Learning to Dance Again (8 page)

‘Well apart from nearly getting a fifty euro fine for not validating my train ticket, it wasn’t bad.
And I’m a little bit tired now after getting up at five this morning.’

‘Well you have a whole month to
get over that. I’ve never had anyone staying that long before. Most people come for just a week or two. What prompted you to come over here for so long?’

Julia paused for a moment, wondering whether to tell him the truth or to find some more palatable explanation. She had no idea how much contact she would have with her landlor
d.

‘It’
s my fiftieth birthday this month, and I really didn’t feel much like celebrating it, so I decided to run away to Sicily and hide away from the world.’

‘
That’s a bit drastic. You don’t look that old; why are you so fed up about turning fifty?

‘
Well,’ Julia sighed, ‘the truth is, my husband died in April and I’ve been sitting around the house ever since, getting more and more fed up. I decided I might as well be miserable in the sun.’

‘Ah, I see. I’m sorry to hear tha
t. My wife died five years ago so I know how you feel. Well, I can certainly promise you some sunshine, and I hope it makes you feel a little less miserable.’

‘Did it work for you?’

‘Not really; no.’

Tony smiled
conspiratorially at her as they stopped at a junction and waited for a gap in the traffic.

‘What brought you to Sicily?
You’re English aren’t you?’

‘My wi
fe was Italian. Eleonora taught English at the University in Palermo; but we met in London while she was still studying.'

‘I see. So what do you do?’

‘I’m a writer; so I can pretty much work where I like.’

‘What kind of
writing do you do?’

‘Crime novels mostly.’

Julia turned to look at him; she was picturing the bookshelf in her bedroom. There were a number of novels sitting on the shelves that Duncan had enjoyed reading, and she had an image of one of them in her head.

‘Don’t tell me you’re Anthony Hugo who wrote
In Too Deep
?’

‘That’s me,’ he replied, looking faintly embarrassed.

‘Duncan used to read your books. We have some at home. I haven’t read any of them though, sorry. Wow, I can’t believe it. Duncan would have been thrilled to have met you.’

‘Thank you. I’
m sorry I didn’t get to meet him too. I don’t meet many people who have read my books any more. I don’t do book tours these days. My publisher gets pissed off with me, but since Eleonora died, I can’t be arsed to leave Sicily much. I don’t have many reasons to go back to the UK. My parents died years ago, and my son and daughter live in Italy. They’re both at University in Rome.’

They were driving down a very narrow lane lined with
trees and giant cactus plants. Tony slowed the car and turned into a driveway and stopped in front of a wrought iron gate. He picked up a remote control from a compartment on the dashboard and pointed it at a control on the gatepost. The gate swung open slowly and they carried on up the long shady driveway until the villa came into view.

An old and
battered blue Fiat Panda was parked on the driveway next to a white scooter. Tony parked the car and got out and opened up the boot. He took out Julia’s suitcase and led the way to the side of the main house.

Julia followed, feeling a quiver of excitement at seeing where she would be spending the next few
weeks. At the back of the villa there was an open view of the sea. Julia hadn’t appreciated how high up the side of the mountain they had driven; it hadn’t seemed very far, and yet they seemed to be looking down at the sea from a great height.

‘Wow, what a view. This is ev
en better than it looked online.’

‘Everybody says tha
t. It’s hard to get a photograph to do this justice.’

They crossed a paved terrace and stopped at a little iron gate in the middle of
a low hedge. Tony opened it and Julia followed him to the little stone built villa. It shared the same view of the sea as the main house, but was actually quite private in its own little garden.

Tony opened the
front door and stood back to let Julia in. It was disappointingly dark inside and Julia bit her lip anxiously, as she surveyed the open plan living room and kitchen. The windows were covered by dark wooden shutters that made it seem like late evening, rather than the middle of the day.

‘I closed
the shutters as it gets a bit hot in here when the sun comes up in the morning. It’s up to you whether you open them or not.’ Tony stood by the open door and indicated outside, ‘it’s quite private out here on the veranda; nobody can see you from my villa. You can get to the swimming pool from a gate at the bottom of your garden. The pool is heated by solar energy and I hardly ever use it so you will have it to yourself most of the time.’

‘That’s great thanks.’

‘I was just wondering how you’re going to get around, as you haven’t hired a car yet? I can recommend a car hire company in the town if you like.’

‘Actually
, I have a confession to make; I’ve never driven a car on mainland Britain, let alone a foreign country. I was too scared to hire a car. But we’re only a couple of miles out of the town aren’t we. I thought I might just walk everywhere, and maybe get a taxi if I have groceries to carry.’

‘It might only be two
miles but it’s not a road I would particularly recommend walking along. It’s not very safe for pedestrians, not the way us locals drive along it; and taxis cost the earth in Sicily. Hiring a car might be your best option, if you can pluck up the courage; and it’s probably not as bad driving over here as you might think.’

Julia pulled a face, as if she didn’t believe him. He laughed.

‘One of my sons is thinking of joining me for a few days, with his girlfriend. He’ll definitely hire a car, so I think I’ll manage alright. We’ll see.’

Tony spent a few m
inutes explaining how the satellite television, the hot water and the air conditioning worked in the property. When he had finished Julia followed him out to the veranda and they stood for a moment looking down at the sea.

‘I was just thinking; u
nless you go into town again this afternoon, you won’t be able to cook anything for your dinner. I’m having some friends over later; you’re more than welcome to join us. They all speak English.’

