Page 9 of Change of Heart
Just before she reached the main square, she passed a fine old stone building with an Italian flag fluttering from the façade. Above the door was a sign indicating that this was theMunicipio, the town hall. She had a feeling she might end up spending quite a lot of time inside this building and she hoped the mayor wouldn’t cause too many problems for her but, from what Luisella had just said, this seemed like a forlorn hope. She carried on into Piazza San Giovanni and checked her watch. It was just after seven, so she headed straight for the restaurant.
This was a large old building, constructed of sun-bleached red bricks which presumably were the reason why it was called the Pink House. Across the façade, the words Hotel Restaurant had been painted in white and Alice wondered how much business they did up here. Of course, if the valley was still being used by pilgrims on the Pilgrims’ Way, then presumably there had to be a certain amount of passing trade – at least in the summer.
Most of the tables outside on the cobbles were occupied and she attracted a number of curious glances from the customers enjoying a Sunday evening drink. She walked into the bar and was greeted by the same friendly looking waitress from before who directed her through a fly curtain into the restaurant. Although it was early, three of the tables were already occupied. A circular table housed a noisy family gathering of seven or eight adults and half a dozen little children; another table was occupied by a couple of pensioners, and a fair-haired man was sitting on his own in the far corner, doing something on a laptop. As her eyes landed on him, she did a double take. She could only see his face side on, but there could be no doubt about it: it was the mystery man she had seen when she was last here. So much for him being a ship passing in the night. It looked as if he might be a regular client here. So what might that mean for her?
A tall waiter led her to a small table in the opposite corner from the fair-haired man. While she waited for the waiter to bring the menu, sight of the man’s laptop reminded her that she hadn’t asked about Wi-Fi at the apartment. She pulled out her phone and saw that there was good signal here so she sent a short message to her mum to reassure her that she had arrived safe and well. She had just pressed Send when the waiter returned with a jug of water, a basket of bread and a copy of the menu. He asked if he could get her anything else to drink and, considering that all she was going to do was to walk home and go straight to bed at the end of the meal, she asked for a small carafe of local red wine. She told herself she might as well start acclimatising right now.
When the waiter returned to take her order she opted for mixed antipasti followed by home-madetortelli di erbette alla parmigiana. He explained that these tiny ravioli-like pasta pockets were filled with local herbs, spinach, ricotta cheese and, of course, parmesan. Alice felt sure she wouldn’t need a main course after this and the waiter gave her a little smile.
‘If you find you have room for a dessert, the chef makes a wonderful semifreddo withzabaioneand hazelnuts. See how much appetite you have left after the pasta.’
Alice’s taste buds told her that she might well be able to find room for what sounded like a delightful dessert.
She poured herself half a glass of dark red wine and sipped it slowly as she looked around. The noisy children at the round table had suddenly been silenced by the arrival of plates of pasta. The elderly couple on the other table were sitting in complete silence, but it didn’t look like uncomfortable silence. As she directed her attention towards the man with the laptop in the far corner he looked up and their eyes met for a moment. There might have been a hint of recognition on his face and he gave her a little smile. She hastily dropped her eyes to her glass, but she couldn’t ignore the same spark of attraction that shot through her.
He was wearing a T-shirt and jeans with what looked like big black boots on his feet, but he didn’t look as if he was a manual worker. He was very good-looking, but nobody who looked like he did would be interested in her once he knew her secret. That was the hard lesson she had learnt from Maurizio. Years ago, she had found herself not quite fighting the men off, but she had always had male company. Since the accident, everything had changed. She had gradually come to terms with it, but that didn’t make it any more palatable.
Several minutes later, when her eyes momentarily flicked across to him again, she realised that the big black boots were in fact a large black dog lying across the man’s feet. The man was concentrating on his computer, but this time, as if sensing that it was being watched, the dog raised its head and made eye contact with her, and she smiled at it. She’d always liked dogs – her parents had always kept them on the farm – and she had a soft spot for Labradors in particular. Raising her eyes again, the smile still on her face, she suddenly found that the dog’s master was looking straight at her and smiling. Fortunately, at that moment the waiter intervened.
‘Your antipasti, signora.Buon appetito.’
Alice murmured her thanks and concentrated on the food on her plate – and there was a lot of it. Needless to say, there was hand-carved Parma ham and along with it there were also three or four different types of sliced salami. Around the meat were neat heaps of pickled cauliflower, carrots and red peppers, wild mushrooms in olive oil and sundried tomatoes. Unusual little fried squares of pasta and a bowl of rocket leaves with oil and balsamic vinegar, sprinkled with slivers of parmesan cheese, completed the spread. It all tasted as good as it looked and Alice took her time, savouring the different but complementary tastes. It was delightful.
She deliberately kept her eyes on her food. All the time the thought that stubbornly refused to shift itself from her head was that she felt drawn to this unknown man. Of course, she told herself firmly, surely there was no great difference between appreciating the beauty of a building or a painting and admiring the physical appearance of a man or, indeed, a woman. The fact that she liked the look of this man didn’t have to mean anything more than aesthetic appreciation.
