Page 7 of The Girl from Sicily

7

JESSICA, JUNE 2005

Jess woke with a feeling of tranquillity, her dream of Villaurora, of the night sky emblazoned with stars, fading into sunlight. The incredible clarity of the vision was still with her as she swung her legs from the bed and made her way to the bathroom. Crickets, twittering in the umbrella pine tree outside the window, heralded what promised to be another hot day.

After a quick shower, Jess dressed in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. She brewed a coffee, then grabbed a brioche from the packet she’d bought in the village, before heading to the portico where a small wrought-iron table and two chairs held pride of place.

The buttery taste of the pastry coated her tongue as she thought about last night with her Sicilian cousins, and the mystery of Giovanna not being able – or not wanting – to tell her more about Nonna’s brother. World War Two ended sixty years ago. Perhaps the brother – Jess’s great-uncle – was killed in the conflict? But if so, surely his name would be remembered?

She sipped her coffee, her mind flitting between one idea and the next. Was the baglio Nonna’s family home? That being the case, though, Giovanna – Nonna’s sister’s granddaughter – couldn’t have been disinherited, could she? No, Nonna must have obtained it by another means.

Jess rubbed a hand through her mane of hair, untangling the wayward tresses. She’d make an unannounced trip to the property, she decided. Yesterday, she’d told Giovanna she didn’t know when she’d go back, but the day stretched before her. Tonight, she was expected at the wine and food tasting. She could spend the day reading, or she could visit the baglio.

Decision made, about half an hour later, she found herself in the paved courtyard of the farmhouse, searching for something, anything that might provide an answer to her questions. If there were any stones she’d turn them over, but the place was as empty as a bird’s nest in December.

Jess swept her gaze around the place, and her eye was drawn to a strange turquoise ceramic figurine, cemented onto the wall to the left of the entrance door. How could she have missed it yesterday? She approached and sucked in a sharp breath. Truly one of the weirdest things she’d ever seen. At the centre presided a clay head surrounded with entwined serpents for its hair. A medusa. Ears, twisted to look like corn, were disproportionately large at the sides. Three legs, bent at the knee, emerged from the head. The toes on the feet curled upwards. If the head was a clock, the legs would be at the twelve, four and eight o’clock positions.

The sudden whirr of a motorbike engine echoed through the building. Wondering who it could be, Jess pushed open the rough wooden entrance door and stepped outside. Nothing out front, so she walked around to the back of the house, where she saw a mountain motorbike cresting the hill above the property, leaving a cloud of dust behind it. She hadn’t even realised there was a path going up there. Some hundred metres away, she spotted Giovanna, hoeing the earth between a row of crops.

‘Did you see that mountain bike?’ she asked after hurrying over to her.

‘What bike?’ Giovanna stared at her blankly. ‘You must be mistaken. I didn’t see anything.’

She might not have seen it but must have surely heard it , Jess thought.

‘Is there some kind of track leading in that direction?’ She pointed towards the hilltop.

‘Oh,’ Giovanna said, not meeting Jess’s eye. ‘The path is very dangerous. Full of potholes and extremely steep. The sides fall away sharply, so no one ventures up there in case they have an accident.’

Jess chewed at her lip, certain she hadn’t been mistaken. Either she accused her cousin of telling a blatant lie, or she backed down. She opted for the latter. Maybe it wasn’t such a big deal.

* * *

Jess spent the afternoon relaxing on the portico, finishing her book and thinking about the morning she’d spent at the baglio. She wondered who had cemented the strange ceramic figurine to the wall and why Giovanna had lied to her about the motorbike. Instead of denying she’d heard it, she could have concocted a story to explain why someone had driven through the property. With hindsight, Jess wished she’d pressed her more on the matter. She’d been too reticent; she shouldn’t have backed down. A hiker might have found the path dangerous, but surely a mountain bike would have handled it easily.

