Page 11 of Far from Home
Amy held out her hand. ‘I’m Amy Sherwood. The house is just around the corner.’ Taking advantage of being with a local, she decided to do a bit of digging. ‘It used to belong to a man called Martin Slater. I don’t suppose you knew him by any chance?’
She was delighted to see the restaurateur nod his head.
‘Yes, of course. He used to be a regular client of ours here and everybody knew Martino. We were all sorry the learn of his death last year. Did you know him well?’
Amy decided to dodge the question for now. ‘A bit.’
‘I didn’t see you at the funeral.’
‘I’m afraid I only recently found out about his death.’
‘What a pity. Well, it was a good funeral. A lot of people from the town came along. He was very popular here.’ Before she could ask for more information, he flashed her another smile. ‘Enjoy your meal and enjoy your time in Sant’Antonio.’
After he had gone off, she translated what Giuliano had said and Gavin gave her an encouraging smile. ‘That’s good to hear, isn’t it? A lot of people went to the funeral. Somehow I’ve had this image of him living and dying all alone. This makes it better, doesn’t it – particularly if it turns out he really was your biological father.’
She nodded. It really did.
Gavin filled their glasses and raised his towards her. ‘Well, cheers, and here’s hoping you find out who the guy was. One thing’s for sure: he was certainly generous to leave all that to somebody he barely knew.’
‘I just wish I knew why.’
She gave a frustrated shrug of the shoulders and they clinked their glasses together. The wine was excellent and she checked the label. It came from a producer in the next village. Clearly, the winemakers in this region knew what they were doing.
She cast her eyes, and her ears, around the other tables. As far as she could tell, everybody else was Italian and it felt good to get back into an Italian environment again. Down here in the Tuscan countryside life promised to be very different from the cosmopolitan atmosphere of London, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. She felt a smile forming on her face. So far, Sant’Antonio had proved to be welcoming and friendly, although the big unknown question of just who Martin Slater had been still loomed over her head.
The meal was very good and by unspoken agreement, they didn’t discuss Amy’s mother or Mr Slater while they ate. The antipasti they had chosen was calledaffettati mistiand consisted of no fewer than six different types of salami and ham, mushrooms in olive oil, sundried tomatoes and fat green olives from the local trees, accompanied by warm focaccia bread. Herfritto mistothat followed was a mix of lightly fried prawns, squid, octopus and little fish and it was exquisite; and with a fresh green salad it was perfect. Gavin’s steak was enormous with a pile of fries and even he struggled to clear the plate – but he did. By the time they had finished up with panna cotta and blueberries in syrup, they were both pleasantly full and much more relaxed.
Over the course of the evening, Amy checked out the other diners and was impressed at the general demographic. There was a good mix of young and old, even a couple of families with small kids who spent most of the evening running around noisily. She knew restaurants in the UK that would have taken a dim view of such uncivilised behaviour but here nobody batted an eyelid and it just added to the homely feel of the place. Somehow, she had been expecting to find this area full of people on holiday or older folk who had chosen to retire here, and it came as a pleasant surprise to see as many young people as the elderly. She glanced across at Gavin.
‘I’m glad the place isn’t just full of OAPs. From what you hear, so many young people have gone to the big cities and some of these Italian villages and towns have turned into retirement communities by another name or, even worse, ghost towns of empty second homes, apart from a few weeks in summer. But here there are people of all ages.’
‘That’s good.’ Gavin nodded vaguely, his attention trained on his glass, and she wondered rather ungenerously whether he had even been listening.
Amy continued her scan of their fellow diners and found her eyes drawn towards the last table at the end of the terrace where two men were sitting. The one with his back to her had broad shoulders and short-cropped fair hair, and the one facing her was searching for something on his phone as he ate a plate of pasta. He looked as if he was around her age, with a long mane of dark hair and wearing a faded red T-shirt. His cheeks were covered in stubble and a diamond ear stud glinted in the twinkling lights that festooned the trees around them. What was funny was that, in spite of the fact that this rather unkempt character looked a million miles away from most of the men who had been in her life – like the one who was here with her now – she rather liked the look of him.
Back in London she would never have dreamt of checking out some random, long-haired man in a restaurant, but here in Sant’Antonio it felt right. This was instantly followed by a feeling of guilt. Whatever her reservations about their relationship in the long run, she was with Gavin and there was no place in her life for another man – at least for now. She glanced across at Gavin, who was still appreciatively studying the ruby red colour of the wine, and she was glad he appeared oblivious to what had just run through her head.
Her thoughts were interrupted by an Italian woman’s voice from the next table.
‘I hope you don’t mind, but I wonder if you could do me a favour?’
The owner of the voice was a well-dressed lady, maybe in her sixties. She was sitting opposite a man with a neatly trimmed white beard.
Amy gave her a little smile. ‘Of course.’
‘Coco’s got herself tangled up in the legs of your chair. You couldn’t just lean forward so I can get the lead back, could you? We have to go.’
Amy looked down and, to her surprise, saw a pair of big brown eyes in a black face looking up at her from under the neighbours’ table. It looked like a carbon copy of Max, the Labrador. She leant forward so that the lady could retrieve the tangled lead and felt she had to comment.
‘What a well-behaved dog! I had no idea she was even here.’
‘Coco’s not always so well-behaved, but she’s tired today. We had a good long walk this afternoon so she’s been sleeping most of the time – until she decided to get up and start exploring.’
Amy bent down and made a fuss of the Labrador, who ended up stretched out on her back, grunting happily as Amy rubbed her tummy. ‘I love dogs, but I work in London and it’s impossible for me to keep one.’
‘What super Italian you speak. I so envy people who can do languages. Did I hear you telling Giuliano you’re looking at a house here?’ She held up her hand in apology. ‘I promise I wasn’t eavesdropping. I just happened to catch a snippet of the conversation.’
Amy gave her a reassuring smile. ‘That’s all right. And yes, we arrived in Sant’Antonio this afternoon.’
