A Dream of Italy

by Nicky Pellegrino

Genres: Family Life; Holiday books; Women's Fiction; Romantic Comedy

Synopsis

For sale: historic building in the picturesque town of Montenello, southern Italy.

Asking price: 1 Euro.

Cloudless skies, sun-soaked countryside, delicious food...

In the drowsy heat of an Italian summer, four strangers arrive in a beautiful town nestled in the mountains of Basilicata, dreaming of a new adventure. An innovative scheme by the town's Mayor has given them the chance to buy a crumbling historic building for a single euro — on the condition that they renovate their home within three years and help to bring new life to the close-knit local community.

Elise is desperate to get on the property ladder. Edward wants to escape a life he feels suffocated by. Mimi is determined to start afresh after her divorce. And there's one new arrival whose true motives are yet to be revealed....

For each of them, Montenello offers a different promise of happiness. But can they turn their dream of Italy into reality?

A deliciously escapist summer listen, perfect for fans of Jo Thomas.

Release date: March 26, 2019

Publisher: Orion

Print pages: 336

Sample

Montenello

Every morning Salvio Valentini walked the same way. Zigzagging up steep steps, past shuttered buildings with faded ‘For Sale’ and ‘To Rent’ signs, not stopping to rest until he reached the small piazza high in the town. There he said his first ‘buongiorno’ of the morning to old Francesco Rossi, who spent his days sitting beside the long-dry fountain, trying to sell his few wrinkled apples.

Salvio always bought one and, biting into its soft, sweet flesh, turned and walked the final few metres across the piazza to the Town Hall where he would sit at his desk and work until it was time to eat lunch.

He loved this dilapidated medieval town with its narrow streets, fresh mountain air and views across the valley below. When he had stood as Montenello’s mayor he promised to restore the place to its former glory. He would make sure the abandoned buildings didn’t crumble to ruins and do his best to see that this didn’t become yet another Italian ghost town. Salvio had meant every word but six months later still had no idea how to make it happen. In the meantime, even more of its residents had died or turned their backs on the town.

Clinging to a mountain, Montenello looked impressive from a distance. People passing by often paused to take pictures. But few bothered to drive the final stretch of road to pay a visit and those who did, never stayed for long.

This town didn’t have any of the things tourists look for. It wasn’t beside the sea; there were no smart shops, fancy bars or historically significant monuments. It was just another hilltop village. And yet it was beautiful and Salvio couldn’t bear to see it fade away. Somehow he would save it. He just needed to dream up a clever idea.

At first he thought the wisest plan was to track down those who had left. Hours of sifting through dusty files yielded the names of several owners of abandoned properties and Salvio spent days delving further into the records to find out where some of them had gone. Many had headed for the cities, mostly Rome or Milan. Others had travelled further to places overseas. All were lured away when times were hard, dreaming of a better life. Now Salvio sent out letters and emails trying to tempt them to return.

He crafted those notes with so much hope and care. You still have a home in Montenello and will be welcomed with open arms whenever you return, he wrote, reminding them of the slow pace of life, the fresh breezes and bright sunshine, the food, the wine, the traditions, all the things that made this part of Italy worth coming back to. ‘Our quality of life is second to none,’ he promised.

Some didn’t bother to reply. If they did write it was to say they weren’t interested, they had finished with Montenello and weren’t going to pay any property taxes they might owe either. A few were brusque, others composed lengthy emails, but the message was the same. We don’t want the house any more. It is nothing but a burden. As far as we’re concerned the comune can keep it.

‘This is crazy. Imagine giving up a house,’ Salvio said to his assistant Augusto who had shuffled across and was peering over his shoulder at the latest email.

Augusto was so ancient that if ever he didn’t appear at work in the morning everyone feared the worst. He was a frail, bony man but his mind was sharp and he remembered so much about Montenello’s past.

‘These people feel as if they escaped, they don’t want to be reminded of what they used to be when they were poor,’ he told Salvio. ‘What we need here now is new blood, foreigners who think a crumbling Italian building is romantic. Find them and Montenello’s problems are solved.’

‘You are suggesting we should rent out the empty houses to tourists?’

‘Absolutely no.’ Augusto looked horrified. ‘Then they would be the comune’s responsibility and there aren’t the funds to restore them properly. If the owners don’t want these places then we must sell them to people who do.’

Salvio considered the idea. More than anything he wanted to be the one to halt this town’s decline. If he could help it flourish again, fill it with people and life, he would feel as if he had achieved something truly worthwhile. Glancing out of the window down at the windswept piazza empty aside from the old apple seller, he thought anything was worth a try.

