Sign of the Times (4 page)

Chapter Five

“Hollee!” shouted Emilio.
 
Holly, who had been relaxing in the pool, shot upright and then swam to the edge.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I have some news and I think it will be good for your book and I wanted to tell you before Guido,” he admitted slightly abashed.

“It’s not something bad?” Holly was confused.

“Noooo. It’s very good. Our friend, Alessandro is getting married next week.
 
I asked him if you could come and he said yes!”

“Oh, thank you,” said Holly.
 
“I’ve never been to an Italian wedding before.”

“Well, you’ll have to eat nothing for two days before.”

“Are you saying I’m fat?” Holly was indignant.

“Fat?
 
Ma sei pazza?
”

Holly said she wasn’t mad, but why wasn’t she to eat for two days.

“OK, maybe not two days, but it’s like a marathon eating event, eight courses.
 
Last week you couldn’t even manage dessert.” Emilio chided.

Sheepishly Holly agreed, “I know.
 
I love food, but I fill up quickly.”

“So, we have eight courses usually and there is lots of dancing, singing and many speeches.
 
There are normally at least two hundred people.”

“Two hundred guests!
 
Evening or day?”

“What do you mean?
 
The wedding is during the day.”

“No, I mean, of the two hundred guests, how many are invited for the whole day and how many just for the evening?”

Emilio looked aghast, “No! We do not do things this way. Everyone comes for the whole day.
 
It is a day for celebration”

“I have nothing to wear!” wailed Holly.

“I am sure you’ll find something. I would like you to be my guest, Holly.
 
I know you have a fiancé, so don’t worry, I have the purest of intentions.”
 
At that he winked, letting her know that if Tom hadn’t existed, his intentions would have been less than pure.

That night at dinner, the four of them talked of little else.
 
Guido explained that Alessandro owned the large house on the hill, which Holly had so admired on her first day.

Holly’s creative juices were flowing.
 
She had already written eighty pages in three weeks, which was a lot, as she was a perfectionist and drafted and re-drafted to within an inch of her life.

On Tuesday afternoon she decided she really did have nothing suitable to wear.
  
She asked the signora if she knew anywhere to buy a dress in Arezzo.
 
Sig.a Tagliaferri was delighted to be of assistance.
 
She even went as far as to suggest that Holly might want someone with her to approve her choice.
 
So, they set out after lunch and within half an hour, were scouring the shops in search of the perfect dress.
  
The assistant couldn’t have been more helpful, rushing to do Holly’s bidding.
 
Holly wondered if this was because she was foreign and therefore more likely to spend vast sums of money, or if it were because she had a local as a companion.
 
First she brought out a red flowery dress, which horrified Holly.
 
The assistant must have seen the look of terror on her face, as she disposed of it forthwith.
 
Next was a pale green, floaty number. It was OK, but left Holly looking somewhat washed out. The third dress brought a sharp intake of breath from Sig.a Tagliaferri when Holly emerged from the cubicle.
 
She’d been struggling with herself, as to whether to even show Sig.a Tagliaferri this dress.
 
It was
so
revealing.
 
Cut like that famous Marilyn Monroe dress at the top, it was of voile, with silk underneath.
 
She looked beautiful.
 
Holly’s main preoccupation was it was cream and it was a wedding and who knew what the bride would be wearing.
 
The signora, also a wedding guest, dismissed this problem and insisted Holly buy the dress.
 
The assistant, who could see Holly vacillate, said she’d give her a ten percent discount.
 
So she bought it.

The days leading up to the wedding flew.
 
Guido was busy in the fields.
 
Emilio was helping with the wedding.
 
The villa had more guests than Holly had seen in previous weeks.
 
Holly worked like a woman possessed on her book and was making good inroads.
 
She had befriended the four old chess players.
 
Roberto, who seemed to be the ringleader, happily recounted to her as many tales as she could listen to.
 
She’d also made time to call Tom the day before the wedding, guilty that she hadn’t called him for several days.
  
It didn’t occur to her that he hadn’t phoned her either.

The day of the wedding was a glorious one.
  
The sun was the colour of primroses, the sky couldn’t have been bluer and the birdsong couldn’t have been more melodic.
 
The ceremony was at two o’clock.
 
The whole village bustled around in the morning, collecting flowers for button holes, having their hair styled, nipping into each others houses to see if one approved of the other’s outfit or makeup.
  
Many of the villagers had been invited to the wedding.

It had been agreed that they would congregate in the villa reception at one thirty and Guido would drive them across.
 
They could then return by taxi later, or if they were feeling brave, walk back.

Both Guido and Emilio gasped when Holly entered the room, in her magnificent dress, her hair up in a French roll and delicate, loose tendrils framing her heart shaped face.
 
The new shoes added a few extra inches in height.
 
The boys thought she was a knockout.
 
”Wow!” said Guido.
 
“You look amazing.”

Holly smiled and said “Thanks.” She gave up not accepting compliments graciously a long time ago. Plus she knew she looked good.

As Guido drove up the windy, scenic route to Il
Castagno
, named after the many chestnut trees in the area, Holly took in her surroundings.
  
Rows of wild flowers blossomed along the hillside, but they were so uniform that it seemed they had been specially planted for the wedding.
 
