Page 42 of In Italy for Love

The fruit was plentiful, green to light purple ovals hanging richly on every branch, smooth and plump, with a soft coating on the skin.

Davide and Alex rolled out the netting beneath the tree, talking only in clipped sentences that Jules couldn’t understand. Fritz was running around off the leash and Jules decided that Arco must know his way around by now and might be more confident meeting Fritz running free, so she unclipped him too, keeping a worried eye on him as he tore off after the big black dog, bounding happily.

‘I suppose that means he’s not afraid,’ she said thoughtfully.

Davide looked uneasily at the two dogs, but quickly recovered his smile. ‘Here, let me show you how to use the rastrello.’ He brandished the small handheld rake while Alex strapped a battery pack to his back and hefted a long pole. ‘The idea is easy: just pull this over the branches as you reach them and let the berries fall into the netting. Alex will agitate thehigher branches. Just make sure he stays on the other side of the tree from you or they’ll fall on your head.’

‘Okay,’ she said, a little daunted.

‘But you’ll find nothing is quite as easy as it should be in Friûl.’

She shot Davide a puzzled look as she grasped the first branch and tugged the rake over the silver leaves. One rosy olive fell obediently onto the net, but the firm green ones refused. She tried again, but it wasn’t until the action was more wrestling than raking that she had success with the more stubborn berries.

‘Let me guess, tough Friulian olives?’

‘Exactly,’ Davide said with a laugh. ‘No fruity Tuscan ones that come sweetly off the trees. Here, try one!’ He tossed her a berry and she fumbled to catch it.

‘Don’t eat it!’ Alex called out from the other side of the gnarled trunk. Ducking below the foliage, he explained, ‘They taste terrible fresh.’

‘I know,’ she assured him. ‘But I’m kind of curious.’

‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

Remarking absently to herself that she was supposed to be getting better at heeding warnings, she still took a reckless bite – and immediately spat out the tough flesh, Davide’s laughter ringing in her ears.

‘Urgh,’ she gagged, poking her tongue out as though that would help to banish the lingering taste. ‘It’s like… tree bark dipped in acid. It’s foul!’ The bitter texture still coated her tongue and she met Alex’s sympathetic glance.

But Davide clapped her on the shoulder. ‘Everyone has to do that at least once.’

‘Once will definitely be enough,’ she said emphatically. ‘It’s difficult to believe they’re so tasty when they’ve been processed. Are they even ripe though?’

‘They taste foul even when they’re dark and ripe. That’s the magic of growing olives,’ Davide explained. ‘The best oil comes from olives that aren’t ripe. You have to pick them at the right time and then press them immediately. The frantoio – the oil mill in Cividale – will be working twenty-four hours a day for the next few weeks.’

‘Are these ones particularly bitter? For you bitter Furlans?’

Davide gave her a puzzled glance, but Alex answered, ‘All olives are bitter. This variety is called Bianchera – a very hardy variety, resistant to cold. They grow like the devil.’

‘And they’re a devil to pick,’ Davide added. ‘But the flavour is worth it. Once you’ve tasted the spice of this oil on bread, fresh in the autumn – you don’t need any other food.’ He kissed his fingertips.

With another awkward glance at Alex, she decided not to resist temptation. ‘I’ve heard that you can live on just chestnuts in autumn too.’ He coughed at the awkward memory and looked away.

‘Yes, they’re delicious,’ Davide continued, oblivious to the undertone. ‘Another food that the Tuscans domesticate that we still collect wild from the forest. You know the difference between castagne and marroni.’

It was her turn to clear her thick throat. Everything seemed to be a minefield when it involved her and Alex. ‘I’ve heard about it. Which ones do you collect from the forest here? Castagne?’

‘Yes, castagne are the wild delicacy that are free, but you have to work for them. Marroni are farmed. They’re bigger and sweeter. We should take the dogs into the forest one time and collect some together,’ Davide suggested. ‘And find some mushrooms as well. Mamma is always after me to go gathering mushrooms for her.’

The idea appealed strongly to her new-found foraging instincts and she was about to agree enthusiastically when Alex warned, ‘Jules works on the farm most days,’ in a low voice.

‘Maddalena said we wouldn’t be so busy after the harvest,’ she countered, giving him a measured look. ‘And I thought you said I was working too hard!’

He glanced darkly at Davide and then away, not meeting her gaze. ‘You’re right. You should do it. You’ll love gathering mushrooms.’

I’d rather do it withyou, you idiot.Instead, she resumed her work on the olive branch she was raking, ignoring Alex entirely. ‘How old is Fritz?’ she asked, watching the two dogs chase each other.

‘He’s only two. What about Arco? Have you had him long?’

‘He’s three, but I’ve only had him a little over a year.’

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