An Italian Dream

‘About a year ago, my best friend slept with my husband.’ She said it matter-of-factly, as if she was talking about someone else. ‘She assured me it only happened the once since we were married, but she’s not the only person he’s been messing about with. He has, um, a second, secret phone and he gives the number to women he’s sleeping with, Stella included. That’s the short version.’

Matteo’s jaw clenched as he shook his head. ‘Che bastardo.’

‘I couldn’t agree with you more.’ She swiped away a tear from her cheek. ‘I’ve been such an idiot.’

‘You can’t think like that, Fern.’ He shuffled closer, concern written in his furrowed brow. ‘There’s nothing wrong with putting effort into making a marriage work.’

‘I’m an idiot for ignoring all the signs and for not listening to the niggling voice inside about him. I’ve gone on for years, being played for a fool.’

Large drops of rain splattering on the glass made them both jump. Ominous dark clouds had turned the bright afternoon to a premature dusk. It felt safe cocooned within the glass walls of the orangery as the rain lashed down, splashing off leaves and thundering on to the path outside.

She turned back to Matteo. ‘I’ve felt guilty for so long for not being happy with my lot. For not being satisfied by a lovely home, a husband, healthy happy kids.’

‘You shouldn’t feel you have to be satisfied by any of that. Certainly not by a cheating husband. And now your children are grown up, you need to think beyond them and focus on yourself. You’re doing them no favours if you’re unhappy. If they care for you and love you, then they won’t want to see you like this.’ He reached for her hand and clasped it. ‘I get it, though, that guilt. Sometimes I feel guilty for thinking how different my life would have been if it wasn’t for the accident. The idea of not having grown up at the Tuscan retreat fills me with sadness, but then I realise what that means and the guilt is terrible, because, of course, if I could go back in time and change my parents’ fate, I would in a heartbeat.’

They fell silent, their hands entwined together, the drumming rain somehow comforting.

‘I’m angry about all the lies,’ Fern eventually said. ‘I don’t care about Paul. He obviously hasn’t cared about me for a very long time. This is the push I needed to change my life for the better. To leave. My get-out-of-jail-free card.’

‘If that’s truly how you feel, then it’s the right thing to do.’

She held his gaze and drank him in, wishing they’d met under different circumstances. Just looking at him now left her conflicted about how she felt and what was right. She breathed in the citrusy scent of the orangery, which was as comforting as Matteo’s presence, quiet and dependable.

Exhaustion washed over her. So many emotions were whirling. It wasn’t just anger, sadness and heartache she was battling with; there was excitement too, possibility, hope. A mishmash of feelings that left her unable to think straight.

‘Can I please stay here tonight?’ Her hand tensed in his. ‘I can’t face going back and seeing everyone.’

‘Of course, the room’s still yours.’

They met each other’s eyes. She knew what he was thinking, because she was wishing it too, that the passion bubbling beneath the surface could be acted on. She adored him for not pushing her into doing something she might regret; she adored him for understanding and supporting her, for offering his friendship without the expectation of anything more.

* * *

After spilling her heart to Matteo, Fern retreated to her room and slept. It was dark when she woke. The rain had stopped and it felt fresher, the air curling in through the open window, bringing with it the scent of vegetation and damp soil. Fern regretted leaving the villa without anything, not even a cardigan. She wondered what Amber was thinking and then felt awful for not talking to her before storming out.

She switched on the lamp on the bedside table and forced herself off the bed. A fresh breeze made the petunias sway in the window box outside. She shivered and forced the window closed. Was she foolish to have run away instead of facing up to things back at the villa? Would they be worried about her? She drew in a deep breath; she needed to think about herself for once.

A knock made her jump. She padded across the room and opened the door. She was expecting it to be Matteo but found Edith holding a tray instead.

‘I’ve been talking to Matteo.’ She gave Fern a knowing look. ‘We thought you might be hungry. I said I’d bring it up to you.’

Fern had a hard job containing her tears at their kindness. ‘Thank you,’ she said, stepping back to let her in.

Edith set the tray on the table next to the armchair and handed Fern a bowl. ‘Risotto with prawns flavoured with lemon from the garden. We had it for dinner this evening. Matteo didn’t want to disturb you.’

Fern had lost track of time. She gratefully cupped the bowl in her hands and sat in the armchair while Edith perched on the bed.

‘So, Matteo got you up to speed with everything that’s happened?’ Fern took a spoonful of the risotto.

‘He did. I hope you don’t mind?’

Fern shook her head and savoured the fragrant, citrusy rice. She was relieved to not have to retell the whole story. Once was enough. What on earth did Matteo think of her? It was hardly fair to have burdened him with her heartache and sorrow. It was hard to believe they’d known each other for less than a week and yet she’d retreated here, finding comfort in two strangers. No, not strangers, she thought. Two new friends.

She looked up from the risotto to Edith. ‘What would you do in my situation? If you’d just found out that your husband was a lying, cheating bastard.’

Edith folded her hands in her lap and sighed. ‘Now, there’s a question. What would I do…? I’m not sure I’m the best person to ask, considering I have many regrets and have made many mistakes when it comes to affairs of the heart. So, I can only advise you from my unqualified viewpoint. I know this much: when I go home this time, I need to be true to myself. I’m having an affair with a married woman who’s made it clear that she’s not going to leave her husband and she’s also ashamed of what we are. It can never be public; we can never be truly happy.’

Fern put down the bowl and went over and sat beside her. ‘Oh Edith, I’m so sorry.’