Aged for Seduction Page 3

  “Yes, I am busy,” Danilo said decisively, and Olivia felt her heart thump into her boots. She’d left the invitation too late. Of course Danilo would have other commitments. The trip to Sovestro seemed far less exciting than it had a minute ago, but as she got ready to reply with a fake cheerful “Never mind,” he spoke again.

  “I am busy doing something with you?” he asked.

  There was a question in his voice, and laughter, too. Danilo was such a tease!

  “Well, yes, I was hoping so!” Now she was smiling, a grin that stretched from ear to ear.

  “So, tell me. What are we doing and when?”

  “We’re going to Sovestro in Poggio. Nadia wants us to have a look around and assess the place. Including a wine tasting, of course.”

  “That sounds wonderful. What time shall I pick you up?”

  Olivia felt bad. It was her invite and she had been about to suggest she pick him up, but now it would seem rude to decline his generous offer. Plus, being the passenger meant that she got to see a lot more of Tuscany as they drove.

  “Nine o’clock?”

  “It’s a date,” Danilo said.

  Olivia disconnected, beaming happily. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d looked forward to an outing so much. He’d said a date. A date! She waltzed around the kitchen, watched curiously by Pirate, who had woken up to scrutinize her odd behavior.

  “Did you hear that, Pirate? We’re going on a date!”

  Emboldened by the success of her phone call, Olivia scooped the cat up from his fireside resting place and rocked him in her arms.

  Pirate looked alarmed, but—and this was a significant but—he stayed calm and kept his claws sheathed. Great progress was being made in the cat-lifting department!

  She gently placed him back in his spot, giving him an affectionate back rub to apologize for the interruption.

  Then Olivia returned to her dinner and her book.

  She couldn’t have chosen a better read than an Italian romance novel, she decided, crossing her fingers that the loving words and emotional descriptions in the printed pages might become part of her real life day tomorrow.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  At nine a.m. next morning, Olivia was ready—lipsticked, perfumed, and with an extra layer of hairspray to prevent her shoulder-length blond tresses from frizzing if the breeze picked up. Pleased that it was a fine, sunny day, she hurried outside as Danilo’s pickup drove through the gate.

  “You have a new hairstyle,” Olivia observed, as he climbed out of the car. “Your niece has done great work. I love it!”

  From the previous shade of purple, Danilo’s hair had been returned to its natural dark, shiny color. The cut was amazing. With tapered sides cut close to his head, the strength of his jaw was emphasized. The longer top and fringe fell just above his dark brows, accentuating the brown gleam of his eyes. Thinking of her novel reading last night, Olivia decided he looked like a romantic hero. She was about to tell him that, but stopped before the words came out, feeling self-conscious. In fact, she was starting to blush.

  “It’s nice that it looks a bit more natural.” Danilo grinned. “Although I can never trust it won’t be pink next time.”

  He hugged her and then kissed her in the now-traditional Italian-American greeting they had worked out.

  “Before we go, I would love to see your barn,” he said. “Do you have time to show me?”

  “Yes!” Olivia agreed, delighted that Danilo wanted to have a look at its progress. She was proud that it had been transformed from a rubbish dump into a proper winemaking building again.

  It had taken months of hard work for Olivia and Danilo to reduce the heap of rubble that had dominated the barn’s spacious interior. In the process, Olivia had found one intact bottle of wine, and a fragment of a far older bottle. There were still a few barrow-loads left, but since most of the barn was cleared, swept, and pristine, Olivia hadn’t worked on the remainder of the pile for a couple of weeks.

  “So, no more treasures so far?” Danilo asked as they headed up the hill to the imposing building.

  “Nothing yet,” Olivia admitted, disappointed. “I am still hoping I might find a key for the locked storage room in the hills, but I don’t think it’s likely, with so little left to remove.”

  “You can get a locksmith?”

  Olivia made a face.

  “It’s a vintage lock. I sent a photo to a local firm, who told me it’s a handmade lock and to construct a key for it would be very time consuming and expensive. And they would have to force the door first to take a proper look. I don’t want to break it.” She sighed. “Clearly, the lock and key were very special and I can’t help wondering if the key might not be lost, but rather hidden somewhere. Maybe even in the farmhouse.”

