The Italian Villa

by Daniela Sacerdoti

Genres: General Fiction; Cultural Heritage; Family Life; Historical Fiction; Holiday books; Literary Fiction; Small Town & Rural; War & Military; Women's Fiction; Romance; Clean & Wholesome Romance; Contemporary Romance; Historical Romance; 20th Century Romance; Holiday Romance

Synopsis

Callie, a lonely small-town waitress, is still reeling from the discovery that she’s adopted when she arrives in Montevino, Italy in search of answers – the keys to the stunning hillside villa she has just inherited clutched tightly in her hand. Inside the rusted gates, and through a large wooden front door dripping with sun-kissed flowers, Callie can’t decide if she’s more astonished by her new home or her first encounter with the mysterious young groundskeeper, Tommaso.

Wandering the villa barefoot at night, Callie finds a diary belonging to a woman named Elisa, wrapped in faded blue ribbon and hidden in her birthmother’s antique wardrobe. Page by page, Callie is swept away by its story of love, passion, heartbreak and betrayal as she reads how Elisa married her childhood sweetheart in secret before fleeing to the woods to join the resistance. They vowed to find each other again when the war was over, but history had other plans.

Callie is certain that her and Elisa’s lives are somehow connected, and that the truth about her family is hidden somewhere within the diary’s crinkled yellow pages. It gives her the courage to start asking questions around the close-knit village until, at long last, she feels her closed-off heart begin to open. Perhaps even enough to let someone in…

But when a devastating betrayal in the final pages of the diary unlocks a heart-breaking secret about who Callie’s mother really is, the chance for a new life shatters in front of her. Can she persuade the locals to forgive her past and accept the truth about her identity?

This unforgettable story of love, loss and secrets by the author of million-copy Amazon No 1. bestseller, Watch Over Me, is perfect for anyone who loves Fiona Valpy, Lily Graham, or The Letter by Kathryn Hughes.

 

Release date: February 17, 2020

Publisher: Bookouture

Print pages: 270

Sample

Montevino, April 12, 1945

I tossed and turned under the starlit sky, a cold, harsh moon watching us as we hid in the cabin in the High Woods. In the shadow of the mountain’s gray granite boulders I prayed the soldiers would not come all the way up here, or that they’d march past, in too much of a rush to notice we were here. Maybe these soldiers had already fulfilled their tribute of blood. With my kin, my people.

Below us Montevino was on fire. Shots rang through the night – each bullet destined for a woman, a child, or a man too old or too sick to fight. They were all who remained now. All the young men had gone already.

I don’t know how I fell asleep amid such horror, hugging the rifle I barely knew how to use, my cheek against the barrel’s cold metal, but I did. It was a sick, feverish sleep that brought with it a sort of delirium. A memory from a time so close and yet so far, when Leo and I were together; a time when everything that happened after was just unthinkable.

In my dream-memory, Leo and I lay together in a field not far from my home, with the sky so blue, dotted with soft white clouds. Sunlight played in the leaves of the poplar trees, rippling all around us like bunting at a village fair, and his hand, rough and used to manual work, was holding mine. Was it always meant to be, between Leo and me? Or would we dance around each other for years, with him offering his love and me forever running, forever having other plans?

I’d known him since I was a child, this man with eyes so perfectly black they reflected my soul, the man with a passion for vineyards, the motherless boy who’d spent evenings at our home basking in the warmth of our family. He had a strong mind and a kind heart.

Leo Bordet was the man I was going to spend the rest of my life with, before the war came and tore everything apart.

He kissed me under the spring sky, and for a moment I couldn’t breathe for happiness. In my dream, my family had gathered for us. I could hear them in the distance, not far away.

“Will you marry me?” he said, and his words echoed in my mind like I’d heard them a million times before. Like it was always meant to be, only it had taken me years of growing up before realizing it was so.

“Yes. Yes. Of course, I will. I will,” I said, and let his eyes and mouth pull me to him.

