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COMING HOME
La Villa Rosa Series Book Two
REBECCA BARTON
Blue Eye Books
Copyright © 2022 by Rebecca Barton

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and
retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are
either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual
events is purely coincidental.
Created with Vellum
For the heroes
 CONTENTS

Author note

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25

Excerpt from Christmas at La Villa Rosa

Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Rebecca Barton
 AU T HOR N OT E

Trigger Warning: reference to stillbirth and post-traumatic stress disorder.

 1

“YOU MAKING BREAD AUNTY?” MATU CALLED THROUGH THE FLY SCREEN DOOR OF THE FRONT PORCH
as he kicked off his trainers. At seven in the morning, it had to be said, the yeasty smell of home
cooked bread wafting out of his aunty’s kitchen was welcoming after an hour-long run, the last ten
minutes of which had drenched him in rain.
“It’s Saint Joseph’s Day bread dear. March nineteen is Saint Joseph’s Day.” Marama, or Aunty as
most of her family addressed her, was wiping down her kitchen counter of flour, sesame seeds and the
odd rogue currant which was left from the neatly braided loaf of bread now turning a delicious golden
brown in the oven. “Your great nonna always liked to make it on this day, and so do I. It’s how I
remember her. She loved her Saint Days and any excuse to cook up some of her recipes from home.
You’ll be ready for a cuppa?” Marama untied her apron, reached for the kettle and turned to glance at
her nephew. “Bloody hell Matu! You are dripping all over my floor! Get those wet things off and stop
making a mess.” Matu grinned at his aunty. He loved her making a fuss of him, even if she was cross.
“Sorry Aunty! I run even when it’s raining,” he gripped the bottom of his t-shirt which was
clinging to his toned and muscular torso. “You’re so good to put up with me!” Marama’s eyes peered
over the top of her thick large round glasses in stern assessment of the handsome young man dripping
wet in her kitchen.
“Stop showing off, you! You think you are some kind of stud muffin coming in here, making
puddles and doing a stripper routine before I’ve had my first cup of tea.” She flicked her tea towel at
him as he folded his arms across his chest, each of his pecs glistening. Matu stood at an impressive
six feet tall. His rich umber skin wrapped around his toned muscular form which was fine-tuned from
several years of working as a tour guide around the geo-thermal region of Rotorua where he had
grown up. Mountains, rivers, crater lakes - this was his office and he had to be fit to honor that
privilege, was his theory. On his left shoulder a detailed tattoo began which ran down the length of
his bicep. Tā moko, a traditional tattooing practice of Māori culture was important to Matu, although
he’d opted to wear his genealogical markings on his shoulder rather than face, which would have
been typical for his ancestors.
The whorls and spirals which wrapped around his upper arm were designs he had researched for
months before committing to them, each intricate aspect related to part of his ancestral story. His
aunty had approved of his investigation at the time. “You know it’s not just your Māori side you need
to understand Matu,” she had pointed out as he’d shown her the finished design years ago.
“Samuelsons go way back here, but there is your Italian side too dear. The Gennari family was well
respected back in Nonna’s home province by all accounts. Your great nonna, she was a proud woman
of her family, and what a lot she sacrificed to come here after the war. She made sure my poppa could
speak Italian too, although I think he picked up most of it when he was with her and her family over
there. She taught me the Italian I know and don’t you go pretending you don’t remember any of what I
taught to you!”
“Sì,” he grinned at her. “La famiglia e tutto!”
“Sì! You got it–family is everything–and don’t you forget it!”
How could he ever forget it when Marama was his rock. Presently his right hand moved
involuntarily to his scar which still tingled when his skin changed temperature. The scar stretched up
his left forearm and almost interlaced with the final tendrils of his tattoo by his elbow.
His knowledge of his Italian roots were vague. And he knew very little Italian despite being able
to reel off a few phrases. It wasn’t that he wasn’t interested, it was just a stretch believing that there
was another whole stream of his bloodline in a place he’d never been to. He’d worked with tourists
sure, but he’d never really been one himself. Rotorua in the Bay of Plenty was home, it was where he
felt safe, protected - well at least he had felt that way. Now that his parents had moved to the Gold
Coast of Australia, any travel money he had, would be sucked up by trans-Tasman flights. And when
he might get himself organized for a trip–who knew?
Matu shook his head like a puppy fresh out of water. Droplets from his close cut, curly hair
sprayed over the floor. His white teeth and wide grin teased his hard working, ever loving aunt even
more. His perfectly placed dimples were the impish snag that always got him out of trouble with her.
“Well I know you love having a hot man in your kitchen!”
They had an unspoken agreement to keep each other cheerful.
And she kept him true to that.
It was part of their survival strategy, given the state he’d been in when he’d arrived back before
Christmas.
Am I getting better?
The daily run helped a lot and the weekly counselling sessions were good, he had to admit, even
though he’d been reluctant to start with. But Aunty Marama–without her–who knew where he’d be
right now. Matu pushed his clouded thoughts away. “Okay Aunty, I’ll go dry off and I’ll have two
sugars in my tea,” he winked and retreated to the spare room to put on a dry t-shirt and shorts, smiling
as Marama’s voice muttered, “Hot man my foot...”
By the time he returned, the bread was set on the round table that marked the heart of the kitchen
and two steaming mugs of tea were waiting. Matu sat down and drew a plate toward him so he could
butter a large slab of the warm, sweet bread made for his great-nonna and Saint Joseph’s Day.
Marama read her Woman’s Weekly without looking up. “So, you going to go see Warren about that job
today?” She turned a page. Matu spread his bread and took a bite.
Jeez, her baking never disappoints.
Unlike me.
“Umm...well yeah maybe,” he stalled. “I just don’t know if I’m ready.”
“Well, you won’t know until you try Matu,” she looked at him encouragingly. “Sometimes we just
have to start.” She sipped her tea. He knew she was right, but God, it seemed huge. Daunting.
Something he couldn’t control. He could handle the discipline of the daily run and the chaos of
Marama’s rowdy grandchildren, who she babysat every afternoon while his cousin Teri finished her
shift at the hospital. He could even handle the responsibility of doing the lawns and pruning at
Marama’s beloved church to make a contribution to society. But the idea of going back to his chosen
profession of tour guiding scared the shit out of him.
 “Look dear, I know you’re scared. But it’s only weekends at this stage and I think it’d be good for
you to try. Once you get back into the swing of it, I think you’ll be surprised at how you enjoy the
people. You’ve always loved working with people.” It’s true, he had. But it was the people from that
day who had been burned and blinded who haunted him. Too many people. They couldn’t all be
saved. It had been too dangerous. “You eat your bread of Joseph and think about him. He will give
you strength today. He was a worker, a simple carpenter, and look what happened in his life?”
“He married a divine virgin and became the father of Christ?” Matu’s retort glanced off Marama’s
purposeful lesson like hail hitting a windscreen.
“He was open to his path. He had faith and he did what needed to be done. You have done that
Matu, and you will do it again. Just be open to the pathway that is before you.” Matu’s eyes flitted
from hers to his tea and back again.
“Okay, I hear you. I will try to follow the path.”
“One step at a time dear, one step at a time.”
The phone rang. Marama insisted on keeping a landline because she didn’t trust cell phone towers
in the earthquake prone country she lived in. New Zealanders had to be prepared for natural disasters
and previous earthquakes had seen people unable to communicate during aftershocks due to reliance
on mobile phones. Matu had listened to her justification when he’d told her how much money she was
wasting on her monthly bill but failed to mention how he’d used his mobile phone to call the
emergency services on the day of the eruption.
“I wonder who that can be this early?” she asked as she stood up to silence the urgent ringing.
“Tēnā koe, this is Marama,” she spoke into the receiver. Listening intently, she responded. “Yes,
certainly, he’s right here,” and passed Matu the phone. “It’s someone called Mitchell.”
Mitchell? Mitch. His best mate from uni days. They’d not been in contact since he’d gone for his
GAP year between uni and working life. International teaching had drawn him in until, Matu gathered
from Facebook, he’d returned home a year ago.
“Mitch?” Matu spoke into the receiver.
“Mate! I found you!” a warm energetic voice resonated down the line. “Great to have tracked you
down.”
“Yeah, it’s been a while.”
“It’s been a bloody age mate! I thought you were still by the beach at Ohope, but they told me at
your work–what with everything that happened–that you were with family now. Shit, what a terrible
experience for you.”
“Yeah, it was rough.”
“So, it’d be great to catch up. I’m in town today with a friend. Are you free for a coffee?”
“I guess so. I don’t have anything planned,” Marama’s stern eyes bore into him. “Why don’t I meet
you in town. By Government Gardens, the fountain.”
“Shall we say ten?”
“Sure.”
“Great! See you then,” Matu hung up.
“Who’s this Mitch?” Marama asked, buttering herself a piece of bread.
“An old friend from uni,” Matu replied. “He’s only in town today. It’s been years since I’ve seen
him.”
“Really…” she was not impressed.
“Truly Aunty, he’s a great guy. We go back a long way. I can’t not see him if he’s only here for a
day.”
 “Evidently.” Setting her magazine aside she announced, “You’re on tea tonight, so make sure you
pick something up from the supermarket while you’re in town. You can invite your friend to eat with
us. We can’t eat all this bread by ourselves, it’s not good for my waistline.” She smirked and like that
Marama’s unconditional love was back.
 2

THE MOMENT ENZO AND VANESSA TOOK UP THEIR USUAL SEAT IN THE WINDOW OF M EA CULPA , THE
cafe and coffee roastery of Agata Selvaggio in the small Italian village of Albea, she could see
something was wrong. Agata recognized the aggravated expression on Enzo’s face which had been
absent for several months since he quantum leaped into a new relationship with Vanessa, a Dubai-
based food critic who came to Italy for ten days and never left. Together they had, to the surprise of
local cynics in the village, transformed his family farmstead into a thriving restaurant and culinary
school and wrangled Enzo’s flailing brother Aldo, into guiding gastro-tours around their beloved
home province of Emilia-Romagna.
Enzo had been a boyfriend of Agata’s from high school. The older cousin of her best friend, he
had seemed decidedly sophisticated despite being a country boy who travelled to attend school in
Bologna every day. In his senior year at high school, to the then fifteen year old Agata, Enzo had
seemed incredibly mature and ambitious. Despite being heartbroken when he left school to start his
chef training, by the time she’d moved to Rome to study law, they had both moved on. A firm
friendship endured however, and it was with joy that Agata had welcomed Enzo’s new partner into
village life in Albea, as Vanessa clearly brought happiness to Enzo whose broken marriage and high
maintenance brother had weighed him down.
Agata had not endured a broken marriage, but neither had she nurtured many relationships since
her first sweet romance. It wasn’t that she hadn’t tried, but she had found with the demands of study
and then the intensity of running her own business, there hadn’t been a lot of room for love. There had
been hasty flings and long term flirtations...but nothing permanent ever eventuated. Perhaps she was
too guarded? Maybe she didn’t want to compete with a man? Or was it just that she had impeccably
high standards? That was what her grandfather had always celebrated about her, despite the fact that
in the end those high standards saw her turn from her legal career to open her own business, much to
his disappointment.
Agata stood proudly at her counter taking note of all her regular customers. Her statuesque height
had been an anomaly in a family of short, petite women. Towering above her mother, she was often
tempted to slouch in an effort to blend in. Although her backbone had certainly straightened once the
hard hitting reality of legal work had kicked in. At that time she’d adopted a severe corporate uniform
of buttoned up blazer and pulled back hair, so it was still with a daily nod of gratitude that she loosely
wrangled her long black-brown hair into a bandana or top knot befitting the barista she was. But
making coffee wasn’t all she was good at. Her cafe and roastery were a phenomenal success, she had
applied business acumen she’d never realized was within her until she’d taken the leap of faith and
pulled away from the heavy expectation placed upon her by her grandfather. He’d fully expected her
to follow the family tradition of working in their third generation law firm. She had, according to him,
“abandoned her legacy.” Now she strode into her workplace and business every morning wearing
skinny jeans, purple Reebok trainers and her personalized logo polo shirt for the cafe, which was an
image of a gavel smashing a coffee bean.
She considered herself a skilled barometer of human behavior. In law it had been useful; as a cafe
owner, it was invaluable. Mea Culpa was a refuge for many. From her counter, she could listen,
observe and, she discovered, offer guidance when needed. She had become a stopping point for so
many in the village and now understood that it was often a smile of celebration or a sigh in shared
solace that was on the menu as well as an exceptionally good coffee. But Enzo and Vanessa weren’t
just any old customers, they were her friends and she was genuinely concerned as she prepared their
usual order.
Why was Enzo so stressed? Vanessa definitely looked like she’d been crying. “I’ll take them
myself, Luca,” she told the young waiter. “I want to say hi this morning.” Nodding, Luca moved
behind the counter to take the next order and Agata collected the two espresso cups, accompanied by
St Joseph’s Day buns. Rich with sesame seeds and currants, they were sweet and delicious, and
Agata knew that regardless of their joy or misery, customers always appreciated good food with their
coffee. As she approached, Vanessa sniffed into a tissue and pulled out her phone to inspect its screen
in distracted concern.
The coffee set down, Agata pulled up a chair. “I am intruding, I know–but I have to ask—what is
wrong? You both look very upset.” Vanessa’s eyes were red-rimmed and her normally bright
complexion which had become charmingly freckled through last summer, was pallid and dull.
“It’s Nicci,” she blurted out. “She had a traffic accident in India. She’s broken several bones and I
don’t know who’s there to support her.” Nicci was Vanessa’s recently discovered birth mother who
had come to visit only a few months before. Her vibrant energy and nomadic spirit had certainly fitted
with Vanessa’s adventurous nature, but it was the tender connection that the two of them had instantly
nurtured, which had been heartwarming for Agata to witness.
“Oh God, Vanessa, I’m so sorry. How did you find out?”
“The doctor emailed me, she’d put me down as her next-of-kin. You know what she’s like, not
wanting to make a fuss, but I’m not happy about her being in hospital alone. She needs someone to
bring her food and care for her. It’s how it works over there.”
“You should go,” Enzo offered. “You need to be with her to reassure yourself that she’s okay. She
will be okay darling.” Agata reached out and squeezed Vanessa’s hand which was resting, clenched
on the table.
“The business,” Vanessa’s voice became dry. “We’re about to receive the next group of visitors,
Enzo needs me to run the logistics if this thing is going to fly. I don’t see how I can leave.”
“I have told you already, I will be okay. I have Aldo…” Enzo tried half-heartedly to console
Vanessa. They both knew Aldo needed all the help he could get. He had managed the first tour of
Gastronomico Favoloso pretty well, and was making a real commitment to get to his AA meetings,
but it made a big difference when Vanessa was on hand to help with scheduling and quality control.
From the last culinary school, one of the New York based chefs had secured a contract with Matteo,
their friend who was a parmesan cheese maker. His sales had increased by twenty percent. It seemed
that Vanessa’s commitment to La Villa Rosa, the old homestead of the Ponzetti brothers where Enzo’s
restaurant was now thrumming also, was paying off. The injection of energy into the village economy
had been palpable. Many local producers had sadly become accustomed to a fairly humble income
for their outstanding products. Now it seemed their horizons were shining a little brighter.
“You know that doesn’t cut it.” Vanessa replied. “Aldo is so much better than he was, but this
third session, the third tour–it matters–we need to secure the reputation we’ve established now. I just
don’t see how I can get away given that the attendees arrive next week.” Agata’s mind scrambled to
find a solution for her friends. She was a firm believer in solutions. Anxiety fed problems; solutions
enabled action. What was the action that Vanessa needed right now? There must be a way for her to
respond to her birth mother, but not sacrifice her hard work with Enzo.
“There must be someone you trust enough to hold the reins for you? Someone who is organized,
knows how to muster a group, always has a smile on their face?”
“Cassi,” Vanessa almost spoke to herself. “Cassi could do it.”
“Isn’t she your Canadian friend travelling in New Zealand?” Agata loved Vanessa’s raucous
stories of her previous life as an expat food writer in the UAE, Hong Kong and where else, she
couldn’t quite remember.
“Yes, but she’s the only person I would trust with this. I know I can rely on her and she’s great at
improvising.”
“I guess you could call her,” Enzo suggested. “If it would make you feel more comfortable, but I
promise I will survive.”
“I know you’ll survive Enzo,” Vanessa softened. “But it’s about success–not survival. And I don’t
want anyone burning out in the process of our dream becoming reality, it’s already been so good.” She
smiled at her lover affectionately, their shared adoration visible to all who were around them. It sure
looked nice from where Agata was sitting. Someone who had your back, someone to reassure you,
someone to hold you up rather than compete with you. Sharing her vision wasn’t something Agata had
really dared to do since she’d broken into self-employment.
“Sounds like you have a plan!” Agata smiled as she stood up. “Let me know if you need help with
anything.”
“Grazie Agata, thanks for listening,” Vanessa grabbed her hand. “You are part of my chosen
family here, you know. But I need to go check on Nicci. I only just found her, the thought of losing her
again, or her being vulnerable and alone…” her normally upbeat smile was turned down and worry
lines marked her forehead.
“Of course,” Agata affirmed. “It’s only natural. All will be well. You are going to Nicci and she
will recover super-fast with you by her side. Ring your friend and see what she has to say. Tell her
the coffee is on Agata when she gets here!” Enzo smiled and nodded at his old flame in silent
recognition of her care and warmth. He turned to Vanessa.
“Pronto!” he clapped his hands together. “Ring Cassi, she’ll be waiting for your call. She always
seems to know when you need her doesn’t she?”
“She does,” Vanessa agreed. “She’s got a sixth sense, that's for sure. And if she can’t help, she
always channels a magic solution.”
 3

