The Secrets of Villa Rosso: Escape to Italy for a summer romance to remember

I’m left listening to static and a feeling of emptiness makes my stomach drop to the floor. The world has never felt quite as enormous as it does to me right now and I really wish Josh was here to wrap his arms around me. I know it’s only tiredness so I lie back, throwing the phone onto the bed cover beside me. It’s time for a nap before I shower and dress for dinner.

~

When I make my way into the dining room I’m surprised to see virtually all of the tables are full. Max immediately gives me a little wave and hurries over to escort me to a table. The dress code seems to be quite casual and I’m glad I kept it simple, as all of the tables are occupied by families.

‘We’re busy tonight,’ Max explains. ‘Once a month we have a dinner that honours the matriarch of the family. It’s a tradition now, and our chef puts together a very special menu. But if it’s not quite to your liking, then I can bring over the à la carte menu.’

A waiter hovers, pulling out a chair for me. I sit, feeling rather self-conscious as heads turn in our direction. Max is fussing with the table, moving a bowl of fresh flowers and giving one of the tall wine glasses a light polish, as if I’m someone of importance.

‘I’m sure the special menu will be fine.’ I glance at the list of dishes, not sure whether they are separate courses, or a selection from which you choose. Of course, everything is in Italian. ‘I’m in your hands, Max.’ I pass the printed menu back to him, smiling gratefully.

‘It won’t disappoint, I promise.’ And with a broad smile he disappears in what I assume is the direction of the kitchen.

There are half a dozen staff members, including Bella, ferrying meals and taking away empty plates. Thankfully, there is quite a buzz in the room and now that I’m seated I’m no longer a source of distraction. Or perhaps the interest was more about Max than an Englishwoman travelling alone.

I can smell rich, sweet tomatoes and something tantalisingly spicy. A young waiter approaches the table bearing a bottle of wine. He holds up the label for me to inspect it and I nod my head, no idea at all if it’s the finest wine I’m ever likely to drink, or a celebrated local vintage. Either way, when I’m invited to taste the rich, dark-red liquid it slips down easily. Dry and intensely fruity, my mouth is left with a zing of flavours and an aftertaste of cherries.

Each course is beautifully presented in small and appealing portion sizes. Every dish is a first for me, bearing little or no resemblance at all to food I’ve eaten over the years in Italian restaurants back home. From the aperitivo, with Aperol Spritz, olives and crackers, to a mushroom dish with peppers and then, what Bella informs me is black pig fillet with strawberries. Each course is truly delicious.

Towards the end of the meal Max reappears as a willowy, older woman in a simple, yet elegant, silver-grey dress is clearing away the plate in front of me. He speaks to her in rapid Italian and she smiles, then nods, placing the plate back down on the table and extending her hand towards me.

‘Trista Ormanni. You enjoy your visit ’ere, yes?’

The words are stilted and her cheeks colour slightly as she speaks.

‘Yes, it’s truly wonderful. And dinner was heavenly.’

I’m not sure she can understand what I’m saying, but my broad smile reflects the sentiments. She hurries away quickly, leaving us to chat.

‘Trista is my fiancée’s mother. All of the staff here are family members except Bella, whose mother was born just a few kilometres away. Now things have calmed down a little I wondered if you would like to join me for coffee out on the terrace? Unless you are tired and prefer to retire for the night.’

‘No, that would be lovely, thank you.’

Max extends his hand to help me out of my seat. For a brief moment, as our hands touch, everything seems to stand still. I falter slightly and his grasp tightens.

‘The wine seems to have gone to my head.’ A laugh that ends up sounding more like a giggle doesn’t really cover a moment of embarrassment. As he withdraws his hand and extends his arm in the direction of the door, he walks alongside me. His other arm is curled behind me at waist height, but without actually touching me. For some inexplicable reason I feel this is a walk I’ve done before. How ludicrous is that?

Outside, the balmy evening air is sweet, but there is an undercurrent of a rich woodland scent and a slightly musty, earthy smell. It’s comforting, in a familiar way; like a smell from one’s childhood. Except that I’ve never been to Italy before, or anywhere quite like this.

Max notices my reaction. ‘Tonight the breeze carries with it the scent of the forests from the mountain slopes. Here, let me get your chair.’