My family’s voices rose to the sky as they surrounded us, their hands full of daisies and poppies and buttercups, teasing us, calling for another kiss. In the glare of the sun I thought I could see Papa rising out of his chair and standing tall, and Mamma was young and beautiful again, like she was before childbirth, before years of hard work, before grief. My Zia Costanza was there, her dark hair beautifully curled, a sweet, somehow other-worldly smile on her lips, her beloved rosary wrapped around her wrist. And Pietro! My little brother Pietro was there as well, wearing his soldier’s uniform. Oh, Pietro!

Tears began to fall down my cheeks. Why was I crying when everyone was with me again, alive and well, and I was surrounded by love?

Because a part of me, even while asleep, knew it wasn’t real.

It was then that my family began to fade, starting with my little brother. He waved his hand and slowly disappeared.

“Don’t go. Don’t go!” I cried, as the light of the sunset in his eyes passed by and died. And then Leo, too, began to dissolve right in front of me.

“No! Don’t go!”

He held me against him, one hand on the back of my head, the other around my waist, and whispered in my ear: “I’ll never leave your side.”

I screamed Leo’s name as strong hands grabbed my arm and pulled me up, my rifle falling useless on the ground.

An eternity later, dawn found me alive, wide-eyed and shaking against the mossy stone wall of the cabin. I staggered through the High Woods in the light of dawn, towards the smoking remains of Montevino. My mind flew into action, as it had been trained to do. The dead needed to be buried – but not everyone was dead. As soon as I saw the wounded, all those familiar faces covered in blood and ashes, women and children calling for help, I remembered: I wasn’t just a broken, bleeding woman. I was a doctor, and I was needed.

With a sigh, I let myself fall into a chair, the din of the “Family Wednesday” crowd seeping through the door. Thank goodness my coffee break was finally here. Usually a ball of energy, the monotony of waiting tables was sapping the life out of me. I hadn’t taken a day off in… I couldn’t remember. And today, of all days, I felt it. It was my twenty-first birthday and I was on my third double shift in a week.

Rummaging in my rucksack, I took out some college brochures to cheer myself up. Not long now. A couple of years at the most and I’d have enough saved to quit and go to college. Maybe I could be a teacher? Or a lawyer, a physiotherapist – better still, a librarian! I have no idea. I was so jealous of people who felt a calling, but at least I was heading in the right direction.

The Windmill Café had been my lifeline when I’d come out of the care system. It’d given me structure, allowed me to rent a place of my own and make a little family of my co-workers. It wasn’t all bad, I supposed, but it was so time to move on. As soon as I could afford it.

“Callie?”

I mustered a smile for my friend, Kirsten, as she entered the breakroom beaming. Her waist-length blonde hair and her braces made her look so much younger than her twenty years, those big blue eyes and bright smile distracting everyone from her sometimes bossy, stubborn streak until it was too late. Beside her, when we were both wearing the black, knee-length cotton uniform, I looked extra tall, dark, and serious.

Following Kirsten came Shanice, our manager, and then Latesha, one of the other servers. “Hey,” I said, confused. Then I did a double take – Shanice was carrying a slice of cake decorated with a lit candle.

“You didn’t really think we’d forget?” Kirsten said, and they broke into “Happy Birthday”, making me smile properly for the first time that day.

“Guys, you shouldn’t have!”

“What? It’s your twenty-first birthday, of course we should have!” Shanice protested.

“Did you make a wish?” Kirsten asked.

I closed my eyes briefly and tried to wish for something practical – enough funds to go to university, a divine sign to show me which path to take – but something else entirely came out. Not to be alone in the world. My deepest desire bubbled up from the depths of me, an unwanted guest among the clapping and cheering of the makeshift party.

My parents had died when I was ten, in a house fire. Neither of them had had any surviving immediate relatives, so I was raised in foster care, and, in my heart, I was a family of one. As far as I knew, nobody else carried my blood in their veins. I made a point of not feeling sorry for myself, but… well, sometimes the loneliness was too much to take. And so, caught unawares and with enough time to feel, but not to think, I’d let my deepest wish come up for air.