“MITCHELL MCKENZIE!” MATU EXTENDED HIS HAND IN GREETING TO THE TALL RED HEADED MAN
striding toward him. “It’s been, how long mate?”
“Too bloody long!” Mitch grabbed Matu’s hand and pulled him into a hug. “Still working out eh?”
A broad smile beamed at Matu as Mitch stood back and inspected his friend. Mitch was tall and
lanky, his red hair hanging in chunky strands across his freckled forehead. His green eyes shone above
his genuine smile and he dug his hands into his pockets in a habitual gesture of modesty. At Uni they
had made an unlikely pair, but their shared love of astronomy had cemented their friendship after
they’d met volunteering at the observatory next to the university campus in Wellington. Matu had been
unsure of how Mitch would handle the rigors of teaching, but despite his insecure outer appearance,
his love of science shone through and his strategic career maneuvering had now landed him a deputy
principal’s role in one of Auckland’s top private schools.
Matu’s eye caught a voluptuous woman dressed in a denim jumpsuit, large sunglasses with a
fluoro yellow bag slung across her shoulder coming toward them. “Yeah, that’s Cassi,” Mitch
explained. “We worked together in Hong Kong. She’s Canadian.”
“She’s hard to miss by the looks of her,” Matu observed.
“You could say that. She’s a lot of fun, that's for sure.”
“Are you two an item?”
“Nah– just friends–I’m giving her a bit of a tour. She’s just joined the faculty.” As Mitch finished
his sentence, Cassi joined them.
“Hi, I’m Cassi,” she held out her hand to Matu.
“Kia ora, welcome to Rotorua,” Matu smiled warmly.
“Kia ora to you too,” she beamed back. “I got a lot of work to do on my pronunciation I know, but
at least we all say eh, round here right?”
“True,” Mitch agreed. “Although I look like the only one who doesn’t fit with you two, you could
be cousins I reckon!” Cassi and Matu regarded their similarity in appearance. They stood at the same
height, both wore a warm brown complexion, large deep set eyes with illuminant copper irises,
framed by long lashes, readily smiling lips and tightly curled black hair. Cassi’s was braided into
elaborate ridges of cornrows which made her even more eye-catching. Mitch’s comment introduced a
momentary awkward silence. He’d always had a habit of misreading the social temperature,
especially in the company of an attractive woman. Despite what he said, he must have the hots for
Cassi, and who could blame him, Matu thought. She was gorgeous.
“Well I don’t know where Cassi gets her hair done, but once I grow my mop longer will you let
me know?”
“Heh, heh,” Cassi chuckled in agreement. “The boy has a sense of humor–you told me I’d like him
Mitchy–and I do.”
“Nice one,” Mitch nodded enthusiastically. “Are we ready for a coffee?”
“A flat white?” Cassi inquired. “I do love a flat white Mitch...with red hair on top,” she gently but
deliberately pushed her index finger into Mitch’s chest eliciting a blush on his inherited Scottish skin.
Matu respected a good flirt and Cassi hit the mark. Watching Mitch blush had always amused him.
“C’mon then, follow me,” Matu instructed and led on.
Over coffee, Matu was entertained with amusing stories of expat teacher life in Hong Kong, and
an update on Mitch’s new role as deputy principal at Auckland International Collegiate. He did his
best to skirt around the subject of his own work situation, but Cassi was curious. “So, Mitch
mentioned you were a tour guide? This is such a unique area, the sulfur smell, for one thing, is
unforgettable!” Cassi exclaimed.
“I did warn you about the rotten egg fumes,” Mitch chimed in.
“You did, but nothing really prepares you for it does it? Although New Zealand is a bit like that
I’m discovering, you have a vision of it, but in reality it’s even better, more impressive and inspiring.
How you guys are so laissez-faire about the fact that you happen to live in fucking paradise, I don’t
know!”
“To us it’s just normal I guess.” Matu stirred his coffee. “I grew up here, that's all I have known
apart from when I went to Wellington to study. But you’re not the first person I’ve seen fall in love
with the place, that’s for sure.”
“I love all the steam everywhere in this city. It’s like an enchanted mystical fantasy.” She went on,
“and I understand, it’s very dangerous too.”
“Can be,” Matu’s hand jerked and his coffee spilt over the rim of his cup.
“I can’t believe what happened, Matu,” Mitch’s brow furrowed with concern for his friend.
“When I heard about it, I was stunned. How many times have you been up that ridge? And then for the
crater to erupt with so little warning…”
“Well nature is a powerful force and on that day we all knew about it.”
“I bet you did. The news said there were nine fatalities,” Mitch explained, turning to Cassi. “Matu
here saved several who wouldn’t have escaped from the second eruption. They told me when I rang
your old tour company to find out where you were living.”
“You rescued that many?” she stared at Matu, her eyes widening. “My God, I can’t imagine it.”
“You were brave Matu. A lot of people wouldn’t have gone back,” Mitch added.
“Not really,” Matu’s heart began to race, and he felt the prickle of perspiration on his forehead. “I
just did what I could…”
And just like that the faces are before him.
Tortured and scared, their eyes filled with ash. Cries and moans filtering through the noise of
Brody, Kate and his own fast paced foot falls as the three of them ran up the scree covered crater
side. Bodies shaking in shock, the smell of sulfur and burnt flesh, a lady who he’d helped onto the
tour bus lying face down in the grey sludge of volcanic ash, suddenly lifeless on her dream vacation.
And his breath, caught in his chest, filled with toxic air. His lungs burning and ready to explode, only
that he can’t stop. He has to keep looking. He has to lift up another and another and another until
somehow he is in a heap by the ambulance. Oxygen like clean white light streaming into his nose and
mouth through a face mask. He doesn’t know how he got there. But he knows he is there. He knows he
is alive and he knows they are dead.
 Matu stood up sharply, his chair screeching against the concrete floor of the cafe. “I need some
air,” he exited, oblivious to the wary looks of the other patrons. Standing outside in the bright
sunlight, his breathing regulated and the breeze cooled his face which was glazed with a sheen of
perspiration.
Jesus, what an idiot! Get a grip! Matu chastised himself and clenched his fists in frustrated
resignation at what his counselor had told him was PTSD.
Fuck this shit. Shaking like a fucking baby.
He actually felt like crying. He never used to feel like crying. He used to feel great all the time,
because he loved his life and he knew what he was doing with it. But now he was lost. When would it
end?
A hand rested on his shoulder. Turning suddenly, he saw Mitch standing beside him. “Sorry mate,
we didn’t mean to trigger you. You don’t have to talk about it.”
“It’s okay. These days I’m just a bit bloody fragile I guess. I’m not used to it. I can’t ignore what
happened, but I wanna stop living and breathing it, if you know what I mean,” Matu shrugged. “I don’t
know if that’s possible really. Sometimes when I go for a run, I feel like I might just keep going.”
“Yeah?” Mitch had always been a good listener. “Where would you run to?”
“Who knows mate? You tell me, you’re the traveler, I’m such a local boy round here, I’d be a fish
out of water anywhere else.”
“I think you might surprise yourself actually,” Cassi added as she joined them on the pavement.
“You look like a citizen of the world to me and I’ve always found new places help me get a fresh
perspective on life.”
“Fresh perspective sounds good. But, I think in the meantime I have to do what my aunty keeps
telling me.”
“And what’s that?”
“Follow your pathway,” Matu explained.
“Good advice.”
“Yeah, well she’s a smart lady. Anyway, you haven’t come down here to yack with me on the
street. Would you like to go and see something pretty special?”
“You know I would,” Cassi smiled warmly.
“Kerosene Creek is my favorite hidden gem around here.”
“Sounds charming!”
“It’s called Kerosene Creek because of the color of the water. It’s brown and it’s hot. Think of a
natural Jacuzzi in the middle of the forest.”
“Let’s do it!” Cassi enthused.
“I’m in,” Mitch agreed.
“Great, and then, if you want, I can take you back to meet my aunty Marama. She’d like us to all
eat together, unless you have other plans?”
“We are in your hands,” Mitch nodded. “I know Cassi just wants to act like a local.”
“I sure do,” she laughed. “Because that’s the key my friends. Act like you belong wherever you
are and before you know it, you are a local. The students might find my accent hard to grasp but
they’re always willing to share a few local tips too, if you bother to ask.”
“The students love you already Cass, because you are interested in who they are and what makes
them tick.” He smiled broadly.
It wasn’t hard to see why people would like her. Cassi had an infectious positive energy, and her
ever-ready smile set off by her rich brown complexion, no wonder Mitch was smitten with her. Matu
was relieved to be with friends who weren’t from his current chapter. Their refreshing energy was
lifting him up even though he’d hit a speed bump back there. “Let’s get going then. Follow me.”
Walking ahead, Matu’s step was notably lighter.

