Page 55 of In Italy for Love

‘Younger than I look. I’m thirty-one.’

‘You lost her before you were even thirty?’

He nodded, checking his blind spot before overtaking a puttering tractor. ‘And you avoided being married and divorced by thirty.’

‘I’m sorry if I’m talking about her too much – if that’s weird.’

He shook his head. ‘As long as you don’t ask how it felt the moment she took her last breath, I’ll manage.’ When he glanced at her this time, it was to find her expression unexpectedly warm.

‘I’m glad there are Italian husbands out there like you,’ she said quietly, playfully, but it still caught him in the chest. ‘I can’t imagine your mother-in-law disapproved of you.’

‘She got used to me after the first couple of years.’

‘So let me get this straight finally: Maddalena is Laura’s aunt,’ she said, ‘and Berengario is her grandfather?’

Alex nodded. ‘Berengario is how Laura and I met. He was my accordion teacher.’

‘Is it difficult now, seeing them so often?’

‘That problem has got better with time,’ he admitted. ‘Laura’s parents moved away after it happened – left everything behind, especially me. I understand that.’

‘That explains why Maddalena made that comment about her sister not coming back for Laura’s jacket. You weren’t tempted to do the same? Run away?’

‘A few times, but I needed home. If I’d left, I would have been pretending it hadn’t happened and I couldn’t allow that either.’

‘I have seen how grumpy you get when you’re pretending.’

‘I’m honestly amazed that you’re still putting up with me.’ She didn’t respond immediately, so he groped for her hand, missed, and ended up squeezing her forearm because that’s all he could reach while concentrating on the road.

‘To be honest,’ she said, her voice husky, ‘I’m kind of hoping to sleep with you again.’

Of the gamut of responses he felt to that statement, the one that won was a deep laugh. ‘That can be arranged.’

‘I like you for your body as well as those sad blue eyes.’

‘What do I say to that? I like you for your body as well? You already know what I think about your eyes.’

He gave her a smile over the centre console and she smiled back and he nearly missed the turning for the olive mill.

‘But I haven’t finished unpacking the truck!’ Jules protested weakly, when Maddalena took her arm in a firm grip and dragged her past the thrumming, chugging machinery to a stainless steel vat. Her host-slash-employer was brimming with energy today, wearing trousers for once, although her habitual apron was still in place.

‘Alex will finish. You need to taste the oil, learn why you have been working hard!’

‘I know why I’ve been working hard: to helpyou,’ Jules insisted. ‘It’s not fair to make Alex do all the work.’ He was hefting the crates of green-to-purple olives, with a scattering of leaves, into the sorting machine.

Maddalena raised her voice. ‘Alex will agree with me!’

He glanced up, still with a small smile on his lips. Jules wondered if there was any chance Maddalenahadn’tnoticed that something had changed between them. ‘I agree with Madda! This weekend is the most important date on her calendar and you need to understand why.’

She frowned, puzzled. ‘I have tasted olive oil before – almost every day since I’ve lived in Italy. I’ve even tastedyourolive oil,’ she pointed out to Maddalena.

Waving a hand dismissively, she said, ‘You’ve tasted last year’s. It’s too old now. You need the bite of the young oil.’

‘I’m really not sure I’ll be able to tell the difference,’ Jules said apologetically, trying not to think of the horribly bitter fresh olive she’d tried. ‘I’m not a connoisseur.’

Maddalena stilled, studying her, and Jules wondered what she saw that was so interesting. ‘Do you think I am? A connoisseur?’

Jules thought of Due Pini, the rusty equipment pushed to one side – and not in a decorative way – the wandering animals and the wild olives that grew whichever way they wanted. The lunches were rustic and hearty and presented with care, but the ingredients were simple and local, not numerous and not, she guessed, very expensive.

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