The Italian Fiancé

by Victoria Springfield

Genres: General Fiction

Synopsis

'A wonderful story told with lightness, emotional insight and humour' FIVE STARS

'The backgrounds are so well described one could actually be there' FIVE STARS

'The Author took us on an unforgettable adventure. Highly recommended' FIVE STARS

It's never too late for happily ever after...

When sisters Cassie and Lisa receive a wedding invitation, the last person they expect to be getting married is Jane, their seventy-year-old aunt! Convinced that she's making a big mistake, the two put their differences aside to travel to the vibrant Tuscan city of Lucca. But there's something magical about Italy ...and this trip may just change their relationship - and their lives - forever.

Jane knows it's not just a holiday fling. After her husband of four decades passed away, Jane never thought she'd find love again. But Luciano, with his big heart and artistic flamboyance, fills her life with colour. Can she convince her nieces it's never too late for a second chance?

Perfect for fans of Nicky Pellegrino, TA Williams and Sue Moorcoft, take an unforgettable trip to sunny Tuscany with Victoria Springfield's The Italian Fiancé.

***
'I bought this as soon as it came out and thoroughly recommend it' 5 STARS
'I have read all the author's books because they are so beautifully written' 5 STARS
'I loved the characters, they truly came to life in Tuscany' 5 STARS
'This author gets better with each book' 5 STARS
'It's one of those books that you can lose yourself in' 5 STARS

Release date: August 18, 2022

Publisher: Orion

Print pages: 336

Sample

Dozens of tiny golden hearts were scattered across the floor. Lisa had to use a stubby fingernail to prise them off the coir doormat, one by one. She popped them back into the hastily torn-open envelope and studied the invitation: two gold hearts entwined, a simple border and elegant script. It was quite modern, not the sort of design she imagined her elderly aunt would choose.

The doorbell rang. Lisa didn’t need to look up to know who was standing on her doorstep. She opened the front door. Her younger sister marched straight in, a frown etched on her beautiful forehead.

‘So, you’ve had yours too.’ Cassie pointed the toe of her shoe at an errant gold heart wedged in the doormat’s bristles.

‘And good morning to you,’ Lisa murmured.

Cassie brushed past her into the kitchen, turned on the cold tap at full strength and began filling Lisa’s kettle.

‘Coffee?’ Lisa said. She reached into an overhead cupboard for her cafetière and two mugs.

‘So, what are we going to do about it?’ Cassie said.

‘Do about it? What do you mean?’

‘This is a wedding invitation, Lisa,’ Cassie said.

‘I realise that,’ Lisa said slowly.

‘Aunt Jane thinks she’s going to marry this Italian fellow. He’s an artist, for goodness’ sake! And he’s called Luciano – what a ridiculous name. She can’t marry him, Lisa. We’ve got to stop her.’

Lisa pressed the plunger down on the coffee pot. She fetched the milk from the fridge, buying time. Cassie drummed her French-manicured fingernails on the wooden table. Tiny beads of perspiration glistened above her upper lip.

‘Don’t you think Aunt Jane is old enough to do what she likes?’ Lisa said. She put the two coffees on the table and waited for the explosion.

‘She’s not choosing a new hearth rug, Lisa. This is serious.’ Cassie snapped a chocolate digestive in half viciously.

‘She’s in love,’ Lisa said.

‘In love? She’s seventy!’ Cassie sprayed a fine mist of biscuit crumbs across the table.

‘There’s no age limit on falling in love,’ Lisa added.

‘She hardly knows him. She met him on holiday – a holiday romance at her age, for heaven’s sake! Now she’s living out in Italy and she’s talking about putting Sundial Cottage on the market. She says she’s going to move to Italy for good. It’s obvious she’s not thinking straight.’

‘Perhaps it was love at first sight,’ Lisa said.

‘I didn’t think you believed in that sort of nonsense.’

‘I don’t. But other people do.’

‘Aunt Jane isn’t other people. Things like that don’t happen to Jane. She’s always been so sensible.’

Lisa looked at her sister. ‘Seventy years of being sensible is enough for anyone.’

‘Don’t be flippant, Lisa. Aunt Jane is being exploited. This man is manipulating her.’ Cassie twisted the end of her fishtail plait violently; tears formed in her clear blue eyes.

Lisa touched her sister’s arm. ‘It’s been nearly ten years since she lost Uncle Eddie. She’s probably lonely. This Luciano chap …’

‘She’s got us,’ Cassie interrupted.

