The Dating Game (33 page)

“
Le piacciono i miei libri?
” Holly started at the
sound of his voice.  She stammered a yes. He clearly didn’t know who she was
and who could blame him, as she looked an absolute sight and the photo her
publisher chose for the book cover portrayed a glossier, shinier Holly.  She
was pleased he had her book. Perhaps she would have time to question him later.
What was she like?  How long did she think it was going to take him to change
her tyre?  She turned to face him.  He was now dressed in Levis and a cream
fisherman’s jumper.  He smiled down at her, his handsome features crinkling in
amusement at his real life, damsel in distress.  He spoke perfect English, he
had to for business, but this signorina was making such an effort speaking
Italian that he felt it would have been churlish, to switch into English.

“
Andiamo
.” he told her.

Whilst relaxing in his lounge, Holly hadn’t realised it had
started to rain.  It had been so warm when she had arrived.  Cursing her light
jacket and skirt, she jumped when he enveloped her in a large waterproof
jacket.  His touch was electric.  She felt as if she’d accidentally bumped into
a high voltage fence.  Approaching her car, she unlocked it with the electronic
key fob.  He was beside her, a torch shining from beneath his waterproof.  He
walked slowly around the car and whistled, then dug the jack out of the boot
and worked away silently.  After five minutes, he looked up at Holly, who
hadn’t dared interrupt him and told her it was no good. It wasn’t just the tyre
that was punctured, the wheel was buckled.  It would have to go to a garage.

Holly was at her wits’ end. What the hell was she meant to
do now?  She realised she was standing staring open-mouthed at this complete
stranger.  Eventually, she latched on to the idea that she would need to find a
hotel nearby.  She asked if he could recommend somewhere to stay.  In typical
Italian fashion, he gesticulated with his arms and told her that the nearest
hotel was Il Giardino, but unfortunately it was twenty miles away. She couldn’t
drive twenty miles with her wheel like that and besides the garage was only two
miles away.  She must stay the night here.  There were many guest rooms in his
house.  Holly started to protest, but he silenced her, saying he would be
offended if she didn’t accept and besides, what was the alternative?  Smiling
at her, he leaned forward slightly and said, “No need to be afraid. I am not
some crazed madman.

Holly followed her host inside.  She didn’t even know his
name.  Dawning on him, too, he said “Dario Barsacchi.” He offered his hand to
Holly, which she accepted, saying “Holly Jameson. Where am I anyway?”

“This is Rosetto. It is around thirty kilometres from Pisa.”
As Holly didn’t ask him anything else, he turned, passing the lounge and
indicated a room on the left.

“That is where you will find me once you have settled in. 
Are you hungry?”

Holly was starving, but didn’t want to impose further. As if
reading her mind, Dario said, “It’s no trouble. I am cooking for myself and it
is always more pleasant to have company.”

Acknowledging his generosity with a barely discernible
smile, Holly followed, as he ascended a marble staircase.  Alabaster busts were
positioned at intervals along the staircase.  Holly tried to appear nonchalant,
but was dying to see, as she passed, if they were members of Dario’s family. 
Some of the inscriptions were so worn it was impossible to read to whom they
belonged.  At the top of the staircase, Dario swept towards the left wing.  It
was dark in this corridor, but Dario pulled an object from behind a hidden
alcove.  He then scrambled around a little more and the next moment, there was
light.  It was an old oil lamp, encrusted with semi-precious stones.

Who is this guy?
  Holly found it odd that he should
be knocking around in this stately home all on his own.  She couldn’t deny it,
the size and grandeur of this building made it obvious that this was the home
of someone of standing.  Leaning across her, Dario turned a key in the lock. 
He stepped into the room and laying the oil lamp down, beckoned Holly to enter.

“
Wow!
”  She wasn’t sure what was more impressive, her
host or this sumptuous room.  In front of her there was a huge four poster bed,
with full canopy.  The ruby red hangings looked ridiculously expensive.  An
enormous, cast iron bath, occupied the middle of the room.  Glancing round, she
was surprised to see the furnishings were terribly feminine.  There was a
mahogany dressing table, several replica, Louis XVI chairs, at least she
imagined they must be replicas, they couldn’t be real could they, a credenza, a
roll top writing desk as well as a chaise longue. How decadent.  She had always
imagined having a chaise longue, although she knew they were terribly
impractical, much better off with a squashy sofa from Laura Ashley.  She
decided she would have a little lie on it later.

Dario pointed to a room off the main chamber, which housed a
bathroom with power shower and a dressing room.  Such a strange mix, Holly
thought, power showers, but oil lamps. She had noticed there was no electric
lighting.  After inviting her to use the telephone, Dario excused himself.

