He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He scrolled through until he found what he wanted. He held the phone out towards her and she caught hold of his hand to look at the photo of a very happy-looking black Labrador with a huge branch in her mouth.
‘If you scroll back, you’ll see a few more.’
She did so and found many more pictures of the dog. Clearly, he thought a lot of her but then, of course, Carmen was effectively the last remaining memory of his grandfather. Finally she released his hand and saw him return the phone to his pocket. It had felt good to touch him. Disturbingly good. She glanced at her watch and saw that it was almost eleven o’clock, so she decided to get away while the going was good. There’s a limit to the amount of willpower a woman can summon up, and her hand was itching to grab onto his once more.
‘She’s a lovely dog. And I’ll tell her that myself when I see her. Now, I’d better go up to my room. I’ve got to check in with my boss and see if there any messages. Are you coming in?’
To her surprise, and no little pleasure, his hand found hers in the darkness and caught hold of it for a second or two. She felt a little squeeze and then heard his voice.
‘I think I’ll stay out and stare at the moon for a bit. Goodnight, boss, and remember what I said about not working too hard.’
‘I’ll remember. Goodnight, Mark.’
Chapter 12
Next morning there were grey clouds in the sky and a hint of drizzle in the air. The people in the winery informed them with barely concealed delight that rainstorms were predicted for later on in the day. Although Emma would have preferred wall-to-wall sunshine during her stay in Italy, she didn’t blame them. Anybody could see that the dusty earth and the tiny young grapes were crying out for a good soaking.
They drove down to Siena on the back roads, stopping off en route to visit a wonderful old fortress in a little place called Staggia. This imposing stone castle with its massive defensive walls dating back to the first millennium appeared to be a bit off the normal tourist trail and they were the only visitors there that morning. A chatty guide showed them round and encouraged them to climb to the battlements at the top of the imposing tower from where they had a lovely view out over the fields and hills of Tuscany and down onto the remnants of the medieval walls surrounding the little town below.
There was a very old and very quiet feel to the place and Emma had absolutely no hesitation in adding it to her list, as the spot where in the movie Robert and Emily would meet up again after losing contact when her car broke down. By this time in Dreaming of Italy Emily knew she was falling in love with Robert, but he remained impossible to read. Emma found herself sympathising with the Emily character. In her own case, though she knew it was futile, it would have been good to find out Mark’s true feelings towards her. He remained stubbornly hard to fathom. It was as if a veil shrouded his feelings and it was exasperating. Suppressing a little snort, she did her best to dismiss such thoughts and focused on adding peaceful Staggia to her list of locations.
From there, they drove to the beautiful city of Siena. Here, however, things were anything but quiet and peaceful. As they walked from the car park to the gateway leading into the old walled city, the sight of a line of coaches disgorging hordes of tourists gave them a foretaste of what they were to find inside. Sure enough, the narrow roads were filled with people, and even the magnificent sloping main square, the Piazza del Campo, was crowded. They toured the city, taking lots of photos, but Emma was already mentally adding unsuitable alongside the name of Siena on her list when Rich made a sensible suggestion. He had been looking and sounding brighter and brighter over the past few days and Emma was delighted to hear him getting more and more interested in Dreaming of Italy as they went along.
‘Why not shoot a scene way up on top of one of the towers with just glimpses of the city over the rooftops? It should be easy to keep the hordes of modern-day tourists down below out of shot and we could even build a mock-up back in the studios for the close-ups or if the scene needs to be longer.’
Emma agreed enthusiastically and added his suggestion to her list. She also made a note that Rich had come up with it in her confidential report for his father.
After a light lunch they returned to the car and followed a series of scenic, winding roads through the hills towards the east. Sinister dark grey clouds were gathering more and more as the day progressed and Emma had no doubt the weathermen had got it right.
As they approached the border between Tuscany and Umbria, Mark took over from Marina as their local guide, pointing out the beautiful town of Cortona high above them, a mass of red roofs sprawling up the hillside. Then, a few kilometres later, they came to the vast open expanse of water of Lake Trasimeno and he told them all about it, such as the fact that the lake had numerous rivers and streams running into it, but none running out. As a result, the water levels could vary considerably from one season, or one year, to another and it had gained a reputation over the centuries for its vicious mosquitoes and, not that long ago, malaria. They stopped for coffee overlooking the lake and, as they did so, the rain started: shower clouds swept across the now steely grey surface of the lake as the winds picked up.
They had to make a run for the car as the rain became torrential. Fortunately, it didn’t last too long, but they were continually driving in and out of ever-longer showers as they headed up into the tree-covered hills of Umbria. The scenery here was altogether a bit wilder and less cultivated than Tuscany had been, although the stone and sun-bleached brick farmhouses dotting the hillsides looked very similar. Mark assured them that on a clear day they would have been able to see right across to the peaks of the Apennines, but the horizon was swathed in clouds today. Emma hoped it would clear over the weekend so they could get some good photos of what promised to be a very scenic area.
It was just after four when they finally arrived at Mark’s home. Marina had been following the signs to Gubbio for some time now, down through the hills and into the wide river valley, and it was only when the old town was already in sight on the hillside opposite them that that they turned off onto a much narrower country road leading back up the hill directly opposite. Through the rain it was hard to make out much of the town on the other side of the valley, but Mark assured them it would be well worth a visit when the skies cleared. After five minutes of hard climbing up a winding lane that got progressively narrower, they came to a fine pair of stone gateposts set in a solid ancient perimeter wall made of the local red brick.
‘We’re here. Welcome to Villa Graziella.’ Mark sounded glad to be home.
As Marina turned in through the gateway, they saw a smart new sign advertising that they had arrived at what was billed as a luxury boutique hotel. Emma glanced across at Mark.
‘Looks good. So, tell me, who is or was Graziella?’ Although she felt sure it couldn’t be, an obstinate part of her brain waited apprehensively for him to announce that it was the name of his fiancée, wife or mistress. Silly as the idea had been, she couldn’t help a sensation of relief when he explained.
‘She was my great, great, great, and a lot more greats, grandmother. From what the history books say, she was quite a lady, with a terrific depth of culture at a time when women who could read might have been suspected of witchcraft. Some say she was the secret advisor to the Duke of Urbino who was responsible for much of the grand architecture in Gubbio way back in the fourteenth century. Anyway, whether she was or not, she still managed to produce no fewer than eleven children and, if she hadn’t done that, I wouldn’t be here today.’