A Farmhouse in Tuscany

by Victoria Springfield

Genres: Women's Fiction

Synopsis

Under the Tuscan sun, the lives of three women are about to change forever...

Donna has been running the Bella Vista riding centre from her rambling farmhouse in Tuscany, taking in guests who enjoy the rolling Tuscan hills, home-grown vegetables and delicious pasta. It's been a decade since her husband Giovanni walked out, convinced she was having an affair. When the truth finally comes to light, can everything return to the way it was ten years ago? Or is it too late to start over?

When self-confessed workaholic Harriet takes an impromptu holiday to Tuscany, she quickly discovers that the relaxing yoga holiday she had been anticipating will be anything but. She's shocked when she's asked to swap her yoga mat and leggings for riding jodhpurs and a helmet! But the longer she stays at serene Bella Vista, the more she begins to rethink the way she's been living for so long...

Shy artist Jess has had a crush on Donna's son Marco from the first moment she saw him. This is her second summer at Bella Vista, and while it is a riding holiday, Jess was secretly hoping to pick up where they left off last summer ­with an almost-kiss. But is Marco still interested or will this be a summer of sadness?

Perfect for fans of Nicky Pellegrino and Angela Petch, let Victoria Springfield whisk you away to to the sun-soaked hills of Tuscany.

Release date: August 9, 2021

Publisher: Orion Publishing Group

Print pages: 288

Sample

Harriet sat on the thin rubber mat, her knees apart and the soles of her feet pressed together.

Savita’s soothing voice drifted across the meeting room: ‘Your body is still; your mind still. The thoughts and stresses of the day melting away.’

If only. Harriet sneaked a look at the clock behind her manager’s head. Savita gave one of her serene smiles. Harriet tried to smile back in a calm, zen type of way, but the tension in her jaw produced a crazed rictus grin. A brief flicker of alarm crossed Savita’s line-free forehead.

‘Now, slowly stand up,’ Savita said.

Harriet scrambled to her feet, adjusted her glasses – which had been slipping down her nose – and rolled up her mat with indecent haste.

‘Thank you, everybody. Same time Monday.’

Harriet sneaked back to her desk. She gripped her computer mouse and dragged some data into a new column. She peered at the screen through her silver-rimmed glasses and twisted a piece of her pale blonde hair around her index finger.

Harriet liked figures; they had their own set of rules. If you understood those, everything added up. What was right one day was right the next. If only relationships were as simple as that. Harriet frowned; she didn’t want to think about Peter right now. Or anyone else. It was easier to stay late in the office than go out, meet someone new and get her heart broken all over again.

Harriet felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned suddenly, knocking the dregs of a cup of cold coffee across the desk. Brown liquid splashed on to her hastily discarded yoga hoody.

‘What are you still doing here?’ Savita said. I could say the same to you, Harriet thought. By now her boss was usually heading home to cook a well-balanced, nutritious meal for her two impossibly gorgeous big-eyed children and handsome lawyer husband. Whilst Savita sat on the train, no doubt using the time to brush up on her language skills, Harriet was invariably shifting through the piles of documents that seemed to breed in the corner of her desk.

‘Just finishing off these figures. I’ll only be five minutes,’ Harriet lied.

Savita snatched up Harriet’s mouse.

‘What are you doing?’ Harriet shrieked.

‘Saving your work and shutting you down. You’re going home.’

‘I know, I know. “Work-life balance” and all that.’ Harriet tried to keep her voice light, but she could feel the panic rising. ‘I guess I’ll be fine to get this done on Monday.’ She tried to fake a smile.

‘You’re not coming in next week and I don’t want to see you the week after either.’

Harriet swallowed hard. She could feel her face glowing and her armpits began to feel sticky and damp. Surely Savita couldn’t be letting her go. No, she’d have to go through HR. There were procedures for this sort of thing weren’t there? And there was a huge project coming up in three weeks’ time. They couldn’t manage without her – could they?

‘What do you mean?’ She could hear her voice trembling. ‘You’re not…not…getting rid of me. I mean I know I made that mistake on the spreadsheet last week.’