‘That’s not the same thing at all. Now she’s found herself a partner – someone to share her life with. And if it doesn’t work out, so what? Not everything lasts for ever.’

‘What do you mean, so what? We’re not all like you, Lisa, drifting from one disastrous love affair to another.’

‘Thanks a lot.’

‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that,’ Cassie said. She glanced down at the table.

‘What does Paul say about it?’ Lisa did not want to dwell on her own situation.

‘Paul says we shouldn’t interfere, but I know he agrees with me that this whole marriage idea is ridiculous,’ Cassie said, but she avoided meeting Lisa’s eyes.

‘Hmm.’ Lisa wasn’t surprised; Cassie would never admit that she and Paul weren’t in total agreement.

‘Since we got married, Paul and I haven’t spent a night apart, but this is an emergency,’ Cassie said. ‘Besides, someone needs to stay at home; we’ve got three sets of builders coming round to quote for the kitchen extension.’

‘Stay at home?’ Lisa was confused.

‘When you and I go to Italy.’

‘The wedding’s not ’til after Christmas. Even you don’t need to start planning yet,’ Lisa said.

‘We’re not going to sit back and wait until December!’ Cassie’s voice rose at least an octave. ‘We’ve got to go to Italy now. We’ve got to go and put a stop to this.’

‘It would be nice to go and meet Luciano, I suppose,’ Lisa said. ‘But I thought Aunt Jane said the apartment was quite small. We don’t want to impose …’

‘We’re not going to stay with them – that would imply we approve. I’ve asked Paul to research a small hotel in Lucca for us; he likes doing that kind of thing.’

‘And getting a bargain,’ Lisa said.

‘There’s nothing wrong with that.’

‘Of course not,’ Lisa said quickly. ‘Okay, you can count me in. Let me know when you’ve checked on the flights. Lucca is in Tuscany, isn’t it? It’s supposed to be a beautiful part of Italy – I’ve always wanted to go.’

‘It’s not a holiday,’ Cassie said. She picked up her tan leather shoulder bag.

‘Of course not,’ Lisa said. She kissed her sister on both cheeks, inhaling Cassie’s fresh, floral scent.

Cassie reversed her hatchback down the drive. Lisa stood on the doorstep, smiling and waving. The car disappeared; Lisa let out a sigh of relief. She had begun to find Cassie’s visits increasingly draining, even when they were as short as this one.

How different things used to be. Lisa still remembered the day that her parents had brought Cassie home wrapped in a cream waffle blanket edged in satin. Aunt Jane had told her that Cassie was Mum and Dad’s new baby, but three-year-old Lisa knew better. Cassie belonged to Lisa – a gorgeous pink present, a funny little real-life doll.

As they were growing up, Cassie granted Lisa almost God-like status. Cassie wanted to walk like her, talk like her and dress like her. Even at the age of ten, Cassie only wanted to wear the clothes that Lisa picked out and she begged her older sister to style her hair with Lisa’s prized straighteners. And when Lisa was a gawky, knock-kneed thirteen-year-old with a smattering of spots, in Cassie’s eyes she was still the epitome of sophistication.

Lisa no longer wanted, or needed, Cassie to hang on her every word but it would be nice if – just sometimes – her younger sister would treat Lisa as a woman of nearly thirty who was capable of making her own life choices, not as some errant teenager in need of guidance. Cassie didn’t seem to realise that not everyone aspired to a spanking new semi-detached house and a husband who worked in finance.

‘We’re not all like you, Lisa, drifting from one disastrous love affair to another,’ Lisa mimicked under her breath. So what if her life was shambolic by her younger sister’s standards; that didn’t give Cassie the right to judge. She knew she should try to shrug it off, but the comment still stung.

Lisa put the two used coffee mugs by the side of the kitchen sink; she would wash up later. A week in Italy sounded wonderful. But a whole week with her sister – that would be hard. Lisa loved her sister, of course she did. But she wasn’t sure she liked her very much.

Cassie parked her little red car and double-checked she had engaged the handbrake. She opened her front door; there was a pleasing scent of wood polish in the hallway. It was so nice to be home. Lisa’s flat was so untidy and it certainly wasn’t Cassie’s idea of clean. She’d spotted a cobweb clinging to the corner of Lisa’s kitchen this morning. A cobweb! Cassie shuddered. She didn’t know how her older sister could live like she did. No spider would dare set up home in her house.