‘OK,’ he agreed. ‘If we get these some of these families to legally sign their houses over to us then I suppose we have every right to sell them on to whoever we like.’

‘Of course,’ said Augusto, dusting his hands together as if all was decided. ‘Foreigners with money will come, they will renovate Montenello for us, and our problems will be solved, just like I said.’

‘How much will people pay for these properties?’ Salvio was dubious. ‘Some are close to being ruins. They are worth almost nothing.’

‘Almost nothing is what we should ask for them,’ said Augusto, crisply.

‘And where will we find potential buyers?’ Salvio ran a restless hand through his thick, dark hair; he could see so many problems. ‘How will we reach them?’

Augusto shuffled back across the room and sat down at the desk that housed the shiny new computer he had taught himself to use with only a minimum of frustrated muttering beneath his breath.

‘That is very easy, we will use my Internet.’ He threw his arms wide and beamed as if he had invented the whole thing himself. ‘We will make an advertisement.’



Live your dream of Italy.

Here is your chance to buy your own home in southern Italy for less than the price of a cup of coffee. The picturesque mountain town of Montenello is selling off some of its historic buildings for just ONE EURO each. The only conditions are that purchasers must renovate their new home within the next three years and that they plan to contribute in a meaningful way to this small and friendly community.

To be considered as a future resident of Montenello contact the town’s mayor, Salvio Valentini. Live your dream of Italy for just one euro.











Mimi

The Silver Divorcees met on the second Wednesday of every month. There were times Mimi felt as if the only thing keeping her going was the prospect of gathering in some cheap and cheerful restaurant and drinking too much wine as all of them talked at once. The few occasions over the past couple of years that she could recall laughing properly were her Silver Divorcee evenings.

Despite the name not one of them had silver hair. All were tended to regularly by skilful colourists, a couple were Botoxed, and at least one was keeping a cosmetic surgeon busy. Still, they were a social phenomenon, apparently, part of a rising tide of middle-aged couples deciding to divorce after decades of putting up with one another.

‘These are the new freedom years,’ Mimi’s closest friend Sinead declared. ‘The kids have left home, we’re financially secure and we don’t have to deal with anyone’s dropped socks. This is our time and we’re not going to spend it cleaning up after other people.’

Mimi wasn’t especially buoyed by those remarks. Her friend’s situation was entirely different to hers. Sinead was the one who had walked away from her marriage, striking out for freedom and independence, determined she wasn’t going to spend another minute with the nice but dull man who had been by her side for the past thirty years.

‘Fuck that,’ Sinead said (she swore more now she was divorced). ‘Perhaps the two of us had something in common once but we don’t any more. I want my life back.’

Mimi, on the other hand, had been happily married; at least, she had thought so. With their two sons gone to university, she and Glenn had been making plans to move out of London and build their dream house somewhere leafy and green. Glenn had seemed as enthusiastic about the idea as she was. They used to sit together watching Grand Designs and talk about how they might manage something similar. So when Glenn told her he had rented an apartment because their relationship had run its course and it was time for a fresh start, Mimi had been rocked.

He refused couple’s counselling and only offered her clichés. He still loved Mimi but he wasn’t in love with her. He needed some space. He wanted a new life.

And so her husband moved out, and Mimi was left behind in their old life, alone in the family house surrounded by all their shared stuff. She spent a lot of time rearranging things, trying to make the place seem more her own. Buying a new bed, shifting the sofas, painting a feature wall and filling the living room with plants – none of it helped much.

‘Just sell the house, settle up with him and move on,’ Sinead urged her.

Mimi could see the sense in this advice but not how to follow it. ‘Move on where?’

‘Your work isn’t keeping you in London, is it? You could go absolutely anywhere.’

‘That’s the problem,’ Mimi said.

Sinead was an incurable solver of other people’s problems. ‘Go and live in a little village somewhere just like you were planning to before the break-up,’ she advised.

‘Which village, though? I can’t just stick a pin into a map.’

‘I don’t see why not. It doesn’t really matter which place you choose. You need to make a move. You’re stuck.’

‘I am aware of that.’ Mimi squinted in the bright light of the ladies’ toilets as she reapplied her perfect pinky-brown lipstick. She was sure Sinead had followed her in on purpose, determined to have this conversation. She was standing right beside Mimi now, talking at her reflection in the mirror.

‘Un-stick yourself,’ she counselled, ‘and do it sooner rather later. You’ve never been this indecisive before, have you?’