She drank in the smells, too, of cut grass and the fresh flowers she had spotted on the ascent, assailed her senses.
 
Guido expertly negotiated the car to the buzzer in front of the gate and pressed it.

“
Pronto?
” came a voice

“
Siamo noi
,” shouted Guido and the gates opened.

Guido opened the car door for her. It was a simple gesture, but polite and Holly appreciated it.
 
She looked in awe at the villa, which was about five times the size of the Tagliaferris’.
 
The signora cut into her thoughts, “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Holly replied, “How long has it been here?”

“It has been in the family for at least nine generations.”

“That’s a lot of history.”

“Hollee,” shouted Emilio. “
Andiamo?
”

Holly followed the brothers through the house to the garden, where the ceremony would be held.
  
As she passed through the villa, she was reminded of Dario’s house, although this was much more rustic and relaxed.
 
Although
 
equally grand, it was less formidable.
 
She gasped when they entered the garden.
 
It was enormous, lined on both sides by acacia trees and dotted with flowers in an astonishing array of colours.
 
She was marvelling over the beauty of it all, when she caught sight of the vast marquee where the meal would be held.
  
Its flaps were closed, but adjacent to it, she could see several hundred chairs and a raised wooden dais.
 
She walked towards the seating area, to admire the archway, which was made of wrought iron, but painted white, completely wound around with carnations, peonies and white lilies.
 
Holly thought how lucky the bride and groom were, to be married in such a place, on such a glorious day.

She stood lost in thought, until a hand touched her arm.
 
Without turning around, she said,

“
Arrivo subito
,” assuming it was Emilio come to look for her.
 
When he didn’t answer, she turned around and found herself face to face with Dario.

“Jesus!” gasped Holly.
 
“Wh-wh-what are you doing here?” she stammered, flushing scarlet.
 
Measuredly, as if trying to find the right words, he said,

“I’m a guest at the wedding.
 
Alessandro is a very good friend.”

“I’m a guest too,” floundered Holly.
  
“I came with Guido and Emilio,” she prattled.
 
“They live in the villa across the valley.”

Dario’s amused expression didn’t falter, but his voice altered slightly.
 
“Guido and Emilio?”

“They are my landlady’s sons. There she is!” and with that waved at a surprised Sig.a Tagliaferri.
 
Her stomach had what she’d always termed ‘flutterbies’ in it.
 
She wasn’t much enjoying feeling like a gauche, sixteen year old. Pulling herself together, she chastised him,

“You didn’t say goodbye.”

Just then Emilio appeared,

“
Scusatemi
, but Guido wants to introduce you to someone,” he apologised to Dario for stealing her away.

“
Certo
,” Dario shrugged. “Speak to you later,” he said to Holly, as she was dragged away.

After making the necessary polite chit-chat with Guido’s friends, Holly let her gaze return to where she had left Dario.
 
He was standing watching her.
 
When he saw her look over, his eyes held her gaze and a frisson of excitement shot through her.
 
Smiling to herself, she turned back to reply to a question about her book.

The string quartet announced the imminent start to the proceedings.
 
The guests began to make their way to their seats.
 
The incessant chattering died down to a hush.
  
The groom and the best man took their seats, whilst the string quartet played Monteverdi.
 
Eventually, Holly glimpsed the bride, on her father’s arm at the end of the little path with the floral archway.
 
The musicians began playing and all the guests stood up. The bride’s dress was a virginal, white satin, fussy, meringue affair, which wasn’t to Holly’s taste, but it wasn’t her wedding and she didn’t have to wear it.
  
It was a shame, she thought, as the bride was beautiful, although un-Italian looking, with her flowing golden tresses.
  
The groom stood at the platform, waiting to receive his bride.
  
He was dressed simply in a well cut, black suit, as befitted tradition.
  
The beam from his smile would have given the sun a run for its money, as he took in the sight of his bride-to-be walking towards him.
  
Holly felt a lump form in her throat.
  
She spotted Dario in one of the front rows on the groom’s side.
 
As she watched him, she saw something glistening on his cheek.
 
Were those tears?
 
No, don’t be silly, she admonished herself.
 
Men don’t cry.
 
As the bride and groom exchanged their vows and rings, Holly risked another glance in Dario’s direction.
  
His face was definitely wet.
 
No-one had noticed except Holly.
 
All eyes were quite rightly on the bride.

Everyone stood again, as the newlyweds made their way along the path, to have their photos taken.
 
Meanwhile the guests were invited to drink aperitifs.
 
Holly had just raised her glass to her mouth, when Dario materialised, in front of her.

“
Ciao
.”

“
Ciao
,” Holly replied.

“We never did get to finish that conversation.”

“No,” Holly agreed.

“I wanted to say goodbye you know. It was just…” he searched around for the word, “difficult.”
 
He looked so sincere and regretful, that Holly didn’t feel she could chide him any longer.

“I know,” Holly reassured him, “The problem is, I didn’t want to say goodbye.”

Dario looked at her carefully, to see if he had heard properly.

“Do you mean what I think you mean?” he asked her.

Holly laughed, “It depends what you think I mean.
 
All I know is I enjoyed spending time in your company.”

“Do you spend time in Emilio and Guido’s company?”

“Yes,” replied Holly, knowing where this was leading.