Slow burn, p.25
Slow Burn, page 25
‘I know I’ve left it late,’ I said, looking at Sofia. ‘But I had family responsibilities before. As the eldest of three girls, with parents who still had successful careers in entertainment, I was expected to take the lead with the business my parents had set up. I was very compliant with what my family wanted, which now I kind of regret.’
‘Oh?’ said Sofia. ‘You wish you had told your parents that you couldn’t help them as they’d asked?’
I glanced at Gabriele.
‘I think there might have been a way to compromise,’ I said carefully. ‘Instead of giving up on my dreams completely. Much as I loved – love – working in the studio and teaching other people how to dance, I’ve never quite got rid of the desire to be up on stage myself. So yeah, I guess Carlos did perform some magic that evening. And now I’ve got a chance to experience what it’s like to be a professional dancer. I know there’s only a small window of time, that I’ve only got a few years of dancing left at most, but my plan is to make the most of it.’
‘You are too talented not to, Lira,’ said Gabriele.
Sofia took a sip of her wine. The atmosphere was so loaded that I’d started dreading what she was going to say next. The food was delicious, but I couldn’t relax enough to enjoy it.
‘So what is next for you?’ asked Sofia. ‘More travel? Another show?’
‘I’m not sure,’ I answered honestly. ‘I’m planning to set up some meetings with agents for when I get back to the UK and I’ll take it from there.’
‘And your family’s studio?’ asked Sofia.
‘We’ll make it work.’
Sofia nods. ‘And what about you, Gabriele? Will you be joining Lira on another tour?’
‘Mama, please,’ said Gabriele. ‘This is not a conversation to have in front of Lira; it is between you and me.’
‘I am not blind, Gabriele. I can see that the two of you have become close. And I am happy for you, but perhaps not for myself, because I would love you to stay here and run the farm with me, but I think that’s not what you want in your heart. Is it, Gabi?’
Gabriele pushed his chair back and stood up. ‘Mama, please, we must change the subject. I will fetch a jug of water for us, and when I get back we will talk about something else.’
Gabriele disappeared out to the kitchen, leaving one of the interminable silences I was getting used to, the only sound being the scrape of our forks on our plates.
‘I don’t mean to upset you, Lira, but I am lost without Enzo, you understand? I know nothing about wine, except the tiny amount I have picked up from listening to him over the years, but I could not run the business alone now he’s gone, and I am too old to learn. But Gabriele could learn, and I know that is what his father wanted for him. I will not force him, of course. I know how much he loves dancing. He would have to want to stay. And rather selfishly I’m concerned that now he has met you, he will definitely not want to live out here in the hills with his melancholy mother.’
‘I understand family responsibility, Sofia,’ I said, treading carefully. ‘And if running the vineyard is what Gabriel needs to do, wants to do, then I would never try to stop him, even if I could. I’m not sure whether you’ve noticed, but he’s quite headstrong,’ I said, laughing lightly, hoping to lighten the mood. Sofia smiled tightly – it was a start, I supposed, and it was better than having her scowling at me from across the table.
‘Anyway, what we have isn’t serious. Not yet,’ I added, to reassure her that Gabriele would not be factoring me into his decision about whether to stay or go.
Sofia looked up from her plate, surprised.
‘I’m not sure that is correct, Lira,’ she said.
I frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean that Gabriele has never brought a woman home to meet me before. He has never sat down at a table with me and someone he is interested in romantically, not once.’
I secretly thought I understood why he hadn’t, if this was the level of interrogation Sofia was likely to give every woman he brought home. And I felt a thrill that I was the first, although, in fairness, I had rocked up on his doorstep unannounced. He hadn’t had much choice, had he?
‘You must be special to him. For him to ask you to stay the night, to have dinner with us. It means something. I’ve just lost the love of my life, and I am wondering whether Gabriele has just found his.’
There was a fluttering of hope that what she was saying was true, and that Gabriele liked me as much as she seemed to think he did. When he walked back into the room, I’d never been so pleased to see anyone in my whole life. He was carrying the dessert we’d made, placing it in the centre of the table. Sofia looked at it admiringly.
