Aged for Death, page 3
“I am in many photos of the winery, many! We have a website and everybody photographs us on Instagram. All the turistas love to do selfies of this magnifico place!”
She waited, the bottle clasped tightly in her hand, to see whether Leanne would believe this perfectly true, although also entirely wrong, explanation.
“Yes, that’s it!” Leanne snapped her fingers. “I checked your venue out on Instagram when I was planning our wine tour. It certainly is a photogenic setting.” She turned to her partner. “That reminds me, I must show you the shots I took on my walk this morning. The sunrise over the hills was spectacular. I’ll find them for you right now.”
“Enjoy the vermentino.” Olivia smiled. “I will be back in uno momento to pour the next white blend, which is a blend of local friulano, pinot bianco, and sauvignon blanc grapes.”
She walked away on legs wobbly with relief, heading straight for the back room to consult the Italian phrase book she kept in her purse. It occurred to her she might have been too free with the use of the word magnifico. She urgently needed to look for alternatives.
*
After the lunchtime rush of tourists, Olivia realized she was down to only one bottle of the famous Miracolo red blend in the storage room. There had been a nonstop flood of guests over the past week, and Marcello’s brother, Antonio, who kept the shelves stocked, had been planting a new field. That had kept him too busy to bring stock inside.
Olivia decided to take advantage of the lull in the crowds to find Antonio.
Quickly, she detoured to the restaurant, where the main lunch service was finishing. Paolo was clearing tables in the outdoor courtyard. To reach him, though, Olivia would have to run the gauntlet of the restaurant manager’s dagger-like stare.
Walking into this restaurant felt like walking into a minefield, Olivia acknowledged, as she saw the well-coiffed Gabriella turn and glare at her.
“Buon giorno,” Olivia called out, trying to take the high ground and be friendly regardless.
It wasn’t her fault that Gabriella had taken a dislike to her. As Marcello’s ex-girlfriend who’d kept her job after the breakup, Gabriella, Olivia had learned, hated on anyone Marcello seemed to like. It wasn’t personal—or maybe it was.
“What are you doing here?” Gabriella called, sounding suspicious.
“I need to ask Paolo to stand in for me while I fetch more wine,” Olivia explained. “I should only be twenty minutes.”
“We are busy. Very busy. I cannot spare him,” Gabriella argued, making a sweeping gesture around the nearly empty restaurant.
Olivia knew that her protests were futile, because Marcello himself had said she was allowed to request help.
“Just twenty minutes,” she repeated, smiling again, aware that Gabriella was seething with resentment.
Paolo abandoned his table-clearing immediately and followed her eagerly to the tasting room.
“I am feeling more capable to describe the wines every time,” he confided. “It is fun to watch people appreciate them. More fun than watching people eat, which in any case they do not like you to do. Perhaps one day I can become your full-time assistant.”
“I hope so. I’m thankful for your help, and you are doing great,” Olivia encouraged him. She wasn’t sure whether Paolo really loved the winery work or whether he was simply glad to be away from Gabriella’s domineering control.
With the tasting room manned, she hurried out of the cool interior, taking a moment to stop and enjoy the glorious afternoon sunshine. It was a perfect day, warm and still, without so much as a cloud in the azure sky. She breathed in the sweet, floral scent from the Tuscan jasmine that climbed over the front of the building, before heading toward the upper levels of La Leggenda, where Antonio was planting on one of the highest-lying slopes.
During the brisk uphill walk, Olivia resolved to learn as much as she could about what he was doing and why. These higher reaches of the winery looked very similar to the terrain on her new farm. There must be secrets to success in planting vines in this arid, stony soil.
A small tractor, two of the winery’s SUVs, and a white-paneled van told her where Antonio and his team were working.
“Hello, Olivia,” Antonio called when he saw her. “I have forgotten to bring you new wines! What are you in need of?”
“The Miracolo is down to one bottle, and we’re also short on the sangiovese,” Olivia said.
“I will provide them this afternoon,” Antonio promised.
He stretched his arms above his head and then patted his pockets for cigarettes, clearly relieved to take a break from the arduous work.
“Is this land newly planted?” Olivia asked.
“Yes, it is brand new. We decided to rest the previous terrain as it did not yield well last year.”
“What variety are you planting?” she inquired.
“Nebbiolo. It is a thin-skinned red grape that produces a high acidity wine with the most incredible bouquet. These are tricky vines to grow, and you have to choose the sites carefully. They love sunshine and sandy soil, and this varietal prefers the high-lying southwest slopes, but soil acidity can be a problem in the wider area, including here.”
“Really?” Olivia pricked up her ears. She would have to test the soil on her farm before planting.
“We add an organic fertilizer and a layer of compost mixed with lime. The compost also helps to keep water in. These high-lying soils drain very fast, too fast for the healthy growth of grapes, especially when they are young.”
This was a lot of information. Olivia repeated it to herself, aware that Antonio was staring at her curiously.
She was tempted to tell him all about her crazy venture, but decided it would be better not to mention it. Even speaking the words out loud might jinx the endeavor at this early stage. She felt nervous at the thought of planting her first vines, because it would mean the possibility of failure.
