‘Any time you need a shoulder to cry on… or a friend, I’m here, Mark.’
Chapter 10
Dinner that night was amazing. Marina drove them further up into the hills until they came to a tiny village – little more than just a collection of a dozen or so houses at the side of the road. A wonky wooden arrow pointed off to the right with just two words on it: La Luna. Marina turned off and they headed up a very bumpy track further into the tree-covered hills. Finally, just as Emma was beginning to wonder if they had somehow got lost, they arrived at their destination. Another even more precarious-looking wooden sign on the gatepost indicated that this rambling old stone building was indeed called La Luna or The Moon.
Marina swung the big vehicle in through the ancient arched gateway and drew up in what was quite evidently a farmyard. Just in case they might have had any doubts on that score, a noisy collection of ducks and chickens scattered at their approach, clucking and quacking in protest at being disturbed. Emma, quite happily seated beside Mark, with Rich and Sinclair behind them in the back, exchanged uncertain glances with the others. Marina caught her eye in the mirror and grinned.
‘It’s all right, this really is the place.’
‘You’re telling me this is the best restaurant in Italy?’ Ethan in the front seat didn’t sound convinced. Marina did her best to reassure him.
‘That’s what they say. Gianluca, my boss, told me the owner of this place used to be the head chef at the swankiest restaurant in Rome, one of only a handful of restaurants in the whole country with three Michelin stars. He retired up here a few years ago and he only comes out of retirement for a very few, very select customers.’
‘I see. Well, hey, that sounds great. I’m honoured.’
Emma could hear that this had got Ethan intrigued. In fact, from what Marina had told her, the chef was only doing this tonight as a favour to her boss. The fact that he would be catering for a Hollywood great hadn’t cut any ice with him at all. Suppressing a smile, she turned to Mark alongside her.
‘Shall we go? I’m feeling quite hungry.’
As they climbed out, a massive shaggy dog appeared in front of them and stood there immobile, staring at them, clearly suspicious. From the look of it, its pedigree most probably had to include wolf as well as maybe even grizzly bear. It was enormous and it was sporting an impressive set of gleaming white teeth. For a moment, Emma had a sudden horrific image of the world-famous actor alongside her being assaulted and scarred for life by this giant hound. She was just about to risk throwing herself between Ethan and the beast when she felt Mark push past her and walk over to the dog. As he approached it, he dropped to one knee and held out his hand.
‘Ciao, bello. Who’s a very good dog, then?’
To Emma’s relief, the mixture of languages appeared to work. Reassured, the dog took a step forward and buried his head in Mark’s chest, his tail beginning to wag. While the beast was otherwise engaged, Emma took Ethan by the arm and hurried him across to the front door. As they got there, it opened and a matronly lady appeared, wiping her hands on her apron. Seeing the dog, she addressed him in firm tones.
‘Rocky, leave the guests alone. Go off back to your bed, or you won’t get any leftovers.’
This threat worked wonders and the dog trotted off round towards the rear of the house without a backward glance. The lady transferred her attention to her guests.
‘Buonasera, signori. Welcome to La Luna. How very kind of you to choose to come and dine with us.’
She shook hands with each of them in turn. If she recognised Ethan – no longer in his heavy-metal aficionado disguise – she gave no sign of it.
‘Do come in please.’
She ushered them along a corridor and into a fine old dining room. There was only one table in there, and it was set for six people. One wall was covered with framed certificates and awards of the highest order for services to Italian cuisine, all in the name of their host. A massive old dresser held row upon row of cups, shields, bowls and statuettes, commemorating his achievements. Emma caught Ethan’s eye. Clearly, they were in the presence of culinary greatness.
The high ceiling was supported by massive wooden beams with ancient red bricks between them. The floor was paved with lovely old terracotta tiles, worn down by the passage of countless feet over the centuries, and a glazed arch in the end wall provided a stunning view out over the wooded hillside back down to the valley below. The sun was low in the sky and its rays had turned the distant hills a ruby red colour. It was an enchanting place with an inspiring view and Emma had her camera out in an instant.
As they stood there, admiring the view, another door opened and the chef appeared. He was a jovial-looking man with an impressive paunch and a moustache worthy of a Mexican bandido. He was wearing a pristine white chef’s jacket with his initials embroidered onto the left breast. He smiled as he saw them.
‘Signori, buonasera. Mi chiamo Rodolfo. Benvenuti alla Luna.’
He came round, shaking their hands and slipped seamlessly into excellent English as he told them the history of this place. To Emma’s amazement it was almost six hundred years old and had been in his family for as long as anybody could remember. As he was circulating, his wife appeared with a magnum of Tuscan sparkling wine. The chef informed them that this rosé wine came from Radda in Chianti, just below Florence, and was, in his opinion the best sparkling wine in Italy. When Emma had the temerity to query where Prosecco figured in his estimation he only rolled his eyes and handed her a glass of the rosé. She took a sip and had to admit that it was excellent.
After the introductions had been completed, Rodolfo turned to the main point of the evening: the meal.
‘Do any of you have any allergies? Anything you particularly like or dislike? Vegetarians, maybe?’ Nobody said a word so he continued. ‘Excellent. Well, I hope you enjoy the dinner I have planned for you. When I worked in Rome, my team and I used to go out of our way to produce dishes of almost impossible refinement and novelty. It became a competition, an obsession, to see who could come up with the most bizarre combination of ingredients. I grilled cauliflower and served it with caviar, roasted red peppers and stuffed them with scallops. I cooked pigeon in straw, scampi with aniseed jelly and all manner of other dishes designed to catch the eye of a certain type of diner.
‘Now that I’ve returned to my native Tuscany, I’ve come full circle and I let the quality of the raw materials speak for themselves without all the excess. This is food the way it’s been cooked in this part of Tuscany for centuries. Everything you will eat tonight was grown or reared within walking distance of this place, just like it would have been once upon a time. The fish is the exception, but it only comes from the nearby coast and I can guarantee you there are no chemicals, additives or other artificial enhancements in anything on your table tonight. My menu changes according to the seasons and I can promise that what I offer you is genuine, real food.’
There was a murmur of approval all round. Emma was particularly pleased to see Ethan nodding enthusiastically.
‘Tonight, if you’re agreeable, I thought I would prepare some local specialities as a starter, followed by homemade pasta. Tonight I’ve made pappardelle.’ Seeing the expressions on some of the faces – including Emma’s – he explained. ‘These are broad strips of homemade pasta which I propose serving with a sauce made from smoked ham, porcini mushrooms and truffles from our very own woods.’ He gave them a broad grin. ‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you the exact location where we find these treasures or you would never be allowed to leave here alive.’