LATER, BACK AT MARAMA’ S PLACE, MATU AND MITCH PULLED TOGETHER A SIMPLE MEAL WHILE CASSI
and Marama could be overheard chortling from the living room. “They seem to have hit it off,” Matu
threw some lettuce in the salad spinner.
“She’s like that, she gets on with everyone. I’ve lost count of how many places she’s visited. I
loved international life, but she takes it to another level. Cassi seems to make home wherever she
hangs her hat,” Mitch explained as he tore up the supermarket cooked chicken which had been Matu’s
meal solution.
“And it sounds like she wants to hang it where you are right now,” Matu knew Mitch was
struggling to connect the dots.
“Well, yeah–the job–it’s a good one. It was hard for her to turn down really, especially when
she’d always wanted to come to New Zealand apparently.”
“You don’t think you’ve got anything to do with it?” Matu probed.
“Of course! We worked together on the same PD programme in Hong Kong, she helped me
implement a school wide math curriculum,” Mitch rattled out his readymade response. Did he not
think he deserved her? Matu wondered. Cassi was clearly a high caliber woman, and Mitch with his
heart of gold had obviously won her already. He just didn’t believe it could be true.
“Mitch,” Matu put down his knife. “She’s all over you. Cassi wants to be in New Zealand, sure,
but it’s plain as day that she’s got the hots for you!” Guarded optimism glinted in Mitch’s eyes. His
pale freckled complexion colored.
“We’ll see eh? One step at a time I reckon,” and like that he resumed his easy going demeanor and
moved to the sink to rinse his hands.
“You’re such a bloody gentleman!” Matu laughed.
“Listen to you two gossiping!” Aunty Marama appeared in the doorway. “Are we eating yet? I’m
hungry and this girl needs some dinner after all her swimming in the waterfall at Kerosene Creek,”
she put her arm around Cassi’s shoulder. “She’s going to be coming down here on her weekends off to
relax and unwind Mitch. The waters around here are good for all you busy young people so you’d
better come too. Spinning your wheels so fast you don’t know what you’re doing half the time from
what I can see,” she sat herself down at the table.
“Sounds good to me Marama,” Mitch set cutlery at each place. “Will be good to spend time with
Matu too. There’s a lot we need to catch up on, one day isn’t enough.” The sound of Cassi’s phone
ringing drew her back into the living room.
“Vanessa?! Girl!” her voice reverberated from the adjoining room. “What’s up?”
“Vanessa’s her best friend in Italy,” Mitch explained. “But she worked in Hong Kong too, and
Dubai more recently.”
“Did you say Italy? Matu’s Italian too you know,” Marama stabbed a drumstick. “His great-
grandmother, Vita Gennari, came all the way from her homeland to settle here with my grandfather in
1946. He was repatriated once the war was over and come hell or high water she was determined to
join him. And she did.”
 “Wow, that’s fascinating,” Mitch enthused. “My family all came from Scotland well over a
hundred years ago. It was crazy when I ended up in Edinburgh a couple of summers ago. I finally
looked normal! Although no one could understand my accent and I couldn’t understand theirs half the
time either!”
“Good for you dear,” Marama smiled at Mitch warmly. “Good to know about your roots, your
people, your stories.”
The sound of Cassi’s intonations now came through as bursts of “Mm-hmm,” and “Of course
there’s a way,” and finally as she strolled back into the room her conversation was ending. “Leave it
with me Nessa. I gotta go now, there’s food on the table. Yes, I’ll say hi to Mitch for you. Okay, talk
soon. Love you, bye.”
“Everything okay?” Matu asked as he passed Cassi a plate.
“My friend Vanessa–she lives in Italy–she has a problem,” she began. “She’s running a culinary
school and tourist operation with her fiancé. There’s a restaurant too. It’s going good, they’ve got a
bunch of guests coming next week, but she’s got to leave because her mom’s in hospital and she’s
beside herself that their business is going to fall over if she’s not there to run logistics.” Matu
understood. The logistics of a smooth tourist venture were crucial to its success, so much more than
people realized. The experiences could speak for themselves, but tourists tended to forget they had a
brain once they’d paid up and expected someone else to do the leg work for them. “The thing is,”
Cassi continued. “She’s asked me to go help out.”
“She’s what?” Mitch’s face was crestfallen in an instant.
“She’s asked if I’ll go and help out with the organizational piece while she goes to her mom for a
couple of weeks. She’s in India. New Delhi.”
“Jeez, that’s a big favor,” Matu commented.
“She’d pay for my flight and everything,” Cassi piled some salad onto her plate. “I mean normally
an all-expenses paid trip to Italy would be a no-brainer right?” She didn’t wait for anyone to respond.
“But I’m in my first term here, I can’t leave Mitch in the lurch, so I told her I wasn’t available.”
Knew it, she’s so set on him. Matu’s gut had told him so.
“Fair enough dear,” Marama dabbed the corner of her mouth with a napkin. “You have to do you
right now from what you were telling me in there.” She nodded in the direction of the living room.
What had they been discussing? Matu wondered. “Your friend will find a solution. Which part of Italy
is she in?”
“Um, not Tuscany, but next door. Emilia-Romagna I think it’s called.”
“That’s where Vita was from!” Marama’s eyes lit up. “That’s where my grandmother, Matu’s
great-grandmother was from.”
“No way?” Cassi exclaimed. “Small world huh? I understand it’s absolutely beautiful, like all of
Italy I guess.”
“Oh yes, so beautiful. See that painting there?” Marama pointed to a small framed watercolor
print. Within its simple burnished frame an ancient stone church stood, with a tall bell tower guarding
proudly beside it. Around it were tall evergreen trees and mountains in the far background. “That’s
the church where my grandparents got married. It’s one of the only reminders of her home she brought
with her.”
“How remarkable,” Cassi agreed and buttered herself a piece of Marama’s homemade bread.
“You know, I think I’m having one of my good ideas…”
“Here we go!” Mitch grinned. “Last time you had one of these we ended up in the back of an
autorickshaw on the outskirts of Phnom Penh!”
 “Yeah, I know!” she shot a knowing look at him. “And Rahul has never looked back right?”
“True,” Mitch conceded. Matu looked from one to the other. What the hell were they going on
about?
“Rahul? Phnom Penh?” Matu playfully demanded.
“Oh, it’s a long story. But he knows,” she pointed at Mitch, “that I have great ideas; and I think
this one involves you.” Her finger redirected to Matu.
“Me?”
“Yes, you.” Cassi’s intense eyes bore into his. Jesus, she was like a young version of Marama.
Conviction in a strong woman could be pretty overwhelming if you weren’t expecting it. “You could
do it.”
“Do what?”
“Save the day and help Vanessa,” she stated as if it was a fact. “You have all the skills, you need a
break–if you don’t mind me saying–and you have a family connection. It’s clearly meant to be.”
“Clearly!” Matu laughed. “You’re kidding right?” Mitch and Marama were transfixed by the
exchange. He looked at each of them for confirmation that this was a ridiculous idea. Neither
provided it.
“Look, it's two weeks max. And honestly she doesn’t really need you, it’s more for her peace of
mind as she doesn’t want Enzo to think he has to carry it all,” Cassi spoke quickly.
“Who’s Enzo?”
“Vanessa’s fiancé and the head chef of the restaurant and culinary school.”
“I don’t know anything about cooking or Italy,” Matu protested.
“Doesn’t matter,” she shrugged him off. “You don’t need to, you’re a natural host. Vanessa just
needs to know that Enzo has someone reliable to welcome the guests, keep his little bro in check and
to look good in the selfies the satisfied tourists will take. You’ve had practice at that right?”
“Sure, but–”
“There’s no buts dear,” Marama spoke. “You need to do this.”
“Aunty, you don’t really think I can pack up and leave right now do you?”
“Why not?” She picked up her cutlery to continue her meal, her transfixion evidently over. It
seemed she’d made up her mind. “There is nothing stopping you, and frankly a change of scenery
would do you good. The pathway is before you. Time to take it.”
Matu turned to Mitch who was nodding and smiling. “It’s like that run you were talking about
mate, just keep running for a bit and see where you end up. None of this is going anywhere.” He was
right. None of it had gone anywhere. The flashbacks, the nightmares and the news reports on the status
of the burns victims which still circulated in the media. Not to mention the concerned looks he got
every time he was in town.
“One step you reckon Aunty?” She smiled at him, reached across the table and squeezed his hand.
And Matu knew it. Suddenly Matu just knew it.
He had to walk this path.
 4

IT WASN ’ T UNTIL HE WAS SITTING IN HIS SEAT ON THE PLANE THAT MATU REALIZED HE WAS GRIPPING
the small leather covered diary his Aunty Marama had given him at the departure gate. “Take this,”
she had pushed it into his hands. “It was your great-grandfather’s. Read it so you understand.” Matu
hugged her tight. “Kia kaha dear, you’ll be fine. I know it.” His hand automatically moved to his
burned arm.
Kia kaha. Be strong.
They were the words she’d whispered to him by his bedside only months before in the hospital
ward. And now he was on his way, to who knows what?
The whirlwind of accepting the offer from Cassi’s friend, digging up his passport which he’d
thought he’d only ever use to visit his parents in Oz and borrowing a suitcase from Mitch had been
exhilarating. Within three days the course of his life seemed to be changing. Only for a couple of
weeks, he rationalized, and he noticed his nerves simmer down as he tried adjusting his position,
without much success, so that his long legs weren’t knocking on the seat in front of him.
An eleven hour flight to Singapore, a three hour layover, and then another twelve to Milan. From
there he would be met by Enzo’s brother Aldo who he was meant to be supervising. The drive to La
Villa Rosa, which was the name of the family farm house, would be another few hours.
He regarded the small diary in his hand. Inside it the name of his great-grandfather, Wiremu
Samuelson, was scrawled in faded blue cursive. He knew his great-grandfather had been a scholar, a
prize winning student of Te Aute College, and it was with pride that he’d enlisted himself in 1939 to
the Maori Battalion which had seen him fighting in World War Two. He’d heard many stories of his
bravery, but he’d always struggled to piece it together with the bandy legged old man who loved to sit
and pod broad beans on the veranda telling stories of his late wife Vita, rather than machismo of war.
To have survived Greece, Crete and North Africa was something else, the battalion had won the
respect of Winston Churchill as the bravest soldiers of the British Colonial Empire. But in Matu’s
family they all knew it was his Italian experience which had changed the course of his life and the
lives of Wiremu’s descendents forever.
At Faenza he had met Vita.
Wounded and unable to move, Wiremu had been lost; unconscious in the rubble of a ceramics
factory the Nazis’ had bombarded. Vita, impulsive at eighteen, had waited for the sound of gunfire to
subside and had secretly escaped from her parents’ home to inspect the damage to her father’s factory.
There she found amongst the wreckage of her family’s life work, the crumpled heap of the man she
instantly knew she would marry. She had taken him to the small military hospital so his wounds could
be treated. Within a month, Vita and Wiremu, with the help of his school boy Latin, had fallen
completely in love and Vita’s premonition had come true. He’d always said the dressing down he got
when he eventually re-joined his regiment was worth it. “They said I was AWOL in F,” he’d chuckle.
“Not Absent Without Leave, but Accidently Wed Or Lost in Faenza!”
Wondering what he was going to find in the slim diary, Matu began turning the pages as the plane
taxied down the runway. Marama’s words had suggested a secret that might lie within. But what it
contained was brief and cryptic. The emotional underlay of the huge experiences his great-grandfather
had been through were in no way evidenced by his words. “Rough sea as we leave home,” “Sand
everywhere. Locals want to sell us everything,” “Gerry’s last chance.” The lists were statistics of
the dead and wounded from every battle and skirmish he’d participated in. But with no description of
the terror, angst or injustice of any of it. Flicking through a few blank pages, he then found something
different. Pencil sketches of a woman. Her face sensitively depicted with soft tresses falling over
round shoulders. Another drawing was just the face of the girl, her eyes looking down, lids heavy
with modest tenderness. On the next page was a detail of a hand, and then a flower. This was Vita.
The diary was a fascinating artifact of family history, but Matu couldn’t quite grasp the understanding
that Marama had hinted at. The things Wiremu had witnessed were summed up in so little detail, Matu
reckoned his great-grandfather hadn’t really had the words to describe any of it. His counselor had
encouraged him to write a journal to process some of his flashbacks, but as of yet he hadn’t. Talking
with a counselor or expressing your emotions therapeutically hadn’t been something you did in the
1940s, he got that.
Matu rested the diary on his lap as he sensed the tempo of the engines shift and intensify.
Must be getting ready for takeoff, no turning back now.
The pressure released as the lumbering jet hurtled down the runway and in moments they were
airborne. He couldn’t be cool in this moment. He felt excited like a kid. It was pretty amazing to feel
his home falling away beneath him and his leap of faith becoming literal as the plane climbed steeply.
Hitting an air pocket they shuddered. Matu gripped the armrest and the diary slipped off his lap and
onto the floor.
Shit, I can’t get that now, I have to wait for the seatbelt sign to turn off.
Gradually the plane righted itself and the turbulence settled into a reassuring hum. When the
seatbelt sign dinged, Matu quickly freed himself to bend down and properly search for the diary
which had evidently slipped under and behind where he was sitting. As he retrieved it, the woman in
the seat behind him passed him a rustic looking key. “This is yours,” she smiled.
“Um, no I don’t think so,” he replied.
“Yes, it slid out of your book there when it hit my shoe.”
“Oh, really?” Matu accepted the key she was passing him. It was no more than two inches long,
and made of brass, it had a satisfying weight in his hand. The top of the key had an attractive filigree
in the design of the letter G. “Sorry, I didn’t realize it was in there.”
“No problem,” the stranger smiled. “Hope you find the treasure it's meant to open!”
“Yeah, me too,” he agreed amicably and squeezed himself back into his seat. He inspected the key
more closely and made a decision to keep it safe. Lifting off his pounamu pendant which was a
smooth drop of New Zealand jade carved in a spiral design that belonged to his tribe, Matu laced the
key next to it. “You won’t be going anywhere now,” he said to himself.
Settling back, Matu sighed. It was going to be a long flight but it was already proving to be
interesting. Perhaps Marama was right, this was the break he needed to free his mind of the negative
thoughts of his recent past and to create a few new stories of his own.
 He flicked through inflight entertainment options. The Lord of the Rings Trilogy was available.
That should see him through to Singapore. He smiled and settled back for the beginning of his own
adventure.
 5

“CIAO ALDO ,” AGATA GREETED ALDO P ONZETTI AS HE MOOCHED INTO M EA CULPA . “YOU’ RE EARLY,”
she added as he rubbed his stubble and yawned. Like his older brother, Aldo was handsome, but
without the gravitas. His long hair pulled into a man bun certainly gave him a more millennial
appearance than Enzo’s peppering of grey at the temples.
“Ciao. Yes, I’m on my way to Milan this morning.”
“Milan?”
“Yeah, I’m picking up the babysitter,” Aldo eyed the pastries attractively displayed in the
cabinet.
“What are you talking about? What babysitter?”
“My babysitter Agata, my babysitter!” Aldo made eye contact now and she could see his barely
contained frustration.
“Tell me what’s going on Aldo,” she instructed calmly as her espresso machine hissed life into
her friend’s usual order.
“It’s Vanessa and Enzo. You know she’s all panicked about going to see her mom and she thinks I
won’t manage alone, to look after the guests and support Enzo.”
“And what do you think?”
“I think she’s overreacting and she should go look after her mommy and leave us to it!” Agata
handed Aldo his coffee.
“You can understand her concern though, yes? It’s been a huge year for you all and she needs it to
be a success as much as you do. Having some help won’t be such a bad thing Aldo. Anyway I hear
her friend Cassi is great fun. You’ll probably fall in love and then I can cater your wedding in the
summer!”
“It’s not Cassi who’s coming.” Aldo sipped his coffee. “It’s some guy called Matu.”
“Oh–”
“Vanessa doesn't even know him, but apparently if Cassi gives her blessing Vanessa takes it as
gospel and we all obey. So now I am performing my first duty by driving up the autostrada to collect
the knight in shining armor, because evidently having two men at her disposal is not enough for the
English princess.”
“Aldo, that’s unfair and you know it. Vanessa loves you and Enzo and only wants the best for La
Villa Rosa. Are you sure you’re not just a little threatened by a woman being in charge and making the
final call on this one?” Were there any men out there who didn’t struggle with that? She wondered.
Being her own boss was the best move Agata had made after her struggles at the law firm. “I think
you need to enjoy your drive up there and trust that this Matu might be just what you need too. Most
New Zealanders are so nice, you will become firm friends I bet.”
“Perhaps,” Aldo conceded. “I just feel like they still don’t see me as being capable and there is
more I know I can offer, not just for myself but for everyone. I thought Vanessa understood that at
least.”
“I get it. Shifting perspectives is never easy. But acting like a spoiled child about it certainly
won’t help that cause will it?”
“Agata, you know you should charge more for your coffee right?” Aldo smiled ruefully. “You give
very good advice.” Agata blew a playful kiss at Aldo.
“Grazie! Drive safely and bring Matu in for a coffee, on the house. God knows he might need one
given he’s flown from the other side of the world!”
“Ok. Sounds good. I’ll see you later then. Ciao!” Aldo replaced his cup on the counter and turned
to exit. Agata wondered if he was right about charging more. Her income as a small business owner
wasn’t great compared to the salary her legal qualifications could earn her. But hey, life wasn’t just
about how much you earned. Her autonomy would never be threatened again after...well, that was
history and she didn’t care what the price tag was. There was no going back.
The bell on the cafe door rang as another early morning regular stepped in. Adjusting her apron
and smoothing her hair from her face. Agata replaced her fleetingly tense expression with a warm
smile. “Buongiorno Sofia, what can I get you?”
No going back.
Ever.

