Page 7 of Far from Home
‘So when you were born, your mum and dad were both roughly the same age as you and me now, as was Mr Slater. So, how about this as a scenario? Your mum has an affair with Mr Slater – presumably while your dad was away on duty somewhere – and then she finds she’s pregnant. She decides to have the baby – that’s you – and either hopes to convince your dad that you are his or confess to him and get a divorce. In the meantime, he gets killed. I wonder how it would have gone down if he’d survived the fighting.’
By this time Amy’s head was spinning – even though she had already done these same calculations in her head over and over again all week. She reached for her glass of water and rather wished she had gone for wine after all. ‘In that scenario my mum doesn’t come out of this looking too good, does she?’
‘These things happen. We all make mistakes – besides, it’s just as much Slater’s fault, maybe more.’
Amy nodded reflectively. ‘But if that’s really what happened, what I don’t understand is why she and Mr Slater didn’t get together once my dad – the man I think of as my dad – died. Surely that would have been the obvious thing to do.’
‘There may have been a reason why he and she didn’t get together. Like him maybe being married to somebody else for instance…’
‘Or they had a major falling-out and that explains why she never spoke about him and never replied to the notary’s letters…’
‘Who knows?’
At that moment his phone started ringing and while he answered it, Amy folded the letter back into the envelope, wiped her eyes and set about consuming her rapidly melting ice cream. This was as delicious as Gavin had said but she barely tasted it. By the sound of it, his phone call was from one of his many friends and he was soon laughing uproariously at some funny story or other while she finished her ice cream and looked around. In the distance, behind the row of historic houses lining the far side of the piazza, she could see vineyards covering part of the hillside. The notary had talked of vines and she wondered whether some of these fields now belonged to her. In spite of her bewilderment, it was an exciting thought. She waited until Gavin’s call ended and then pointed up the hill.
‘What do six hectares of land look like?’
He followed the direction of her eyes. ‘A lot. A hectare’s roughly two and a half acres, two point four to be precise.’ This was his job, after all. ‘Two point four times six is around fourteen and a half acres, which sounds to me like what we can see up there, plus a bit more. Maybe you should give up the day job, move over here and take up farming.’
‘And what would you do if you came with me?’
‘Quality control for the wine, of course.’ He laughed and she laughed with him but, deep down, she found herself wondering not for the first time if they really were destined to spend the rest of their lives together. Determined not to let this rare weekend away together disintegrate into vain conjecture, she skirted around that subject and pointed across the piazza once more.
‘He said the house is a five-minute walk in that direction. I’ve finished my ice cream so shall we go and take a look?’
They settled up and, leaving the car in the shade of the trees, walked over to the far side of the square. Tree roots had done an effective job of breaking up the surface in places and they both had to keep their eyes trained on the ground to prevent themselves from tripping. Leaving the piazza, they turned left and then right as instructed. The roads here were even narrower and completely deserted. Barely three or four minutes later, as predicted, they found themselves on the edge of the town and came to a huge pair of ornate iron gates. They crossed the road towards l’Ospedaletto and peered through the bars. The fine stone building was surrounded by trees and an overgrown garden, and it was simply enormous. The name of the property translated as the Little Hospital but the building was far from little. It was hard to believe that all this was now hers.
‘Wow, what a place, Amy. It looks seriously old, and very, very lovely.’ Gavin sounded impressed – and it took a lot to impress him.
Before she could comment, Amy heard a voice behind them and they both wheeled around.
‘Good afternoon, can I help in any way?’
The voice came from the shadowy garage belonging to an old stone house directly opposite. Inside they could just make out an ancient Fiat and an even more ancient lady in the gloom. The elderly lady rose to her feet remarkably nimbly and set down her knitting. An equally elderly-looking black and white cat immediately jumped onto the chair and settled down on top of the knitting. The lady came across the road towards them, her hand outstretched, and Amy and Gavin met her halfway. The fact that they were now standing in the middle of the road didn’t seem to matter to the lady in the slightest and Amy reflected that she hadn’t seen a single car since leaving the piazza. Clearly this was not a major thoroughfare.
‘Buongiorno,mi chiamo Grande.’ Her accent when she introduced herself was strong Tuscan but Amy understood her well enough. She had already worked out in conversation with the lawyer that in Tuscany the locals often pronounce a ‘c’ as an ‘h’, but she was getting used to it.
‘Good afternoon, Signora Grande. I’m Amy Sherwood and this is my friend Gavin.’ It occurred to her, after she had spoken, that back home she normally introduced him to people as her ‘boyfriend’. The fact that she had just chosen to just call him ‘a friend’ wasn’t because she didn’t know the right vocabulary. Maybe, subconsciously, it marked a change in the way she was starting to think about him, but Signora Grande didn’t give her time to dwell on the subject for now.
‘Welcome, welcome. Signor Lucchese, the notary, told me to expect you today. I’ve been keeping an eye on Martin’s house.’
‘You knew him well?’
Signora Grande paused for thought, idly scratching the back of her head. ‘Giovanni, my husband, knew him better, but I lost him to a coronary in January this year.’ Her voice broke momentarily but she rallied. ‘Mind you, I knew Martin well, too, maybe as well as anybody around here. He was very sociable and he had a lot of friends. At least, until the illness struck him.’
‘I’m so sorry to hear about your husband. The notary said Mr Slater had a serious heart condition and that was what killed him.’
‘That’s correct. But he also contracted an illness of the mind. In his final months, he changed completely. He started to fear he was being watched. He thought everybody was against him. He didn’t trust anybody, even me.’ She caught Amy’s eye and shrugged. ‘I knew it was an illness, but it was hard, after so many years of friendship.’
Amy turned and gave Gavin a brief translation. Presumably this explained the cryptic nature of the letter.
A strangled yelp followed by furious scratching came from the old lady’s house and she excused herself. Amy watched as she hurried back to her house and opened the door. No sooner had she done so than a large black dog came rushing out, its tail wagging furiously. As it did so, the cat leapt surprisingly athletically from the knitting to the top of a tall cupboard at the back of the garage. Ignoring the cat, the dog came charging across towards them and almost knocked Amy over with its enthusiastic greeting. Signora Grande hurried after it, doing her best to sound authoritative. ‘Max, Max, come here. Bad dog. Leave the nice people alone.’
Amy bent down to make a fuss of the dog and looked up to reassure the old lady. ‘It’s perfectly all right. I love dogs. He’s quite young, isn’t he?’
Signora Grande sighed. ‘Yes and he’s got so much energy. I just can’t cope. Taking him for a walk is getting impossible. He almost drags my arm out of its socket.’ She explained. ‘He’s barely two years old and he’s a lovely friendly dog, but I just can’t manage. My husband, God rest his soul, got him as a puppy but then, of course, he passed away four months ago.’ She produced a handkerchief from her sleeve and wiped her eyes. ‘I’ve been struggling to look after Max ever since. It hasn’t been easy. Anyway…’ She reached into the pocket of her apron. ‘Did the notary give you the keys? I have one here if you’d like it back.’
Amy shook her head. ‘No, please hang onto yours.’ She pulled out the envelope the lawyer had given her. ‘I’ve got a load of keys here.’