  “Are you not tempted to search immediately?” Danilo turned to her, his dark eyes shining.

  “Nooo!” Olivia protested. “I’ve come to an arrangement with the spiders in my farmhouse. If they stay out of sight, I pretend they don’t exist and leave them alone. The problem is that in all the places a key might be hidden, a spider might also be waiting!” She wrapped her arms around herself dramatically. “Like the shelf above the fireplace. I can’t even begin to find the courage to stick my hand into that narrow gap.”

  Olivia swatted a stray hair away from her face. Suddenly it felt like a crawling spider.

  “This is a serious problem,” Danilo sympathized. “That shelf is a dangerous place. I would be scared to shine a light inside. Imagine the eyes looking back!”

  Danilo shivered theatrically, his eyes wide. He was a bigger arachnophobe than Olivia, if that was even possible.

  Olivia wasn’t going to admit to him that she had another, more important reason for leaving that isolated storeroom untouched. The truth was that she couldn’t bear the disappointment if this secret building, hidden among trees in the forested hillside, proved to be empty. Its mystery was part of the romance of her farm. Locked, it was full of enthralling possibilities, and contained whatever she imagined.

  Unlocked, it might only contain dust and sadness and old spider webs.

  Danilo’s face brightened as they rounded the corner of the barn.

  “You have installed doors! What a difference! They are beautiful.”

  Olivia was delighted that Danilo thought her junkyard find suited the barn. She’d spent hours sanding and painting them and the massive, brand new hinges that supported them had cost almost as much as the old, weathered doors.

  “They’re so heavy the handyman had to bring three assistants to help him hang them,” Olivia explained. “But they’re solid and although they are old, I’m hoping they have a good few decades of use still in them.”

  “You have cared for them well.” Danilo ran an approving finger over the smooth, cream-colored paint. “They should definitely last.”

  Olivia was thrilled by the compliment, especially since, as a carpenter and woodworker by trade, Danilo was giving his professional opinion on her hard work.

  When she opened the door, though, he frowned, looking puzzled.

  “Where is your goat, Olivia? Her bed was in the corner.”

  He pointed to the now empty, well-swept and dust-free area near the doorway.

  “I bought a Wendy house for Erba. She’s living near the herb garden now and she seems very happy there. I decided to move her out of the barn, because—” Olivia felt her face redden. She was embarrassed on her goat’s behalf. Didn’t they say “like pet, like owner”?

  She took a deep breath. “Because Erba has an obsession with wine!” she confessed. “It’s her only real vice now, since she’s gotten over her head-butting phase. She started out preferring cheap wine but she’s developing more expensive tastes. I’m worried if she was left in here overnight she’d knock the fermentation vats over and find a way to get into them.”

  As she spoke, she glanced around. Proving her words to be true, Erba was already peeking curiously through the doorway.
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  “You see? There she is.”

  “Yes, your wine is acting like a magnet,” Danilo observed. “We must be quick.” He walked toward the vats.

  “So, this is my ice wine,” Olivia said proudly. “Made from grapes frozen on the vine. It took me a whole day to walk around my farm and find every single wild grapevine.”

  She remembered how tired she’d been the next day, after roaming over the hilly landscape, bending and stretching to pick every single plump, frosty bunch of grapes and add them to the increasingly heavy container. Every so often, she’d had to lug it to the barn, decant the grapes into the chest freezer so that they would remain frozen in the barn’s sheltered confines, and start again.

  “So you say ice wine is a sweet wine?” Danilo asked. “Like noble late harvest?”

  “Yes.” Olivia gestured proudly to the two large steel vats where her wine was undergoing its first fermentation. Once this was complete, she planned to transfer it into the oak barrels that she’d placed against the barn’s back wall. “It’s sweet because the grapes are very ripe by the time the frost comes, and the ice crystals freeze up the water in the grapes. So it’s not as sweet as a noble late harvest, but definitely not a dry wine. Refreshingly sweet. I’m hoping mine will have a hint of strawberry.”