“Okay, now go,” Shanice said, with her hands on her hips.

I stilled, unsure of what she meant. “Go where?”

“You’re taking the afternoon off. And I will not take no for an answer.”

“I don’t need an afternoon off, honestly—”

“Here she goes again!” Kirsten rolled her eyes.

“Well, you’re getting it,” muttered Shanice. She had the gentlest soul inside, but outside – well, you wouldn’t want to cross her.

“I don’t really need—”

“Yes, you do. You’re going shopping. That’s the plan. There.” Shanice handed me a bright pink envelope. “From all of us.”

“Oh, guys.” I slipped out the card inside: Auguri! it said in Italian, my parents’ native language. I brought a hand to my mouth, laughing in surprise and delight.

“I hope it’s correct,” Kirsten said. “I had to google that!”

“It’s perfect.” With the card there was a gift voucher for Francesca’s, one of my favorite clothes stores.

For Callie, from everyone at the Windmill

Not to be used for anything practical

NOT TO BE USED ON YOUR COLLEGE FUND

Awesome new clothes and cocktails only!

(We’ll check!)

“This is awesome.” I was so touched; I didn’t know what to say.

“We will check, Callie!” my boss repeated, a manicured finger tapping the card’s last two words.

I placed my hand over my heart. “I solemnly swear your gift will be used for something completely unnecessary.”

“Good girl. That’s what we want to hear. Now, give me that apron and get out of here. Happy birthday, Callie,” she said again, and hugged me before heading back into the café, followed by Latesha. Kirsten and I were left alone, and I began getting changed.

“I’ll make you coffee. Have your cake,” Kirsten offered with a smile.

I hadn’t thought to organize anything for my birthday. Almost everyone in my little life worked here at the Windmill. So I don’t know what made me say what I said next.

“Kirsten, I was wondering… Oh, never mind. Come, share my cake.”

“Hey, silly, come on, tell me.” She smiled and fished out a spoon from our cutlery drawer.

“Maybe tonight you’d like to do something? Go out for dinner, or…”

“Oh, Callie, I’m sorry, I can’t! I’m going to my sister’s for something. Her husband got a promotion, and we’re all—”

“Of course. Of course.”

Kirsten had a huge extended family, and they often got together.

“Remember you said you didn’t want to celebrate, and—”

“I did. It’s fine, honestly.”

“Tomorrow? I’m so sorry, I just couldn’t disappoint my sister.”

“It’s fine. Please don’t worry.” My cheeks were burning. I regretted asking her so badly, now. What had possessed me? I never asked anything of anyone. It always ended in tears.

Kirsten laid a hand on her chest. “I feel terrible now.”

“Don’t. I’m going to have a movie marathon.”

“Well, you do love that kind of thing,” Kirsten said.

That’s so sad, she meant.

“I most definitely do,” I said, finishing the last of my bit of cake. “Thank you so much for the card, and the present. You’re the best.” I grinned, then wrapped my arms around Kirsten, and she returned the hug.

“So are you! Now, go and enjoy shopping! Sorry I can’t come with you. Shanice would be too short-staffed.”

“It’s okay. Don’t worry.” There was a weird lump in my throat.

“You will be buying a dress, won’t you? I want to see you in pink!”

“You’ll never see me in pink! But I might go for red. It goes with my coloring,” I said, pretending to fluff my black hair. “Bye,” I called, and opened the back door onto the warm spring day. I slipped on my sunglasses and stepped outside, then turned around to give Kirsten one last wave, but she was gone already.

The River Walk was buzzing with people, and the water shone under the Texas sun. Even though it was midweek, everyone seemed to have gathered here to shop and eat and chat. I stopped at a clothes-store window beside two women. “This will look lovely on you, darling,” the older lady said to the younger one, pointing at a peach-colored, off-the-shoulder evening dress on one of the mannequins. I quickly turned away, almost tripping over a young man, crouching with his arms around a wayward toddler. He picked her up right before she toppled over. “Careful!” he said, and then placed a kiss on her chubby cheek. She seemed so small in the tall man’s arms, so safe. I wondered where I would be now if my parents had been alive, what I would be doing. Losing them so young had changed everything for me.