THE DISTANCE BETWEEN THE WORDS COMING OUT OF HIS MOUTH AND THE RATE AT WHICH HIS BRAIN
was generating them was disconcerting to Matu to say the least. So this is jetlag, he thought.
Accompanied by Aldo’s commentary, speeding cars on the wrong side of the road and a blur of
unfamiliar landscape, Matu felt every mile and hour of distance between home and the alien
environment he was immersed in. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that,” he repeated as he registered that he’d
been asked a question.
“Do you drink coffee?” Aldo repeated.
“Oh, yeah, of course,” he stammered. It was eleven in the morning, but his body was telling him
something different. Mitch had advised that the key to hammering the jetlag was to resist falling
asleep before the locals in your new time zone. Bed was a long way off if that was the case.
“I’ll introduce you to Agata. She makes the best coffee around here,” Aldo enthused. Within
minutes they pulled into a car park on the edge of a small piazza. “Here we are. Come,” he
instructed.
Stepping out of the car Matu was relieved to stand and stretch and enjoy the fresh air washing
over him. He observed a small town buzzing with activity as people of a range of ages went about
their daily normal. A selection of shops, a supermarket and a handsome church surrounded the piazza.
Anchoring the piazza was an old fountain. The water cascading out of it caught the sunlight and its
acoustic melody eased his senses. He filled his lungs with fresh Italian air. This is nice. It’s pretty,
like a movie. His eye was caught by a teenage couple perched on the edge of the fountain. Each
passionate kiss was punctuated with a lick of their respective gelato. He chuckled at the picture of
adolescent bliss.
This is what tourists liked. Something refreshing and new. Something that fulfilled the promise of
the dream of the destination, and Italy was a land of lovers and food if you believed the cheeseball
movies. Matu did a double take as he realized Aldo was striding away from him toward the front
door of a cafe. Wrought iron chairs and tables sat in front of a large glass window. A sign
pronouncing the cafe’s name, Mea Culpa, was suspended above the door. Aldo held the door back as
Matu stepped inside. “Take a seat. I’ll bring you a cappuccino and something to eat.”
Settling himself by the window so he could continue to take in the bustling life outside, Matu was
content despite his tiredness. The light dancing on the spray produced by the fountain from this
distance was mesmerizing, a sheen of glistening droplets creating a haze which masked the backdrop
of the far side of the piazza. As Matu stared into space it was with surprise that a figure materialized
from the haze. As if from nowhere a woman emerged from the mist of fine droplets activated by
sunlight. Stepping out of the fountain’s shimmering reach she strode toward him, purposefully,
gracefully and unwavering in her trajectory. Her thick black-brown hair draped over her shoulders in
loose tangles as it escaped from the blue bandana she had used to keep it off her face.
Her face.
What a face.
Warm olive complexion, high cheekbones and dark prominent eyebrows were the first striking
aspect about her. The woman’s large curious eyes were bright and engaged in the world around her.
Her lips, full and red were expressive and sensual and positioned perfectly to balance her nose and
jawline. Dressed simply in a black t-shirt and burnt orange pedal-pushers, she gave no impression of
vulnerability, but of a self-awareness which Matu recognized as confidence. She was curved, soft and
strong all at once. She held herself with poise, not arrogance or smoldering femininity. She was all
woman, but she had no real idea of how attractive she was. Of that, Matu was certain.
Aldo set down a coffee and brioche in front of Matu startling him from his vision in the piazza.
“Here, now you will start your Italian experience with the best coffee in Italy, roasted by the loveliest
woman in the village,” Aldo pulled out a chair and beckoned to the woman from the mist. “And here
she is now, Agata Selvaggio, meet Matu Samuelson, our knight in shining armour!”
She smiled warmly as she approached.
The woman from the fountain was now standing before him, smiling.
Matu pushed his chair back, knocking the table and disturbing his cup so coffee spilled into the
saucer. “Hi, oh–sorry,” he held out his hand. “A pleasure to meet you Agata. Mi ‘scusi…my Italian is
rubbish.”
“It’s okay, we all speak a lot of English around here. Nice to meet you, Matu.” Her hand was soft
and warm in his and although he knew it was impossible, he hoped she wouldn’t hear his heart
beating as it hammered loudly in his own ears. “What a long way you have come for a cup of coffee,”
her head angled to one side and her teeth glinted from behind those gorgeous red lips in a light
hearted smile. Regaining his composure and accepting her invitation, he responded.
“Yeah, well, I think it’s going to be worth it, don’t you?”
“Absolutely,” she agreed. “Aldo will take good care of you. And you will take good care of
Aldo,”
“And Enzo apparently,” Aldo chimed in.
“Hey, where I come from we all take care of each other.” Matu sensed the awkwardness that
could potentially brew between him and Aldo if he didn’t tread carefully. “I’m just here to help mate,
in any way I can. So you tell me where and when we get started.”
 “Take it easy,” Aldo fanned his hand at Matu. “Let's have our coffee break first. This is our
number one priority, isn’t it Agata?”
“Of course,” her knowing smile broadened as she looked directly at Matu. “Anything you need,
please ask. I love to help.”
“Good to know,” Matu returned her smile and sat back down as Aldo reclined further into his
seat.
“Welcome to Italy,” and she was walking away, not into a fantastical mist of water, but to her
gleaming espresso machine and a busy gaggle of customers.
She was real alright.
 6

AGATA PUSHED OPEN HER LIVING ROOM WINDOW TO LET IN SOME FRESH AIR. S HE RENTED A SMALL
apartment above a shoe shop, which was the last of the boutiques on the small lane which led north
off the piazza. The beautiful thing she had discovered about village life was that she could walk
everywhere, including to work. Her apartment looked into a magnificent chestnut tree which sat on the
empty field that marked the edge of Albea, rather than the mess of streets and architectural nightmares
which she’d contended with in the outer suburbs of Bologna. Her chestnut tree, as she officially
considered it, was in full bloom celebrating the arrival of spring at last.
Her evening ritual included pouring herself a well-deserved glass of red wine, which she now
settled down to enjoy. It had been an interesting day. She smiled thinking of Aldo’s handsome
companion and hoped Vanessa was feeling more at ease now that she had arrived in New Delhi to
support her birth mother. Funny how hardwired we are to step up and be there for family, she mused.
Vanessa had shared much of her heartbreak with Agata about being the black sheep of her family. Her
adoptive parents, despite having the means, had still not visited her and Enzo, which surprised Agata
given how readily British tourists came to Italy for vacations; and it was obvious that Vanessa felt
their rejection keenly, even though she pretended not to care. So, it was hardly surprising that when
her birth mother, who Vanessa had bonded with so strongly, was suddenly vulnerable, she was
willing to drop everything and go to her. Despite seeming hardnosed on first impression, Vanessa had
a very caring nature and it yet again reminded Agata of the bonds that tie families together. Not that
she had much of a family herself.
Being the only child to Giancarlo and Annamaria Selvaggio, she had endured a lonely childhood.
Always busy at the family law firm, her father had been distant, serious and non-communicative. By
the time Agata was thirteen, her mother had left her father and her in Bologna so she could live closer
to her sister in Milan. What had been euphemistically explained to Agata as a temporary solution
because her mother needed ‘space’ to sort out her depression, turned into a permanent situation. Her
mother to this day lived alone and supported herself by running meditation and yoga classes
somewhere in the suburban sprawl of Milan. So, the adolescent Agata found herself bereft and
confused, until her grandfather turned up.
There was so much she was grateful to her grandfather, Guido Selvaggio, for. Including his old
leather armchair which she now sat in, as she thought of him.
She’d concluded long ago that he'd seen a need and filled it, even though at the time he’d claimed
his old apartment was getting too lonely for a cranky old widower. The truth was, without him, Agata
would have become as depressed as her mother, she was sure. And the relationship between her and
the old man blossomed into a friendship of trust, kindness and deep love. Her favorite shared routine
was the walking of his grey schnauzer, Otto. As they’d walk, regardless of weather, they would talk,
or at least he would talk and she would listen. Her moral education was initiated and as he would
scatter lessons with real life anecdotes from his own life, Agata’s strong empathetic and ethical
beliefs were honed. Holding herself to high standards was expected and despite a heartbreak-induced
dip in her grades when her boyfriend Enzo had left school to do his chef training, Agata had been an
exemplary student. So the narrative that Agata would uphold family tradition and study law was
unquestioned. It wasn’t until her second year at the firm that she started asking questions, but no one
demanded answers.
No one.
Not even her grandfather.

IT HAD STARTED AS A GENTLE FLIRTATION . MASSIMO WAS FAIR HAIRED , TALL AND WELL PUT TOGETHER.
His suit which was standard uniform for the profession looked anything but typical on him, and he
knew it. His confidence provided a magnetizing aura that sent shivers through Agata every time she
saw him. It didn’t help that he had been given the job of mentoring her. Although no one liked to
openly acknowledge nepotism, the truth is it existed and Massimo being the eldest son of her father’s
best friend Salvatore, it was a given that a step up the ladder in Massimo’s legal career would be
provided. Salvatore was a property developer and he steered a lot of clients in the direction of
Selvaggio Law. Giancarlo, who seemed to welcome Massimo to the firm in an entirely different way
than he had his own daughter, was happy to assist. But none of these details concerned Agata in the
beginning, why would they? It was just how things were.
“That’s a big pile of paperwork,” Massimo warmly greeted Agata. The small office they shared
was always inhabited by her first. She found the volume of paperwork and emails she had to do meant
anything later than a 7 a.m. start equated to taking even more work home. She lifted her head,
annoyingly felt her Massimo-induced-blush flood her face, and shrugged. Sitting across from her,
Massimo’s green eyes hit directly on her phone which, having just been checked by Agata, still had an
active screen. She’d been adding an appointment to her Google Calendar. Reaching across, he picked
up the phone and inspected it. “So, what’s on for Agata this Friday night?” His finger swiped through
the empty grid of time on her calendar after 6pm. “No hot date tonight I see!”
“Hey!” She stood up and reached across to retrieve her phone. “You have no manners!” She could
be playful and having to peel each of his fingers off her phone meant she got to savor touching his
strong warm hands. Such long fingers, tidy clean nails. What would they feel like gripping into her
rear if he lifted her up on the desk right now? Her face warmed even more.
“Perhaps not, but that still doesn’t excuse the fact that you don’t have anything happening tonight,”
he grinned at her. “It’s too sad Agata. You’re working your ass off if you don’t mind me saying. You
need to let your hair down once in a while don’t you?”
“What do you propose then?” she’d surprised herself when she’d said that. However he was
attractive, flirting with her and, he was right, she did deserve a night off. She hadn’t gone out in ages.
A little release could be just what she needed to reset her work-life balance.
And just like that, she had invited him into her experience. Or at least she never stopped him from
coming in and trampling over everything. Absolutely everything.
 “I propose that you ditch the old men and join me in an exercise of unwinding with one glass of
wine at a time,” he leaned back, folding his arms across his broad chest as he issued the challenge. It
was a date. He was asking her out on a date.
“Tempting…” she murmured but she knew she was going. She’d hoped he’d ask her out for a long
time. Somehow she hadn’t felt she could ask him. Sure, there’d been the obligatory work drinks
which her father hosted, but that was not an exclusive, invitation-only opportunity to be with
Massimo.
“We finish at five sharp today. No excuses–and you’re coming out with me. I’ve decided.” His
assertiveness was so sexy.
“Okay, if you insist,” she laughed. And then assuming she ought to say the kind of things women
said in these situations, she added, “just one drink…”
“It’s a date,” and he was up and out the door to the coffee machine, if Agata’s intimate knowledge
of his workday routine was correct. Smiling, she turned her attention to the half written email she was
composing. A date with Massimo. This should be fun.
But it hadn’t been.
It had been anything but.
It was a one night stand that mutated into a toxic cocktail of harassment, sleazy innuendo and
eventually sexting from Massimo. Once Agata had confirmed that she didn’t want to repeat what
she’d seen as a frivolous night out to dispel some sexual tension between them, she discovered
Massimo didn’t like rejection. He was unaccustomed to anyone saying no.

“YOO - HOO !” THE VOICE OF S USANNAH, HER NEIGHBOR AND OWNER OF THE DOWNSTAIRS SHOE SHOP
was coming up the stairs. “You home Agata?”
“Yes, Susannah, I’m home,” she shook her head to dispel the memories and bring herself back into
the present. Her face gave a small involuntary shudder, the tic being her only physical connection to
that time now. Susannah appeared in the doorway holding a large cast iron pot of what smelled like
incredible minestrone soup.
“I made too much again,” she chuckled. “Help me out cara.”
“With pleasure,” Agata agreed. “Who needs convincing when it smells so good? How’s your day
been?” Agata stood up and headed to her small kitchen to retrieve a second wine glass and bowls for
them both.
“The usual,” Susannah sighed, plopping herself down on a kitchen counter stool. “Lots of feet,
some more smelly than others!” They both laughed. Susannah was a wiry sweet soul of a woman. Her
large green glasses dominated her face and made an unapologetic style statement. She was in her mid-
fifties but managed to dress in a distinctive way which spoke to the youthful spirit of all who walked
through the door of her charming boutique shoe shop, aptly named Scarpe Diem. She wore her hair
grey and cropped which contrasted with the vibrant color she loved to wear. They had started as
neighbors and had quickly become friends as they shared the highs and lows of running a small
business in Albea. “How about you?”
“Not too bad,” she ladled the soup into the bowls as Susannah helped herself to wine. “Aldo was
in this morning; full of self-pity!”
“What’s new?” She raised her glass. “Cin-cin!”
 “Matu is new,” Agata clinked her glass on Susannah’s. “He’s what Aldo was feeling sorry for
himself about.”
“Matu? Where’s he from? Unusual name…”
“New Zealand. You remember Vanessa’s problem about needing to go to India to look after
Nicci?” Susannah nodded. “Well Matu is the solution. He’s here for two weeks to back up Enzo and
Aldo. He’s a tourist operator too apparently, but you know it was really just a security blanket for
Vanessa. So I’d say it’s a nice little vacation for a fish out of water in Albea!”
“What makes you say he’s a fish out of water?”
“He just looked a bit shell shocked when he came into the cafe with Aldo. Although I guess he
had just got off a long flight. It was probably jetlag,” she reasoned. “I don’t know, there was just
something about him which looked like he’d stumbled upon something he really hadn’t been
expecting.”
“Yes, well we’ve been over this before Agata,” her ‘spare the shit’ tone had taken time to get used
to but now Agata loved their frank conversations which she’d never had with her own mother. “You
are hard to ignore cara. He hadn’t been expecting you I’m sure. Is he attractive?” Again her seniority
and disarming honesty prevailed.
“Susannah! Let me think…”
“Okay, so he is,” she sprinkled salt on her steaming bowl of soup. “And what are you going to do
about that?”
“What do you mean what am I going to do about that?” Even Agata recognized the phony
deflection in her voice.
“You know exactly what I mean. You can’t use your past experiences as an excuse to not be
receptive to new experiences, or to be precise, new lovers. It’s been two years now.” Agata had
spilled the beans to Susannah regarding her hasty exit from Selvaggio Law. She had mistakenly
believed her father and grandfather would support her after exposing Massimo’s harassment. How
wrong she had been.
“For goodness sake, Susannah, I only just met him. And besides, he probably has a girlfriend or
he’s probably gay...and anyway he’s only here for two weeks, so what in God’s name can actually
happen with this man I only just met and know absolutely nothing about?”
“A lot can happen in two weeks,”
“Do you ever give up?!” Agata was laughing now. “Do you?”
“Never!”
“True, you don’t. I don’t know why I asked!”
“Look, Augusto is coming down tomorrow,” Augusto was Susannah’s husband who commuted to
work as a high class sommelier in Venice and Florence at exclusive hotels every week. “He wants to
do a little wine tasting for a new label he’s trying. Why don’t I ask Enzo, Aldo and Matu to come by
and help him out? You are my neighbor so of course you will be there. I want to meet Matu myself,”
she grinned mischievously. “If Augusto is going to neglect me with all his fancy clients through the
week, at least I can enjoy a little eye candy from the Antipodes to pass my time!”
“Okay, okay,” Agata chuckled. “You organize it and I’ll be there. I think their first guests don’t
come until Saturday, so they’re probably free. And no doubt Matu will appreciate learning that the
Ponzetti brothers aren’t all Albea has to offer!”
“That’s my girl,” Susannah nodded approvingly. “You are too gorgeous to only have me as your
regular date!”
With Susannah’s support she guessed she may as well. And if she didn’t, she knew she’d never
hear the end of it from her friend.
“But you have to help me choose what to wear okay?”
“It’s a deal,” and holding up her glass to toast Agata again, her owl-like hazel eyes glinted with
heartfelt affection and encouragement for her younger friend.
 7