‘Who would like some apple tart?’ asked Gabriele, looking from one of us to the other.
* * *
Later that evening, Sofia told us she was having an early night and Gabriele and I sat out in the garden with a glass of wine. He’d brought a speaker outside and had attached it to his phone so that soft, sexy Latin music played over our conversation. The Tuscan sky was beautiful – a bright, full moon; stars that I hadn’t even known existed because, in London, and even in Castlebury, the sky was never this dark and clear.
‘It’s beautiful out here,’ I said, tipping my head back, taking some deep, relaxing breaths.
I felt my shoulders soften now that I didn’t have to watch every word I said for fear of upsetting Sofia even more than I seemed to have done already.
‘I apologize again. About my mother. She is very intense sometimes, and losing Papa seems to have taken her to a whole new level. I am terrified to say anything in case I set her off.’
‘I’m glad it’s not just me,’ I said, smiling wryly at him.
He took my hand, caressing it gently.
‘I am glad you are here,’ he said.
‘Me too. Although I’m slightly worried I might have made things worse for you. Your mum seems to think that I have some kind of hold over you. I tried to tell her that I wouldn’t be able to influence your future plans for the vineyard one way or another.’
Gabriele looked thoughtful. ‘Is that really what you think? That you have not had an impact on me or my decisions at all?’
I frowned. ‘Well, that’s what I assumed. I mean, sure, we’ve enjoyed each other’s company recently. But I’ve never let myself think beyond that.’
A hurt look crossed his face and I wondered if I’d read it all wrong. If maybe his mum had been right after all.
Gabriele looked at me. ‘It’s true. My priorities have changed over the last week or so. I could never leave my mother alone up here without Papa.’
‘Of course. You have to put your family first at a time like this,’ I agreed.
The opening bars of an evocative rumba emanated from the speakers. Our eyes locked together.
‘I miss dancing with you,’ I said. ‘It’s not the same with anyone else.’
He stood up, holding out his hand. ‘Then shall we?’
I joined him on the lawn-cum-dance-floor, letting our bodies rock together, finding the beat. Naturally, we fell into the steps from Slow Burn, and this time, I let myself give in to the passion I felt for this man as he ran his hands over my hips, holding me as I fell into a backbend, my body so close to the ground that my hair tickled the grass. I came back up to meet him, eye to eye, our hips swaying in time to the music. When I kicked my leg into the air, Gabriele caught my ankle gently in his hand, supporting me as I let my body lunge to one side, knowing that he would never let me fall. Suspended in motion like that, I acknowledged how safe he made me feel, and not just while we were dancing. And it was a new feeling, because he’d always felt very unsafe, in that I suspected he was perfectly capable of breaking my heart.
And he still might be, but I had to change my life. Do something with it. And that meant taking risks. And being with Gabriele, for however long that might turn out to be, was one risk I was determined to let myself take.
* * *
The next morning, I was up earlier than Gabriele, and went down to the kitchen to make us both a coffee. I kept opening and shutting cupboards, looking for the potent Italian coffee I was sure Sofia must keep somewhere.
‘Bottom cupboard on the right,’ said Sofia, appearing in the doorway. ‘It is coffee you are looking for, yes? I know Gabriele likes a cup in the morning, he has always been that way.’
I nodded. ‘I’m exactly the same. Can’t quite get going without it.’
I bent down to open the cupboard. I’d already looked in here, but had somehow missed it.
Sofia took a seat at the dining table, watching me as I set about making the coffee.
‘Can I pour one for you?’ I asked.
‘That would be lovely,’ said Sofia.
I tried not to show my surprise at how nice she was being. It was like the guarded, defensive, accusative woman from the night before had morphed into someone altogether less spiky overnight.
‘I saw you and Gabriele out in the garden last night,’ said Sofia, casually, sending me into a tailspin.