I shook myself and walked on. Callie, enough. It’s your birthday. Enjoy the moment. You’re safe. You have a roof over your head. You have a job. Everything is looking good. And if you keep saving there is a better future out there for you. There’s no reason to be sad. No reason at all.

But my mind was scattered, and my thoughts raced all over the place. I didn’t want to acknowledge it, but there was this nagging feeling in the back of my mind that nothing would ever change for me. That I might make it to college, learn to open up, maybe even fall in love, but this deep black hole of loss in my heart would never be filled.

To distract myself, I stepped into Starbucks for my favorite, a mint latte, when my cell phone rang. A number I didn’t recognize stretched across the screen.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Callie?”

A croaky, husky voice. A voice I instantly recognized. Hearing it again after all these years made my heart gallop.

Brenda was ‘a good apple’, as my mom would have said. She was a capable, dedicated social worker and a fierce advocate for the children in her care. Yes, she was all that, but she was also the living reminder of some of the worst times in my life, which was why I hadn’t visited her since the day I’d left the system. But here I was, on my twenty-first birthday, taking a detour from Starbucks to Child Protective Services.

Stepping into the Starfish Outreach headquarters made me break into hives. Everything in that building made my stomach tie in a knot, from the automatic doors, to the elevator that always smelled of instant coffee and disinfectant, to the green-walled hallway that led me to Brenda’s office. I should have asked to meet somewhere else.

How many times had I walked that hallway, each time a little older, each time a little closer to eighteen, the magical age when I could escape the system for good? How many times had I sat in that tiny waiting room, on those orange chairs among the worn-out plastic toys and sticky children’s books, reading the posters on the walls for the hundredth time – the dangers of smoking, coffee mornings for single moms, reach out to your elderly neighbor – bracing myself for Brenda’s most recent scolding?

I took my sunglasses off as I reached the door to Brenda’s office. There was no reason to be anxious. I wasn’t a little girl. I was an adult, and nothing she said would change things for me. They couldn’t take me away from my own apartment or make me live with strangers. They held no power over me anymore.

No reason to be anxious at all.

And yet, I brought a hand onto my heart for a moment to steady it before knocking at the door. Somewhere inside me, the little girl I used to be trembled.

“Come in,” a voice rasped, and my breath caught. Hearing Brenda’s voice after so long was almost good. Almost. Had I missed her?

I opened the door just enough to slip in. “Brenda?”

There was stuff everywhere, as always – children’s drawings tacked to the walls, framed motivational quotes, books, folders, tins of cookies, and half-empty bottles of hand lotion scattered over her desk. In the middle of all that sat a small, gray-haired woman of color, still wearing her trademark vibrant hues, just as I remembered. She’d always pushed the office dress code with a bright shirt or big earrings, or a tropical-colored scarf. When I was in care, she always got me a psychedelic T-shirt for Christmas. I never wore any of them, but I did keep them out of gratitude.

“Callie!” My heart did a somersault when she rose from her chair with difficulty and limped towards me. Her arthritis had just begun to take root when I was in care, but it must have grown worse. I instantly felt guilty for having put off visiting her for so long. “I can’t believe you’re twenty-one! You still have a baby face.” She rested a fresh hand on my cheek, and my anxiety almost dissolved. “Like when you first came to us.”

“Do I?”

“Yeah. The face of a porcelain doll.”

I smiled. “The face of a doll and the temper of a devil!”

There it was, her laugh. That part of her, cheery and loud, hadn’t changed at all. “Hardly. It was strength, that’s what it was. You’re gutsy. It was one of the things I loved the most about you.”

