Second Chances in Chianti (Escape to Tuscany Book 2) by T.A. Williams (best ereader under 100 TXT) 📗

I’m sure my cane will love it.’ She saw him glance around the room. ‘This place is really nice, and it’s a damn sight tidier than mine.’

Alice saw the opportunity to do a bit of digging. ‘Haven’t you got somebody to do the housework?’ His answer wasn’t what she wanted to hear.

‘No, there’s just us. There’s no need.’

Us – plural, so there was somebody else living there with him after all. Although she had feared this might be the case, she had been hoping against hope and now felt a wave of disappointment. She was debating whether she could ask for more information, without sounding too intrusive, when he saved her the trouble. His smile broadened as he reached down to ruffle the dog’s ears.

‘Living alone with a dog makes life dead easy. Guinness doesn’t mind if I don’t do the housework, and a bit of clutter around the place doesn’t bother me.’

Alice had to fight the temptation to sigh with relief. So he did live alone, which presumably indicated there was no wife or partner lurking in the background after all. She felt a surge of excitement. ‘I was telling my mum about you yesterday and she asked if you were a crazy man living all alone with just a dog.’ She realised her mistake too late. Why on earth had she told him she had spoken to her mum about him? Talk about needy…

‘I don’t know about crazy, but I don’t mind being alone.’ His tone became more sombre, as he repeated the remark that had surprised her the other day at the cafe in Greve. ‘Compared to some people I’ve come across over the past few years, my own company is far preferable. Besides, you’re never alone with a dog.’

‘I can imagine. He’s a great dog.’ She caught his eye for a moment. ‘To be honest, I find I’m quite happy being on my own as well.’

‘You’re really all on your own? That surprises me.’ Was this just a throwaway remark or might it be a sign of interest?

She decided to keep it light and avoid mention of David. ‘I would think it’s par for the course for an art historian – with or without a cardigan.’

‘If you say so.’ He headed for the door. ‘Thank you for the collar. Guinness will be wearing it next time we meet. See you, Alice, and thanks again.’

He gave a low whistle, and he and his dog were off.

Later that morning she got an email that took her by surprise. It was from Claudio.

She had met Claudio three years earlier, when she had spent the month of July in Italy researching her doctoral thesis. He was a lecturer in medieval history at La Sapienza in Rome – one of the oldest universities in the world – and she had been out to dinner with him a few times before her return to England. They had corresponded sporadically over the following few months – mainly about academic matters – but then contact had ceased. He was a nice guy and, as he was an expert on the Renaissance, he had helped her considerably. In his email he told her he was spending the hot summer months of July and August in the relative cool of the high southern Tuscan hills near Monte Amiata. He had just seen her photos in the news and wondered if she was still in Tuscany, in which case he suggested meeting up.

Alice hesitated before answering. On the one hand, it would be good to see him again – to have a bit of company and to be able to talk shop for a day – but she had got the impression three years ago that his interest in her had been more than just academic and she didn’t see him that way. Yes, he was intelligent, yes he was a fairly good-looking guy, but there was just no spark there as far as she was concerned, and she wouldn’t want to build up his expectations only to dash them. Even if so many of the men around her seemed incapable of behaving properly, that was no reason why she should follow suit. Still, lunch with him sounded safe enough and a bit of company would be rather nice, so she replied, telling him she was near Greve in Chianti and asking where he would like to meet up.

She spent the rest of the day in the ancient city of Arezzo that perched on a steep hillside and boasted a wealth of historic buildings. It took less than an hour to get there by car and she had a most enjoyable afternoon walking around the centro storico. Her first stop was the cathedral, whose fairly plain outside belied the treasures within, and she stayed there for quite some time. After all, it wasn’t every day she was able to study works by greats such as Donatello close up and personal. From there she moved on to the much smaller, but even older, Basilica of San Francesco, where the stunning array of frescoes by Piero della Francesca almost took her breath away.

Finally, outside in the cloying heat once more, she headed for the quaint sloping Piazza Grande, took a seat at a table under the arches, and ordered a lemon sorbet and a glass of mineral water. From there she had a spectacular view out over the brick-paved square, framed by a stunning array of thirteenth-century buildings that were bristling with arches and crenellations and full of unmistakable Tuscan character. Although crawling with tourists, it was still mightily impressive. In particular, she was fascinated to see the colourful shields of the city’s former rulers mounted on the walls all around the piazza, painted with the coats of arms of local families. She studied them intently but, alas, could see no trace of any wasps.

When she got home again, she was feeling quite hungry, as she had skipped lunch, so she decided to treat herself to dinner at Giovanni’s