I’d thought we were alone, chatting and dancing out there. Our rumba had turned into a series of kisses interspersed with dance steps, culminating in us stumbling inside and spending all night in bed, leaving our glasses of wine undrunk and the music still on. I’d snuck out there this morning to tidy up, but what had Sofia seen? If the passion between us had looked as good as it felt, there was no way she was going to believe that there was nothing serious going on between the two of us.
‘You move beautifully together,’ said Sofia.
‘I love dancing with him,’ I admitted, bringing a pot of coffee over to the table and going back for the mugs. ‘He’s got a real gift. Don’t you think?’
‘Of course,’ said Sofia. ‘He’s been a wonderful dancer all his life, from the moment he took his very first class aged two and a half. Enzo wasn’t keen on him pursuing it at first, I’m not sure if Gabi told you.’
‘A little,’ I said, not wanting her to think he’d been criticizing his father.
‘He was a traditional man. A career in dance wasn’t – isn’t – the usual thing out here in rural Italy. He had his opinions, and they weren’t always right, but he loved Gabriele dearly. And he was proud of him, too. I once caught him watching a video of Gabriele dancing on stage, and when he looked up he had tears in his eyes. He said to me: I didn’t know he was this good.’
I took a seat next to Sofia, pouring us each a mug of strong, black coffee.
‘I bet Gabriele would love to hear that story.’
Sofia pulled her cardigan tightly around herself as though she was cold, although when I’d popped outside to clear our things from the night before, the summer sun had already been rising in the clear blue sky.
‘I owe you an apology,’ said Sofia.
‘Sofia. You don’t,’ I said.
And I meant it – I’d come into her home expecting… what, exactly? That she was going to welcome me with open arms when her beloved husband had died weeks before?
‘I do. I was… difficult yesterday. I was thinking only of myself. Perhaps we do that when we are grieving,’ she said, with a wry smile.
‘I think we probably do,’ I said.
‘When I saw you and Gabriele dancing out in the garden, I couldn’t look away. I know it was strange of me to keep watching. You are probably thinking what a weird woman I am, watching two young people sharing a passionate moment meant only for them. But it reminded me so much of the night I met Enzo. Three decades ago now, back in Argentina.’
‘Tell me about it,’ I said. ‘About him.’
Sofia rubbed her arms, as though the memory of him was making her shiver.
‘He was in Buenos Aires for meetings. I was twenty-two and had just left university, unsure what to do with my life. He was older – nearly thirty – and to me he had it all together. He knew how to talk to women, how to treat them, how to dress. How to be charming. He had come with his colleagues to watch an Argentine tango show at the bar at the end of my street. I was working there as a waitress, just to make some money while I decided what I actually wanted to do with my life.’
‘Who does know, at twenty-two?’ I said.
‘Gabriele,’ said Sofia, laughing softly. ‘He always knew.’
‘So that night, in Buenos Aires. How did the two of you get talking?’
Sofia’s eyes misted over as she thought back to that night, to the moment she first set eyes on Enzo.
‘He was so handsome, easily the best-looking man in the room. I could tell immediately that he was not a local – he was dressed too well, in his fancy shirt and expensive jeans and smart shoes. I was clearing his table when he struck up conversation with me in broken Spanish. His was so bad that eventually we swapped to English, which neither of us was perfect at, but my Italian was non-existent then, so we had little choice.’
I laughed, totally caught up in the story.
‘What did he say to you?’ I asked.
‘He wanted to know if I could dance the Argentine tango. If all Argentinian girls knew how to dance it. I said that, yes, it was in our blood. He asked me to show him a step or two.’
I rested my chin in the palm of my hand, totally enraptured by the romance of it all. What a place to meet: hot, sultry Argentina, tango music everywhere.
‘Could he dance?’ I asked.
Sofia threw her head back, letting out an infectious roar. It was the first time I’d seen her properly laugh.
‘He was terrible!’ she declared. ‘He wanted to learn the boleo, but he kept getting his legs all tangled up in mine. Eventually, I gave up teaching him the steps and simply tried to get him to connect to the rhythm of the music. Slowly, he began to understand the beat. Our hips were swaying together, we were looking into each other’s eyes as though nobody else could see us, not even my boss who wanted me to clear more tables.’
