Dolci di Love (27 page)

Rose and Al were leaning into each other, laughing at something Mario was saying and looking far from the pale, rattled creatures who had gotten off the plane clearly not talking to each other a month before.

Harry, Jack and Francesca were chasing each other around the well, while the twins were playing with Ernesto as Daniel, sitting in the shade with Matteo, chatted to Alessandro. It turned out the two men knew each other before Lily had arrived on the scene, as Alessandro was one of the small wine producers that Daniel was targeting to represent.

They liked each other, which helped when Lily told Alessandro that she was pregnant but staying with her husband. He had been stunned at first but never angry nor possessive of her baby. He agreed to stand back and let Daniel be the child's father and to have whatever role Lily saw fit in the future.

‘I have not made the best of fathers,' he told her, ‘but I know you will make a wonderful mother.' He was now seeing a beautiful young doctor from Montalcino. And she wasn't the only one Lily hoped he would see.

‘Let's clear the
amorucci
off the table and get ready for lunch,' she suggested to Carlotta as she watched the various members of her hotchpotch family congregate in different parts of the piazza. Soon they were all sitting around that giant heart shape eating, drinking, chatting, and laughing as they piled their plates with spaghetti thick with anchovies, caramelised onion and breadcrumbs; orichiette in a rich bolognese ragu; fettuccine with lemon, hot peppers and pecorino; fried zucchini flowers stuffed with three different cheeses; eggplant dripping in oil and garlic; and crusty ciabatta bread.

Lily sat between Rose and Daniel, with baby Matteo being passed from lap to lap like the happy fat plaything he was, even sitting at one point in the arms of Eugenia, pale and nervous, but there among them, with her own sister for ballast and her children in good hands. Alessandro sat across the heart from Lily, his girlfriend Angelica on one side of him, confident and strong, lacking the deep-rooted complications of which he was so full. On
his other side were two empty seats populated at different times by various children and causing Lily a little anxiety until across the piazza she saw another young woman with a boy of about three shyly approach the rowdy group.

‘Come on, come on, sit down, I've been waiting for you,' she called, waving them in next to Alessandro.

‘Everybody, this is Sofia and her son Massimo.'

Alessandro stood as his daughter slipped in next to him and pulled her little boy onto her lap. Lily knew he wanted to leave, but she also knew he wouldn't. He was a decent man. Slowly he sat down and introduced his daughter to his girlfriend. The next time she looked, Massimo was in his lap.

‘I see you, Lily Turner,' said Daniel, handing her Matteo. ‘I see you.'

‘I know you do,' she said with a smile, and she kissed the top of her baby's head, thinking for the thousandth time that there was no better smell in all the world.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mario packing up the last of his stall.

‘Get Al to swap chairs with one of the kids, will you?' she asked Rose, and carrying her plump brown boy on her hip, she walked over to Mario and brought him back to the table, sitting him beside Carlotta, so close that their elbows were touching. They were two shy, stubborn people, but Lily was certain they were made for each other and would, one day, realise it.

In the shade of the duomo, a handful of elderly friends watched on, all eyes glistening behind variously thick spectacles.

‘Santa Ana di Chisa willing Daniel will live a long and healthy life,' Violetta said, ‘but one day that Lily is going to make a hell of a widowed darner.'

‘Not that you need to be widowed,' Luciana reminded her.

‘Not that you need to be able to darn,' added Fiorella. ‘Because it doesn't really matter how you get rid of the hole, does it? Just that you do.'

‘A mended sock certainly lasts a lot longer,' agreed Violetta, handing around a bag of chili pepper and chocolate
amorucci
. ‘In fact sometimes the darned bit is stronger than anything else.'

‘It could end up being your favourite part, I imagine,' said Fiorella. ‘Even if to begin with, you didn't think it matched.'

She looked at Violetta, who smiled.

‘All praise to Santa Ana di Chisa,' she said, and her friends all agreed.

‘All praise to Santa Ana di Chisa!'

T
he older I get, the more people I have to thank, but the less I can remember who or why. What's that about? So thanks, everyone, everywhere, for all your help. I needed it and can only apologise if I fail, here, to thank you personally for giving it.

One person I could never forget to thank is my dear friend Bridget, who shared with me the story of baby Stanley, the newborn she held in her arms for just six days before his biological mother changed her mind and wanted him back. Such difficult days…subsequently illuminated by another baby, the stellar Stella, whose arrival made, and continues to make, Bridget and so many other people so very happy.

My cousin Frances Kennedy in Rome deserves at the very least a great big kiss for just being such a cool chick and all-round support system and for introducing me to Montepulciano, the real-life Tuscan hilltop town on which Montevedova is based. Go there—it's pretty much as described, minus the
pasticceria
, although there's a fantastic one called Mariuccia in nearby Montalcino. Stock up on
dolci
, then go to Abbey Sant'Antimo and listen to the monks' Gregorian chanting. Now that's what I call a day in the country.

Tuscany is as drop-dead gorgeous as everyone says it is and all praise to Santa Ana di Chisa for helping me convince my Australian
BFF Ronnie into coming with me on my second research trip to save me from being lonely. Even more saintly praise should be heaped upon her husband, Raoul, who I had completely forgotten speaks Italian (and cooks and cleans and drives). How ever would we have found the Prada outlet shop without him? Two GPS systems, two guide books, and a map certainly weren't getting us there.

I carelessly left my own husband, Mark Robins, at home during this research trip. He was busy in Queensland building a large boat called the Dawn Treader for the third installment in the Narnia film franchise, and it just didn't seem right to drag him away from his twelve-hour working days to trip around the Tuscan countryside in a navy blue Fiat 500.

Unlike Santa Ana di Chisa, Mark Robins is a real saint.

As usual I would like to thank my wonderful agent, Stephanie Cabot, without whom I might still be stuck in an office writing captions about cellulite on the thighs of Hollywood movie stars. And I'd like to thank Denise Roy, my amazing editor at Plume in the US, for making me work harder than I'm naturally suited to, and the vibrant Anna Valdinger and team at HarperCollins Australia and New Zealand.

More than anything, though, I would like to thank the readers who continue to e-mail me to tell me that they like my books. Most of the time I am at home, on my own, stuck in front of the computer, halfway through the new one, with only the dog and perhaps a little something sweet for company. Often my head is in my hands, and I am wondering what the hell I am doing. Sometimes I am drawing up a list of other things I could do instead, although that can be quite depressing as there don't seem to be that many jobs for five-star resort inspectors or chocolate tasters.

Then, just when I am seriously starting to consider what role I could fulfill at the circus—that doesn't involve heights or working nights—I will hear the friendly little ‘bing' of an e-mail arriving. More often than not it's someone who has taken the time and effort to say they've just finished reading something I've written and they'd like to say thank you.

I can't tell you how much this fills my heart with joy. ‘Hey, circus, find yourself another fat and/or bearded lady,' I will cry. ‘Stick your five-star resorts where the sun don't shine,' I'll continue. ‘Get those dark chocolate truffles away from me at once. I don't need to taste them!'
^*

So to those of you who have written to me already,
grazie
; so often you make my day. And to those who have yet to get in touch but think they might one day like to, visit my website at www.sarah-katelynch.com, and you can e-mail me from there. I look forward to hearing from you.

This story, by the way, this book, is about mending broken hearts. If you haven't ever had one, count yourself lucky. But if you have, well, never forget that we're all in this together. I know some breaks are worse than others, but I also know that we will get our happy endings if, as Tinker Bell says, we believe in them. And if we look in the right places.