From Italy With Love. Jules Wake

didn’t mean to sound smug, she couldn’t help the small flicker of pride that she knew what it was.

      ‘’64 eh? Yeah right, Laurie. More like Tesco’s finest.’

      ‘No, it is.’

      A sceptical expression crossed his face. ‘What do you know about wine?’ he scoffed.

      Her brief moment of confidence faded for a second before reasserting itself. ‘It was Miles’ favourite.’

      ‘Ah, so you don’t know for sure. You’re just guessing.’

      She faltered; maybe she was. See, that’s what showing off did for you. It had been a long time. It probably wasn’t the ’64, although she did think it was Chateau Lafite. She took another healthy slurp, savouring the gorgeous rich berry flavour. Definitely had that distinctive earthiness to it.

      ‘She’s right, actually.’ The deep, gravelled voice belonged to Mr Handsome from the church. The brief wink he shot her as he lifted a glass from the tray turned her stomach inside out. Blood rushed to her face and she prayed she wasn’t blushing. Just those movie-star good looks − they were overwhelming, that was all. With an ironic toast he took a cheerful glug and disappeared into the crowded room beyond.

      As he walked off her eyes were drawn to his long lean figure, his butt outlined in well-fitting denim.

      ‘Tosser,’ said Robert, shaking his head. ‘Bet he knows even less about wine than you do. Come on, I hope there’s some food to soak it up.’ He put his arm across her shoulders and steered her into the crowded room.

      She’d definitely drunk more wine than was sensible on an empty stomach but hadn’t been able to help herself and even now the third glass slipped down far too nicely. It had been lovely catching up with Penny, Livia and Janine and sharing lots of happy memories which she’d completely buried. Robert kept flashing her questioning looks across the room, as if she’d turned into some raving alcoholic, but luckily he’d been cornered by Norah pressing more sausage rolls on him.

      She smiled to herself, taking another sip of the Lafite. Sophisticated in the wine department, yes, but Uncle Miles had had a decided preference for proper man food. His rants on vegetarians were as legendary as his views on eating salad, which he likened to committing food crime. She could imagine he’d been quite specific about today’s menu, judging from the sideboard running the length of the dining room loaded with plates of good old-fashioned Cornish pasties, the pastry glistening with egg glaze, pork pies sliced to reveal solid pink insides and flaky sausage rolls, crisp enough to scatter dust motes of crumbs in the air.

      The assembled glitzy gathering certainly seemed to be enjoying themselves from the sound of the animated buzz of chatter and laughter rippling through the room. Very Uncle Miles. Of course he’d want everyone to be happy. It seemed a lifetime ago that she’d stayed here, taking up residence every school holiday until that awful summer her mother left Dad. Then everything had changed. Dad wouldn’t let her come and stay anymore. He blamed Miles for encouraging her mother to hanker after this kind of lifestyle and for allowing her to meet the man she ran off with. Rather unfair, thought Laurie, as Dad knew as well as anyone what his wife was like. Laurie blamed Miles for something far worse.

      Overwhelmed by the bleakness of her memories, a sense of panic rose up. Without saying anything to Robert, who thankfully was engrossed in conversation with another couple, she let instinct guide her toward the door, weaving between the maze of outstretched hands bearing glasses and plates.

      Instead of turning left out of the salon to the nearest downstairs loo, a rather grand commode affair, she turned right and crossed the hallway passing the staircase and keeping a careful eye on her wine so as not to spill a precious drop. She’d forgotten the treat of a truly delicious wine.

      Tempted as she was to slip up the wide flat stairs, she walked past ignoring the impulse to check the polish on the banisters. Once, long ago, she’d helped to clean and polish the wood – by sliding down them a on a towel. Uncle Miles believed in multi-tasking long before it had become a universal catch phrase.

      She crossed the hallway, skirting the kitchen and ignoring the enticing smells of hot food. The sound of her footsteps on the flagstone floor was overpowered by the clatter of cutlery and the slamming of oven doors. Ducking through a series of wooden doorways, she passed the pantry, the laundry room and the mud room. The final door led out into the brick paved courtyard, the herringbone pattern embellished with vivid green moss.

      Despite the balmy air, to her relief, there was no one out here. It would’ve been easy to stay there taking deep steady breaths to push away the hangover of emotion but instead she was drawn to the stable block.

      The stables had been renovated with care to ensure that the essence of the house was retained. The wooden beams were still in place and the brickwork old, but huge, plate glass, modern windows replaced the draughty stable doors and the roof had been insulated to keep out the damp and the cold. High-tech security guarded the contents which replaced the old horse-power with the new – the engine. The key pad next to the heavy wooden door was a more recent model than she remembered.

      It wouldn’t be the end of the world if she didn’t go inside, she could still press her nose up against the windows and peer inside.

      Before she could get any closer she realised there was someone inside, a shadow moving with furtive purpose. The dark shape skimmed through the cars, their smooth aerodynamic shapes collected in the gloom, like a pod of exotic whales. The Aston Martin, a Rolls Royce Phantom, the Ferraris, a Lamborghini, she ticked off those she remembered. Her Uncle’s passion. The shadow stopped close to the plate glass at the end of the gallery, reaching up to the cupboard that she knew housed all the car keys. A beam of light pierced the dark like a lighthouse with a brief flash and then it clicked out as the shadow leaned into the cupboard and then withdrew again.

      The figure then moved back to one of the cars in the garage, circling an area, stopping periodically as if weighing something up like an art critic in a gallery. Laurie frowned and took a thoughtful sip of wine. If the person in there was supposed to be in there, why hadn’t they put on the lights? Should she raise the alarm? The collection was extremely valuable. But then whoever it was clearly knew the access and alarm codes.

      Hamstrung by indecision, she stepped back into the shrubbery which skirted the stables. She watched for what seemed like ages but the shadow, the height of which suggested male, stayed in the same part of the garage. It was difficult to see but as her eyes adjusted she could just make out a reverent hand being run over the bonnet of the car he’d appeared to have staked out. The car door was opened and whoever it was hunched down and eased into the drivers’ seat, leaving the door open.

      Who was in there and what were they up to? At the very moment she’d decided to slink back to the house, the man got out of the car, threw up his head and strode back through the other cars. Even without the ambient light that cast a quick strobe across his face Laurie recognised his silhouette, the mane of long curls, the broad shoulders and his loose limbed walk. As he carefully closed the door behind him, she heard the chink of keys as she watched him weigh them up in his hand before slipping them into his pocket.

      With nowhere to hide, she backed into the shadow and bumped into one of the wisteria branches trailing across the wall; there was an eggshell crack of fragile glass and she froze. A few shards of the handsome balloon tinkled on the floor leaving her holding the stem and the fractured glass. The tall shadow paused briefly and looked her way. She held her breath, her heart suddenly pounding. It felt so fierce that she could almost imagine he could hear it. Stupidly she closed her eyes as if shutting out his image might make her invisible. A mistake because then all she could focus on was the soft crunch of footsteps on the brick-paved ground and for a horrible moment she thought he was heading towards her. A pause. And then silence. If he could see her now, she’d look really weird with her eyes squeezed tightly shut but then if she opened them, she’d have to face him. Feeling more stupid and awkward than she ever had in her life, she kept her eyes shut. Just as the silence threatened to swallow her up, she heard his steps retreating as he turned back towards the house.

      Catching a breath,