Summer in Sorrento

Summer in Sorrento

Escape to Italy #1

Melissa Hill

Copyrigh
t©
Melissa Hill 2014

The right of Melissa Hill to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author. You must not circulate this book in any format.

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

Table of Contents:

1.             

2.             

3             

4             

5             

6             

7             

9             

10             

11             

Autumn in Verona Excerpt             

1.             

A balmy breeze floated in the open window of the kitchen and tickled the back of Maia Connoll
y’
s neck as she stood at the sink washing lemons sh
e’
d just plucked from the fruit trees languishing in the sunshine on the side of her farmhouse.

Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and allowed her senses to take it all in.

She smelled the azaleas that had just come to life outside her kitchen windo
w—
their fragrance mixed with the scent of the saltwater spray that floated up distantly below from the Bay of Naples. 

Opening her eyes, the view that her husband Jim had loved so much welcomed her, and she dropped the lemon she had been holding in a colander, allowing herself a momentary respite to simpl
y“
be
.
”
 
Glancing down at the ring on her left hand, she used the fingers of her right to twirl it longingly, remembering the day that Jim had placed it there.

“
I hope you can see what I see right now, love
,”
she whispered to the ai
r—
her Irish accent peppering her words.  She imagined that Jim was standing next to her, remembering how much he loved to simply take in the view of Mt. Vesuvius and the gorgeous expanse of the bay spread before them.  She felt a sense of sadness as well as peace wash over her at once and she had the overwhelming sense that she was quite close to heaven at that particular momen
t—
safe inside the nineteenth century farmhouse on a steep Sorrento hillside that she and her husband had bought upon his retirement three years before. 

Smiling sadly, she gathered up the lemons.
 “
And honestly my love
,”
she said to the air
,“
I hope that you like what
I’
ve been doing with the place
.
”

Maia glanced around the kitchen that she, along with the help of some local workmen, had just finished renovating (along with the convenience of a modern Aga) the week before. Working on introducing the nineteenth century structure to the twenty-first century had been a labor of love at the best, and a heartbreaking endeavour at worst.

She knew without a doubt that the entire process would have been much easier with Jim around. But fate sometimes had different plans.

The house, aptly named Villa Azalea, had been Ji
m’
s drea
m—
and his one passion outside of love for his wif
e—
right until the end.  And as much as Maia missed her husband, she knew that she could
n’
t blame the house for his heart attack.

She stacked the freshly picked lemons on a ceramic bowl she had bought during a recent trip into Naples, and placed the lot in the center of the rustic oak kitchen table that she and Jim had brought with them from Dublin when they moved to Italy.

“
I suppose I can blame this place for some of my money problem
s….”
she told herself ruefully, looking around the kitchen space and quickly calculating in her head how much of their savings had been spent on each part of the renovation.

Fresh paint, twenty euro.  New windows, three hundred euro.  Granite countertops, priceles
s
, she thought to herself
.
Now just to figure out how to pay off the credit card bill
s
…

As if providing an answer to her train of thought, Maia suddenly heard a car pull up outside the house.  The sound of an engine idling lingered before stopping altogether.

She smiled as she walked out the backdoor and found her way down the dirt path that led to the main road sweeping past where the house was perched.  She walked through the lemon trees that bordered the walkway and unconsciously raised a hand to shield her eyes from the sun as made her way out of the shade and into the brilliant Italian sunshine.

There she found an older couple; obviously tourists, peering at the mason jars full of olives that she had so carefully picked, cleaned and canned the night befor
e—
displaying them for sale inside a small wooden stand that her neighbor Giorgio, had so carefully built for her at the end of last winter.

“
Buongiorn
o
!”
she called out happily
.“
Grazie per
l’
arresto.  Posso aiutarl
a
?”
Thanks for stopping by. Can I help you?

The man, who appeared to be in his mid-sixties, looked to his wife before stating in stilted Italian
,“
Salve.  Si. Hai belle olive. I limoni sono piuttosto troppo.  Posso acquistare un pesce
?
”
 
Hi. Yes. You have beautiful olives.  Lemons are pretty too.  Can I buy a fish?

“I’
m afraid I do
n’
t have any fish to sell.  But I can help you with the lemons and olives
.
”
 
Maia laughed.
 “
I can speak English if i
t’
s easier
,”
she asked, watching relief immediately flood the ma
n’
s face.

“
Oh, er, yes.  Well, tha
t’
s fantastic.  Yes, English is good as we are - British, that is.  Just here on holiday
,”
said the man.

“
Your accent
,”
called the woman.
 “
Is it Irish
?
”

Maia nodded an affirmation.
 “
I am Irish. Welcome to Sorrento. You picked a great place to visit. Is it your first time
?”
she inquired.