‘Don’t be so daft. Look, Harriet, you’re one of my best team members but I need you fresh and focused. We’ve all got to pull together on the new project but right now your mind’s all over the place. There’s no point trying to deny it. I carried over some of your holiday allowance last year and I’ve no intention of doing the same again. I want you out of this office to rest and recharge. I’ve already pre-approved your days off so you’ll have no problem booking them.’

Harriet stared at her.

‘Don’t look at me like that. If I waited for you to get round to taking time off we’d be here ’til Christmas.’

‘But what will I do by myself?’ Oh dear, that did sound a bit pathetic but wandering around some historic town or sitting on the beach alone didn’t really appeal. It was such short notice she would never find a friend to go with her, besides everyone seemed to have plans with their boyfriends this year. It was okay for Savita: she was the sort of person who could instantly throw together a fortnight’s holiday and end up in an impossibly perfect, Instagrammable location without a cloud in the sky.

‘I have the perfect idea for you.’ Savita smiled. Of course, she did. ‘I know how much you’ve been enjoying the yoga classes since I launched the “Employee Wellness Initiative” but it seems that whilst your body is willing your mind isn’t quite in the zone.’

‘I love yoga, but it’s hard to relax in the office.’

‘Which is exactly why you need to go on a yoga holiday. And I know just the place: Italy.’

Harriet hesitated, imagining a minimalist studio full of impossibly thin women in designer gear and huge sunglasses. Well, maybe they took the sunglasses off when they lay on the mats, but they were bound to be chic and intimidating.

‘A place called Bella Vista. My sister went there for a week last autumn. It’s an old farmhouse out in the countryside run by a couple of English women so you won’t have to worry about the language barrier. Wonderful classes, rolling Tuscan hills, home-grown vegetables, pasta.’

This was sounding good.

‘Sitting on the terrace with a big glass of wine.’

This was sounding even better.

‘Sunshine,’ Savita added. ‘Lots of sunshine. I’ll write down the name of the website.’ She picked up a pad of Post-it notes.

‘Bella Vista?’

‘Beautiful view. Think about it – but remember you’ve got two weeks off. Don’t waste them.’

Harriet pushed open the front door, chucked her mac on the cascading pile of coats on the chair in the hallway and put on the kettle. She carried the steaming mug through to the sitting room. Turmeric infusion – very virtuous; it would make up for the supper of frozen pizza with a side order of crisps she was planning to eat later. It looked as though her housemates Vikki and Matt had gone down the pub; they probably wouldn’t be back until late. She had a rare opportunity to stretch out on the whole length of the couch and take full charge of the remote control. Luxury. Who needed a Tuscan terrace when you could lounge on a saggy, old velveteen sofa in Streatham?

There was no need to go jetting off anywhere; she would use the time off to stay in London, meet a few friends, go to the yoga classes at the council gym, perhaps try something new like salsa or tap-dancing – she quite fancied herself as a modern-day Ginger Rogers. Or maybe not – she was bound to look silly.

Harriet put down her mug and propped her feet up on a pile of old cushions. She heard Matt’s bedroom door open. She turned her head in surprise. A pale, shirtless bloke in grey jogging bottoms was standing there. Harriet let out a rather girly scream.

‘Hey! You woke me up when you came in. Didn’t mean to startle you. You must be Harriet. I’m Jez.’

‘Jez?’ she repeated faintly.

‘Yeah. I’m a friend of Matt’s. Well, a friend of a friend. He said I could crash here whilst I’m over from Oz. Fancy a beer? Might as well preload before the gang arrive.’

‘Sorry?’

‘No need.’ He grinned. ‘Got a couple of mates coming over for a few days. Looks like you’ve got plenty of space. Told them I could fit one in with me and Matt and the other one could bed down in here. They’re not fussy. This is great, this stuff, brewed by monks.’ He handed Harriet a can.

‘Umm, thanks. I’ll be back in a few minutes.’ Harriet fled to the sanctuary of her bedroom. She sat down on the narrow single bed, reached for her laptop, and typed in the address Savita had given her. A picture of an olive grove filled the screen. The words Bella Vista were written across the blue horizon. In the top right corner was an old farmhouse as pretty as a picture-postcard. There were two strange brown triangular patches at the bottom of the screen. She zoomed in. Ears. Hairy, brown pointed ears. Someone must have taken the photo from the back of a horse.