“WE’ D BETTER GET GOING ,” ALDO SAID . “YOU NEED TO MEET ENZO AND GET YOURSELF SET UP .”
“Sure,” Matu agreed. “How far is it to the house from here? La Villa Rosa, right?”
“Sì, La Villa Rosa and Scuola di Cucina. About ten minutes.”
“What does the Scuola di Cucina bit mean?” Matu mangled the pronunciation.
“Culinary school. You don’t know any Italian?” Aldo shot back.
“Oh, just a few phrases here and there. My great-grandmother was Italian actually, but you know I
didn’t retain much from her or my aunty who was the most committed to the language.”
“You have Italian blood?”
“Piccolo,” Matu attempted. “A little.”
“I know what piccolo means.” Aldo stood up barely disguising his frustration. “C’mon, let’s go.
We’ll have Enzo messaging us next.” Not wanting to irritate his companion even more, Matu stood
quickly. Enzo better be a bit more friendly or this could be a long two weeks, he thought as he pushed
in his chair.
“Ciao Agata!” Aldo called out as he pulled open the door to the street.
“Ciao Aldo!” she called back, her winning smile lightening Matu’s mood.
Should I? He wondered.
“Ciao Matu!” her eyes danced with undisguised friendliness.
Yeah, I should. Matu walked to the counter.
“Thanks Agata,” he offered warmly. “The coffee was just what I needed. I wish my Italian was a
little better to tell you how lovely it was to meet you.”
“You can start with grazie,” she laughed. “It means thank you!” She really was stunning. Behind
her counter she looked in charge of her life.
“Right, here goes then,” he laughed too. “Grazie Agata,” Matu extended his hand. “It’s been a
pleasure to start my Italian experience with your hospitality.”
“Prego Matu–you are a natural already!” Her hand was soft and strong. He didn’t want to let go
of it. “And don’t worry about Aldo. He has no real bite, you’ll see. The Ponzetti’s are a nice family,
you’ll have fun I’m sure.”
“Thanks–I mean–grazie for the heads-up.”
“Anytime,” she retracted her hand. “See you again.”
“I hope so,” and before he made himself look like an over-enthusiastic idiot, he turned and joined
Aldo on the street.
“She’s pretty, no?” Aldo seemed to have warmed up again.
 “You could say that.”
“I did say that. What do you mean? Do you think she’s bellissima or not?” Aldo’s irritation flared
up instantly.
“She’s gorgeous. That’s what I mean!” Matu knew his understated approach could be confusing.
Tourists had taught him that. It was a Kiwi thing to not make a big deal, even if you were brimming
over on the inside. “She’s a knockout Aldo. She runs her own business too, she’s smart right?”
“Oh yeah, so smart...and kind,” Aldo and Matu walked companionably to the parked car. “She’s
brought a lot to the village since she opened her cafe. I wish I could be like her in many ways.”
“Yeah? You want to run your own business?”
“No, not that so much,” Aldo unlocked the car. “She has the determination to see her plans
through. She sets a goal and she goes for it. She has grit. Sometimes I feel like I’m just skidding on the
gravel.” He smiled wryly at Matu. “God you are like her! Why am I telling you my life story Dr.
Phil?”
“I don’t know mate, I must be a good listener.” He always had been. “What do you mean though?
Me being like Agata?”
“She looks after everyone. Puts others first. Listens and helps out,” Aldo swung the car out of the
carpark and onto the road which hugged the piazza. “Isn’t that what you’re doing here? You make me
want to talk. And you’re helping out aren’t you? There aren’t many crazy enough to drop everything
and fly around the world to help out people they don’t even know.”
“I hadn’t really thought of it like that,” Matu admitted. “I don’t really know what I’m doing here to
be honest. It just seemed like an opportunity to do something different.” But he did know. His
heartbeat told him. He’d come to meet Agata. And he was already thinking about how he would find a
way to see her again.
“Well, Enzo will tell you what to do. He always tells me,” Aldo chuckled. “Let’s just do what
we’re told and get through the next couple of weeks okay? Then Vanessa will come back smiling, and
then Enzo is smiling at her rather than frowning at me.” He grinned at Matu, suddenly perked up now
he’d decided his companion was like Agata. Aldo was clearly what Aunty Marama would describe
as a ‘flibberty-jibbet’.
“Okay Aldo,” Matu opted to run with it. Follow the positivity while it was there. “Let’s do it!”

LIKE EVERYONE ELSE WHO APPROACHED LA VILLA ROSA, MATU WAS IMMEDIATELY IMPRESSED WITH ITS
understated appeal. Truthfully, he’d been intimidated at the thought of the place being grand and
exclusive. What he found instead was proud, handsome and instantly welcoming. “Here we are,”
Aldo stated the obvious. “This has been the Ponzetti family home for several generations. Now it is
Enzo and I, with the help of an English food critic who never left after her work trip and a random
New Zealander, that we will ensure it stays in the family!”
“No pressure?” Matu joked.
“I wish,” Aldo sighed. “The pressure is real, we have to make this next tour count. The bank is
breathing down our necks, but with this one–so long as it goes well–we’ll be in a much more
favorable position. Or so Enzo tells me. Ah–” Aldo’s glance diverted to the top of the stairs which
led to the rustic front door on the second level of the house. “There he is now.”
He doesn’t look so bad, Matu thought as he took in the well dressed, handsome man talking into
his phone. The house was painted a peachy pink and seemed to shine amongst the vibrant green spring
growth on the cherry trees which surrounded it. Perched on top of a hill, steep valleys ran away on
either side and on a far ridge to the north a church completed the picturesque vista which Matu could
immediately translate into tourist dollars. This is very nice. He thought of the kissing teenagers at the
fountain. He thought of Agata. It’s all so...bellissima.
As they reached the top steps Enzo concluded his call. A sleepy brown Labrador lifted her head
to inspect Matu, thwacked her tail twice as acknowledgement and promptly resumed napping. “That’s
a good sign,” Enzo smiled warmly and pumped Matu’s hand in a friendly welcome. “Coco likes you
already.”
“That’s good,” Matu agreed. “I’m here to help in any way I can and that includes walking the dog
if she needs it.”
“Oh she doesn’t exercise much these days,” Enzo chuckled. “She’s retired I suppose. But she is
the mascot of this house and the guests all seem to like her.” Enzo beckoned the men into the house.
Aldo disappeared with Matu’s case and Enzo indicated that Matu’s atypical contract had started by
continuing to talk as if Matu had always been a part of the logistical team at La Villa Rosa. “We have
today and tomorrow to get things straight for what is going to be seven days of fantastic culinary
teaching combined with superb touring of the finest food producers in the region.” They entered a
spacious kitchen area gleaming with stainless steel bench tops and new gas hobs. A large commercial
chiller stood in the corner, its glass doors sparkling clean. “When we’re not hosting tours, we run this
as a restaurant, an offshoot of my trattoria in Bologna. But for the next two weeks, this is where the
guests will cook with me. This time we have Raffaella Fulvio coming from Santa Monica!” He
clapped his hands together cheerfully.
“Enzo, that doesn’t mean anything to Matu,” Aldo joined them.
“Sì, sorry Matu,” he grinned. “Raffaella is running the most successful franchise of Italian
restaurants in California. She is a literal powerhouse and if her time here goes well, the contracts and
contacts for our producers would be incredible.”
“Right, I got it,” Matu confirmed. Enzo’s excitement was palpable. “Raffaella is going to have an
incredible experience, I’ll make sure of it.”
“You’ll want to once you see her.” Aldo interjected. “She’s so hot!”
“No Aldo,” Enzo turned to his brother. “No flirting with the guests. It’s not professional and I
need you to focus on the job.”
“It didn’t stop you when Vanessa was here,” Aldo volleyed back.
“That was different, for so many reasons…”
“If you say so.”
“I do. And let’s not get into that right now. Anyway, there is no time for us to be sociable on work
time, we have to make sure the guests and their seamless experience of cooking and being tourists is
so memorable, that La Villa Rosa will go down as some of the best memories of their lives!”
Matu was fully onboard with Enzo’s enthusiasm, his vigor seemed contagious and even the
reference to his love affair with Vanessa which Cassi had told himself, Mitch and Marama about only
days ago around his aunty’s kitchen table, was inspiring. This man was living his life and everything
about him exuded a passion for his purpose. “So this is why right now we work. Matu you can stock
the chiller. Aldo, start filling the complimentary swag bags, and by tomorrow afternoon we can relax
before the guests arrive on Saturday.” Enzo’s phone rang. “Pronto. Ah, Susannah! Sì, sì…” he
wandered to the window to talk and Aldo raised his eyebrows at Matu as if to say ‘I warned you’.
“He’s crazy, but it all makes sense. Especially when you see him with Vanessa,” Aldo explained.
“He’s discovered a new lease on life since she came along. We owe her a lot. I owe them both… a
lot.” There was more to this story too, Matu could tell.
“Well that’s what family is for, right?” Matu affirmed.
“True. Sometimes I just want to feel more useful, more…” He shrugged.
“I get it,” Matu confirmed. “You want to be more in charge of your life? We’ve all been there.”
“Some more than others though no?”
“I suppose so,” Matu’s lack of conviction surfaced without Enzo’s exuberance around him. He
realized he was scratching at the side of his scar.
“How did you get that?” Aldo asked.
“It was...an accident.”
Enzo ended his call and turned back to join them. “It’s settled. Relaxation is tomorrow at
Susannah’s,” he grinned at them both. “Augusto wants to try some new wines and we’re invited.”
“Really? I can’t stand that pompous old man.” Aldo groaned.
“Relax Aldo! Agata will be there too. It’ll be fun.”
“Agata? From the cafe?” Matu’s heart thudded against his chest.
“Exactimo! This is fantastic Matu!” Enzo laughed and enthusiastically patted Matu on his back.
“You are like a local already!”
 8