For now, she would keep quiet about it and try to pick up whatever knowledge she could.
Thanking Antonio again, Olivia headed back to the winery.
As she walked in, she saw Marcello coming out of his office, located at the back of the tasting room.
“Olivia. Let me speak to you now if you have time?”
“Of course,” Olivia said, glancing at the counter where Paolo was serving a group of young Danish women with great enthusiasm. Looking at the smiles all around, Olivia could see he had the situation perfectly in hand as he rolled up his sleeves to expose his muscular arms before presenting a bottle of vermentino white wine with a flourish.
“I definitely have time,” she confirmed.
“Tomorrow morning, I have to go to Pisa,” Marcello explained. “It is a business trip, and I would like you to come with me, as I feel it will be a good learning experience for you. We will need to leave here at seven a.m., and we will be gone for the whole day.”
Olivia felt breathless with excitement. The chance to spend an entire day learning more about wine was an opportunity in itself, but to do so in Marcello’s company? That was the cherry on top.
“I’d love to accompany you,” she agreed.
Was it her imagination, or did Marcello look thrilled by her enthusiastic agreement?
“I am looking forward to it,” he said. “I think it will be a productive day for both of us.”
Olivia was fizzing with excitement. This learning experience was exactly what she’d hoped would come her way while she was working at La Leggenda. It would be an adventure to see how other wine farms in the area worked, and what their wines were like.
“I saw you were speaking to Antonio,” Marcello observed. “Does he owe you some wine?”
“He does,” Olivia said. “He promised to bring the bottles later today.”
Marcello nodded. “We ran late planting this field. We are hoping for a mid-season crop of grapes next year, but it may already be too late for the vines to mature in time. We decided today is the last possible day for planting. No matter how late we work, the seeds have to be in the ground by the time the sun goes down.”
At that moment, someone called Marcello and with a quick apology, he ran outside to attend to them.
Olivia stared after him in concern.
She’d thought she still had days—weeks, in fact—to plant her first vines, and that she’d be able to think and plan and gain information before taking this important step. Now, the bombshell Marcello had delivered had changed that timeline.
She didn’t even have the luxury of another evening if she, too, wanted a mid-season crop next year.
Straight after work, she was going to have to buy and plant her first seeds.
CHAPTER FOUR
Breathless and eager, Olivia and Charlotte hurried into the hardware store in the nearby village of Collina, just five minutes before it was due to close.
Olivia was still in her work clothes. She hadn’t even taken the time to change. She’d arrived back at the villa, and in a mini-hurricane of activity, had whirled herself and Charlotte into the Fiat and headed to the village at a speed that would have made the local Italians proud.
Olivia hadn’t even taken the time to slow down as she passed the scenic ruined castle which stood at the town’s entrance. Gazing at it had become a ritual for her, and she knew she’d caused traffic jams in the past as she craned her neck to admire it. She never got tired of looking at its crumbling walls and gray stone battlements and wondering what it had looked like hundreds of years ago, in its full glory.
This time, focused on her urgent task, she didn’t even glance in its direction.
Calling out a friendly buon giorno to the motherly store attendant, Olivia made a beeline for the section that stocked winemaking equipment.
The hardware store was like the village of Collina, Olivia thought. It was surprisingly small and cramped, and yet it contained everything a person could need.
What to get? She stared at the closely packed shelves in confusion. She’d hoped to approach this in a far more systematic way. She hadn’t even had the time to make a list.
“We’re going to need a cart, aren’t we? I’ll get us a cart,” Charlotte said.
She hurried back to the entrance as Olivia paced the aisles, fretting over which type of fertilizer she should choose, and whether her farm’s soil would also need added lime. It was too late to even consider compost.
Then there was the question about what grapes to grow. That was something else she hadn’t considered. Olivia thought frantically back to the conversation she’d had with Antonio, as well as the knowledge she’d picked up from her work behind the tasting counter.
Her farm was a higher-lying area, without a doubt, and it had hilly slopes.
Vermentino should grow well then, and if it did, perhaps chardonnay would too.
Antonio had been planting nebbiolo, but from what he had said, they were fussy customers to cultivate, and as a beginner, she needed tough, hardy grapes. The local sangiovese red grapes would be better, she decided. They were adapted to the area and would hopefully grow more easily.
She added a watering can to the cart, as well as a rake and a spade.
A small plastic watering can seemed insufficient when Olivia thought about the vast, hilly tracts of land she’d have to plant, but the alternative was to install irrigation, and that would be an expensive and time-consuming exercise. For now, the can would have to do.
“I’m a can-do girl,” she told herself optimistically.
“I’ll be able to help you water,” Charlotte said. She was also looking at the lime green can with doubt in her eyes. “I can help you do everything you need. After all, the farm is such a fun project.”
“Really?” Olivia asked. To her, it felt more daunting than fun.
“Absolutely. I’ve always loved the idea of farming. I feel I’ve got potential as a daughter of the soil.”
Olivia glanced at Charlotte gratefully, but found herself looking into the sparkling brown eyes of the man standing behind her friend. Olivia wondered how long he’d been patiently waiting as she’d rummaged through the shelves, absorbed in her panic buying.