The fridge door slammed; Jez must be going back for some more beer already. She could hear him talking loudly on the phone: ‘Sure mate, tomorrow’s great. More the merrier.’

Harriet clicked on the icon in the centre of the screen. This website is under construction. Well, that was that. Then she saw another icon at the bottom: Book here. There was a room available.

Jez was lolling across the green couch. There was golf on the television. He took a great swig of beer.

‘So, Harriet. Got any plans for the weekend?’

Harriet lifted her baby-blue holdall up onto the train and made her way through the packed compartment. She glanced around looking for a spare seat.

‘Hey, this one’s free.’ The girl sitting by the window moved her denim jacket and red suede shoulder bag out of the way. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to hog two seats.’

‘Thanks,’ Harriet said. She hesitated, unsure of where to put her bag.

‘Here, let me help you put that up on the rack with mine.’ The girl stood up and took Harriet’s holdall. Harriet tried to hide her surprise.

The girl grinned. ‘It’s okay to look shocked. I know you want to ask how tall I am; everybody does. I’m exactly six foot. Fortunately, I’ve never been too keen on heels – or maybe I just never learnt to walk in them.’

‘Me, neither.’ Harriet laughed.

‘First time in Italy?’ the tall girl asked.

‘Yes.’ Harriet smiled; it would be nice to have someone to chat to after the silence of the plane journey and the fretful business of purchasing her train ticket. She rooted in her shoulder bag and fished out the twin-pack of chocolate-covered wafers she had picked up at the station. ‘Would you like some?’

‘No, I’m okay, thanks. I couldn’t stop eating on the plane.’ The girl laughed. She propped her elbow on the pull-out table and twisted the end of her long, curly red hair.

Harriet bit into the first wafer; there was a layer of creamy hazelnut filling in the middle. It was delicious but it didn’t take long to discover that chocolate and Italian sunshine weren’t exactly a match made in heaven. She rubbed ineffectually at her sticky fingers with a torn piece of tissue.

‘You look like you could use one of these.’ A boy of around Harriet’s age was leaning across the aisle holding out a small plastic package.

‘Wet wipes? Wow, you’re organised. Thanks!’ Harriet plucked one out and handed the packet back.

‘I started carrying these when I met my next-door neighbour’s little boy. You wouldn’t want to see the mess he can make with a bar of chocolate.’ The boy smiled; dimples formed at the corner of his mouth. His cropped hair was the colour of honey and he wore a blue short-sleeved shirt that showed off his muscular arms. His hazel eyes were framed by indecently long lashes. Harriet tried not to stare.

The tall girl said something Harriet didn’t catch. She reluctantly turned to face her.

‘Sorry?’ Harriet said.

‘I was just saying how much I love Italy,’ the girl said.

‘Have you been here often?’ Harriet asked. The girl chatted away but Harriet found it hard to concentrate; her eyes kept straying to the seat on the other side of the aisle. The boy’s face was partially obscured by the novel he was reading. Elena Ferrante’s My Brilliant Friend. Harriet had a copy on the pile of unread books by her bed. By the time she got back from the office and double-checked her work emails she was usually too tired to do anything other than lounge in front of the TV.

The boy caught her eye. Harriet felt herself blush. He put down his book and leant forward slightly as though he was about to say something but instead he frowned and picked up his book again. She could not help noticing that he was not turning the pages.

The train pulled into the next station. The boy stood up. He hauled his bag down from the luggage rack and stepped towards the door at the end of the compartment. For some inexplicable reason Harriet’s heart sank.

He glanced over his shoulder and smiled that lovely smile again. Harriet’s stomach did a little flip. She raised her hand in a half-wave.

The boy did the same. He stepped down from the train.

The tall girl leant forward. ‘He certainly liked the look of you.’

‘Don’t be daft.’

‘Come on! He couldn’t keep his eyes off you; he might as well have been holding that book upside down,’ the girl joked. ‘Look, he’s watching you now.’

The boy was still standing on the platform. He did not seem to be in a hurry to go anywhere. Harriet watched him become smaller and smaller as the train pulled away.

‘So where are you going?’ the girl said. ‘I’ve been talking so much I forgot to ask. I’m Jess, by the way.’

‘Harriet. I’m heading for an old farmhouse called Bella Vista. I’m not exactly sure where it is. I’m hoping there will be a taxi rank at the station.’