‘No, but I always had a vision of what I wanted in life.’ Mimi slipped the lipstick back in her bag and gave her short, fair hair a quick fluff with her fingers. ‘I saw myself being married, having a family, working as an illustrator. I saw Glenn and me going on long walks and eating Sunday lunch in country pubs. All of a sudden the vision has disappeared completely, it’s like the screen’s gone blank. I can’t see a way forward any more.’

Sinead stared at her, bereft of advice, temporarily at least.

‘Another glass of wine and some food, that’s as far ahead as I want to look right now,’ said Mimi, quickly. ‘Come on, or the others will think we’ve abandoned them.’

They were at an Italian restaurant favoured by the Silver Divorcees mainly for its bring-your-own-booze Tuesdays. Mimi enjoyed the food, always ordering the pizza with burrata because she loved to slice into the soft cheese and watch its creamy centre oozing over the crisp, charred dough. She was the only one among the Silver Divorcees still eating carbs and saturated fat, but then all the others were dating; they were on Tinder or signed up with elite matchmaking agencies.

That was what they were discussing when Mimi and Sinead made it back to the table, shrieking with laughter at stories of Tinder encounters gone wrong.

‘So when I woke in the night, I thought he was stroking my shoulder,’ Jayne was saying now. ‘Then I turned over and it was actually this huge, hairy dog which had wriggled into bed between us and was drooling on my pillow. I could not make the thing move. In the end I got up, left a note to say I was a cat person, and went home.’

Sinead jumped into the conversation. ‘The dog wasn’t actually in the room when you were …’

‘Yes! It was lying on the rug, staring at us and panting. I kept catching its eye. It was really off-putting.’

‘Oh my God, that reminds me of the time I was dating the guy who had these Burmese cats …’

Mimi listened to their voices growing louder. She never had similar stories to share. She had been with Glenn for thirty years. It was impossible to imagine herself with anyone else.

‘Men … I really don’t know why we bother.’ Someone trotted out that line almost every time the Silver Divorcees met up; tonight it was Jayne, shaking her head in dismay. ‘All of us should buy a big house, move in together, and give up on them altogether.’

‘You’re right, we probably should,’ agreed Sinead.

‘Count me in,’ said Mimi. ‘It sounds like a great idea.’

‘Me too,’ added Dottie.

‘Why don’t we stop talking about this and actually do it?’ said Sinead, leaning forward, arms crossed. The Silver Divorcees had been her idea in the first place and she thought of herself as the group’s leader. ‘Let’s pitch in and buy a holiday villa, the four of us. Seriously, I mean it.’

‘Nice idea but I can’t afford it,’ said Jayne.

‘What if it hardly costs us anything? Hang on a minute, I saw this ad on Facebook.’ Sinead rummaged for her phone and started jabbing at the screen. ‘Here we go, this is it: Live Your Dream of Italy.’

She read the advertisement aloud with extra emphasis on the words, ‘just one euro’.

‘Sounds too good to be true; there must be a catch,’ said Jayne.

‘Not necessarily,’ Dottie countered. ‘I’m pretty sure I read an article about that in the Telegraph. The ad’s gone viral and they interviewed the mayor of the town..’

‘Salvio Valentini,’ said Sinead, reading from the screen again.

‘Could have been.’

‘If it’s gone viral then we’ve no chance of getting a house.’ Jayne sounded almost regretful.

‘Why don’t we try, though?’ Sinead urged. ‘It’s worth putting in an application. Imagine the Silver Divorcees with their own place in southern Italy.’

‘Do you really mean it?’ asked Mimi.

‘Yes, of course I do. We can all afford one euro. Tell you what, it’s on me.’

‘We’d have to spend some money on renovations,’ pointed out Dottie.

‘Not that much, surely, at least to begin with, so long as it’s structurally sound and has a serviceable kitchen and bathroom,’ said Sinead. ‘Imagine the sunshine and the fabulous food, just lazing round with books and opening the first bottle of wine at lunchtime.’

‘Living the dream,’ agreed Jayne, wistful.

‘Why not do it then?’ suggested Mimi, who suddenly had this new feeling, a kind of happy excitement that filled her with the sense anything was possible. She pulled her phone out of her bag. ‘Let’s send an email now.’



















Edward

Sometimes Edward felt as if he was going mad. He needed to talk to someone about it but who? Not Gino, that was for sure. He had made it very clear he didn’t understand what the problem was. And their friends, all the guys from the gym, the ones they had brunch with at cafes or invited over for dinner. Would they even want to listen?