‘That’s so romantic,’ I said.
‘We have barely been apart since,’ said Sofia, her face falling again. ‘I went back to his hotel room that night and by morning we had declared that we never wanted to be separated again.’
Tears began to slide down her cheeks and I instantly regretted asking her so many questions when it was clearly still too upsetting for her.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I shouldn’t have—’
‘Don’t be sorry. I want to talk about him. It makes me feel that he is still here with me. I wish that you could have met him, and since you can’t, I want to be able to tell you about him. Don’t mind me if I cry. We Argentinian women are very emotional.’
‘And the men?’ I asked, thinking of Gabriele, who was a mixture of Argentinian and Italian.
‘Not so much, as I’m sure you have noticed,’ said Sofia.
Gabriele chose that moment to appear in the doorway. He looked nervous at first, probably wondering what I’d done to his poor mother to make tears course down her cheeks and her face flush.
‘Everything okay?’ he asked, looking from one of us to the other.
Sofia patted the chair next to her.
‘Sit,’ she said. ‘I have just been telling Lira about your father. And about how I saw the two of you dance together and was blown away by what I saw.’
‘Really?’ said Gabriele, reluctantly taking a seat. ‘Were you watching us, Mama?’
‘A little,’ she admitted breezily.
Then she turned to me, taking both of my hands in hers.
‘I think you and I are going to be very good friends,’ she said. ‘I know you have your big dance career to pursue, and after seeing how perfectly you danced that rumba, I can understand that you have a talent that deserves to be nurtured and shown to other people for them to enjoy.’
I was so surprised I couldn’t find a way to answer.
‘You like Italy?’ said Sofia.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Very much.’
‘And you like my son, yes?’
I glanced at Gabriele, who was looking utterly confused at the scene unfolding in front of him.
‘Very much, also,’ I said.
‘Then I hope that you will come to visit us again. It will be nice for me to have some female company around the place.’
Gabriele looked at Sofia.
‘Mama, are you feeling all right?’
He jokingly placed his hand on her forehead as though she might have a fever, and she playfully batted his hand away.
‘The only thing that would make this even better would be for Enzo to be here to see how happy you have made my son, Lira.’
Gabriele groaned with embarrassment. ‘Enough! Please, you two!’
All three of us cracked up. As I watched Sofia cry tears of laughter rather than pain, I thought how grief was a funny thing. How sparks of happiness could be found in even the darkest moments. And I had a thought. And I didn’t know why it hadn’t come to me sooner.
‘Gabriele, would you feel up to dancing the final performance of Slow Burn? I’ll do two nights in Florence with Tomas, but then you perform on our last night. It’s your show. You should be there, up on stage, bringing it to its rightful end.’
‘What a wonderful idea!’ said Sofia.
‘You’d come, wouldn’t you, Sofia? You would come and watch Gabriele perform?’
She nodded. ‘Of course I would. Sad as it would be without Enzo – because he was very proud of you, Gabi, you know. All he wanted was for you to be happy.’
‘I do not know what to say,’ said Gabriele.
‘Say yes,’ I said. ‘And then let’s call Carlos to tell him.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX Gabriele
The Teatro Verdi in Florence was completely sold out for the last ever performance of Slow Burn. There had been a time when I hoped it would not be the last. That perhaps there would be a Broadway run, or the UK tour Carlos was still trying to secure. That could still happen, but it would almost certainly have to go ahead without me, a situation I was still struggling to come to terms with.
When I peeked through the curtain to look at the audience, like I often did, I felt a sort of calm wash over me. For the first time in years, I saw faces I recognized. In the fifth row from the front sat my mother, all dressed up, wearing black because she was in mourning, but looking happy and excited. It was good to see her joyfulness come back, even if it was just for tonight. My throat tightened as I took in the empty seat to one side of her, where my father should have been. And on the other side of her was Lira’s sister, Sedi, who I had never met in person, but who I had spoken to on video call because I had had to give her directions from the airport to the farm; very kindly, she had hired a car and had offered to drive all the way out to collect my mother.