“
To Sorrento, yes. Italy, no
,”
said the woman, walking forward to offer her hand to Maia.
 “
Kent and Cora Beauchamp.  I
t’
s nice to meet you
.
”

“
Maia Connolly, a pleasure
.
”

“
Do you live here
?”
Kent asked.

“
I have for three years now
,”
she stated simply.

Kent smiled.
 “
There are worse places
,”
he laughed.
 “
And you ca
n’
t beat this weather, eh?  We left London two days ago in drizzle and cold.  Nothing beats an Italian summer
.
”

“
Indeed
,”
Maia smiled.

Cora held two jars of olives and a bag containing five or six lemons.
 “
Quant
o
?”
she asked in Italian. How much?

Maia did the math in her head.
 “
Ten euro, please
.
”

Kent reached into his pocket and extracted a note.
 “
Thank you kindly
.
”
 
He shot a glance at the house behind Maia.
 “
And you live here alone?  Do you feel safe?  A woman in a foreign country
?
”

Knowing that this line of questioning usually came eventually, she nodded and slipped the ten euro note in her pocket.
 “
Quite safe.  And yes, I do live alone.  You see my husband passed away two years ago.  This was his dream.  To buy an Italian farmhouse, restore it and make it our own.  Unfortunately Jim had a bad heart
.
” 

Cora put a dramatic hand to her mouth, as if to cover up her shock
.“
Oh, you poor thing.  And now you are left here all alone
?
”

Maia smiled.
 “
Ah, well, there are worse places
,”
she nodded ruefully at Kent, having stolen his words from the moment previous.

She exchanged pleasantries for a few more minutes with the couple before bidding them farewell and providing them directions for driving to the ruins of Pompeii, about a half hour or so away.  Waving goodbye as they got in their rented Fiat and drove down the winding hill that was essentially her front yard, Maia turned her attention back to the house. She made her way back up the pathway, only to find Camilla, the twenty-two year old local girl who helped her with household chores, standing in the doorway.

“
Well
?”
Camilla said in heavily accented English, hands on her hips. Accusation was thick in her voice.

“
Well what
?”
Maia said innocently
.“
They wanted to buy some fruit and olives. Ten euro
.”
She took the money out of her pocket and waved it in Camill
a’
s face before walking past her and back into the house.  There, she placed the bill in a jar on the kitchen counter, where she typically kept the money she made from the roadside stand before heading to the bank in Naples once a week.

“
You know what I mean
,”
chastised Camilla
.“
Did you tell them you have rooms to rent?  They looked like tourists
.
”

Maia turned around to face the young woman, leaning against the counter
.“
Yes, they were tourists.  British.  But I am fairly sure they have somewhere to stay
.
”

Camilla tisked
.“
They might have somewhere to sta
y
right no
w
, but if they do
n’
t know it exists, how will they know to return to this place, and sta
y
her
e
?  Sorry my friend, but you are
n’
t going to be able to keep this place going just by selling lemons and olives
.
”

Maia frowned.  It was true, she knew that.  But she also knew that the house was
n’
t ready yet to house visitors.

“
Camilla please, I just do
n’
t think i
t’
s up to scratch
.
”

But the young woman was already shaking her head.
 “
You have a working kitchen.  You have several bedrooms. You have indoor plumbing. You are set on a beautiful cliffside in Sorrento
.”
Camilla motioned to the scenery that lay beyond the kitchen window, as if Maia had forgotten where she was.
 “
And you have friends.  People like me and Giorgio, to help you.  What else do you need
?
”

Grimacing, Maia could
n’
t deny the truth in Camill
a’
s words.  She had been trying to figure out how to make money off of the investment that she and Jim had made in the farmhous
e—
and the fact was she needed money more than ever now if she was going to keep this plac
e—
and not have to return to Ireland and to her work as a graphic designer.

Admittedly, living with the spirit of Jim on a hillside in Italy was a more attractive idea.  But this idyllic dream unfortunately did
n’
t pay for itself.  And Maia was almost out of savings.

“
Maybe yo
u’
re right Camilla
,”
she began.

“
Of course
I’
m right
,”
tisked the other woman
.“
But how are you going to fill up rooms and find guests if you keep your mouth shut when people drive by and stop?  This is how I know you have no Italian blood.  If I were you, I would shout the news from the rooftops
.
”

Camilla stared Maia down, challenging her.

But thankfully, Maia already knew an answer to Camill
a’
s conundrum, one which thankfully did
n’
t involve shouting.

“
So what do you think
?”
she asked Camilla a few days later, turning her laptop screen around in the direction of the other woman.