“I CAN BARELY STAND IT !” AUGUSTO PURRED . “TWO SEXY WOMEN BEFORE ME. THIS IS TOO MUCH.
You know, I am getting older, I might die a happy man tonight. Or do you like this silver fox?” Leaning
against the antique dresser which Augusto had just set out with wine glasses, he grinned flirtatiously
at both Susannah and Agata who emerged from the bedroom where they had finished getting ready for
the evening ahead. Susannah had convinced Agata to wear a silk wrap around dress she’d bought and
never worn. Charcoal and silver with a metallic belt which drew the eye to her hourglass figure. It
was a classic. Its deep V-neck accentuated her cleavage in a way she hadn’t played up for a long time.
Her hair was down tonight, brushing over her shoulders and cheek bones which, she had to admit, felt
really nice for a change from her practical work bandana or topknot.
“Silver fox? More like balding goat!” Susannah dryly remarked as she moved toward him and
then ran her hands down both sides of his face in an intimate gesture of affection. He laughed and
grabbing her around the waist he pulled her in for a lusty kiss.
“You are so cruel to me Susannah...I love it! Remember Agata, men like to be reminded of who is
in charge. Don’t go fooling yourself, we are all little boys inside who want to be seduced by such
sexy women!”
“Shut up Augusto–can’t you see she is nervous?” Susannah batted him lovingly on the nose, and
unpeeled herself from her husband to go to the kitchen.
“Nervous? No. Shimmering with anticipation - of course. This is what makes Agata always so
incredibly alluring. She has no idea just how gorgeous she is! Why do you struggle to believe it my
dear girl?”
“How many glasses have you already had?” Agata deflected. Augusto wore his receding hairline
with a dignity which didn’t detract from his handsome charm one bit. He was closer to sixty than
Susannah was and exuded a love of life which was infectious and highly sought after in his role at
convincing the wealthy to spend outrageous sums on exclusive wines. His soft brown eyes sparkled
cheekily from his affectionate face. Clean shaven and jowly, his nose was prominent which he
ascribed to inhaling the bouquet of so many fine wines. Nothing about him, including his height at only
five foot six, was typically attractive and yet there was an undeniable saucy appeal about him.
“Not enough, and neither have you! Here, have a little prosecco to settle yourself before the boys
come.” He poured the sparkling white wine into a tulip glass and Agata happily accepted. Augusto’s
playfulness was so genuine and complimentary and his love for Susannah was inspiring. Why so many
chose to believe that passion was only for the young seemed ridiculous when you saw the bond
between Susannah and Augusto. They were both so lit up when they were together and clearly self-
sufficient and trusting enough to sustain distance away from each other.
Agata privately dreamed of a romance like theirs. Passionate, unharnessed by obligation and most
of all so deeply loving. Vanessa and Enzo had it too. Not that she could have ever shared that with
Enzo. Too young and too many plans; they had both understood the ‘unharnessed’ part of her ideal
relationship and had released each other from obligation. Now she was so genuinely happy for him
that he was enjoying love again after his failed marriage, not to mention an exciting business
opportunity. “Who is this friend of Enzo’s coming tonight cara?” Augusto called across the room to
Susannah.
“He’s not a friend really,” she explained as she put together a platter of appetizing antipasti
morsels. “His name is Matu, he’s come from New Zealand to help the boys while Vanessa is in India
caring for her birth mother.”
“New Zealand?” Augusto clapped delightedly. “Home of the finest sauvignon blanc in the world.
One day I will take you there.”
“It’s too far,” Susannah promptly retorted. “I don’t really want to sit on a plane that long. But for
Agata I would.”
“Why would you have to sit on a plane for my sake?” Agata asked, genuinely confused at
Susannah’s cryptic statement.
“Well, when you marry Matu, you will go back to his homeland. I will come and visit you then.”
“Oh my little matchmaker…you are so naughty!”
“She’s out of her mind, is what she is Augusto.” Agata raised her glass. “To the craziest couple I
know!”
“Cin-cin! Sometimes crazy, is good crazy!” Augusto laughed heartily and grabbed Agata’s free
hand. Planting a kiss on the back of it he drew her close so he was only audible to her. Tenderly he
said, “You are beautiful inside and out my dear. Trust yourself. All will be well.”
“Grazie Augusto.” Kissing him on the cheek she cherished the kindness this couple had offered
her in the absence of her own family’s support. The thought of her grandfather, who’d always been so
kind–until he’d been stubborn in a way she simply couldn’t understand–darted through her mind. If
only she’d had the chance to meet with him again. She had planned to pay a visit, swallowing her
pride to try and mend the chasm that had descended into their relationship. But it had been too late.
She’d been too late.
I never got to tell him that I still loved him regardless of his judgement. And would he have told
me the same?
She sipped her wine. Who knew?
The doorbell rang and Susannah’s voice rang out. “Come in boys!” Agata turned to the door and
enjoyed the sight before her. Enzo’s face lit up on seeing first her, and then Augusto. Augusto stepped
toward him and they held each other kissing on each cheek in the manner of Italian friends. Their
small talk sparked up immediately. Behind him Aldo with hands in pockets joined the room. He
quickly strode toward Agata and ushered her to the window looking over the chestnut tree.
“Give me your glass, I need something to take the edge off,” she surrendered it and Aldo took a
gulp of prosecco. “That’s better.”
“Aren’t you meant to be on orange juice?”
“Oh c’mon, one sip won’t hurt and besides I need it to get through the night. I think this is Enzo’s
idea of fun–to bring an alcoholic to a wine tasting.” Casting his eyes toward Enzo and Augusto he
sighed. “Anyway, that’s them sorted for the night, gossiping about business, food and wine.”
“Where’s Matu?” Agata looked toward the door.
 “He’s coming. He was desperate to try the Vespa,” Aldo laughed and pointed. “Here he is.”
Along the narrow lane came the Vespa with Matu astride it. His large muscular frame dwarfed the
small motorbike, but his smile beaming out from under the helmet, said it all. And he was singing to
himself as he rode. He was so happy. He was having fun. Fun in a way that perhaps he hadn’t for
some time Agata sensed. Unaware that he was being observed, he parked up and removed his helmet.
His legs were solid and strong astride the diminutive Vespa and Agata admired his defined chest,
forearms and biceps even visible from this distance. Without his form fitting shirt he would be an
even better sight, she was sure of that. “You can stop drooling now,” Aldo remarked.
“What? Don’t be silly,” her face heated as he hit the target. “It’s just not a sight you see every day
in Albea is it?”
“I guess not,” he smirked. “Get your fill while you can, he’s only here for two weeks and then
you’ll have to make do with me again. Yo, Matu!” He called out the window. Matu’s face lifted to
meet Aldo’s voice and again a broad smile spread across his face.
“That was awesome!” he laughed. “I always wanted to ride one Aldo! It’s like being in a movie
around here. My aunty always watched that one with Audrey Hepburn. She’d love this!”
“Come up and meet your co-stars then.”
“Ciao Matu!” Agata raised her glass. And suddenly Susannah was squeezing in beside her to peer
out the window.
“Buonasera Matu,” she called out. “Come, come–we welcome you!” And then Augusto was
standing on her other side, Aldo having bored of the sideshow.
“You are nothing like a hobbit! Come up and drink with us!” Augusto sang out. Matu’s winning
smile beamed up at the three of them. “He’s more like a Greek God,” muttered Susannah under her
breath.
“Thank you, grazie mille.” He hung the helmet over the handlebars and in two strides was off the
pavement and his footsteps could be heard coming up the wooden staircase. Enzo moved to the door
and ushered Matu in.
“May I introduce you to my dear friends Augusto and Susannah. And this is Agata, but I believe
you met already?” Agata smiled at him from across the room.
“We did meet,” he nodded politely at his hosts, but his eyes lingered on Agata. “Thank you for
inviting me this evening.”
“Our pleasure dear boy,” Augusto swept forward. “I’m afraid I have no sauvignon for you this
evening, but can I tempt you with a little prosecco to whet your appetite and ease your
homesickness?” Matu laughed amicably.
“I’m not homesick,” he took the glass Augusto handed him.
“No, he fits right in,” Enzo added. “Matu is an absolute pro. Already we are ahead of schedule
and Vanessa has stopped messaging every hour to check our progress. Now we just have to wait for
the guests to arrive!”
“I just like to get on with it, that’s all,” Matu deflected the praise. “I simply take orders from Aldo
here. Easy as that. He’s a good boss.” Aldo tried to look like the comments didn’t matter to him, but
Agata could see they did. He was so unaccustomed to receiving compliments, especially suggestions
that he was a capable leader. “Well…cheers,” Matu raised his glass.
“Here’s to getting on with it,” laughed Augusto. “I love it!”
“So do I,” murmured Susannah inaudibly to all but Agata. “Go and talk to him, or I’ll disown
you.” Agata turned to Susannah with incredulous eyes. But before she could move, she realized Matu
was standing beside her.
 “It’s nice to see you again.” Up close he smelt clean-shaven. The thought of him shaving and
showering after a hard day at work flitted through her mind. His body would be soaped up, dried
down and oiled. Her heartbeat sped up.
What seeds had Susannah planted?
“You look great in that dress,” he continued.
“Grazie,” she responded. “How are you finding La Villa Rosa?”
“Yeah, it’s fine. I’m here to help so hopefully that’s what I’m doing. Tomorrow things will get
busy.” Agata felt a finger poking into her back insistently. It was Susannah.
“What are you doing?” She turned to her friend.
“What am I doing?” Susannah asked innocently. “I’m just thinking about your fantastic idea.”
“What fantastic idea?”
“The one where you offer a free coffee roasting and espresso making tutorial to La Villa Rosa
students.” What was Susannah talking about?
“That sounds like a great idea,” Matu smiled enthusiastically. “Have you set it up with Enzo?”
“No, there wasn’t time…” Backtracking out of this set up was tricky. Susannah was taking her
mischievousness to new heights tonight.
“In fact, that would fit the gap created by the cancellation we got from the buffalo mozzarella
guy,” he beckoned Aldo. “Hey, who was the guy who cancelled the mozzarella?”
“Luigi.”
“Agata can do a coffee roasting instead.”
“Thursday from twelve?” Aldo prompted. “That’s when we had the cheese scheduled.”
“Ummm, okay,” Agata agreed. “I need to get Erica to do an extra shift but that should be okay.”
“Perfecto!” Aldo looked pleased with himself. “That’s super Agata. I’ll go tell Enzo.” Agata was
bewildered by having been so swiftly set up. She’d gone into self-employment for a reason; she liked
to make her own choices.
Matu shrugged and smiled. “So that means I’d better come see you on Sunday night?” Susannah
was grinning now. “So you can give me a quick overview of the tutorial? I’m sure it’s quite familiar
for Aldo, but I’m finding I have a lot to learn, so the chance for a heads up would be great.”
Matu was gorgeous. His smile was sexy, his teeth bright against his sensuous lips. He was such a
hunk of a man but beneath it Agata could see the boy. Free and happy in himself, standing tall. His
solid, strong stature was captivating. He must be fit from clambering through the wilderness which
she guessed made up much of his work as a guide in New Zealand. Agata sipped her wine as she
tried, in vain, to gather her thoughts.
Lifting her eyes from her glass as she swallowed, she met his. His smile was in his eyes, shining
flirtatiously from his broad face. This guy had just invited himself to work with her on Sunday night.
She was flattered and just a little intimidated by the outline of his thighs beneath his chinos. She
shivered and came back to the practical details of this situation which Susannah had thrust her into.
It was just for work. Of course she would do it. The food tour was a bonus for her. She’d wanted
to ask Aldo and Enzo when they’d told her about their concept, but given the other producers were
offering unique products of the region, unlike coffee, she hadn’t felt she could. She knew her coffee
was something special and she had heard about the famous Raffaella Fulvio who was coming.
Researching her had been inspiring. If she could get her to try her coffee, who knew…
“That sounds perfect,” Agata affirmed Matu’s self-invitation. “It’s a perfect time to fool around in
the roastery.” She heard her words and instantly felt her cheeks burn. “I mean, it would be great to
work with you.”
 “I’m looking forward to it already,” Matu clinked his glass on Agata’s. His eyes held her gaze in
deep brown warmth. Her stomach tightened in a flutter. She had to admit, she was looking forward to
it too. And right now she was going to enjoy herself as well.
“Cin-cin,” she smiled.
“Cin-cin,” Susannah clinked her glass against theirs. She sipped deeply, her owl eyes inspecting
each of them. Silently, she slipped away from them, which neither Matu nor Agata noticed. They
could only take note of each other as they talked and sipped wine. Eyes, lips, hair, hands and
everything else. Strangers becoming familiar.
The familiar feeling strange.
Wonderfully strange.
 9

BY THE TIME MATU FELL INTO BED AT THE END OF HIS FIRST DAY AT LA VILLA ROSA HE WAS GLAD
he’d made the decision to come. The simple chores of putting the final touches on the guest rooms and
kitchen were easy on his tired mind and allowed him to observe the dynamic between the brothers he
was here to help out. Families are the same wherever you go, he mused. The jam-packed weekends of
his childhood and adolescence with cousins and siblings all competing for food, the remote control or
attention from busy parents were not atypical. It’s how we all learn to look after ourselves and each
other, he guessed. Sibling rivalry was nothing new. He wondered, however, why Aldo was so set on
running himself down all the time. From what he could see he was doing a fine job of supporting his
brother and the calls he’d overheard him have with producers were professional and upbeat.
That night he slept deeply, his time zone-fuddled brain and body surrendering completely to the
exhaustion. But eventually the nightmare came, as it always did. The nightmare of the ash, the heat and
the bodies. His arms unable to carry any more so that he was sinking in the burning rocks and shingle.
Suffocating.
It was Aldo who shook him awake. “Holy Madonna! What’s going on? You’re yelling your head
off!” Matu sat up startled, his t-shirt clinging to him with perspiration. For a few moments he didn’t
know where he was. Aldo’s voice and hand on his shoulder brought him back to reality. “Take a
breath man. It’s okay, you’re safe.”
“Sorry,” Matu muttered and scrubbed his hands down his face. “I must be pretty out of it with
jetlag I guess. What time is it?”
“Five a.m.,” Aldo rubbed his eyes. “I was awake anyway, but you were thrashing around so much
and calling out, I thought I better come check on you,” he paused. “Who’s Vita?”
“What?”
“Vita? Who’s Vita? That’s what you were calling out when I came through to shut you up,” Aldo
explained.
“Vita? She’s my great-grandmother,” Matu murmured. He had no recollection of calling out her
name or of seeing her in his nightmare. He had only very fuzzy memories of her anyway given he’d
been a small boy when she’d passed.
“You need to raise your expectations of dreaming my friend,” Aldo yawned. “I can think of far
prettier ladies than my great-grandmother who I’d like to be dreaming about.”
“I don’t usually dream about her...I usually dream about–” he stopped himself. What was he
doing? Aldo didn’t need him to spill his beans in the small hours of the morning. And anyway the
whole point of this trip was to have a break from rehashing the eruption. The replays in his mind were
distressing, his counselor having explained the way stress hormones can’t tell the difference between
conscious and unconscious thoughts. Thanks a lot unconscious mind. “Well anyway–sorry I disturbed
you.”
“It’s okay,” Aldo sat there as if he wanted to say something else. Matu mentally calculated that it
was 5 p.m. back home.
“You know, now that I’m awake, I might just get up and go for a run. You wanna join me?”
“For a run?”
“Sure - why not? I run every day if I can. Helps me get my head right for the day, and by the
sounds of it we’ve got a big one ahead of us right?”
“That’s true. I’m just not much of a runner.”
“Yeah, but you’re up, so you may as well come. Show me a good trail,” he encouraged. “I don’t
know my way around here.”
“Okay, let me find my trainers and I’ll meet you on the steps in 5.” Aldo disappeared down the
hallway and Matu threw on some clothes. This should be interesting, he thought as he tied his
shoelaces.
It was cool enough to see their breath as they ran and Aldo was right, he wasn’t much of a runner.
But Matu didn’t care. It was good to feel the road beneath his feet, the air in his lungs and his eyes
absorbing a whole new environment. Aldo took them around an undulating lane which circled the hill
and valley on which La Villa Rosa stood. His pace made it easy enough for Matu to chat while they
jogged. “You know your dream, didn’t you say your great-grandmother was Italian?” said Aldo.
“She was. She met my great-grandfather when he was here during World War Two,” Matu
explained. “Apparently it was love at first sight. They married within a month and when the war
ended she came out to New Zealand.”
“Brave lady,” Aldo commented. “And smart lady. Italy was so wrecked by the war. It took a long
time for the country to get back on its feet.”
“Yeah, she always talked fondly of her home apparently, but I don’t think she ever wanted to
return,” Matu added. That must have been hard given how beautiful it is here, he thought. “My aunty
wants me to do a bit of research while I’m here actually. Find out about my Italian roots.”
“Where was she from exactly?”
“Faenza.”
“Faenza? That’s not far from here Matu–you know that don’t you?”
“Yeah, well Aunty was excited when she heard I was coming to Emilia-Romagna for that reason.”
“You could drive there in a couple of hours from here, easily.”
“Hopefully there’ll be time. My top priority is you and Enzo remember,” Matu cast a glance at
Aldo who was beet red and pouring with sweat. He slowed to a stop at the crest of the hill and Aldo
leaned his hands on his knees to regain his breath. Matu stretched out his legs and looked over the
valley which was now touched by rays of morning sunlight. Shards of light beamed through the tall
evergreen trees which sculpted the ridge behind them into a backdrop of beauty that any tourist
operator would be proud to promote. His easy athleticism had always been his go-to for starting the
day. Surfing had been his favorite morning ritual when he’d lived by the beach for a few years. But
the run you could do anywhere and today, being here, he felt he should pinch himself. A week ago,
he’d never have guessed he’d be jogging on the other side of the globe.
The good thing was, he knew he was awake and not dreaming, and somehow there was a sense of
knowing this place already. Was it his dream about Vita which made him sense that? And then there
was Agata who’d appeared like a vision. So beautiful. Like an angel. Matu checked himself.
Another random document with
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 "That's very kind of you, Mrs Darwen. D'you—d'you think she was
really offended?"