The sun dipped lower in the sky and, with a sigh, she went to get ready for the wine and food tasting – the last thing she felt like doing, but she couldn’t get out of it now. She showered and changed into a sleeveless pale green linen dress. She felt too hot to leave her hair down, so she tied it back in a ponytail. Just mascara and lip-gloss for make-up and she was done.

Piero, handsome in an open-neck fitted white shirt and dark blue jeans, was waiting with Cappero to greet her at the giant blue wooden door.

‘Thank you for joining us,’ he said, taking her hand and bowing over it.

‘Thanks for inviting me.’ Smiling, she bent to pat the dog.

‘My brother and his wife are looking forward to meeting you.’ Piero spoke in English, his voice deep and melodic, his accent barely discernible. ‘Let’s go inside. It’s too warm to stand around out here.’

As he ushered her through one of the sets of double wooden doors facing the courtyard, her breath caught in awe. She gazed at a series of pristine bare stone arches linking the separate areas. The same terracotta-tiled floor formed a cohesive whole, interspersed with flat-weave pale carpets, and white matte plastered walls made the most of the available light. The whole effect was cosy and inviting. Casual with a touch of sophistication.

‘This is so beautiful,’ she said. ‘I love what you’ve done with it.’

‘ Grazie . In times gone by, my ancestors hired extra labour when needed, and they were housed here during the wheat planting and harvest seasons.’

‘Do you still grow grain?’

‘Only a few hectares of durum wheat. We have some cows and sheep, but the rest of the land has been taken over by vines and olive trees. The estate spans nearly 600 hectares of which 400 are devoted to the production of wine.’

‘I saw you working in the vineyard.’

‘I keep my eye on things, but I also have a team. Not just Stefania and her boyfriend, who’s my manager. We also have a wine specialist and an agriculturalist as well as three generations from two families, who’ve worked for us since my grandfather decided to expand our wine business.’

‘Oh, when was that?’

‘Not long after the second war. It was an experiment at first. He planted native vines of the Perricone and Nero d’Avola variety, then blended the product to create the first original wine from a single vineyard in Sicily. He named it Rosso del Barone , and I’m proud to say it holds its own with the best European and New World vintages.’

‘How amazing!’

‘Indeed. My father took over after Nonno passed away, and cultivated the first international vines to be grown in Sicily. He also modernised our winemaking systems.’

‘Does your father still live on the estate?’

‘No. He’s retired now, lives in Mondello, a beach resort near Palermo.’ Piero paused, as if to collect his thoughts. ‘My focus is on sustainability these days.’

‘Sustainability?’ Jess tilted her head.

‘Our aim is to prevent damage to the ecosystem. We no longer use any chemical or technical methods that could be harmful and instead rely on manual labour and environmentally friendly technology.’

‘That’s wonderful,’ Jess said. ‘You should be proud of yourself.’

‘Kind of you to say so. My brother, Fabrizio, runs our sister winery, Tenuta Milangeri, in Monreale near Palermo, along the same lines. He and his wife, Cristina, are waiting for us in the dining area.’ Piero made direct eye contact with Jess. ‘Shall we go through?’

A good-looking couple were sitting on stools in front of a bar. They got to their feet as Jess and Piero approached, Cappero padding at their heels. Piero introduced Jess to Fabrizio – a slightly younger version of himself – who aimed a kiss at her hand, and Cristina – tall and elegant with expertly styled, short blonde-highlighted hair – who air-kissed both her cheeks.

Piero and his family certainly are kissy .

‘It’s lovely to meet you,’ Jess said, taking the flute of sparkling wine Piero had poured for her.

‘Cheers,’ he said, and they all clinked glasses. Jess took a sip, tasting dryness and a slight hint of sweetness.

‘Is this champagne?’ she asked, eyeing the label on the bottle, Melita Brut , the bubbles still bursting on her tongue.