‘You’re absolutely kidding me! So am I. This is the second time I’ve been. You won’t need to worry about finding your way. Marco will be picking us up. He’s the son of Donna who owns the place. He’ll be bringing the van; people tend to turn up with so many bags. You’ve done pretty well to fit all your stuff in that little holdall.’

‘It was such a last-minute thing I didn’t have chance to overpack. Just a few joggers and hoodies. Oh, and one dress just in case.’

‘Well, I guess you can always borrow boots and a hat,’ Jess said.

‘A hat?’ Harriet frowned. Maybe they would be doing their classes out on the terrace. She wondered how hot it got; perhaps she should have brought some sun lotion.

‘I know it’s nice to feel the wind in your hair, but I don’t think your travel insurance will cover you if you fall off and they find out you weren’t wearing one.’

‘Fall off?’ She hadn’t thought to ask Savita what sort of yoga they did at the farm; this must be some new trendy version.

‘I’ve come off more times than I can count.’ Jess laughed. ‘But all their horses are really well schooled so I’m sure you’ll be fine.’

‘Horses? Oh no, I won’t be riding. I’ve come for the yoga classes,’ Harriet said.

‘Oh. Donna organised a couple of yoga weeks there last autumn. I didn’t realise she was still doing them.’

Harriet swallowed hard. Horses? She’d always found them a bit scary. Great big things. She fervently hoped that Jess had got it wrong. She must have. There was no reason to think that the yoga classes had stopped. But she couldn’t help thinking back to the home page on the Bella Vista website: photographs of an olive grove and a quaint old farmhouse under a bright blue sky. There was no sign of yoga mats, nor lithe bodies performing sun salutations or warrior poses. Just a view of the countryside seen from between two great big, hairy brown ears.

‘We’re here!’ Jess leapt up.

Harriet stood on tiptoe, but she still could not reach the luggage rack. Jess lifted down Harriet’s holdall. ‘It’s okay, I’ve got it.’

The guard was signalling for the train to pull out. ‘Quick, quick,’ Harriet said. She grabbed Jess’s denim jacket. They dived out of the train doors in a tangle of luggage and laughter.

‘There’s Marco,’ Jess said.

A young man of about twenty was leaning nonchalantly against the bonnet of a white van parked opposite the station’s entrance. He was dressed in cut-off denims and a faded green T-shirt that revealed a tattoo of skulls and roses wrapped around one bicep; some sort of big cat prowled across the other. His hair sprung out in wild, jet-black curls. Harriet could not see his eyes because he wore large dark sunglasses but when he spotted the two girls a huge smile spread across his face.

‘Jess! So good to see you again!’ He stepped forward and gave her a big hug.

‘This is Harriet.’

‘Marco. Good to meet you.’

‘You too,’ Harriet replied.

Marco chucked their bags into the back of the van.

‘Harriet’s here for the yoga,’ Jess said.

‘Yoga?’ He frowned. ‘I didn’t think Mum was doing that any longer. You can ride, can’t you, Harriet? We don’t usually take beginners.’

‘Oh, Harriet’s never ridden, but I’ve told her not to worry.’

‘Looks like it’ll be me who has to teach her.’ He didn’t sound too enthused.

‘Maybe Harriet could ride Coco,’ said Jess. ‘He’s the old pony.’

‘Will my feet touch the ground?’ Harriet tried to make a joke of it. Jess laughed but Marco did not respond. He stared straight at the road ahead.

‘Don’t worry. You’ll be fine,’ Jess said.

Harriet nodded dumbly. She wiped her sweaty hands on the front of her jeans. It didn’t seem the right time to tell either of them that horses made her nervous. She would enjoy admiring them from a distance, but she had no intention of learning to ride. No intention at all. There must be something else to do at Bella Vista.

A few minutes later Marco turned off the main road. A group of small boys playing football in the road scattered as he sounded his horn. They passed a handsome church with a clock tower and entered a square arranged around a small stone water fountain. Two women, one heavily pregnant, stood gossiping outside the village shop under the shade of a striped awning. A short, round man whose T-shirt did not quite meet his waistband stood nearby, smoking and flicking ash onto the pavement.