Cassie picked up her pen and crossed Visit Lisa off her to-do list. Marinade beef, put on dark wash, weed front border … it didn’t promise to be a terribly exciting Saturday morning but it made sense to get those jobs out of the way whilst Paul was out playing golf. She looked longingly at the pile of glossy brochures lying on the kitchen counter. She could spend hours flicking through the pages of shiny new appliances – those big American-style fridges were the stuff of fantasies. It was a good thing she had Paul to rein her in; her initial plans for the house extension were way over budget.

The thought of Paul made Cassie smile. It was unusual to marry at twenty-three these days, but Paul ticked all the right boxes: he was tall, well spoken, had a job with good prospects, and he was also kind and caring. Moreover, though she hated herself for being so shallow, he was so very good-looking. They had met five years ago at a black-tie charity dinner where she had been handing out the laminated name badges. She could not help noticing the way Paul’s broad shoulders filled out his tuxedo as she helped him fasten the safety pin. A little thrill had made her shiver as she looked up into his piercing blue eyes and said to herself James Bond.

Paul was an accountant, not a government agent, but at least he didn’t have to go away on any secret assignments. It was a shame he didn’t get to wear a dinner jacket very often but he was still just as handsome, even in his Dad-style V-neck golfing sweater. She hummed along to Radio 2 as she mixed half a teaspoon of crushed garlic into the marinade. Paul would open a nice bottle of red tonight. After three years of marriage, she knew him inside out. How lucky she was to have such an ideal husband. If only she could find a man like Paul for Lisa.

Lisa was nearly thirty but she was still running around with unsuitable men. Her last partner was a poet. All he seemed to do all day was stare out of the window and scribble whimsical thoughts. Max was thirty-six; surely that was old enough to realise he should go out and get a proper job. But worse than that, Max was always late, he rarely returned texts and when he and Lisa had rented a cottage in Cornwall with Cassie and Paul, he had worn the same floral shirt three days in a row. Cassie wrinkled her nose. Thank goodness he’d gone. Lisa claimed she wasn’t too bothered. She always said that she never wanted to settle down.

Cassie hadn’t worried too much about her sister; she had always believed that people became more sensible with each passing year. Then Aunt Jane took up with an Italian artist and blew that theory out of the water. Poor Aunt Jane. They should have realised how vulnerable she was now that Mum and Uncle Eddie were gone. Jane truly believed this Luciano fellow was in love with her – but what was he really like? Only last week, Cassie had read a dreadful story in the Daily Mail. A dear old soul had been taken in by a smooth-talking Sardinian waiter. She believed they were going to be together for ever until he was unmasked as a bigamist. When she thought of the cruel way he had manipulated a sweet old lady’s emotions, it brought tears to Cassie’s eyes. She couldn’t bear to think of Jane’s heart being broken. If only she or Lisa had taken Mary’s place and accompanied Jane to Florence, her aunt would never have got into this predicament.

Cassie stretched a piece of cling film over the surface of the beef and put the dish on the bottom shelf of the fridge. She climbed the stairs to the spare bedroom, began to sort the dark clothes from the whites and piled them into her woven plastic laundry basket.

The tall yellow buildings were casting long shadows on the far side of the Piazza Anfiteatro. The waiting staff stood gossiping outside Pizzeria Za Za, resigned to their dwindling clientele. The tourists and locals were now congregating on the sunny side of the oval-shaped piazza where the bars were doing a brisk trade and only the odd puddle attested to the afternoon’s showers.

Jane arrived at Galleria Guinigi just as Viviana was pulling the dark green metal shutter down over the door. She was always glad to see the gallery’s young manageress. Viviana and her mother Livia had been so kind since Jane’s arrival in Lucca, helping her with all kinds of practicalities and lifting her with their wise words when Jane was having a wobble about the huge life change she had set in motion.

‘Ciao!’ Jane called.

Viviana straightened up. She smoothed down her black tunic and tucked her short, chic hair behind her ears.

‘Ciao, Jane. Luciano asked me to tell you he’s gone straight to the studio.’

Jane smiled. Studio was rather a grand description of the spare room on the top floor of Luciano’s split-level apartment. ‘Thank you, Viviana. I mean grazie. How was today?’

‘Surprisingly busy. We’ve sold two of Luciano’s pencil sketches and a pair of Alonzo’s earrings.’

