Page 43 of A Scottish Teashop in Napoli

‘The tours are already a sell-out,’ Alfonso said, clasping both her hands.

‘Good, ’cos I haveanotherbusiness proposition for you,’ Lucy ventured, taking the bull – or should that be buffalo? – by the horns.

‘Veramente? Truly?’

‘Have you time to talk now?’

Alfonso looked at his watch. ‘Of course.Affari prima, siesta seconda.Business always first. Come,’ he said. leading the way to the staffroom, where Elena was loading the dishwasher.

‘Ciao,’she said, her careworn face lighting up.

‘Cara mia,our Lucia has another idea she would like to discuss with us.’

‘Oh?’ she said, removing her apron and checking her watch. ‘Please sit.’

‘I know you have to pick Stefano up from school soon, but this won’t take long, and before I begin, can I just say it’s only an idea, and if you don’t agree, that’s fine by me.’

Alfonso nodded with keen anticipation. ‘Go on.’

‘I understand visitor numbers are up, sooo I was thinking… acream tea would be an original and perfect end to the tour. Scones are quick and easy –and cheap– to make. Who knows? It might generate even more business. What do you think?’

For what seemed like a minute, no one uttered a word.

‘I’m not sure,’ Elena said. ‘For one thing, where could we serve the tea? The staffroom is for the workers, and in any case, as you can see, it’s too small.’

‘I didn’t think about that. Typical of me. I never think things through.’ Lucy sounded defeated. ‘Ach well…’

Alfonso suddenly banged his fist on the table, making Elena and Lucy jump.

‘Come with me,’ he said, waving excitedly.

Looking at one another in bemusement, Elena and Lucy followed him past reception to the old stockroom.

Opening the door wide he said, ‘Elena, do you remember how Giancarlo would talk about converting this room into a shop and espresso bar? Well, what do you think?’

Everyone’s eyes scanned the space.

‘It’s a perfect size,’ said Elena, ‘but apart from needing a good coat of paint, where would the guests sit, and what about crockery?’

Alfonso sighed heavily. ‘You are right. I was getting carried away. It would mean investing in something we don’t know for sure would work. It’s a bit risky, and I—’

‘Unless…’ Elena cut in, grabbing Alfonso’s arm. ‘I just thought of something…’

The next day, after early morning lessons, Lucy and Elena took a drive to Franco’s lemon and olive grove. Elena put the roof down, Italian songs drifting through the airwaves as they wound their way north.

The dusty cityscape soon gave rise to rolling farmland and verdant vineyards. Swarms of hunch-backed grape-pickers in battered straw hats and brightly coloured headscarves were slashing through the coarse stems of the vines, tossing the clusters of fruit into wicker baskets. Lucy did a double take as a white-haired lady of around ninety looked up, wiped her brow with the back of her hand and waved.

The car chugged on uphill, rocking back and forth along the narrow, bumpy road. There, hiding in the dense woodland, was the tiled, terracotta roof of Villa Limoncello.

Elena peeped the horn. Franco appeared in the doorway, then ran down the steps two at a time. Though in his mid-seventies, he had the energy of a much younger man.

‘Benvenute!’ He kissed them both lightly on the cheek, and with a flourish of his hand, beckoned them inside.

Despite its crumbling walls, chipped tiles and dodgy electrics, there was something homely, characterful and welcoming about Villa Limoncello.

After snacking on bruschetta and homemade lemonade, Franco led them to the cavernous barn across the yard. He slid open the heavy, metal door. It squeaked and shuddered on its rust-covered rollers. Sunlight slanted through the cracked windows, illuminating a fiery red, battered old pickup truck.

Elena ran her hand fondly along the stacked-up, cobweb-covered tables and chairs, her mind rewinding to that warm, never-to-be-forgotten night in early May, when she and Giancarlo had danced barefoot under the stars, surrounded by their loved ones.