Alex finally telling her what had happened that made him think he had to be sad and crabby all the time. She still wasn’t sure if she really wanted to let him tell her.

But he shook his head with a faint smile. ‘You’re leaving soon. Get your sleep – upstairs. Berengario will be coming to pick you up early as usual.’

As she followed his instructions and trudged upstairs to the soundtrack of Arco’s claws clicking and the wood creaking, all she could think was how much she wished she’d kissed him first.

17

The sunshine held out until the end of the week – a welcome blessing for the olive harvest at Due Pini – and the cold mountain breeze gave way to milder conditions on the plain from the Adriatic. Jules had grown used to the chafe on her cheeks from spending so much time outdoors and she’d rarely been so well-fed, between lunch at the agriturismo and dinner by Alex’s fireplace.

As harvest weekend approached, Due Pini was even more chaotic than usual, now with stainless steel tanks called fusti piled up ready to be sterilised and filled with oil at the mill. Jules had washed and dried her share of fusti, as well as several bulbous flasks in green glass like the one Maddalena had broken the day Jules had arrived at the farm.

She got up early each morning to travel to the farm with Berengario, who spent the ten-minute journeys listing Alex’s many virtues: he was the type to settle down; he could fix anything with a paper clip; he’d won all the mountain-biking competitions in the area when he was a teenager; he cleaned up really well – even his ear piercing had closed up over time.

Jules didn’t have the heart to point out that the saintly Alex could also be bad-tempered and curt, although after he’d hugged her on Tuesday night, she was ready to overlook a lot of his flaws.

She might even add his early-morning bed hair and the sleepy gravel in his voice to that list of virtues, although he now put a shirt on before emerging, unfortunately.

He’d been busy avoiding her as usual during the evenings – in the poorly kept garden behind the building this week, which she thought was a rather extreme and uncomfortable way to avoid her. He came back in late, shivering and peeling a pair of fine workman’s gloves off his hands.

But on Saturday, he surprised her by coming into the kitchen fully dressed in worn work trousers and a rough wool pullover with a couple of holes in it.

‘Does the shop open early on a Saturday?’

He looked up from his coffee in surprise. ‘I’m coming out to Due Pini for the raccolta – the harvest. I thought I told you?’

‘No, you didn’t mention it.’

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