Marco parked the van with two wheels on the pavement and helped the man manoeuvre several catering-size tins of tomatoes and a tray of peaches into the back. He reversed into a side street and drove back out of the village and turned up a narrow lane. A simple wooden sign pointed the way to Bella Vista. They slowed right down, but Harriet still had to grab the door handle to steady herself as they bumped over the lane’s uneven surface.

Marco jumped out and heaved open a hefty five-bar gate. A large, scruffy grey dog shot straight out, running towards them, barking excitedly. Marco opened the van’s other door. He patted the passenger seat. The dog lifted one paw and looked up at him. ‘Okay, Lupo, I’ll pick you up’. He heaved the dog onto the black leather seat. ‘Oof. You get heavier every time I see you.’

‘Lupo’s getting too old to jump up,’ Jess said.

‘And too lazy to walk back to the house,’ Marco said.

Marco closed the gate and drove up the dusty farm track and parked the van on a patch of gravel.

‘We’re here,’ Jess said.

‘Oh,’ said Harriet.

The house was beautiful: deep green shutters, terracotta planters filled with herbs by the back door and a view of rolling hills in the distance. But Harriet’s eyes were drawn back to the van from where Marco was unloading the trays of provisions from the village shop. It wasn’t the Italian number plate or her reflection in its small back windows that caught Harriet’s attention. It was the bright pink design drawn across the doors. An artist’s impression of a rearing horse, its mane flying and hooves flailing. And what looked like an evil glint in its eye.

Harriet shuddered.

‘Mum and Julia will be out on the terrace,’ Marco said.

‘Come on,’ Jess said. ‘Donna and Julia – she’s Donna’s friend who does all the cooking – are both so nice. You’re going to love them.’

Harriet picked up her holdall and followed her. She fervently hoped that Marco’s mother would confirm that the yoga classes were going ahead and that Jess and Marco had got it all wrong.

‘I am so, so sorry,’ Donna said. ‘This is all my fault. I’ve been meaning to sit down with Marco and redo the website. And I usually email my guests to find out their riding ability before they come so that I can match them up with the right horses but we’re not going to be more than half-full this week, and there’s only the two of you here ’til Franny and Bob arrive…’

‘And I did book at the very last minute,’ Harriet said.

Although Harriet assured Donna that she was quite capable of amusing herself, the woman looked so worried that Harriet found herself agreeing to a trial riding lesson the next day. She could wait until the morning to find a way to get out of it.

Julia poured them all a glass of the local red wine. Harriet took it gratefully. She was determined to relax and enjoy the evening, whatever tomorrow held.

‘So, how was your journey?’ Donna asked.

‘Pretty easy. My flight was on time – for once – though I got in a bit of a muddle buying my ticket at the station,’ Harriet said.

‘Harriet and I bumped into each other on the train,’ Jess said.

‘That was lucky. That train is usually pretty busy. Did you both get a seat?’

‘Yes – and Harriet almost got herself a date.’

‘Really?’ Julia said.

‘It was nothing – some boy kept staring at me, that’s all.’

‘A rather handsome boy,’ Jess said.

Harriet could not deny it, but it wasn’t just his good looks that had attracted her attention. There was something more. But there was no point dwelling on their brief encounter. The moment had been and gone.

Harriet drew back the thin cotton curtains hanging from the narrow, wrought-iron rod above the bedroom window. She pushed open the shutters. It was broad daylight outside but the hands on the bedside clock confirmed her suspicion that it was far too early for breakfast. Six o’clock – only five o’clock back in England – but she was wide awake. She washed quickly in the small en-suite bathroom and padded quietly down the stairs in her soft pink socks. She slipped silently out of the front door, startling a chicken that was perched on the doorstep. It gave an indignant cluck and stalked off on its skinny legs.

Harriet sat on the step and laced up her trainers. She looked out across the valley; all was calm and still. She could see why Savita’s sister had found this to be the perfect place for a yoga holiday. Perhaps she could stay behind and practise her own routines whilst the others went horse riding. Yes, that was a good plan. She could do an hour of yoga twice a day out on the terrace; enjoy the sunshine, the local food and the wine; take a few walks and work her way through a couple of the books that had been left on the shelf on the landing by previous guests. There was absolutely no need to get up close and personal with any of the four-legged inhabitants of . . .