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

room. Unlike the other floors, where she had seen doorways – presumably leading to bedrooms and so on – this huge area was wide open and it was an unexpectedly large space, occupying the whole width of the tower. There was a lounge area, a dining area and a state-of-the-art kitchen over on the far side. It was a stunning room, and she stood and admired her surroundings for some time before speaking.

‘Matt, this place is awesome. Really, it’s amazing and you’re so very, very lucky to be able to live here.’

He nodded. ‘I know. All right, there are times when the stairs are a pain – my mum and dad complained like hell – but I mainly bought it for this room. I spend most of my time up here and I just love it. Here, seeing as we’re climbing, let’s go the whole hog and I’ll show you the roof.’

Over to one side of the room was a much narrower staircase – also made of stone – that climbed steeply and disappeared into the ceiling high above. At the top was a low doorway. He pushed the hefty door open and they walked out into the evening light. The sun was still above the horizon but was already flushing the western sky a delicate shade of pink. Alice stood stock-still and breathed deeply. It was stunning. The whole of the Chianti region was laid out before her, forming a charming tapestry of little villages, vineyards, olive groves, farmhouses and villas – including the villa of the wasps directly below them.

‘What do you think?’ She heard his voice at her shoulder.

What she thought was that this had to be one of the most romantic views on the face of the earth. She felt a warm, happy glow spread through her, as she let her eyes roam across it. Finally, she glanced towards him.

‘I’m speechless, Matt. It’s absolutely stunning. Thank you so much for letting me experience it.’

‘I’m glad you like it as much as I do. Now, what can I get you to drink?’

‘Anything cold. You choose.’

‘I’m afraid I won’t have any of my own wine until next year, but I have got some of Virgilio’s cold rosé in the fridge. I like it a lot. Unless you prefer me to open that bottle you so kindly brought, maybe you might like to try some rosé?’

‘Some rosé sounds perfect, thanks.’

They returned to the big living room and she sat down on one of a pair of smart modern sofas. The dog positioned himself on a rug at her feet and when Matt returned with the wine, he sat down opposite her, at least two or three metres away. Well, she told herself, he certainly couldn’t be accused of crowding her.

The wine was indeed good and they settled down to chat. Very gradually, she managed to get him to talk more about himself, but she couldn’t get a clue as to why he had been suffering so much abuse on social media. Whenever the subject moved in that direction, he skilfully steered it away again and she took the hint. She did, however, make one interesting discovery, which went a long way towards explaining why he had been looking a bit glum from time to time. When he wasn’t working on the estate, he admitted that he was trying to write a book, but he was suffering from chronic writer’s block. He told her he had been agonising about making a start on it for months, without being able to put a single word down on the page.

‘What sort of stuff are you thinking of writing?’

‘To be honest, I don’t really know and that’s what’s screwing me up at present. I’m torn between trying to write something lightweight or even humorous and something a bit more meaningful, but every time I think I’ve decided what I’m going to do, I end up just staring at the blank page.’

‘Do you have a background in writing?’

‘Sort of. I used to be a journalist, but there’s a big difference between a thousand-word article and a book.’

Alice wondered how a journalist – however good at his job – might have managed to amass enough money to buy this amazing historic building, but she sensed he was still reticent to talk. In particular, he didn’t say what he had been doing since giving up journalism, so she didn’t press him, as it was none of her business – at least until she got to know him better.

‘I’ve been doing a bit of writing myself. It’s just a little paper about Amerigo Vespucci and the wasps on the coat of arms. If it’s okay with you, I’d like to mention the shield you’ve just shown me here in the tower and add a photo. Would that be all right?’

‘Of course, but preferably without naming names. The last thing I want is a horde of eager tourists or academics pestering me for a look at it. Escaping to Tuscany was so I could live in peace.’

‘Of course. It’s just for fun, really. I was wondering – once I’ve done that, could I email it to you, and do you think you could do me a favour and print me off a copy to give to the people at the villa? I don’t have access to a printer here. And, of course, take a copy for yourself if you’re interested.’

‘I’d love that, thank you, and of course I’ll run off a copy or two. Just send it over and I’ll get onto it.’ He dictated his email address and she reflected that, while not a phone number, this was a step in the right direction as far as getting closer to him was concerned.

It was getting quite dark when she glanced at her watch and saw that it was almost eight o’clock. Finishing her drink, she got to her feet and looked across at him. As she did so, the Labrador – who had been snoring happily, occasionally