An Italian Dream

FERN

Fern had already started packing earlier that morning. She took a final look around The Garden Room, a wave of sadness hitting her as she closed the door. She’d only been on Capri for a little over a week and at the retreat for just three nights, but she felt its magical pull. She paused outside Edith’s room, slipped a note under the door and headed downstairs to find Matteo.

It was inconceivable to Fern to be wealthy enough to charter a helicopter to fly from Capri to Siena to stay at his property in Tuscany for just twenty-four hours. His life was so far removed from her own that taking a helicopter as if he were catching a train blew her mind. His wealth was evident, yet even now, sitting next to him as they flew over the sprawling city of Naples, it didn’t feel as if he was trying to flaunt it.

Was it completely reckless to be travelling on her own with a man she’d only met a few days ago? Maybe, but she trusted him and was undeniably drawn to him. The acknowledgement that she’d never felt this way about anyone wasn’t lost on her. Stella, Amber and Chloe were oblivious to what she was doing. They were somewhere off the coast and she was getting further and further away from them. Matteo’s housekeeper knew she’d gone with him, and Fern’s note for Edith explained where she was. She’d see her before she returned to Villa Giardino. She had much to thank Edith for.

What would Paul think? Fern clenched her fists. Why was she worrying? This was her time. Did she really believe he was thinking about her, wondering how she was doing, if she was enjoying herself? She doubted it very much. Going with Matteo to his villa in Tuscany was no different to Stella and the girls getting on a yacht with four Italian men Amber and Chloe had met.

Except it was different. Instead of meeting on a drunken night out, Fern had had the chance to get to know Matteo and to form the beginning of a friendship. She craved his company and thought about him far more than was healthy for someone who was married. She fought back the thought that she was cheating emotionally. Matteo was becoming a friend, that was all. Yet it felt more than that, and she couldn’t bury the feeling that she was on dangerous territory. If she’d been worried about leading him on the other night, what did saying yes to going to Tuscany with him suggest?

* * *

Tuscany was more beautiful than Fern had imagined. She’d been in awe of the view as they flew across the country, but the taxi journey from Siena through rolling countryside was even more impressive, the road often lined by Tuscan stone villas and cypress trees, the green fresh against the warm, earthy gold and apricot tones of the ancient stone buildings.

Fern gazed out in silence. Matteo was sitting next to her in the back of the taxi, yet he allowed her to quietly soak up the view of villages filled with stone villas and monasteries, the differing greens of vineyards and olive groves revealing themselves as they raced down hills.

The driver turned off the main road onto a narrower one, leaving behind any hint of civilisation. A golden shimmer threaded itself across the countryside, bathing the green hills, pockets of woodland and vineyards in light.

They crested a hill and, through the front windscreen, Fern spied a series of typically Tuscan stone buildings set within expansive walled grounds.

‘There it is,’ Matteo said with a smile. ‘Il Ritiro Toscano. Home.’

Fern was lost for words as the taxi turned onto a dirt track that ran alongside one of the walls. They pulled up in a parking area outside an arched entrance.

Matteo paid and thanked the driver. Fern got out of the taxi into the peace of the late afternoon. Matteo joined her and the taxi churned up dust as it sped off.

Fern stared in awe at the graceful lines of the buildings. The stonework was a myriad of earthy colours, warm and inviting, with arched windows and a muted red tiled roof flecked with lichen.

‘It’s utterly stunning,’ she finally said as she followed Matteo through the archway. Various stone buildings – living quarters, towers and stables – clustered a large area of grass within the sprawling walls.

‘It dates back to the early sixteenth century and was once a monastery. It’s been in my father’s family for a long time. My great-grandparents restored it from ruins; my grandparents added to it and turned it into a successful hotel; I’ve since developed it into a retreat. It’s a place people can escape from the stresses and trials of life.’

They went through the double wooden doors of the largest building and into a stone entrance hall. Wooden beams crossed the curved ceiling, and carved pillars dominated the space. They were greeted by a couple in their fifties who Matteo introduced as the husband-and-wife team who kept things ticking over whether he was there or not. Fern found the idea of owning somewhere large enough to need its own staff quite incredible, and Stefano and Teresa headed up a team that not only looked after the building and its guests when the retreat was open, but the wider estate with its vineyards, olive groves and woodland.

Stefano took their overnight bags to their rooms and Fern followed Matteo as they explored the inside of what must have once been a sombre and serious place for monks to worship. Matteo talked about the restoration, and as they moved from room to room, Fern began to get an understanding of how much love and attention his family had put into the place.

Art covered the walls, much of it in keeping with the sixteenth-century monastic buildings, but there were lots of modern pieces too, some painted by Matteo himself. The history of the building had been preserved, with exposed stone and wooden beams, large floor tiles and stone fireplaces with centuries’ worth of engrained soot. Apart from the colourful art, the materials and decor were natural. As they walked, Fern took in the little details: the iron door handles that she imagined countless hands had touched over the last five hundred years; the cosy throws in muted colours on beds and sofas; and a wall of windows in the dining room looking out onto a central courtyard and beyond to a distant tree-clad hill.

Regardless of Matteo having a team of people to look after his properties, there was a loneliness that surrounded him. He’d briefly talked about his family on his father’s side restoring the Tuscan retreat, but he’d swiftly moved the conversation on, which made Fern wonder if he had as strained a relationship with his parents as she did with hers. Whereas the retreat in Anacapri was an oasis in the midst of enclosed Mediterranean gardens, the Tuscan retreat was sprawling and open. Its beauty came from the stone walls contrasting with the verdant meadows and the silvery grey-green of ancient olive trees. It wasn’t hard for Fern to imagine spending her time here. She had the distinct feeling that one day wouldn’t be enough.

* * *

The sunset cast a mauve wash across the horizon and, with dusk, the stars twinkled in the clear night sky. A table had been laid on a terrace sheltered on two sides by the stone walls of the building and a pergola entwined with clematis and vines filtered out the fresh May breeze.

The smell of the Tuscan stew that Teresa had cooked for them made Fern’s mouth water. She’d been living on fish, seafood, pasta and pizza, but a hearty stew with beans and tomatoes with fresh, oven-baked bread to soak up the juice was perfect for the setting. Matteo dished spoonfuls of the steaming stew into two bowls and they tucked in greedily, eating in silence, the only sound the music drifting from the villa and their spoons hitting the sides as steam escaped into the night.

A breeze rustled the leaves. It was cooler here than on Capri and Fern shivered. Matteo reached for a dove-grey throw and handed it to her.

‘Thank you.’ She smiled and wrapped it around her shoulders.

‘I like sitting out here in winter, snuggled under a blanket with the outdoor heater on. And then we have the fires lit inside, which I love. The place is cool in summer and cosy in winter.’

‘I’m surprised you’d ever want to leave – even with the other villa on Capri.’ She dipped a chunk of bread into the juice at the bottom of her bowl and popped it into her mouth.

‘It can feel claustrophobic on Capri, particularly in the summer with hordes of tourists, which is why I come back here. This place is home. It’s where I lived from the age of seven till eighteen. It was the place I always came back to when my grandparents were alive.’

‘You grew up here with them?’ It was quite a place to have grown up, so far removed from the 1950s semi she’d lived in with her parents and brother.