On the face of it everything was perfect. He and Gino had worked hard for the life they enjoyed. The apartment in Bondi a few streets back from the beach, all renovated and filled with the furniture Gino designed and made. They had a convertible Mini Cooper, ate dinner out once or twice a week, drank good wine, wore nice clothes.

Edward ought to have been happy, or at least satisfied. He couldn’t explain the feeling he got every time he unlocked the front door and saw the vase of fresh flowers Gino had arranged, and the hook where he was meant to put his key, and the cupboard for his shoes and the shining surfaces of the kitchen and living room. He wanted to scream.

He had done such a bad job of explaining it. ‘Everything is so predictable,’ he had said to Gino. ‘It feels like Groundhog Day. It’s boring.’

‘If you’re bored with our life, Ed, then you must be bored with me.’ Gino had sounded hurt.

‘That’s not what I’m saying.’

‘It seems like it.’

That had turned into one of their worst fights. There were no raised voices but then there hardly ever had been, not in all their many years together, just simmering resentments and things left unsaid. This time Gino was hurt and Edward sorry, but it didn’t change the way he felt, like he was buried alive in his own existence.

For a while they carried on as if nothing had been said. Edward spent his days in the spare room they had turned into his office, writing articles for newspapers and magazines, and dull content for company websites. Gino went to his studio where he worked long hours custom-making furniture from recycled timber. On Saturdays they walked the coastal trail from Bondi to Coogee or had friends over for a barbecue. On Sundays they swam lengths in the ocean pool. They visited the same places, and saw the same people. Edward tried, he really did, until he couldn’t try any longer.

They were having Sunday lunch with Gino’s family. Edward always enjoyed these occasions. They were chaotic and noisy, with too much food and too many children. This time they were gathered for a picnic in the Botanic Gardens and Gino’s father was being querulous. It was too cold in the shade and too hot in the sunshine. The peperonata was overcooked, the pasta al forno too dry, the meatballs needed oregano. It had been over fifty years since he had immigrated to Australia but his accent was so thickly Italian and his chatter so rapid that often Edward struggled to understand him.

‘He does that on purpose. The old man hates you,’ Gino said, darkly.

‘No, he doesn’t.’

‘Yeah, really he does.’

It was true it had been tricky for a while when they first got together. Gino hadn’t even come out to his family at that point, although Edward thought his older sisters must have guessed. So there was this big drama, with his father declaring his only son dead to him, and his mother crying a lot. Edward had known they would come round eventually. They were old-fashioned people and very devout Catholics, so of course they needed time to adjust to the idea. He was OK with that.

It was fine now, although they were still careful when Gino’s parents were around. They kept their distance from each other, no kissing, no touching at all, nothing that gave them away as a couple. Edward had never really resented that. It was only for Sunday lunches and the odd dinner, so it wasn’t going to kill them.

Gino struggled though. Even on this sunny day, with the harbour glittering and the Prosecco chilling, Edward could sense he was slightly on edge.

They had spread picnic rugs on the grass and the kids played a rowdy game of football before being defeated by the heat and flopping down beside them demanding lemonade. Edward was sitting surrounded by Gino’s sisters. There were four of them, all dark-eyed, dark-haired and so meticulously groomed that hanging out with them felt like being in a Dolce & Gabbana advert.

Tia was the youngest, the only sister not to have married or had children yet, and Edward’s best friend. At least once a week they met for a cocktail or a walk on the beach without Gino, who had always been slightly mystified by the close relationship between them.

Often strangers thought they were a couple, which Edward found amusing and liked to play up to. He would rest an arm round across her shoulders or brush her dark curls from her face. ‘We’d have beautiful babies,’ he would tease as Tia shook her head and laughed.

She was the person he had come closest to confiding in, but he held back, out of loyalty to Gino, perhaps, or because he was still struggling to put his feelings into words. Edward had so much – great friends, a beautiful home, enough money – everything he needed. He was ashamed of wanting more.

Still, Tia must have noticed there was something off-kilter. ‘You’re very quiet today,’ she remarked, as he was finishing his pasta. ‘Is everything OK?’

He looked up from his plate. ‘Yeah, of course.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Oh, I’m feeling a bit over everything right now,’ he admitted. ‘Probably could do with a holiday.’

‘You guys haven’t been on one of your,’ she lowered her voice, ‘gay cruises for ages, have you?’

For a while they had taken lots of those cruises and it seemed the perfect holiday: Gino loved making their stateroom a home away from home; Edward liked waking up somewhere new each day; both of them enjoyed the non-stop partying.

‘You can only do so many of them and I’ve reached my limit,’ he told Tia.

‘Time for something different then?’

‘I think so, but …’ He looked towards Gino and widened his eyes.