"Of course she was. I passed her in the hall as she came in, but don't let
that worry you, old chap. The course of true love never did run smooth, you
know if there were none of these little obstructions and full stops and side
issues, the real thing would never be awakened. You may take it as an
axiom that if a girl never feels she'd like to chuck the fire-irons at you, she
doesn't care tuppence about you; at least, that sort, with those eyebrows and
eyes, and that free, swinging carriage. I'm in love with that girl myself."

Carstairs sighed somewhat heavily. "Then you'd better get out of love as
soon as you can," he said, with a little laugh, "or we shall fight. I begin to
appreciate the spirit of the duelling age, I think it would give me real
pleasure to scrap with somebody just now." He laughed again, but there was
a gleam in his eyes that both Darwen and his mother noticed. Darwen's face
lighted up with appreciation, but his mother looked very sad.

"I wonder how this shut-down will affect our chances of a rise?"
Carstairs remarked.

"Oh, that's alright, old chap. I have so many good friends on the council
now, that I'm not a bit afraid: There's going to be a duel between old
Donovan and the doctor. It'll be rather good, I expect, pity you can't come to
see the fun: they're going to rebel against the iron rule of Dr Jameson, the
whole council is sick of his autocracy. Donovan will open the ball with a
sledge-hammer attack; Jenkins will back him up with some nasty hits below
the belt; the old Doctor will roar like a bull in pain, but I think he'll be
beaten this time. I shall enjoy it anyway."

He swung round to the piano again, and dashed into a lively waltz tune.
"That's the first dance I ever danced with Isabel Jameson," he said over his
shoulder. "This is ours, I believe!" "Thanks very much." "Very nice floor."
"Yes." "Rotten weather!" etc., etc., he quoted, laughing lightly. "Then, three
months later, behind those imitation palms at the foot of the stairs, to the
strains of this tune in the distance (he changed to a very slow dreamy waltz)
I proposed to her. If it hadn't been for this tune, I shouldn't have done it that
night. But it was so appropriate, the opportunity seemed unique, so I spoke
up. Isabel, (I never really cared for the name of Isabel, you know), Isabel,
may I call you Isabel? I love you. Then—"

His mother stepped up behind him and put her hand on his shoulder.
"Hush, Charlie! You don't know what you're saying."

"I assure you, mater, I remember it quite distinctly. It was one of the
most exciting events—"

"My boy, the girl's going round the town looking like a shadow since
the engagement was broken off."

"Is she? I'm very sorry, I haven't seen her." He seemed thoughtful for a
minute. "She was alright, you know, jolly decent in fact, but we could never
have paired—she was silly. There is a Providence, mater. ''Tis better to have
loved and lost, than never to have loved at all,' you know; these little
afflictions sort of temper our natures, accentuate and harden the good
qualities we possess."

"And the bad."

"That's so, of course. Good and bad, simply a matter of opinion. I'm an
optimist, I see no bad in the world, it's all good. Carstairs there is a grumpy
old pessimist, he hasn't got time to smile, he's too busy trying to decide
what's good and bad, and honest and dishonest, etc. And he don't know at
the finish. Comes round here trying to steal my girl and talks about fighting
when I expostulate with him. I tell you the more you think about honesty,
the more fogged you get."

"My dear chap, in that respect I'm not fogged in the least."

Darwen strode over to him and clapped him on the shoulder, "Buck up
then, and go in and win, I surrender all rights. Take a day off to-morrow and
drive over to this place in a cab. Take a nice little gold watch or something,
as a peace offering. Then, if I were you, on the strict Q.T., I should give her
a punch in the eye; her ma'mas for generations past were probably wooed
that way, and it would appeal to her in spite of herself."
 His mother laughed and looked at Carstairs. "Really I should go over if
I were you."

"Can't go to-morrow," Carstairs said definitely. "Got to see the test of

that new engine."

Darwen drew himself up and threw out his chest with mock gravity.
"I'm the chief, and I tell you you can go."

"You can say what you like, I'm not going unless you give me the sack."

"I'd do that for two pins. Shall I, mater?"

"No, not now. She'll be back in a few days."

"Perhaps. Oh, these consciences. Thank God, I haven't one."

His mother stood up and looked at him sorrowfully. "I don't believe you
have very much, Charlie, but pray God you may get one."

Darwen laughed. "That's alright, mater. I've got a jolly good conscience,
but I keep it in the background," he said.

Carstairs stood up and held out his hand to Mrs Darwen. "Good night.
I'm afraid I've kept you up."

"Oh no," she said. "Drop in whenever you can."

"Thanks, I will." He went out into the night and wended his way slowly
home. As he turned the corner of the long tree-shaded street in which his
diggings were, a man sprang out of a shrubbery behind, and rushed at him
with a heavy bludgeon. Carstairs, lost in reverie, pivoted on his heels at the
sound, and ducking mechanically as the stick descended, shot out a straight
left for the man's face. It was not a heavy blow, but now thoroughly
awakened, he stepped in and followed up with a terrific right hand drive on
the chin.

He dropped like a log, and Carstairs bent over him, looking into his
face. Even by the dim light of the distant gas lamp, he recognised his old
acquaintance Sam Lee, the gipsy. He was not knocked out, but only partly
dazed by the blow, and as Carstairs bent over him, he suddenly lashed out
with a huge hobnailed boot and caught him a vicious kick in the stomach.
Writhing in pain, Carstairs collapsed in the gutter, helpless.

The gipsy staggered to his feet, and picking up his bludgeon made
towards him. Just then a large, dark form loomed suddenly into view round
the corner. A bull's-eye lantern flashed a sudden light on the scene, and Sam
Lee sprinted off down the road with a particularly limping shuffle, but at a
good speed. The policeman started in pursuit, but gave it up as hopeless
before he had gone very far; he stopped, blew a shrill call on his whistle,
and returned to Carstairs who had now got upon his feet, still bent double
with pain.

"What is it, sir?" he asked. "Robbery with violence, or what?"

"Brutal assault, or attempted murder, God knows which," Carstairs

groaned.

"Ah!" the policeman said, producing a note-book. "It's Mr Carstairs of

the electric light, ain't it, sir?"

"That's it, and the other man is Sam Lee, gipsy who was condemned for
burglary about two years ago."

"Oh, that's it, is it? He was only let out a week ago. 'As 'e got anything
agen you, sir?"

Two other policemen were already in view. Carstairs, almost himself

again, waited till they arrived, and told all three the tale. They listened with
no sign of surprise, (the English policeman is never surprised), but they
took profuse notes.

"We'll soon 'ave 'im," they said.

Next morning at the works, Carstairs sat in Darwen's office, and told
him the tale of his adventure.
 "Well, it doesn't matter a curse if it all comes out now, old chap, your
position here is firmly established."

Carstairs was thoughtful. "My people won't like if it gets into the
papers. I wonder what the girl thinks about it."

"Oh, you may bet your boots she's used to that sort of thing. I'm going
off to the meeting now. Wish you could come too, sure to be some fun.
However, you'll see that engine tested?"

"Yes. I'll put 'em through their paces. The contractor's men are
downstairs now."

"Ah, well, ta ta. You'll be worth £50 more per annum when I see you
again." Darwen laughed and disappeared through the door.

Carstairs went down into the engine-room, and looked all round the new
engine and dynamo. "Seems to me damn small for the power," he said to
himself.

Late that evening they met again in the office. Darwen was beaming.
"You've got your fifty quid, old chap, and I've got my hundred. It was
grand, never had so much sport in all my life. Donovan opened the ball: I
tell you I hardly recognized myself under his glowing eulogies. The Doctor
objected. Then Donovan went for him. By Jove! old Donovan can talk. But
the old Doctor was grand, he stood up at the head of the table with his great
chest heaving and his beard seemed to quiver with anger. 'Retract,' he
roared, when old Donovan got personal, I tell you he fairly frightened 'em.
If I hadn't been there, he'd have crumpled 'em all up. I'll swear they each
and every one of 'em shivered when the old man glared at 'em. Bull
baiting's not in it. Donovan was about collapsed when I caught his eye and
frowned at him, then we went for the Doctor like a tiger. The others seemed
to buck up then, till the old man roared. 'Get outside, sir, you're not fit to
speak to a decent assembly,' he said. Then I put my spoke in, I swear
Donovan would have gone if I hadn't. 'Come! Come! Doctor,' I said. 'Hold
your tongue, sir,' he roared. 'You've no right to speak at all.' That old man
thinks he's the schoolmaster of this town. Then Jenkins gave him a hit
below the belt. 'This is Mr Darwen, not Mr Wakeley,' he said. That's a
patient of the Doctor's, who died the other day with something the matter
with his tongue. The old man took no notice. Then Evans gave him another
dig, and Smith had a rap at him. Little Winter got up to speak to him too,
but when the old man wagged his beard at him, his knees gave way, and he
sat down suddenly without saying a word; I never saw anything funnier.
Then Sullivan got up and screamed like a man with the devil behind him. (I
was the devil, most pleasant sensation I've ever experienced). Donovan
capped it, and John Brown put a word in for us, too. I like that navvy, and I
think the Doctor does too, he very seldom bullies him, and gets as good as
he gives him. They ought to put up a grand scrap, those two, if they ever got
going, just about a weight. Anyhow it's passed alright, and there's no
mistake Donovan worked like a Trojan. How did the test pan out?"

"Oh, it's off. The damn thing wouldn't do much more than three quarters
of its load. I knew it wouldn't."

"Go on! Is that right?" Darwen's face expressed incredulous surprise,

there was a sort of smile there too, with a strange little flicker of the eyelids
whose long lashes were drawn down till they almost completely shaded the
brilliant, beautiful eyes.

"That's quite correct."

"This is serious. We must have another test to-morrow. I'll be in

myself."

"Alright, but I know she can't do it. She hasn't got the dimensions,
anywhere."

Darwen laughed suddenly. "You're such a stickler. We mustn't be too

hard on them, you know, Peace on earth, etc., you know. And we've just had
a rise."

"That's alright, of course, but I imagine we want what we pay for."

"Yes, yes, of course," Darwen said, picking up his hat. "Good night." He
went off rather suddenly.
 CHAPTER XVI

That evening Carstairs went to call on Mrs Darwen to ascertain if the

girl had got back again. She had. He almost ran into her just outside the
house, she was going towards the town.

He turned and walked beside her. "How's your mother?" he asked.

"Better," she said coldly. She kept very far away from him.

"I'm sorry I had to run away and leave you the other night."

"It didn't matter in the least. I was rather glad."

Carstairs had a momentary impulse to turn on his heel and leave her for
good and all without any more words, but he was by nature an inquirer, he
liked to get to the bottom of things, besides he was in love with this girl and
he felt there must be some vital misunderstanding somewhere.

"I see," he said, "that sweep has been telling you some of his cursed lies
with his music lessons."

She stopped and faced him. "Will you kindly tell me which way you are
going? Because I'll go a different way. Or is it necessary to make a fuss?"

He stared at her in amazement for a moment, then he stepped a little

closer and looked into her eyes. "I am going back to my diggings in Clere
Road. I shall never come this way again. I wish I could leave this rotten
town and these rotten people for ever. But let me tell you that that man is a
rogue, how great a rogue only God knows. And if you think he's going to
marry you, you're greatly mistaken. He's deceived two girls in this town,
and the Lord only knows how many more elsewhere. He could paper his
room with girls' photographs and girls' letters."
 "Thanks," she said in icy politeness; she had studied the manners of her
superiors to some purpose, but in her they did not seem a burlesque as is
usually the case with the superior servant.

He looked at her steadily for some moments in silence, and she returned
his gaze quite calmly. "I was in love with you," he said, "and I felt I had
done your friend Sam Lee an injustice. Now I feel that I have done him a
kindness in saving him from a very exceptional fool."

"I am honoured," she said. "Your friend and benefactor, Mr Darwen, has
at least the manners of a gentleman."

"I'll take your word for it. I imagine you know, the penny novelettes
describe the article very minutely." He looked into her eyes and saw that
they blazed with anger; the sight reminded him of a similar occasion in
Scotland when she carried a big stick and they stood facing each other at
the door of his diggings. His anger faded at once. "I'm sorry, I've behaved
like a cad, but the issues were so important, to me. An apology, I suppose,
is all the reparation I can offer." He turned and walked away, leaving her
there.

She stood and watched him till he was out of sight, but he never looked
back. He was not built that way. On his way to the works next morning,
Carstairs heard the news-boys shouting, "mysterious murder of Councillor
Donovan." He bought a paper and read the account.

"At an early hour this morning Police Constable Garret observed a body
floating down the river near the High Street Bridge. On being dragged
ashore, it was at once recognized as that of Councillor Donovan, proprietor
of the Blue Anchor Hotel, Dock Street. The unfortunate gentleman's neck
was dislocated, and his ribs squashed in as though by some powerful
animal."

Carstairs did not read any more, but hurried on down to the works; he
searched out Bounce in the engine-room.

"You saw that man who was killed in the garden at Chilcombe, didn't
you?"
 "Yes, sir."

"Well, that looks like the same thing, doesn't it?" Carstairs handed him
the paper.

Bounce read it with a serious face. "Looks like the same," he said.

"Look here," Carstairs looked at his watch. "Come on down to the

mortuary with me, we'll have a look at it, and you can tell the police what
the other chap was like."

So they went off together, and on the way Bounce explained. "When we
was on the China station, we called at Borneo once, some of our chaps went
ashore and went up country a bit. They seen the niggers come running out
of the woods, shouting like hell, so they goes in to see what the trouble was.
There was a monkey there. He wasn't so very big, an' one of our chaps went
in to capture him—well, when they brought 'im back to the ship, 'e looked
just like that bloke I seen at Chilcombe."

A policeman let them into the mortuary, and as Bounce gazed on the
dead body of Councillor Donovan, he shook his head in mystification. "Just
the same," he said. "Exactly the same."

Carstairs was very serious. "This is damnable," he said. "I must see
Darwen."

The policeman took profuse notes from Bounce, and then they returned
to the works together. Carstairs proceeded at once to Darwen's office.

He held out a paper. "Have you seen that?" he asked.

