HarperImpulse
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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2018
Copyright © Romy Sommer 2018
Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2018
Cover illustrations © Shutterstock.com
Romy Sommer asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Source ISBN: 9780008301149
Ebook Edition © June 2018 ISBN: 9780008301132
Version: 2018-06-06
This book is dedicated to my mother, who contributed hugely to this novel by keeping the household fed and clean, and who helped me research by sharing with me many bottles (and boxes) of wine.
Also to my daughters, for giving me time and space to write, and for understanding when I am grumpy from lack of sleep – and for telling me that I should ‘volow my hart’.
Finally, I dedicate this book to all those people who devote their lives to making wine: you often make life worth living.
Chi lascia la via vecchia per la nuova sa quel che lascia ma non sa quel che trova
(Those who leave the old ways behind know what they’re leaving, but not what they’ll find)
I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply. Heavy, warm air filled my lungs, tasting of full-blown summer though back in England spring had barely sprung. After the crisp chill of London, the rich scents carried on the breeze were strangely soporific.
‘You don’t want air con?’ the taxi driver asked, his deeply offended tone suggesting he’d prefer air con to fresh farm air.
Reluctantly, I opened my eyes again. But I didn’t close the car window. Since I was paying premium price for this trip halfway across Tuscany, I’d darn well keep the window open if I wanted. I breathed in deeply again, this time not to smell the figurative roses but to calm myself. Breathe in. Count to three. Relax.
It was unbelievable that I was only now learning to recognise the signs of stress in my body and how to deal with it. Too many years driving myself to achieve. Too many years of not taking the time to listen to my own body. All those years focused on a single target, and where did it get me? Exile.
If only I’d gone a little easier on myself. If only I’d taken a holiday once a year like everyone else, instead of clapping myself on the back for my dedication. If only I’d made a priority of a few more hours’ sleep each night, maybe now I wouldn’t be forced to cool my heels here in the middle of nowhere.
Already bored of ‘if onlys’, I slid my mobile out my handbag and glanced at the screen. No missed calls. Not even a text message. Surely someone at the office would have tried to reach me by now. They’d had the big meeting with the CFO of the Delta Corporation this morning. Wouldn’t Cleo at least have let me know how it went?
Breathe in. Count to three. Relax.
On the plus side, I was really lucky I hadn’t been fired. I’d made such a stupid mistake. A stupid, expensive mistake, the kind that required a great deal of grovelling to fix. I’d done all the grovelling I could, but the rest of my team were still having to pick up the slack.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. I was lucky to still have a job, a house, a life waiting back in England for me, but enforced ‘holiday leave’ didn’t feel lucky. It felt like a punishment.
Once the legalities of John’s estate were wrapped up, and I’d put his property on the market, what was I supposed to do with myself for another four whole months?