‘We aren’t allowed to call it that, but it is – for all intents and purposes,’ Fabrizio responded. ‘To clarify, all champagne is sparkling wine, but not all sparkling wine is champagne. We make it using the traditional method, just like the French.’

‘What method is that?’

‘We pick the grapes by hand, and press them carefully to keep the juice clear white. Then we put it into a tank and start the first fermentation.’ Piero sipped his drink. ‘About five months after the harvest, we blend it with wine held in reserve. Afterwards, it goes through the second fermentation process.’

‘That’s so interesting,’ Jess said, intrigued.

‘A mixture of yeast and sugar is added to the wine.’ Fabrizio held his champagne flute up to the light. ‘Then it’s put into thick glass bottles sealed with a bottle cap before being placed in a cool cellar to ferment slowly, and to produce alcohol and carbon dioxide.’

‘That’s the most important part of the process,’ Piero said. ‘The carbon dioxide can’t escape from the bottle and as it dissolves, it creates the bubbles.’

‘Fermentation takes months, but the wine continues to age in the coolness of our cellars for several more years,’ Fabrizio carried on explaining.

‘I hadn’t realised it took so long,’ Jess said, surprised.

‘I love the final stage,’ Cristina added. ‘We keep the bottles upside down, their necks frozen in an ice-salt bath. A plug of frozen wine forms, containing dead yeast cells. We remove the bottle cap, and the pressure of the carbon dioxide gas in the bottle forces the plug of frozen wine out, leaving behind only clear liquid.’

‘We add a mixture of white wine, brandy and sugar – it’s a secret recipe – to adjust the sweetness level and to top up the bottle.’ Piero’s eyes lit up with a smile. ‘The bottles are corked and the corks wired down to secure the high internal density of the carbon dioxide in the wine.’

‘And now we are drinking it,’ Jess said, raising her glass. ‘It’s really delicious.’

‘These are our appetisers and a perfect pairing with the Melita .’ Piero pointed to a tray on the counter.

‘My favourite Palermo street food,’ Fabrizio said. ‘ Panelle , which are made with deep-fried chickpea batter, and panzerotti , which are like mini pizza calzoni .’

‘So delicious,’ Jess said after tasting one of the panelle . ‘I really like the taste.’

Crispy, with a nutty, salty flavour. A bit like French fries, only thicker.

‘Good.’ Piero took a panella for himself.

Jess tried one of the panzerotti . The mini pizza pocket held an enticing filling of melty cheese and tomatoes. She declared it to be scrumptious before discerning Stefania coming into the room.

‘Dinner is ready,’ Stefania announced. ‘Please take your seats.’

The table was big enough for twelve, but their places were at the far end – Piero and Jess opposite Fabrizio and Cristina. Cappero flopped down on the floor by their feet.

Stefania and her helper – the daughter of one of the estate workers, whose mother worked as the cook – served ravioli stuffed with ricotta and mint. White wine appeared in a magnum – Nozze d’Oro 2000 .

‘This is a fifty-fifty blend of sauvignon blanc and inzolia,’ Piero said as he poured Jess half a glass. ‘ Nozze d’Oro means golden nuptials, and we created it on the occasion of my parents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary.’

‘Everything is perfect.’ Jess relished the balance between the acidity and peachiness of the blend.

During the main course – beef involtini, the meat rolled around a delicious filling – Cristina asked Jess about herself. More wine had been served, this time the estate’s trademark Rosso del Barone . Jess swirled the ruby-red drink in her glass and inhaled the enticing cherry-vanilla aroma before taking a sip. She went on to tell Cristina and the others about her job at the bank.

‘Sounds stressful,’ Piero said.

‘It is, but I cope. I’m loving the chance to recharge my batteries here, though. It’s so peaceful.’

‘What about your husband? Does he work in banking as well?’ Cristina stared blatantly at the ring on Jess’s finger.

