‘He certainly has the air of being rather a spoilt young man. Can you believe he actually sends his dirty shirts to his mother in Rome every week – she sends them back hand-laundered and accompanied with samples of home-cooking…by Securicor!’
‘No! It’s not true?’ Serena burst out laughing and collapsed onto a kitchen chair. ‘Well, I warned you he was un mammino, but I never could believe he was so much of a mummy’s boy.’
‘Oh – it’s mean to laugh at him, I suppose. We had a wonderful evening in Florence. His friends all love him…it’s just…’ Words failed her and she too sat at the kitchen table. Serena looked up at her, mopping the tears of laughter from her face with a tea towel.
‘Poor Massimo…well, at least he will have his friends to console him over losing you!’
‘And he always has his Mamma!’ added Zoe, laughing too.
Serena began to laugh all over again and could hardly get the words out,‘I’ve…oh dear…I’ve just thought of something…his Mamma chose his name well…oh dear….just change two letters…Massimo-mammissimo…oh dear…mamma mia!’ The two women were rocking with laughter as Paolo came into the kitchen, dripping wet and wrapped in a towel. He looked at them fondly.
‘Coffee then?’
Refreshed from her lunch with such good friends, Zoe returned to her afternoon appointment with renewed energy and determined not to let herself dwell on the news that Alex Knight was a married man with a daughter. She was meeting the Partridges at 3pm, once more at their hotel. As she drove into the car park she thought back to her last visit – when she had seen Alex Knight just pulling away. Away and out of her life forever. Zoe sighed and shook her head, trying to rid herself of the feelings he evoked in her. Why did life always have to be so difficult? Why did all the most interesting men have to be married? She blinked away a tear of self-pity and suddenly Fidele jumped through from the back seat and rested his big head on her shoulder. She stroked him for a moment then pulled herself together. She locked the car and, with Fidele close at her heels, she went into the cool foyer of the hotel. Why couldn’t Alex Knight suddenly appear on the terrace, unmarried and free to love her? Reality struck home as Mr. Partridge, very married, large and friendly, appeared in front of her. Zoe sighed wistfully, wondering for a moment why she was doomed to play the wrong part in a romantic novel, before giving all her attention to the Partridges and their purchase of the old mill house.
‘There you are, my dear! Always perfectly on time and as pretty as a picture, isn’t she, Geoffrey?’
‘She certainly is… Now, can we offer you a coffee or a cold drink?’ Mr. Partridge pulled out a chair for her and she joined them at their table set in the shade of a dark blue awning.
‘A cold juice would be very good, thank you.’ Zoe smiled at the Partridges as they beamed at her, feeling comforted by the homely good will they exuded. What must it be like to have parents like this, she wondered? As though reading her thoughts, Mrs. Partridge said, ‘It must be hard working away from home – all on your own at your age.’
‘Oh no, not at all…it’s the way of life I chose. I feel independent and perfectly happy,’ Zoe replied, her voice not ringing with as much conviction as she had hoped. ‘Anyway, my parents have always led their own lives and I have never been around them very much.’
‘Oh, I see,’ Mrs. Partridge said in a voice that sounded as though she wasn’t convinced, then she continued, ‘Do you mean you were away at school?’
‘Yes, I first boarded when I was only nine.’
‘Just fancy, nine years old! Well, I suppose it was what they thought best.’
‘I suppose so, they travelled a lot together – I don’t think I really fitted into their lifestyle. My father is an architect and he worked all over the world – India, Saudi, Hong Kong…bridges mostly.’
‘Well, that would explain it… I expect they went to some difficult places – not where a little girl would get a good education and they thought you’d be better off in a good solid school.’
‘Yes I suppose so,’ Zoe agreed reluctantly and then added in a voice stifled with anger, ‘More because they were everything to each other and I was just in the way!’
‘You may be right, Zoe…but it’s all in the past now and at least you had parents that did love each other. Not everyone can say that nowadays, with so many marriages ending in divorce.’
‘That’s true actually – when I was with them I certainly never heard a cross word between them and of course they loved me in their own vague way.’
‘I’m sure they did, Zoe or you wouldn’t be such a sweet girl now.’ Mrs. Partridge smiled fondly at Zoe and patted her on the arm. Zoe looked at her gratefully and a small part of a knot that she carried tied inside her began to dissolve. Maybe she would phone home this evening. As though, once again, she read her thoughts, Mrs. Partridge added, ‘If ever I have the chance to meet your mother I shall tell her that her daughter is a treasure. We’d have given up long ago on finding our Tuscan dream house without Zoe’s help, wouldn’t we, Geoffrey?’
‘Oh yes, you’ve been a wonder. Patient and kind – not like any estate agent I’ve ever met before! Now, here come those drinks and we can all do with wetting our whistles after all that philosophising. That’s what I call it when my Linda gets going.’ Mr. Partridge leant forward and planted a kiss on Mrs. Partridge’s cheek. ‘She sorts me out too, don’t you, my love?’
Mrs. Partridge giggled and gave him an affectionate slap. Zoe looked at them both and wondered if her parents’ marriage was anything at all like this. If she closed her eyes she could drag up a dim picture of her parents sitting in their study, one each side of a big desk, perfectly at one, passing each other books and nodding quietly. It was a long way from kissing and friendly slaps but it was a good marriage. A good example? Zoe didn’t have time to ponder her own question as Mr. Partridge was raising his glass.
‘Here’s to life in Italy and everybody’s dreams coming true!’
They all raised their glasses and then sipped the cold drinks. Zoe stood up and led Fidele over to the back of the villa to find him a bowl of water. When she returned to the table she spoke first.
‘I think I’m very lucky to be in Italy…especially when the clients are as kind as you are! But you’re right, Mrs. Partridge, only the other day I did feel some sort of homesickness for good old England and its grey skies and I think I’ll phone my parents tonight.’
‘Please call me Linda, my dear, and my husband is Geoffrey. I hope when we get the mill house all sorted out you’ll be a frequent visitor. We expect to spend several months of the year here.’
‘That would be very nice – thank you!’ replied Zoe, slightly surprised herself to find that she really meant it. She had sold many houses to English clients but had normally spent her time dodging them afterwards.
Linda Partridge smiled at her. ‘We said the same to that nice Mr. Knight, didn’t we, Geoffrey? We thought he was such a nice chap but very lonely.’
Zoe’s heart thumped as the mention of his name and she sipped her drink before answering as casually as she could.
‘But won’t he be out here with his wife…and I hear he has a little daughter, too?’
‘Didn’t you know? His wife was killed in a car accident just over a year ago. Of course, we didn’t mention it but as soon as I heard his name I remembered the incident. It was in all the papers – absolutely tragic, wasn’t it, Geoffrey?’
‘Tragic!’ agreed Mr. Partridge. ‘Young man like that left with a two-month-old baby and they’d hadn’t long been married…absolutely tragic!’
‘I couldn’t help thinking that’s why his hair was that dark grey