Under a Tuscan Sky. Karen Aldous

      ‘Perhaps you’d like to wait in the sitting room. Signor Ricci will be down soon I believe. Would you like a coffee?’

      As he gazed around the walls and ceiling, his focus rested on her briefly. ‘That’s very kind of you, yes please.’ He tentatively sauntered in towards the sitting room. ‘Thanks.’

      ‘Yes, through there, Boris too. Would Boris like some water?’

      ‘He has just had some, but thanks.’

      ‘Well, help yourself to a seat or a look around. I’ll get the coffee.’

      Placing the coffee on the tray, Olivia couldn’t decide whether she should pour it out beforehand; her limbs trembled so much she couldn’t trust herself. What on earth was going on? Two gorgeous men suddenly entering her life?

      Walking with the tray into the sitting room, she saw Hugh squatting by her grandmother’s bridal chest whilst Boris had settled, lying down on the hearth rug. She placed the tray on the stand and began pouring two fresh cups of coffee, managing to keep her hand steady. Glancing over, she watched Hugh. He rested one hand on the top of the chest whilst running the fingers of his other over the intricate carving along the front.

      ‘It’s an impressive piece. Nineteenth century?’ he asked.

      ‘I’m not sure of its age exactly. It was my nonna’s. She died recently.’

      Hugh raised an eyebrow as he sucked in his breath. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. It was possibly her mother’s then, grandmother’s even. It’s beautiful, a little damage here and there, but …’

      ‘I know. I’m thinking of having it restored. It’s one of my favourites, which I’d like to keep.’ She pursed her lips. ‘You seem quite knowledgeable.’

      He stood back and folded his arms, sliding back sleeves of what looked like a cashmere sweater. ‘I’m in antiques. I’m a dealer. That’s why I’m seeking a base in Tuscany.’

      ‘Oh, right. That must be an interesting job?’

      ‘Yes, I’m a sucker for the antique and flea markets around here,’ he said, his tone more casual, ‘and they often come up trumps for furniture, even pieces of art occasionally. I know a brilliant restorer here too, if you need one. Not far from here either. He would do a great job on this.’ He gave the side of the chest a closer inspection and wiped his little finger along a bead of wood.

      Enthusiasm brimmed from his eyes and Olivia licked her lips with cautious hope. ‘Maybe you could leave me his number?’ she said.

      Hugh raised an arm and swept a wedge of his hair through his hands. ‘It might be better if I speak to him first. It’s just that he’s getting on a bit and is choosy about what he takes on.’ Lifting his phone from his trouser pocket, he scrolled down. ‘I’ll see him later, so you could give him a call tomorrow.’

      Olivia clambered with excitement to the sideboard and opened a drawer. The bridal chest, or cassone as Nonna would call it, had always intrigued her. When she was young she remembered Nonna telling her it was a special box because it contained all the gifts for a bride from her husband and his family, including clothes and jewellery.

      Nonna had shown her inside it once. All it contained was linen and lace household items. No beautiful jewellery or clothes. It was such a romantic idea though, and one that had captured Olivia’s imagination when she was just seven years old. As she riffled through the drawer for the pad and pen, she turned at the patter of footsteps nearing.

      ‘Ah, Signor St. James.’ Signor Ricci trotted into the room swiping his damp brow. ‘You’ve met Signorina Montague I see.’

      Hugh held out his hand to the Italian agent. ‘Yes, I’m delighted to say.’

      Standing by with pen and pad in hand, she said, ‘Olivia, or Liv. It’s easier. Yes, he arrived on time after all.’ Hugh passed her his phone and she took the restorer’s number. ‘What’s his name?’

      ‘Signor Nasino, but he’ll prefer Cesare.’

      ‘Thank you. You two need to get on. I’ll leave you to it, and I’ll pour you a coffee, Signor Ricci.’

      ‘Thank you, yes. I’ll finish the photos later.’

      Olivia left them chatting in the sitting room and Boris comfortably snuggling close to the heat of the fire.

      Not sure where to place herself, after making the third cup of coffee for Signor Ricci and delivering it, Olivia picked up her own and took it through to the study. There, at least, she could have another look for the chest key. She sat down behind the desk, looking out across rows of vines that climbed the hillside under a now hazy sky. It was a shame because the brightness from the sun added such a romantic charm to the place, but the thought of someone taking her nonna’s house made her skin prickle.

      Her mind switched to the brief but often fun times she’d spent as a child with her mum and Italian grandparents, as well as Gabriella and Nico and several workers on the farm. She remembered especially the Whitsun break, when – after her mamma had gone home – she and Chiara would continue their stay at Nonna’s and help thin the vines. Those days were long and drenched in sunshine and laughter as Nico and the local lads – Giuseppe, Manelo, and Tom – mocked her not only because she was only allowed scissors, but being so small, she could only just reach the bottom leaves.

      But she’d had so much freedom there, however brief her stays were. She’d felt like she had wings, like a bird; she’d been able to take flight and run around with no concept of time, rules, or routine. Even up to their twenties, she and Chiara continued their visits and spent lazy days in just jogging bottoms and T-shirts. No rigorous discipline or racing to get somewhere like her life in London. They were days when she could be herself – casual and pleasurable days. Her Italian nonno Angelo was so laid-back compared to her grandfather Ronnie in London.

      Hugh St. James certainly had that laid-back appeal – young as he was – and could potentially make a good owner. He had a gentlemanly manner, but a casual quality about him she liked. She thought him well suited to country living. He was certainly alluring.

      She rubbed her chin. Alberto also had a gentlemanly manner, but not one she could imagine fitting on a farm. He was more cosmopolitan and enjoyed the city. Not that he was looking to buy the farm like Hugh.

      One thing was troubling about her about Hugh, however, and that was why he would want to take on the farm. Surely another business would be too much if he was running his own antiques business and going back and forth to England. She took out her phone and swiped the screen to create a new list: ‘Questions for potential buyers’.

Chapter 7

      Impressed by the property and what he had seen of the owner, Hugh kept his countenance as he said goodbye and left Signor Ricci and Olivia Montague. He drove back down the hairpin bends and on to Cesare’s before returning to his apartment rental in Arezzo.

      He had made it clear to the agent, Signor Ricci, that he was only interested in purchasing the run-down farmhouse, or villa as the agent and family called it. Buying the complete business would not only break his budget, but it would also be far too much work to take on. Signor Ricci had been adamant he should go along and view it, suggesting that vendors are just as fickle as buyers, and that the seller of the villa was sure to appreciate every option available.

      As much as Hugh would love to own acres of vineyards and olive groves, the price and commitment were too high. After seeing the Villa Elena, however, it was now going to be a torment if he couldn’t have it. It was perfect. It was beautifully situated and would make a wonderful base, plus it had potential and would safeguard his investment.

      He could gradually carry out the renovations to make a wonderful home for the future should he decide to stay. There were so few worthwhile options available in his price range in the area. He just had to hope that there was little demand and that Signor