I smiled and handed her the tin of peanut-butter cookies I’d grabbed on the way. “For you. You still love them?”

“Oh, I certainly do! Thank you! Let’s open them together. Coffee?”

“Sure.”

We sat in front of our mugs, the biscuit tin open, and, almost subconsciously, I prepared myself. I could feel she was going to tell me something – yes, there was a specific reason why she’d called me here. But what she did next was unexpected.

“I have something for you too,” she said, and handed me a bright yellow gift bag.

“Oh, thank you… you shouldn’t have.”

That was why she’d asked me to come over? To give me a birthday present?

“And… this.” She handed me a large white envelope.

“A card! Thank you again, Brenda. Really, thanks for remembering.”

“You’re welcome. But that,” she said, pointing to the envelope, “is not a card. It’s a letter for you. From a law firm.”

I tilted my head to once side, staring at the piece of paper. “A… what?”

She shook her head. “I only got it this morning – FedEx, you know – and I called you at once. Let’s just say, this is a first.”

I examined the letter. In the corner of the envelope I read: Baird and Associates, Law Offices.

Brenda continued, “They sent me a note to go with the letter. It said they were entrusted to give this to you when you turned twenty-one.”

“By my parents?” I looked down at the envelope, then back to Brenda.

It was impossible. Surely I would have got it long before today?

“I assume so.” She shrugged her shoulders; she seemed as bewildered as I was. “Whatever it is, it’s horrible that it’s stirring up these memories for you. I promise you nobody told me about this. The firm had specific instructions to only give it to you when you turned twenty-one, which is why, I suppose, they had it FedExed today.”

“Weird,” I muttered. I didn’t trust myself to say anything more. I was swallowing my feelings back, as I usually did, but I knew Brenda could see how spooked I was.

“I’m not happy at all with the way this has been handled, Callie.” The look in her eyes made me think that she’d probably given the law firm a piece of her mind already, or if not, she would do so as soon as she got the chance.

“So… you really have no idea what the letter says?” I asked.

“No idea. And no clue it existed, I promise you, hon—” She stopped herself. She’d remembered that when I was in care I’d hated being called honey, or sweetheart, or any other pet names. Only my parents could call me that – and my parents were gone. For everyone else, it was Callie.

“Brenda, if you don’t mind, I’d like to open this at home.”

“Of course. Do drink your coffee. And let me share these cookies with you.”

I nodded. I had a lump in my throat, but I forced myself to take a sip. I didn’t want to disappoint Brenda or make her feel like I was trying to leave quickly.

“Open your present,” she said, and I did. Inside the bag there was a multicolored, tie-dyed T-shirt. I had to smile. “D’you like it?”

“I love it. Thank you. Really, thank you.”

She reached across the desk and put her small, rigid hands over mine. “You’re welcome, hon— Callie.”

“Honey is fine,” I said, surprising myself. There was no reason to be wary, to be the abrasive, wounded child I’d been. “It’s a nice thing to be called.”

Back in my tiny studio apartment, my legs curled underneath me on my second-hand IKEA couch, I fiddled anxiously with the unopened letter in my hands. I couldn’t wait to open it, and at the same time I dreaded it.

I went to open the window for some air, and a small, furry body made its way inside. “Hi, baby,” I said as my white cat, all snow but for one black paw, jumped straight onto my lap, rubbed herself against me for a moment, then made a beeline to the corner where I kept her bowl. She didn’t exactly belong to me; she lived in the small park beside my building and took food and shelter when and where she chose. She was an independent creature, and I loved her for that. I’d named her Misty, but I was pretty sure she had a few different names, depending on who she was with. I knew that the elderly lady next door called her Ribbon – because of the black stripe she had around one leg – and fed her freshly grilled fish and bowls of cream. Misty-Ribbon was one lucky cat.

I looked back to the letter, my hands resting on the cat’s soft fur, and swallowed. “Here we go,” I said to myself.

Carefully, making sure I would not tear anything that was inside, I opened the envelope. The paper I drew from i. . .