‘Fantastico!’ Jane said. The word sounded so ridiculous. She wondered how long it would take her to say anything in Italian without feeling horribly self-conscious.

‘Are you okay, Jane?’ Viviana asked.

‘Yes … yes, of course.’ Jane’s hand instinctively tightened around the leather handle of her nylon tote bag. The mobile phone inside vibrated gently. Jane ignored it. She would answer Cassie’s latest message in her own good time.

‘But there is something on your mind,’ Viviana said.

‘Yes, my two nieces are coming to visit,’ Jane said.

‘That’s wonderful news!’

‘Yes, of course it is.’

‘But there is a problem.’ Viviana was eyeing Jane with concern.

‘It’s nothing,’ Jane said.

‘Of course, I do not mean to pry.’

Jane sighed; keeping her feelings to herself didn’t seem to be the Italian way.

‘I’m terribly fond of Lisa and Cassie. They’re lovely girls. They were a tower of strength after Eddie passed away. I don’t know what I would have done without them, and we’ve been even closer since my dear sister died. They always supported me, whatever I decided to do. But since I moved here …’

‘They don’t approve?’

‘They act as if it’s a phase I’m going through. They don’t trust me to make my own decisions.’

‘Aah … And now you are getting married …’

‘I’m so happy, Viviana, but it is a big decision; perhaps they are right to be concerned.’

‘They have their own families?’

‘Cassie’s been married three years, but no children yet. She’s twenty-six, about your age. Lisa’s nearly thirty now, she’s not the type to settle down – at least that’s what she says.’

‘When they come here, they will meet Luciano and see how happy you are. Then they will be happy too.’ The younger woman beamed.

‘Of course, you’re right,’ Jane said. She had a feeling it wasn’t going to be quite that simple.

Jane unlocked the door to Luciano’s apartment, their apartment she had to remind herself. She dropped her tote bag onto the kitchen table. The smell of oil paint hung in the hallway. Puccini’s ‘Nessun Dorma’ was blasting from the ancient turntable in the attic studio on the top floor. Her sandals made a clip-clopping sound as she climbed the bare wooden stairs.

Luciano was standing at his easel, his bulky frame and wild explosion of steel-grey hair half obscuring the large canvas he was daubing with blue paint.

‘Chiesa San Michele,’ Jane said, above the music.

Luciano spun around. Flecks of paint splattered onto the terracotta tiled floor. He wiped his brush on the front of his trousers.

‘Yes, you are right. The façade of this church is unmistakable, however poor the artist’s work.’

‘No, this is good,’ Jane said.

‘It is not too bad, I admit, but however many times I try to capture this church, there is a certain something that eludes me.’ He turned down the volume on the record player.

‘I didn’t mean to interrupt you.’

‘But I am glad that you did. Come here …’ He put his arms around her and brushed his lips against hers. His beard felt rough against her cheek.

‘Let us go out, I have done enough for today,’ he said. ‘No … wait.’ He turned up the music. ‘This is my favourite part. We must dance. Let me clean my hands.’ He picked up a well-used rag. ‘Now put your feet on top of mine and lean against me. You will not fall; I shall hold you.’

Jane laughed. She stepped onto Luciano’s paint-splattered boots and balanced precariously as he began to waltz her around the room. She never ceased to be surprised at how small and slight she felt when he held her against him. And how safe.

‘Dilegua, o notte!’ he sang in his deep baritone, twirling them both around, missing the easel by inches.

‘Stop!’ she laughed. ‘You’re making me dizzy.’

He stopped dancing, gripped both sides of her waist and lifted her up until her head nearly touched the sloping ceiling. She caught sight of herself in the large gilt mirror on the wall behind them. Her face was red, her newly dyed hair all mussed up. She hardly recognised herself.

‘Vincerò! Vincerò! Vincerò!’ he sang the final words. The record player clicked off, signalling the end of Side One.

‘You’re crazy!’

‘But that is what you like about me.’ He grinned. ‘So, shall we go out? Where shall I take my beautiful fiancée this evening?’

‘We could try Da Giocomo, but I must get changed – just look at me!’ Jane patted her hair.

‘Nonsense! One cannot improve on perfection.’ He kissed her again. ‘I, on the other hand, must change out of these trousers. I cannot be seen in such a state with the most beautiful woman in Lucca.’