  “It sounds delicious,” Danilo agreed, inspecting the shiny vats. “You are off to a good start. Now, you must be patient. I think that is the worst part.”

  “It is! I’ve been having nightmares that the vats have exploded, or that they’ve leaked, or that I left the door open overnight and Erba got in.”

  Olivia whirled around to see her goat advancing eagerly on the closest vat. “Out! You see? She’s drawn to it.”

  Olivia hustled her goat out of the barn. Winemaking inspection was over. Not that there had been much to inspect, except the vats containing her hopes and dreams for a unique and delicious wine.

  Olivia made sure the barn doors were properly closed before they headed to Danilo’s car. Climbing in, she inhaled the scent of coffee from the to-go cups. Danilo always did things properly. It made him such a fun traveling companion.

  As they drove out, she saw a couple of letters wedged in the side of her open gate.

  “Please can you stop so I can grab these before they get rained on or blown away,” Olivia asked, buzzing down the window. She’d gotten used to chasing stray envelopes down the road, and drying wet pages in the warming drawer. “I need to invest in a post box.”

  She hadn’t even realized that the mail would be delivered to this remote countryside farm, but it seemed the Italian mail service was tireless in their work. Given their dedication, Olivia hadn’t wanted to buy an ordinary mailbox, but to look for one more fun. Wine-themed, or perhaps goat-themed. She hadn’t had a chance to shop around, and as a result, was constantly rounding up her runaway letters.

  Leaning out the window, she grasped the small bundle.

  “A bank statement, a pamphlet about investments—I must contact the bank and tell them to email me these—and a postcard from my mother!” Olivia laughed. “No chance of getting that emailed.”

  Quickly, not wanting to interrupt their fun outing, she glanced at the postcard.

  “She’s taken to sending me cards every time she travels. I don’t know where she even finds them. Are postcards still a thing? This is from a resort in the Catskills. She went there for a friend’s sixtieth birthday, and she sent it two weeks ago. That’s international post for you!”

  Since Danilo was stopped at the intersection to the main road, Olivia quickly showed him the postcard, of a gorgeous lakeside view, while reading the back aloud.

  “Hello, Olivia. Here we are, having a wonderful time. This resort has an excellent wine cellar. Last night we drank a Spumante Sweet sparkling wine from California.”

  Olivia rolled her eyes. “My mother doesn’t share the same taste in wine I do, but she’s trying to develop her repertoire,” she explained to Danilo before continuing. “I wish you were here, angel, and can’t wait for your crazy jaunt in Italy to come to an end. There’s a magnificent apartment for sale in town, just ten minutes’ drive from us. It has views over the whole city and would be ideal for your new home! Your father caught a sixteen-inch fish yesterday, but released it. Perhaps he will catch it again today! Much love.”

  Olivia felt as if she needed to roll her eyes even harder after getting through that missive. Her mother’s constant belief that Olivia would return “back home” was becoming tiresome, but she knew from experience there was no easy way of derailing her from the topic. Apart from staying in Italy and hopefully making a long-term success of her job and her winery-to-be.

  Thank goodness the postcard was between Danilo and her so that he couldn’t see her fed-up expression, Olivia thought.

  “Mothers!” she said with a sigh, lowering the card. She actually didn’t know where to start in explaining Mrs. Glass’s quirky and stubborn character to Danilo. It would take the whole day.

  She expected Danilo to offer laughing sympathy, but to her surprise, as he pulled onto the main road, he was oddly quiet and unsmiling. In fact, he didn’t even acknowledge her words. It was as if she wasn’t in the car at all.

  Olivia felt a pang of unease. Why was Danilo suddenly so withdrawn, and why was the usually outspoken man not telling her what was bothering him?

  She started to worry that their perfect day was going wrong.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  As they neared the medieval town of San Gimignano where the winery was located, Olivia managed to put aside her worries about Danilo’s unusual quietness. The town was enchanting, and possessed a fairytale character all of its own. Set in a rolling, mysterious-looking landscape, it was studded with stone buildings including a number of dramatic towers that seemed to glow in the low winter light.