“Sorry, we’ve been holding you up.” Olivia did her best to push aside the cart to give him room to pass.
“Not at all. I am in no hurry.” He paused, looking at her more closely.
Olivia stared back at him. Preoccupied as she was by her shopping, she couldn’t help noticing that he appeared to be about her age, fit and strong-looking, with a roguish smile and exceptionally well-groomed hair. His dark head was cut in a perfect fade, with a zigzag detail along his parting, and the top gelled in perfect spikes. Even his stubble was precision-trimmed.
“Forgive me my curiosity, signora,” he said. “I know of only one old farm for sale near here. Is this the property on the hillside, above the strada regionale?”
He was referring to the narrow tar road that led from Collina to the next village, three miles away, Olivia guessed.
“Yes, that’s the one.”
“Seriously? You bought it?” His smile widened into an incredulous grin. “That old place?”
“Yes,” Olivia said, feeling defensive.
Was he laughing at her? Clearly, he was a local who was familiar with the area. Did he know something she didn’t?
Had this investment been a drastic mistake? Olivia wondered with a chill.
“It’s a lovely farm,” she insisted. “The views are beautiful.”
He raised one eyebrow quizzically.
“Indeed, yes, it is ideally situated for a holiday home.”
Now he was staring into their cart.
“But you are not making a holiday on this farm. You are planting vines there? Vines? Now? On that hillside terrain?”
“Yes, I’m going to plant them this evening. I’m hoping for a mid-season crop next summer,” Olivia said.
The man shook his head, laughing merrily.
“Americanos! What a people! I love how you are so mad, so optimistic. No challenge is too great! Pretty lady, I wish you well—you will need more than my wishes, though.” Still chuckling to himself, he weaved his way past the cart and headed to the till.
Charlotte stared after him, frowning.
“Was he warning you about something?” she asked.
Olivia shrugged. “I think he was just teasing us,” she said. At any rate, she hoped so.
Looking at the contents of her cart, she realized that this last-minute buying spree was turning out to be an expensive exercise. She hoped it wouldn’t turn out to be a disastrous decision.
After cramming their shopping into the Fiat’s tiny trunk, they headed back to the farmhouse. It was midsummer, so there were approximately three and a half hours of daylight left, but even so Olivia knew they would have their work cut out for them. Once the planting was complete, they could reward themselves with pizza and wine at the restaurant down the road.
She was relieved that she’d left a spare pair of sweatpants in the dusty upstairs bedroom, knowing that she would need scruffy clothes to change into when she worked on-site.
Hurrying up the stairs, she wriggled out of her work skirt and pulled on the faded pants. She’d worn them for all her jobs around the farmhouse, as well as for some gardening. Not only were they stained and dirty, but there was a large hole in the seat of the pants where a rose thorn had ripped them open.
Olivia folded her smart skirt and jacket and placed them on the window frame, which she’d wiped the previous day and was thus one of the only non-dusty surfaces in the house.
She paused for a moment, staring out the window.
One day this empty, echoing room would be her bedroom. She would sleep here, with the room warmed by the evening rays, and wake to look over the brightening hills. The high ceiling and spacious area would be perfect for a double bed and a comfortable armchair, as well as a wooden desk and perhaps a huge, old-fashioned wardrobe.
Or would built-in cupboards be easier?
Olivia was still agonizing over that choice, which she knew she would have to make soon. But that was a fun decision, because she knew she couldn’t go too far wrong and either one would work. It was like the bedroom walls. Should she refresh them in their golden cream shade, or go for a lighter, brighter off-white? Again, no wrong answer.
Choosing where to plant the seeds she’d just bought was a difficult decision, because there was every chance she might mess it up.
From below, she heard Charlotte squeal with excitement.
Olivia hurried downstairs to see what had happened.
“Look, he’s back! Remember that cat we saw a few days ago? He’s here again. Perhaps the people fixing the ceiling scared him away for a while.”
“Oh, I’m so glad to see him.”
Olivia bent forward, twiddling her fingers and cooing at the small, nervous black-and-white cat that seemed to have made the abandoned farm his home. Scared as he was, he was not as flighty as he had been. He must be hoping for food. Charlotte rummaged in her purse for a packet.
“I have one left.”
Triumphantly, she tipped the contents into the plastic bowl that they’d bought and left on the porch.
Standing side by side with Charlotte, Olivia realized they had identical fond smiles as they watched the cat hungrily devour his supper. No matter how urgent her planting job was, Olivia was unable to tear herself away from the rewarding sight, until the cat had licked the last morsel of food out of the bowl and began to wash his face contentedly.
“To work,” she announced.
Rummaging in the trunk, she lifted out a bag of fertilizer and, at random, a packet of seeds.
“Vermentino it is,” she announced. “You will be the frontrunner crop on Glass Farm.”
She surveyed the terrain.
“Thinking logically, I guess we should plant them out of the way. Because there’s going to be a lot of work getting done on the house, and we don’t want to plant them where vehicles would need to drive, or materials be delivered.”