Holly thanked him for his kindness and he left. She really
must start being more articulate. She would be spending the evening with this
drop-dead gorgeous man and she couldn’t string two words together.  It wasn’t
even speaking Italian which was making her tongue-tied, more the fact that
Dario was stirring emotions in her, which she didn’t want stirred, because of
Tom. She loved Tom.  Dario probably had a beautiful wife or a girlfriend who
was a sultry sex goddess.  It was true how much women let themselves get
carried away, one date and they were planning the wedding. She hadn’t even been
on a date with Dario, nor was ever likely to be, yet was already picturing
their dark eyed, perfectly tanned children, with her flawless complexion and
green eyes.  Snapping back to reality, Holly called the hotel in Bibbiena.

Wonderfully relaxed after her exquisite soak, Holly lay down
on the four poster. This was the life.  She assumed the four poster was
genuine, as the frame itself was pretty worn.  It was too tempting to lie there
for long though, as she knew she would drift off.  Pulling herself up, she
dressed hurriedly in the things she had taken off less than an hour before.

Chapter Two

Finding the door Dario had indicated, Holly hesitated briefly
before pulling it open.  Her senses were instantly assailed by the aroma of
herbs and meat mingling. 

“Ciao.”

“Ciao, vieni,”
Dario invited her
in.  He was standing in front of the hob, flipping the contents of a small
saucepan.  A larger saucepan boasted aubergines, peppers and courgettes, She
joined him at the hob. He looked very au fait with what he was doing, as if he
was no stranger to a spot of cooking.  At the far end of the kitchen she saw
what she supposed was the dining room.  Dario invited her to sit.

As he cooked, he asked Holly questions.  She opened up to
him quite freely. It was a lot easier, she soon discovered, to hold forth on
topics she was used to discussing.  She explained about her writing and told
him about her childhood in a little village near Edinburgh and how she had
started to write at the age of twelve.  It had then become an obsession. He was
a good listener.  She told him about her life back in Ayrshire, in the south
west of Scotland, of the farm she lived on. She didn’t mention Tom, and Dario
didn’t ask if she had a significant other.

This woman positively glowed, Dario thought.  She was so
animated.  She was truly beautiful, unlike some women he met and seemed unaware
of how lovely she was, which only made her more attractive.  Her forest green
eyes shone out from beneath her loose raven curls.  Smaller than the women who
usually surrounded him, he felt it would be nice for once to tower over
someone, to be able to act protectively towards them.  She was slim, with an
impressive cleavage.  Curvaceous, he supposed you would call her, sexy.  He had
found her striking when she had first rung his bell, but now, as she sat here
chatting away as if they had known each other for years, he was warming to her
even more, too much he realised.  Tomorrow she would be out of his life again
and there was nothing he could do about it.  Unaware of the inner turmoil she
was causing him, Holly babbled on.  She was nervous, but at the same time
exhilarated to be in the company of such a… gentleman, was the only word she
could think of to describe Dario.

After Dario finished preparing the meal, he led Holly through
to the dining room. The food was divine.  Holly hadn’t realised just how hungry
she was, until Dario tempted her with his special bruschetta.  He explained
that the ingredients were all fresh from his garden and the olive oil from the
olive groves his family owned. 

So that’s where the money comes from,
she thought.

When they finished the Chianti, Dario went off to the
cantina.  Bearing a Brunello di Montalcino 1997, he pulled out the cork and
poured a small quantity into a glass.  Holly thought it was OK.  She wasn’t a
wine connoisseur, but what she did know was that the more expensive a wine, the
more acquired the taste.  The Chianti was more to her taste, even if it was a
classier and older version than that drunk in the UK.  She wagered it wasn’t
Chianti from Tesco at a fiver a bottle she’d had.  The Brunello, however,
didn’t do much for her.  Honest to a fault, when Dario asked her impression of it,
she told him apologetically she preferred the Chianti.  Dario let out a belly
laugh.  He found her endearing, her brand of honesty so refreshing.

“Perhaps we should let the wine breathe,” he suggested. 
What a pity their paths were unlikely to cross again, he thought.  He told her
of his family, of his business, but left out that he owned several vineyards,
passed to him by his father on his retirement.  He spoke of Rosetto with such
pride.  Holly had an image of him, as a kind of Italian laird. If she had only
known the half of it.

He spoke of the re-enactments they held at the beginning of
June, of the
Ferie della Giostra
– the jousting ceremony and craftsmen
showing off their art, teaching the younger generations how to carry out the
ancient arts of book binding and arrow making.  He told her of the
determination of the locals to beat their neighbouring Carduccio.  To Holly it
was highland games, but far more interesting and romantic, as befitted twelfth
century Tuscany.  His friend was undefeated in the archery tournament since
1997.  People came from the length and breadth of Italy, to see if they could
beat him. The festivities lasted a week, but with the anticipation before the
events and the enthusiasm and good natured sense of belonging which permeated
the whole village it felt more like a month.

