An Italian Dream

Lightly sweeping the chalk across the page, Fern sketched the curved outline of the pot, the slender trunk of the tree and the rough shape of the stones. The lemons and the leaves would be the hardest to get right, so maybe they should be the last thing she focused on, or perhaps she should tackle them first. She hovered her chalk over the page, unsure what to do next.

‘Remember what Matteo said.’ Edith gestured at Fern’s sketch, then towards the lemon tree. ‘You only need the sense of it – let your creativity flow. It’s in there somewhere.’

Fern smiled thinly. ‘Yeah, buried beneath years’ worth of having no confidence.’

‘That will come again in time. Channel your sadness; turn it into something positive. I believe the best artists are the ones consumed by the most heartache.’

Fern turned to Edith. ‘Oh?’

Edith swept her paintbrush around, gesturing to the lush garden and the grand villa. ‘Even someone who lives in a place like this can be filled with sadness.’ She glanced behind her. Fern followed her gaze to where Matteo was on the other side of the fountain talking to Arthur about his painting. She leaned closer to Fern. ‘He’s never said much, just hinted at it. On the surface, he seems content, but we both know how well we can hide our feelings of longing, disappointment and upset.’

Fern watched Matteo for a moment longer, wondering what his story was. She looked away, conscious that she was staring. Edith caught her eye and smiled.

‘We’re all striving to find happiness though,’ Edith said with a sadness that made Fern wonder if she was thinking about Maya, unhappy with her husband back home while she was here, happy to be in a place she loved, yet disappointed not to be sharing it with the person she loved.

Fern sighed. Why did life have to be so damn complicated?