  She remembered from her reading that San Gimignano, known as the Town of the Fine Towers, was also referred to as the Manhattan of Tuscany thanks to its impressive skyline. What a thrill to view it in person, Olivia thought, sticking her arm out the window to get the perfect shot on her phone as they approached.

  There was a luxurious-looking hotel at the foot of the hill, where Olivia was entranced to see a large, turquoise-blue swimming pool in pride of place among the historic stone buildings. She could imagine how this would appeal to visitors in the summer months.

  Beyond the hotel was the small, family-owned Guardastelle vineyard. The neat rows of vines combed the hillside, rising from a bed of morning mist in the valley below.

  Being in the middle of Italy’s famous Chianti region, it was no surprise that this winery specialized in Chiantis, and Olivia couldn’t wait to sample their quality wines.

  “I read on their website that the tasting includes a vineyard tour, as well as olive oil tasting and snacks. Shall we do the tour?”

  “A good idea,” Danilo agreed. “That will occupy us for the whole morning.”

  He drove up the gravel driveway, lined with neatly trimmed hedges and flower beds that even in winter, looked colorful and welcoming. Olivia could imagine in summertime they would be filled with blossoms of every hue.

  When they climbed out of the car, Olivia saw a smiling, curly-haired woman waiting at the winery’s entrance. “Welcome to Guardastelle,” she greeted them warmly. “I am Ricky, the sommelier. Are you here for the tasting, or the full vineyard tour?”

  “The full tour, please,” Olivia said, glancing at Danilo to check he was as excited as she was, and feeling disappointed to see that once again, he looked solemn and preoccupied.

  She couldn’t wait to head out into the vineyards and see how this estate farmed their grapes. She was sure she would pick up some valuable pointers for her own vines, and hoped that this educational tour would cheer Danilo up and help him forget his worries.

  “Come this way. I will take you around the estate now. At this time of the year, we do not get so many people wanting to tour. Most prefer to sit inside, taste, and enjoy some
food. I am pleased to have the chance to see my own vines, even though there are no grapes growing at this time!” She laughed.

  “I notice you have a few north-facing fields,” Danilo said, as the bubbly woman led the way, following a gravel path toward the first vineyard.

  “That is so.” Ricky smiled. “It took us a long while to work out which grapes preferred the north slopes, and which ones—obviously many more—loved the southern slopes. It was a good learning process for us, as we were able to get inside the heart of our grape plantations, and find out where they really wanted to be. Our production doubled when we solved this puzzle.”

  Olivia was captivated. This was incredibly useful information. The upside was that grapes would thrive in exactly the right locality for their characteristics. The downside, of course, was that it would probably take her another ten years to figure out her own farm. But every year would help. Knowing this would allow her to progress faster with her very hilly terrain which had a few north-facing slopes. Now, Olivia felt optimistic she could make use of them.

  “Apart from sangiovese, which grapes do you use the most?” Olivia asked.

  “Canaiolo nero, which is a fruity grape with a softer acidity, and ciliegiolo. They add freshness and liveliness to wine, and are particularly suitable for wines that will be consumed earlier, and not stored for long. Of course, colorino is also used to give a dark, rich color to our wines,” Ricky explained.

  When they reached the bottom of the slope, the checkerboard of vines gave way to a well-established grove of olive trees. These represented the second staple crop of Sovestro. They were a major producer and exporter of olive oil, and a tasting table was set up under an ancient, sprawling olive tree.

  Olivia loved olive oil, and a day didn’t ever go by without her consuming it in some form—as a flavorful salad dressing, drizzled onto bread or pasta, or used to add rich brownness to braised or broiled meat. What a treat to be able to taste this oil while standing in the shade of one of the trees it had come from. She thought having a tasting table set up was a wonderful idea, and something that they could offer at La Leggenda. It would add another dimension to their offering, and also provide a special experience for the guests who preferred not to drink wine.