The weather had improved. Only the odd tiny puddle remained
here and there, so Dario suggested they sit outside.  An old fashioned lean-to
canopy clung to the side of the house.  Dario switched on the lights and
stepped outside.  Picking up a long wooden pole, he pushed the water laden sections
of the canopy, upwards.  However, he wasn’t quite quick enough to move out of
the way and managed to almost drown himself with the water which spilled over. 
Holly grinned, as, soaked through, he looked up at her.  She had no need to ask
what “
Cazzo
,” meant.  Pulling out a wicker chair, Dario invited Holly to
sit and said he would go and change.

A blanket lay on a shelf next to her and picking it up,
Holly wrapped it around her.  Dario had only just left the room and already she
missed him.  Even though she wasn’t doing anything wrong, she felt guilty. She
didn’t want to sleep with him, but found it hard to believe she could like
someone so much when they had just met, especially when she already had a
wonderful boyfriend.  This was torture.

Dario returned wearing a white t-shirt, which perfectly
showed off his physique.  The two continued to blabber on, each aware of the
sexual chemistry which was playing out, but both believing it was one-sided.  It
was getting late and Holly yawned. 

“You must be tired. It has been a stressful day for you.  We
should go to bed now,” stated Dario.

Startled, Holly’s heart leapt.  Then she realised she had
probably lost something in translation and Dario meant they should go to bed,
separately.  But Dario had seen the way Holly reacted and had decided it was
now or never. Maybe what he had read in Holly’s expression had been desire, he
couldn’t be sure, but he was going to find out. He turned out the lights and
escorted Holly to her room.  Outside, he stopped and said “Goodnight” and
leaning in, he kissed her.  Holly kissed him back, expecting the sensation to
last a mere instant, but he began placing little kisses tenderly around the edge
of her lips.  She couldn’t breathe. She shouldn’t be doing this, but was
powerless to stop herself. All evening she had imagined this happening and now
it was.  She hadn’t even known he was interested.  Dario flicked his tongue
gently inside her mouth, across her teeth, finding her tongue, until Holly
moaned softly beside him.  All of a sudden she stopped him.

“I’m sorry.  I can’t do this,” she took hold of his arms, to
distance herself from him. “I really like you, but I have a fiancé and I
shouldn’t have kissed you.”

“I kissed you,” Dario said quietly.  “And I can only say
that I wish I was your boyfriend.  Lots of women are not so faithful.  I am
sorry if I offended you.”

“Not at all.  If things were different...”

A brief silence ensued.

“What time do you want me to wake you?”  Dario finally broke
the uncomfortable silence.

“Whenever suits you.”

“Eight o’clock then.”

“Fine. Thank you, for everything.”

Dario lay in bed and wondered if ‘for everything’ included
his kiss.  He hoped so.  It took him a long time to fall asleep, but when he
did his thoughts were of this particularly captivating Scottish woman.

Holly also had trouble sleeping.  It was too quiet. Crickets
chirruped in the garden.  She felt
so
guilty. She had let Dario kiss
her. In four years, she had never kissed anyone but Tom.  She loved him. They
were getting married.  Maybe it was the fine wine, which had gone to her head. 
Exhausted, she drifted into a restless slumber.

“
Buongiorno, signorina
.”  Holly opened her eyes to
see a wizened old lady standing in front of her bearing a cup of coffee.

“
Ha dormito bene
?”  chirped the old woman again.

“
Si, ho dormito benissimo, grazie
,” she lied.

The elderly lady, happy Holly had slept well, turned to go,
but as she was leaving, she said,

“The mechanic will be here in an hour to collect you. 
Breakfast is ready downstairs.”

“Is Dario up yet?” enquired Holly.

“Yes, but he has gone over to the vineyard. He left a note.”

Holly barely touched her breakfast.  When she reached the
breakfast room, she looked for Dario’s note.  She picked it up eagerly and
after reading the single line, turned it over to read the back, but it was
blank.  Dismayed, she re-read the line, hoping to translate it into something
with more substance, but the stubborn,

“
Sorry. I have to work. I have asked the mechanic to
collect you
,” couldn’t be expanded into anything with more feeling.  It was
with a heavy heart that Holly left L’Uliveto an hour later.

“
Grazie, Signore
,” Holly bid farewell to the
mechanic, happy that her car was roadworthy again.  A bit of a dent in her
credit card, but she would be reimbursed by the car hire company.

Holly had been unable to think of anything all day, but
Dario. Dario and Tom.  She tried not comparing them, but it wasn’t possible. 
Tom was a bear of a man.  He was reliable and provided safety and security, but
Dario had awakened feelings of passion in her, which she wasn’t sure she’d ever
felt for Tom.  Holly tried to blot out this disloyal thought from her mind. 
She felt unfaithful just feeling like this.  With a sigh of exasperation, she
realised she was heading in the wrong direction.  Glancing briefly at the map,
she dropped it on the passenger seat and navigated a u-turn.

You can find Sign of the Times on
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