‘He’s a partner in a firm of accountants.’ Jess felt her cheeks burn. ‘But we’re getting divorced?—’

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry,’ Cristina said before changing the subject. ‘Is this your first time in Sicily?’

‘Yes.’ Jess pondered if she should mention her inheritance. Maybe they could give her some advice? ‘My grandmother was Sicilian,’ she said. ‘In fact, she’s left me a property. A baglio contadino near Villaurora.’

‘Wow!’ Cristina’s eyes widened. ‘What’s it like?’

Jess went on to tell them about the farmhouse. She mentioned her cousins, but kept the mystery of her grandmother’s background to herself.

‘I need to decide whether to accept the bequest or not,’ she added. ‘The baglio needs renovating, and I was wondering if you knew a good, reliable builder I could ask for a quote.’

‘Of course.’ Piero lifted the bottle to refill Jess’s glass, but she placed her hand over it. She’d taken care not to overindulge, sticking to just half a glass per course.

Stefania and her helper cleared the dishes, then brought dessert, the Sicilian staple, cannoli . Tube-shaped shells of fried pastry dough, pumped with creamy, sweetened ricotta, paired with a passito sweet wine made from white malvasia grapes. Jess could only manage one forkful and a small sip from her glass.

‘I’ve eaten too much,’ she said. ‘I’m in danger of bursting.’

‘I hope you don’t!’ Piero laughed.

Jess giggled, feeling a little tipsy despite the care she’d taken.

‘What is your verdict on our tasting menu?’ Piero asked.

‘Everything is almost spot-on, as far as I can judge.’ She thought for a few seconds. ‘Just one thing. Ricotta’s in both the ravioli and the dessert. Maybe you could have something different?’

‘Excellent idea,’ he said. ‘Other than that, do think our guests will enjoy it?’

‘How can they not?’ She gave him a smile. ‘Thank you so much for trialling it on me. I’ve enjoyed every mouthful.’

‘I have a meeting with a group of wine producers in Agrigento tomorrow. It’s where you can view some magnificent Greek temple ruins.’ Piero crinkled his eyes. ‘You could be a tourist while I’m busy. Afterwards, we can have lunch in my favourite fish restaurant, if you like.’

Taken aback, Jess swallowed the lump of surprise in her throat. But a visit to the temples was on her to-do list, so how could she refuse?

‘That would be lovely,’ she said. ‘ Grazie .’

‘We’re heading home now,’ Cristina said as she and Fabrizio got to their feet. She bent to give Cappero a pat. ‘Do come and see us in Monreale before you return to England. We’re only a short drive from the magnificent Norman cathedral.’

Jess thanked her and went to stand next to Piero in the courtyard while they waved Cristina and Fabrizio goodbye.

‘I need to take Cappero out, Jess,’ Piero said. ‘So I’ll walk you back to your cottage.’

The dog raced ahead, and she fell into step beside him. She felt comfortable with Piero, as if she’d known him for years. Should she tell him about her quest to discover her family history? But by the time she’d decided to do so, they’d stopped at the door to her accommodation and he was bending to kiss her hand.

‘Good night, Jess. We’ll leave at eight in the morning, if that’s all right with you?’

‘I’ll be ready, and thanks again.’

She unlocked her door and went inside. Thoughts of Piero, Fabrizio and Cristina filled her mind after she stretched out on her bed. She’d enjoyed the evening. Fabrizio and Cristina were super-friendly and Piero such a gentleman. It was kind of him to offer to take her to Agrigento. She wondered what she might wear for the journey, imagined herself in sunglasses, laughing with Piero, her hair blowing in the breeze as they drove along…

Take care, Jess. You’re only here for a short time and a holiday fling is the last thing you need , she told herself.

Instead, she thought about the baglio and a vision of the strange clay figurine came into her head, its serpent hair and corn-like ears. But sleep soon chased it away, and she knew nothing until the dawn chorus of sparrows outside her bedroom window was welcoming the start of a new day.