Did it?
She kept on eating, eyes locked on her plate, and did her best to think of her first day in her new job that would be starting in little over twelve hours’ time. For a moment, the butterflies threatened to return to her stomach, but she did her best to focus on her meal for now. There would be time to worry about work in the morning. Besides, she currently had something else – or someoneelse – on her mind. When she finally summoned the courage to look up from her plate and caught sight of him and his dog again, that same little electric charge ran through her. Before he could look up, she hastily dropped her eyes, reached for her wine glass and drained it in one, almost choking herself in the process. She had been expecting all manner of things to happen here in Italy but not this. She told herself it was probably just the effect of the glass of wine, but her subconscious treated that suggestion with the disdain it merited.
As a displacement activity she pulled out her phone again and checked out the local map, searching for the farm belonging to Cesare Montorso, the mayor of Varaldo and the sworn enemy of the baron and his family. It didn’t take long to find and she zoomed in on it. A gravel track led off to the left just as the road from down the valley reached the town, and the farm with its outbuildings lay about two or three hundred metres further along. By going into Street View she saw that this was perched on a hillside, on almost the same level as the castle on the opposite side of the valley. She found herself imagining the warring families surveying each other over the roofs of the town back through the centuries. She wondered what had started the feud, but it must have been something major and significant for the bad feelings to have lasted so long.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of a huge plate oftortelliand she dedicated herself to the pasta for the next ten minutes. By the time she had cleared the plate she knew that she had done the right thing in deciding not to have a main course. She was feeling pleasantly full – but not so full that she was unable to face a portion of the chef’s special semifreddo. Once the waiter had removed her empty plate, she picked up her phone and sent a brief text to Simonetta, telling her she had arrived safe and well and asking what time they were expecting her next day. She received an answering call almost immediately.
‘Welcome to Varaldo, Alice. How was your journey?’
Alice told her how it had gone and thanked her again for finding her the apartment. She then asked Simonetta something that had been troubling her.
‘Please, so I don’t make a fool of myself when I meet your grandmother again, can you tell me how I should address her? And your father for that matter. He’s a baron and presumably your grandfather was also a baron so should I refer to your grandmother and your father as Your Excellency or something like that?’
‘Nonna would chew your head off if you started doing that, although Papà probably wouldn’t even notice. No, if you’re talking to them just call them Signore and Signora, or if you want to be very polite you can call her Lady Varaldo or even Lady Beatrice. Like I say, Papà wouldn’t even notice, but if it’s a more formal written communication, then you’d better refer to my father as Barone Lodovico di Varaldo, even though titles mean nothing in Italy anymore.’ Alice heard her give a little laugh. ‘Unless you’re trying to convince a police officer not to give you a speeding ticket.’
‘Thanks for clearing that up. And what about your brother? Presumably he’ll be the next Baron Varaldo. What should I call him? Come to think of it, are you happy if I call you Simonetta?’
‘Of course I am, and Achille’s just Achille. Everybody in the town calls us by our first names. We attended the same local elementary school as everybody else.’
Having cleared that up, Alice checked what time she was wanted in the morning and they arranged that she would go in early so as to have the opportunity to talk to Simonetta first, before facing the rest of the family.
The semifreddo was every bit as good as the waiter had said and Alice enjoyed every spoonful. Finally, as she sat back and sipped an espresso, she allowed herself to raise her eyes and shoot a quick glance across the room towards the table with the man and the dog.
But the table was empty.
The man and the Labrador had left and she didn’t know whether to feel relief or disappointment. What she was definitely feeling was bewilderment. How strange that just about the first man she had clapped eyes on here in Varaldo had aroused feelings in her of a kind that had been so completely absent from her life for so long.
Chapter 7
After a remarkably good night’s sleep, Alice walked up to the castle next morning at eight o’clock on the dot. It was a steep climb but she surprised herself by finding it relatively easy. Yes, her knee ached a bit, but not seriously, and she took this to be a very good sign. Maybe Varaldo would prove to be good for her health, not just for her career.
Nothing much appeared to have changed in the month since she had last been here. The muddy ditch which used to be the moat was still full of junk, the rusty portcullis was still hanging precariously over her head as she walked in through the gatehouse, and the three vehicles were parked in almost exactly the same places at the end of the courtyard. She wondered if one of these would be the car they had promised to her. There was one change, however: a fourth vehicle was now parked alongside the others. Unlike the fairly battered and utilitarian appearance of the Land Rover and the two little Fiats, this was a bright, shiny blue saloon. Alice wondered whether maybe this belonged to Simonetta’s brother, Achille. She smiled as she recalled his name and for a moment she wondered if he would appear at the door like the legendary Achilles, carrying a sword and wearing a Grecian helmet. It certainly wasn’t a very common man’s name in the twenty-first century and she had a suspicion that there was probably some long-standing family history connected with it. Hopefully he wouldn’t have an Achilles’ heel like the Greek hero that would lead to his ultimate downfall.