‘No so keen?’

Edward shook his head. ‘Sydney’s a beautiful city so why do we have to keep leaving it?’ he said, flatly.

‘Ah right, I see.’

He stared at the iconic view: the Opera House, the arch of the bridge beyond it and the ferries ploughing through the wide harbour. Dropping his voice to an almost-whisper, Edward let the words come out.

‘I don’t know if he and I have got anything in common any more.’

The expression on Tia’s face flickered from dismay to something else – determination? As her mother murmured about dishing out the tiramisu, she patted her taut stomach and complained about being much too full to manage another thing.

‘I need a walk to digest all that pasta,’ Tia declared. ‘Edward, stop eating and come with me.’

They headed towards Mrs Macquarie’s Chair at a stroll because the afternoon heat was building and there was a lot they needed to say.

‘What’s wrong with me?’ Edward asked her. ‘I have a good life so why am I feeling like this?’

She took his hand and squeezed it. ‘You still care for Gino, though?’

‘Yes, of course, he’s my family … you’re my family. I can’t imagine life without either of you. But then I think about the future – the same routines, the same life, nothing changing except us all getting older – and I start to panic.’

‘Have you said all that to Gino? How does he feel?’

‘It’s not a conversation we can have. He gets upset; he thinks I’m criticising him. And perhaps I am, indirectly at least. Should it be such a huge surprise if we’re growing apart? We were so young when we got together, almost kids, really. I still had all my hair, for God’s sake. That’s how long ago it was.’

Tia smiled. ‘I remember – such a pretty blond boy and the two of you ridiculously in love while my parents were freaking out.’

‘You were a child back then. I’m surprised it made such an impression on you.’

‘I could tell what you had together was special. It still is; I’m sure of that.’

‘I love him, but …’ Edward shrugged, miserably. ‘I’m not so certain that’s enough any more.’

Tia pulled him to a stop beside the sandstone rocks. ‘Don’t give up what you’ve got. I’d give anything to have that kind of love, really I would. It’s not easy to find.’

Edward was surprised. She had never said anything like that to him before. He knew there were guys in Tia’s life; she often went out on dates, but no one seemed to hold her interest for long and Edward always assumed she wasn’t in any hurry to settle down.

‘Tia, do you want—?’

She tugged at his arm again, sharply this time. ‘Listen to me. You can shake Gino out of his rut. Do something crazy and impulsive. Book a trip, make him go skydiving, sell your apartment: I don’t know exactly, just make sure you give yourselves the best chance you can. Promise me that.’

Tia was so beautiful, with her dark hair drifting over her shoulders and her skin gilded by sunshine. Surely she could have any guy she wanted?

‘There aren’t many men like Gino around, I can promise you that,’ she said, softly.

‘OK then,’ Edward agreed. ‘There’s no way I’ll get him to jump out of a plane but maybe we can take a trip somewhere. I’ll think about it.’

‘Thank you.’ Linking her arm through his, Tia leaned against him. ‘For a moment there I thought you were going to break all our hearts.’

They turned and started walking back. The tiramisu would be waiting and Gino’s father growing fractious again. As they drew closer, Edward saw the old man, sitting on a fold-out chair, holding forth about something. Some day Gino would look exactly like that. His jaw would soften and his hair grow snowy, and his manner become more imperious. Edward couldn’t help wondering if he would still be around to see it.

Do something crazy; shake him out of his rut. It was easy to say but harder to make happen. Edward would have to think about it.



Weekday life went on as usual, Edward at his desk trying not to distract himself by checking into social media or reading long articles in the New York Times. From time to time he thought of Tia’s advice but didn’t make a move to do anything about it.

He began seeing the advertisement everywhere he looked. Three friends shared it on Facebook, it cropped up on Twitter, there was even an article about it in a newspaper he glanced at in a cafe where he was grabbing a coffee.

‘Live your dream of Italy,’ it kept nagging him. Apparently, in some town called Montenello they were giving away houses. The name seemed very familiar and Edward tried to recall if this was the place that Gino’s parents had come from originally. Yes, he thought it might be.

Edward found himself entertaining wild ideas. Spend one euro on a house and go to Montenello to visit it, maybe even do the place up. He gave the fantasy free rein. Then he started considering the idea seriously. Perhaps this was the ‘something crazy’ he was looking for. After all, they enjoyed renovating and Gino had grown up speaking Italian at home, so it wasn’t beyond the bounds of possibility. And what if this actually was his parents’ home town? If it didn’t work out, what had they lost? Nothing at all, really.

He sent off the email without mentioning . . .