One of the small tables on the terrace has been covered with a white linen table cloth and in the centre the glow from a large candle lantern sheds a soft flickering light.

‘To the north we have the Pollino mountain range and to the south, La Sila. It’s a difficult mix of terrain, but we are well served by the Calabrian ports of Reggio and Gioia Tauro.’

‘How long has this been your home?’

Max shifts in his chair, his body language signalling hesitation. We aren’t friends, just business acquaintances and I realise with dismay that I might have overstepped the mark when he was simply making polite conversation. Thankfully, the silence is interrupted by the arrival of coffee and a jovial-looking man who greets Max with a babble of Italian. Max replies and to my ear his mastery of the language makes him sound like a native inhabitant, a true son of Italy.

‘Grazie, Gianni. Sono il tuo stato introdotto per la signora Maddison?’

A moth is attracted by the light from the candle and Max absentmindedly brushes it away, before it’s drawn too close to the flame.

‘No, ho passato la giornata sopra presso la raffineria. Ci sono stati alcuni problemi, ma ora è fisso.’

‘Bene, grazie. My apologies, Ellie, this is Gianni, my fiancée’s uncle. Gianni, this is Mrs Maddison. Gianni has been at the plant today, sorting out a problem that occurred during my absence.’

We shake hands and exchange polite smiles, before Gianni disappears back into the shadows of the villa. The light from the windows flood out onto the terrace, but everything beyond that is simply a series of dark shapes, lit only by a crescent moon and a heaven full of stars.

‘Four years. I’m not even sure I could slot back into my old life if ever the opportunity arises.’

His reply to my previous question catches me by surprise. Clearly, his work is important to him. While I’m sure he misses his own family, it’s plain that he’s now a key member in the Ormanni family’s business. Everyone seems to look towards him for direction, as if he’s in sole charge.

He adds a little sugar to the coffee cup in front of him and then sinks back onto his chair. There’s a sense of resignation in the movement.

‘It’s a complicated story and I don’t want to bore you. I also don’t want to spoil your relaxation time and I should be doing a much better job of being a host. I think you can tell that I don’t often get the chance to sit down and have a conversation in my own language. It has become a novelty, as most of our guests at the villa are Italians enjoying a weekend retreat away from city life.’

Is he asking my permission to continue, or warning me off? There is a deep sadness in him, which I’d assumed was to do with his love for the people here and their plight. My instincts tell me not to pull back.

‘I’m a good listener. And it’s always easier talking to a stranger, isn’t it? Is your fiancée bi-lingual?’

‘Yes, Aletta speaks perfect English.’ He pauses, and then glances across at me rather nervously. ‘She went missing two years, three months ago.’

My coffee cup is halfway to my lips when Max speaks and immediately I set it back down.

‘Oh, I’m so sorry, what a terrible thing to happen. I didn’t mean to pry.’

Max looks apologetic and very uncomfortable.

‘As I said, it’s complicated.’

Whatever thoughts are running through his head, he’s clearly unable to continue speaking and I finish drinking my coffee in silence. Standing, I gently bid him goodnight, but he doesn’t raise his head. As I’m about to walk through the door into the villa he calls out to me.

‘Buona notte, Ellie. Sleep well.’

The first thing I do when I return to my room is to check my phone for emails and messages, but there’s nothing at all from Livvie. I text Josh to say a brief goodnight and prepare for bed.

Lying there I keep going over and over Max’s words, searching for clues. I know people do sometimes disappear. I read the headlines in the papers and have skimmed stories that sound rather dubious, to say the least. But Max is just an ordinary guy and this old and established Italian family is so very traditional. How could their daughter simply disappear without trace? This is such a tight community in many ways, despite the size of the area. With so little going on, anything unusual is bound to become common knowledge. If this was a city, or even one of the larger towns, then it would be easier to understand.

Eventually I drift off, but my dreams are jumbled and I’m glad when dawn begins to break.

Chapter 8 (#ulink_39ce0e7b-ab04-5730-acb8-c0b3773a3c97)

As the rays of the early morning sunshine start to slant across the floor, a succession of pings has me scrabbling for my phone. Livvie is online and looking at the photos. I long to get up and swing open the window to let in the fresh air, but I’m anxious for information and can’t wait.

Love these tiles; can you bring a sample back with you?

Looks great, just what I was hoping for – could you send me the dimensions?