Jane laughed. At first she’d been embarrassed by Luciano’s effusive compliments, had even suspected them to be a form of gentle mockery but it didn’t take long for her to realise that his over-the-top words were an expression of his zest for life. Wherever he went, friends, neighbours and the local dogs were met with expansive gestures and joyful greetings.

Luciano reappeared in clean, red trousers. He’d changed his shirt too. The striped linen gaped slightly where the material struggled to contain his soft, brown belly. There was a streak of green paint in his hair.

‘Will I do?’ he asked.

‘Perfectly,’ Jane said. She’d decided not to get changed. Her blue shirt dress was cool and comfortable, so she’d contented herself with smoothing down her rumpled skirt and reapplying her pink lipstick and a dusting of face powder.

They walked through the shady, narrow streets, her hand in his. The hem of her calf-length dress swished against her bare legs. She glanced up at him. He was a big bear of a man whose physique paid tribute to a lifetime of red wine and pasta. His clothes were unapologetically loud and his unruly salt-and-pepper hair lapped the edge of his shirt collar. Perhaps they looked like an odd couple; she was sure Cassie and Lisa would think so.

Jane and Eddie had been made for each other; everybody said so. Her late husband had shared her equitable temperament and her love of books and European travel. As the years went by, they had become more and more alike, pottering in the garden, enjoying the same television series and finishing each other’s sentences. They looked similar too, with their clear blue eyes, slim figures and neat button noses.

Jane had never expected to meet somebody else; she certainly wasn’t looking to replace the kind, loving scientist with whom she had shared four decades. There would never be another Eddie. But her relationship with Luciano was something entirely different. To compare the two men would be as pointless as debating the respective merits of Constable versus Picasso or weighing up the tastiness of a bowl of spicy spaghetti puttanesca against a Sunday roast with all the trimmings.

Luciano was different from any man – any person – she had ever met. And she was different too. From the day they met, he had uncovered a whole other side to her – a more daring, adventurous side. And now, at seventy, she was embarking on the biggest change of her life – a new husband, a new country, new blank chapters to fill with the story of the rest of her life. She had reinvented herself and no matter how disapproving Lisa and Cassie might prove to be, she wouldn’t – couldn’t – go back to being the person she had been before she and Luciano met.

They passed in front of the red brick Guinigi Tower. The eccentric-looking tower, crowned with a roof terrace of leafy holm oak trees, was the sole survivor of the four erected by the wealthy merchants and bankers of the Guinigi family. Two hundred and thirty-two steps led to the viewing platform on the tower’s top. Jane made a mental note to add it to the list of things that might entertain her visitors. It would certainly appeal to Lisa, though it was unlikely she would be able to persuade Cassie to climb up there; her younger niece had never had a head for heights.

They cut through the streets and entered the top end of Piazza Napoleone, the largest square in the town. Da Giocomo was tucked just off the square in a corner shaded by a thick canopy of trees. A couple sitting in the corner gave them a friendly wave and the waiter gave Luciano a hearty slap on the back. He seemed to know everybody. Luciano pulled back a white metal chair for Jane.

‘May I suggest a negroni?’ The waiter smiled encouragingly.

‘Jane?’

‘That sounds wonderful.’

‘Two please, Gianni,’ Luciano said. He unwrapped a wooden toothpick and speared one of the green olives in the glass dish in the centre of the table.

The waiter returned with two large, etched tumblers accessorised with a twist of lemon peel, a glass bowlful of crisps and an oval platter of crostini arranged on a scallop-edged doily. Luciano crunched into a crostino topped with black olive tapenade. ‘How was your day, my love?’

‘Successful, I think. I’ve repotted those herbs on the balcony and finally learnt all the words of the Beatitudes.’

‘Well done, you are ready for choir practice tomorrow.’

‘As ready as I can be.’ Jane smiled.

‘But there is something else? You mentioned you had some news for me.’

Jane fiddled with the stem of her cocktail stirrer, prodding the ice at the bottom of her glass. ‘My niece Cassie contacted me today. She and her older sister, Lisa, are coming to visit.’

‘That’s marvellous! They are like daughters to you, are they not? And now, at last we will meet. When are they coming?’

‘The day after tomorrow.’

‘Such short notice! Still, we shall manage. I shall move those boxes out of the spare room and up to the studio. The lamp is still broken but we do not really need two in the living room …’

‘They’re not going to be staying with us. They’ve booked a room at the Hotel Tos. . .