‘Thanks, but I feel really tired now, I might just have a quiet first night here.’

‘Well if you change your mind, we’ll be eating around nine. Us Sicilians eat very late at night.’

‘I think I’
ll be fast asleep by that time,’ Julia said, yawning already.

‘Just come to the house if you need anything.
I work from home, so if my car’s outside, then I’m in.’

Julia took a few minutes to explore the villa. It was even more luxurious than she had imagined it would be. There were two bedrooms which had large shuttered windows. One room faced the mountain and the other faced the sea. She couldn’t make up her mind which one she wanted to sleep in. Both views were lovely.

The kitchen was equipped with every
thing she would need. There was a bottle of Prosecco chilling in the fridge, a large bottle of locally produced olive oil in the cupboard and a fruit bowl full of fresh lemons and limes, which she presumed had been picked from the trees outside. There was no other food though, and Julia realised she would have to find some way of getting to the supermarket fairly soon.

However, for the time being she was too tired to think about food. She took a quick shower and then chang
ed into a floral maxi-dress Marianne had lent her. It was cool and elegant, and when she found her sunglasses at the bottom of her case she put them on and ventured outside. 

Julia pulled a wooden sun-lounger
into the shade of the veranda and lay down on it, not even bothering to find a book to read. She shut her eyes and was asleep within minutes.

Sh
e woke up three hours later, at the sound of someone speaking to her. The sun had almost set behind the mountain and it was noticeably cooler. She sat up and turned to see a woman standing by the gate to the property.

‘Scusi
, Signora. I’m Signor Hugo’s housekeeper, Maria. I go shopping; you want a list?’

Julia sto
od up and smiled. She reached out to shake hands.

‘I’m Julia;
lovely to meet you. I would love to get some groceries; could I come with you?’

Maria took
a moment to translate this then shook her head.

‘I’m sorry, I go home now. I go
shopping in morning when I come to work. I get what you need tomorrow.’

‘Of course, Maria. Let me wr
ite a list; do come in won’t you.’

Julia found a notebook and pen in her handbag and started to write a couple of things down.

Maria watched for a moment then frowned.

‘I’m sorry
, I not read English.’

‘Ah, OK
, how about if I tell you and you write it down.’

Maria smiled and took the pen from Julia.

‘Bread, milk, coffee, butter …..’ Julia paused for a moment. She couldn’t really think what she needed and had no idea what was available in an Italian supermarket. Would she look stupid if she asked for dried pasta? And even more stupid if she asked for a jar of Dolmio pasta sauce? Of course she would.

‘I buy you things for breakfast, and some meat and vegetables, and some rice and pasta?’ Maria said helpfully.

‘Yes, how about if I just give you some money and you buy what you think I need for a few days. That would be lovely. Then I will find my own way to the supermarket.’

Julia handed Maria two fifty euro notes, making a mental note to ask Tony how much she should pay Maria for doing the shopping.

‘You are having dinner with Signor Hugo tonight? I make roast lamb for him; his favourite.’

Julia didn’t want to
have dinner with Tony and his friends, but she didn’t want to tell Maria that, in case she thought she was snubbing her cooking.

‘Oh yes, that would be very nice. Thank you.’

She followed Maria out to the veranda to say goodbye.

‘I show you herb garden,’ Maria said, taking
Julia’s arm and leading her to the side of the villa.

Tucked away out of sight was a fairly large vegetable plot, surrounded by fig and olive trees. Trained against the
boundary wall was a grapevine and further along the wall was a wigwam structure weighed down by tomato plants. In a variety of pots and stone planters were a selection of herbs, garlic bulbs and onions.

Maria led the way towards the back of the garden to
a wooden shed. As they got closer Julia realised it was a hen house. The hens had been put away for the night, but they started to cluck anxiously as Julia and Maria approached.

Maria lifted a lid of a box that jutted out from the side of the hen house. Inside was a bundle of str
aw and in the centre were two brown eggs. Maria took the eggs out and handed them to Julia. One of them was still warm. Maria lifted another lid and inside was a hen sitting there staring back at them. Maria pushed it gently out of the way and retrieved another egg and passed it to Julia.

‘You take eggs every
day and any vegetables you want.’

‘Thank yo
u. That’s brilliant,’ Julia replied, realising with relief she now had everything she needed to make herself something for dinner without having to go next door. She grinned at Maria and they turned back towards the house.

After Maria had gone, Julia went back to the garden and picked a handful of tomatoes, pulled up some garlic and then found some onions and potatoes which she helped herself to. She
picked some oregano and carried her raided goodies back to the kitchen. She opened the fridge and took out the bottle of Prosecco.

She poured herself a glass of the sparkling w
ine and set about making frittata. She put the radio on and found a station playing Italian pop music interspersed with some British and American songs. She sang along as she chopped vegetables.

She felt inexplic
ably cheerful as she stirred the garlic and onions in the frying pan. She took a sip of wine and stared out of the window at the unfamiliar but beautiful view. She thought of Duncan and wished he was here to see how lovely Sicily really was. But for the first time in months she didn’t feel as if she had been stabbed through the heart when she thought of him. She could only imagine it was because of the novel surroundings.

She served up her frittata
and carried the plate outside with her wine and sat down and admired the view in the twilight. She could see the lights of Cefalu in the distance and in the dusk the sweet mixture of scents from the pots of lavender and climbing honeysuckle was intoxicating. The evening air was still and warm and she knew she would enjoy her month in Sicily. She raised her glass to the sky.