Second Chances in Chianti (Escape to Tuscany Book 2) by T.A. Williams (online e reader .TXT) 📕

‘I recognised you as soon as I saw you. You’re Polly, aren’t you?’ His eyes met hers in the rear-view mirror for a moment and she saw he was grinning. ‘I had a poster of you on my wall for years.’

This wasn’t the first time Alice had heard this sort of comment and she found herself hoping it wasn’t the infamous wet-bikini poster that left very little to the imagination. Snapped by a paparazzo as she emerged from the Pacific in an unguarded moment, an unscrupulous print shop had produced a poster from the picture. Her lawyers had finally managed to get it removed from circulation, but not before tens of thousands had been printed and sold. It had made her feel angry then, and thinking about it still made her feel awkward now. Hastily, she returned the subject to less contentious issues.

‘And do you know the Chianti area well?’

‘I’m from Florence, but we all know the Chianti region. It’s still mostly rural, with lots of vineyards everywhere. It isn’t far from Florence and there are some very exclusive, and expensive, villas there. We turn off the autostrada in ten or fifteen minutes and that’s pretty much the start of Chianti. The villa’s near Greve in Chianti, which is no more than another half hour at most. It won’t take too long.’

After leaving the busy motorway, the drive into the heart of the Chianti region was a delight. As the much quieter country road weaved its way along the valleys and up the flanks of the steep hills, the views got better and better. The hills, as the driver had said, were clad for the most part with meticulously kept vineyards – their rows of vines laid out with mathematical precision – that were often flanked by olive groves. Clumps of woodland here and there – particularly on the hilltops – added patches of dark green in contrast to the bright new leaves on the vines and the grey-green of the olive trees. Quaint little villages and lovely old farmhouses and villas dotted the landscape, and everywhere she looked she saw the tall, slim cypress trees so typical of Tuscany. Alice gave up on her Italian lesson, sat back alongside David and soaked up the view.

Altogether, the drive from the airport to the villa took well under an hour and the sun was just beginning to drop towards the horizon as the limousine came to a halt in front of two imposing metal gates set in a formidable high wire fence that stretched off into the distance on either side. The driver leant out of the car window and spoke into an intercom. A few seconds later the gates hummed open and they drove in, flanked by thick clumps of bright yellow broom bushes, some several metres tall, shaded by tall trees. As they did so, Alice spotted two security cameras pointing down at them. Clearly, the owners of Villa delle Vespe valued their privacy – and that of their guests. As the car crunched up the long, winding, white gravel drive, the trees gave way to vines on either side of them and ahead, on a ridge, she could just make out the roof of the villa amongst a cluster of ancient cypress trees.

As they rounded the last bend and crested the ridge, the villa of the wasps came into full view and Alice whistled softly to herself in appreciation. It was a large, wide, two-storey building in traditional Tuscan style, with red roof tiles and a little tower rising up from the centre. The walls were a delightful weathered yellowy ochre colour, with dusty-green louvred shutters at the windows. It was surrounded by charming formal gardens and the whole place looked enchanting. The driver drew up in a fan-shaped parking area, protected from the sun by huge old umbrella pines, and pointed towards the villa.

‘If you’d like to make your way up to the front door, I’ll bring your suitcases.’

Alice thanked him and they stepped out of the air-conditioned interior of the car into the heat of the late afternoon. It had been a hot day and the air was still warm even now, at six o’clock. Judging by the cloudless sky above, tomorrow was going to be equally fine. She and David set off up a short stretch of stone-paved path, flanked by meticulously trimmed box hedges, punctuated every few metres by enormous old terracotta pots containing lemon trees, oleander bushes and clumps of sweet-scented lavender. The mixture of aromas was intoxicating and she breathed in deeply, savouring the moment. Beside her, she heard an intake of breath from David.

‘Wow, how the other half live!’ He looked across at her and she could see the wonder on his face. ‘I suppose all this opulence takes you back to happier times.’

‘Not necessarily happier times, David – different times. I was never really that into the whole glitzy showbiz world. My five years in Bristol have been great and, don’t forget, they allowed me to meet you.’ She reached over and gave him a little kiss, but his eyes were still trained on the view.

As they approached the steps leading up to the entrance to the villa, a figure appeared at the door and came running down to greet her.

‘Alice, hi, it’s great to see you again.’

For a moment she almost didn’t recognise him. The intervening five years since she had last spoken to him had altered Richie, her on-screen and off-screen boyfriend, so much that he almost looked like a different man. His former shoulder-length brown hair was now barely an inch long and his once clean-shaven chin was dark with stubble. However, compared to a photo of him she had seen in Hello! a few years back, when he had looked scruffy, unkempt and sad, this new incarnation of Richie didn’t look too bad at all. From the tightness of his T-shirt around his shoulders and