Darwen read it thoughtfully and slowly, then he whistled softly. "Poor

old Donovan," he said. He seemed lost in thought for a moment or so, then
he repeated, "Poor old Donovan. And only yesterday he got us our rises,
Carstairs."

"What do you make of it?" Carstairs was watching him closely.

 "Oh, murder, of course. Singular resemblance to that chap who was
killed over at your place."

"That's what struck me." He caught just a quick glance from Darwen's
dark, penetrating eyes.

"There's no doubt, of course, between ourselves, that Donovan got

entangled in his own web, some of the particularly sharp tools he employed
have eventually cut him." He looked Carstairs steadily in the eyes as he
spoke.

"Ye—es, I suppose that's it. This is a damn funny place. I don't like it a
bit."

"You're right, old chap. It is funny. The world's funny. Old Donovan
lived down among the docks with sailors and foreigners; all sorts, Lascars,
Chinamen, and niggers frequented his pub; besides, he was a bookmaker.
God only knows how he met his end. Poor devil!"

"He's not much loss to civilization, that's a certainty, but it seems to

come rather near home, somehow."

"Don't let that worry you, old chap. How about this test?"

"Well, the engine's running, but she won't do her load. That little fool
from the contractors calmly opened the emergency valve, letting high
pressure steam into the low pressure cylinder, when I wasn't looking. 'How's
that?' he said, triumphantly. Of course I knew what he'd done at once."

Darwen smiled. "You must give 'em a bit, old chap." He leaned back in
his office chair, and looked up at Carstairs, who was standing.

"A bit. By George! If she passes on load, she can't pass, by pounds, on
the steam consumption. However, you're the chief. It's for you to pass it, not
me."

"You mistake, old chap." Darwen's voice was remarkably suave and
silvery. "That's part of your job, to test all the engines."
 "Very well, then I don't pass it. I'll stop it at once and tell them to start
taking it down to return to the makers."

"That won't do, old chap, we must have the engine, can't get on without
it much longer. You know that better than I do."

"Alright, then let us take it at three quarters its specified power.

"That's absurd, old chap."

"Well, I have nothing further to suggest, unless you test the engine and
pass it yourself."

"No, I shan't do that. Perhaps—er—perhaps some other chief assistant

would do it."

"Quite so."

Darwen stood up and going over to Carstairs placed a hand

affectionately on his shoulder. "Look here, Carstairs, we must have that
engine. I'm going to have it, and you're going to pass it. I'll come down and
have a look at it while he's got the by-pass open, so that I shall be able to
say that I saw it doing the load alright, then you can give me the steam
consumption figures for the run. See?"

"Yes, I see very clearly, but I'm not going to do it."

"My dear chap," Darwen beamed with the best of good nature. "Think
what it means! In your position I'd have done it. I've got past that now.
You're getting £250, or you will be next month, and just waiting to step into
my job when I leave, which I can assure you won't be long. Don't be an ass,
Carstairs. I'm going to have that engine."

"That, of course, is for you to say."

A momentary gleam of anger like a flash of forked lightning shot across

Darwen's face, but he smiled again banteringly. "I can't understand how
such a clever chap as you can be such a fool. You don't seem able to grasp
the fact that the cleverness one is paid for in this world, is the cleverness to
outwit other people, not the ability to disentangle abstruse problems in the
higher mathematics. Trot on down and get me out the figures for the steam
consumption like a good chap."

"Look here, Darwen, I'm not going to do your dirty work. I'm sick and
tired of you and your roguery. You're a liar, and a cheat and a thief. God
only knows if you aren't worse!"

"Dear boy! The elite of mankind is composed of such people. As long

as you don't call me a fool, you won't offend me. Are you going to pass that
engine?"

"No."

"Alright. Good-bye. Call at the office for a month's screw to-morrow

morning." He sat down again in his chair and leaned over his table.

Carstairs laughed. "You're calling me a fool," he said, "but I'm not a bit
offended. I know it's the reflection entirely of your own intellectual
shortcoming. What do you think Dr Jameson would say? What would the
council? the whole blooming town say? If I told them I'd got the sack
because I refused to pass an engine which wasn't up to specification. I
imagine, Mr Darwen, you're prepared to reconsider your decision, for a
start, eh? just for a start."

"By Jove, Carstairs, I'm proud of you, and it's all my teaching, every bit.
'Ye ponderous Saxon swingeth ye sledge hammer.'" Darwen smiled like the
rising sun in June. "God! what glorious weather we're getting. Look at the
sky, Carstairs! Did you ever see a sky like that in October?"

"The sky's alright. I should have thought the the earth beneath your feet
had more concern with you." He pointed downwards with his finger. He
was feeling rather well pleased with himself.

"Well done, Carstairs. The earth is good. I adore the earth, that is nature.
Earth, Ocean, Air, beloved brotherhood. It's a pity you don't ready poetry,
Carstairs." He smiled, genially.
 Carstairs remained silent, impassive. He watched him as he watched an
engine when he tested it; looking at everything, expecting anything.

"When I was taking my before-breakfast walk this morning, I came

across a slow-worm; rather late for a slow-worm in October, isn't it?"

"Couldn't say."

"Ah! I thought you were an observer of these things. It's rather a pity.
Still, I'll proceed. I touched his tail with my stick, and—you know the usual
result—he promptly waggled it off and left it on the footpath while the rest
of him disappeared in the long grass. Now the slow-worm thought that was
smart, but it was really only silly. I didn't want his tail, or the rest of him; he
thought I did, he was used to people who did, he thought I was a common
or garden fool. So do you, Carstairs. You can go right now to Dr Jameson or
to the devil himself; in fact, you can do what you damn well please. I have
no further use for you, and that being the case, I don't intend to carry you
around on my back any longer."

"Very well." Carstairs turned without another word and opened the door.

"Stop a minute."

Carstairs turned.

"Shut the door half a minute. Won't you sit down?"

"No, thanks."

"Ah! the strange uncouth ways of the Saxon. However, it doesn't matter.
You don't want to hit a fellow when he's down, Carstairs?"

"No, but I want to knock him down."

"Ah! the incomprehensible Saxon. You wouldn't see a poor devil with
an old mother and a wife and family chucked out on the streets, or sent to
quod?"
 "What are you pulling my leg about now? You haven't got a wife and
family."

"Me! Oh dear, no. I'm not down. Ha! ha! You can't touch me, old chap. I
haven't passed the engine. As a matter of fact I told the contractor's man
yesterday I was afraid she wouldn't do, and I drafted a letter to the firm,
telling them so. It's not sent yet; the clerks are awaiting my signature to the
typed copy."

"Then what have you been playing all this game about?"

"This is the game of life, dear boy, a sort of universal high jinks. Let me
explain. I'm going to have that engine, and if you kick up a row, either
before or after, you won't touch me. All that will happen will be that half a
dozen poor fools, who are at present earning a precarious living as tools,
tools of the inexpensive order, will be chucked aside."

Carstairs stepped to the door again. "Alright, we shall see."

"Don't be in such a beastly hurry. Sit down."

"No, thanks."

"Alright. In case of a rumpus, the first man to go overboard would be

Winter, poor little helpless Winter. He was rushed into the council because
he was a fool, he accepted a five-pound note because he was a thundering
fool, and his wife was ill and the kids hadn't got togs, and because
everybody else was having five-pound notes. He'd be the first sacrifice.
Poor old Winter, he looks like a thief; really, he's got a better (or worse)
conscience than a nonconformist minister; that five pounds has pulled him
down astonishingly, I've watched him wither away. And his kids, poor little
mites! All through nature one observes that the small units increase at an
astonishingly high ratio. He only got one five quid."

Carstairs was silent as a carven image.

"You're damned hard, you know, Carstairs. Then there's the contractor's
man there. He'd get the bullet, and two or three fitters also. Possibly a clerk
or two and my chief assistant would go to quod, even the honest and highly
virtuous Mr Carstairs, son of the vicar of Chilcombe, who would die, with
his wife, broken-hearted."

"That'll do, Darwen. I'll go and see Dr Jameson and a solicitor at once."

"Carstairs, the mater's taken a fancy to you, and I'll admit you appeal to
me more than any man I've ever met. So damned ponderous. Your moment
of inertia must be simply enormous. Isn't it possible to save you in your
own despite." He touched an electric bell. An office boy appeared.

"Ask Mr Slick if he'll come up here a minute, will you, please." Darwen
was invariably excessively polite, even to the minutest and most sub-
divided portions of humanity.

"Slick and I will endeavour to show you, Carstairs, that you've got 'no
case,' as I believe they say in law."

Mr Slick appeared.

"Ah! Here you are!" Darwen shook hands cordially. "Mr Carstairs is not
satisfied with your engine, Mr Slick. Won't come up to specification, he
says."

Mr Slick raised his eyebrows; he was a hard-looking citizen, with strong

prominent jaw and piercing blue eyes. "I understood that he expressed
himself as quite pleased yesterday."

"That's absurd, Slick, you know very well——"

Darwen held up his hand. "Don't wrangle in my office, please,

gentlemen! You have some support for your statement, of course, Mr
Slick?"

"Of course; my two erectors heard him say it."

"Yes. I think I understand the Shift Engineer to say he was present also.
The fact is I've written to your firm expressing approval of the engine, on,
as I understand, Mr Carstairs' advice. Now there seems to be some hitch.
However, we will come down and see to that presently, Mr Slick. Thanks
very much for coming up."

The contractor's engineer looked inquiringly at Darwin, then he

disappeared through the door again.

Darwen turned to Carstairs. "Do you comprehend that you're bowled

out, yet."

"No. By Jove! I don't."

Darwen's eyes were wide with admiration. "Ye gods! Ye gods!" he said.
"Look here, Carstairs, you and I must continue to be pals, I'll share with
you. When I came here, the councillors were sharing the 'profits,' and old
Jones was getting an occasional five quid. Now, I get the profits and the
councillors get the occasional five quid. See? Will you go halves? And I tell
you halves is something pretty good, too!"

"No, I won't. I'll have my market price as an engineer—no more and no

less. I can do for one dollar what any fool can do for two. I want my share
of the dollar I save."

"You won't get it, old chap."

"But I will! I'll tell you what I'll do. If you chuck this sharp practice and
send those engines back, we'll make this place pay well, and the council
shall give us our whack."

Darwen was thoughtful for a minute. "They won't do it," he said. "The
fool in the street, the voter, whose mind runs in shillings per week, wouldn't
let them. In municipal work it doesn't pay to be honest."

Carstairs stroked his chin in perplexity. "You're an enigma to me. You

seem such a sound sort of chap in most things. Damn it! One doesn't expect
a Clifton man to be a blasted rogue. Can't you run on straight lines? You
know you're bound to get bowled out sooner or later."
 "Don't be such a pessimist, Carstairs. I hate pessimists. Let me assure
you, you are equally an enigma to me. I fail entirely to comprehend your
mind. Why do you worry and dissipate your energies deciding what is right
and what is wrong? What you really want to know is, what is best. There is
nothing wrong in this best of all worlds, only degrees of rightness. All effort
that produces no tangible personal benefit is so much wasted energy. You're
not an Atlas, you can't carry the world on your shoulders. The whole
scheme of nature was evolved for the benefit of individuals, not classes, or
masses, or groups. The proof of the pudding is in the eating: I'm always
happy, and the keenest source of my pleasure is in out-witting my fellow-
men. Life is a perpetual game of skill, and like the integral calculus there
are no rules. You're a mathematician, you like mathematics. I've seen you
grubbing your snout into 'Salmon's Conic Sections' just on top of a Sunday's
dinner. Why don't you step up with me into the higher planes of really
applied mathematics; applied as all such things should be, to men and
women? We'd have a rare time, you and I. When we boxed the other day we
agreed at the start that we would slog; we started out to bump each other for
all we were worth; we both got several severe punches; I got a split lip and
you got a black eye, but we enjoyed it, didn't we?"

Carstairs sat down with a heavy plump into a chair. "You ought to be
put in an asylum, not in prison," he said, wearily. "I wonder if I gave you a
good hammering if it would do any good."

"Not a bit, old chap. Besides, I rather doubt your ability to do it."

"There's an element of uncertainty," Carstairs admitted.

They regarded each other with measuring eyes. Carstairs allowed his
gaze to roam slowly over the thick, clean neck, the well-developed, lissom-
looking shoulders, and last of all rested on the clean-cut, patrician face with
the small, neat moustache just shading the well-moulded, full red lips, quite
closed; and the brilliant, clear eyes that sparkled with a bold, clear
intelligence. They were two splendid animals, these two young men,
spotlessly clean, well groomed.

"I tell you what, Darwen. I'll fight you now, to a finish, whether you
keep those engines or whether I get the sack."
 "Thanks, old chap, that's a new form of the gamble of our early youth
—'heads, I win; tails, you lose.' But we shall come to a scrap all the same
some day, I know."

"That's so; I'm going away to open the campaign now." Carstairs picked
up his hat. "I'll call for my screw, Monday. By the way, I suppose it will be
at the increased rate?"

"Well, I'm damned."

"It's all in the game, you know. No need to lose your temper over it."

"Good, jolly good. I see I'm converting you. By Jove, you shall have it."

"Thanks. Good-bye."

"I say!"

"Hullo!"

"Mind! There are no rules. No rules whatever."

"Thanks for the tip. I see I'm converting you."

"Not at all, old chap. I want a run for my money, that's all."

"Well, I'll do my best. Ta-ta." Carstairs disappeared.

CHAPTER XVII

Carstairs went straight from the works to Dr Jameson's private house.

The Doctor was seriously ill and could not be seen, so he went back to his
diggings in deep thought. "Better go home and see the guv'nor before I do
anything now. Oh, the fearful and wonderful British law," he thought to
himself. He saw the landlady and gave notice.

"Have you got another appointment, Mr Carstairs?" she asked.

"No, I've got the sack," he answered.

"Oh!" she said. "Has Mr Darwen—" she stopped; she wanted to know
all about it, but did not know how to ask.

"Mr Darwen has sacked me, yes," he said; Carstairs was a most
unsatisfactory subject for a woman to tackle, he left so much to the
imagination. "I shall leave about three o'clock on Monday afternoon," he
explained, as a conclusion to the subject. He produced his drawing board
and settled down to do a good afternoon's work on his slowly evolving
patent. As he bent low over the board, scrutinizing some fine detail work,
his eye caught an extra pin-hole on the edge of the clean white board. He
dug the point of his pencil thoughtfully into it. "That's funny," he said to
himself. "I don't remember to have done that." He looked around at the
three other corners and saw pin-holes in all of them. It was a new board and
he had never had a sheet of paper on it of the size indicated by the pin-
holes. "Some devil has been taking a tracing of this, our esteemed friend,
Darwen, or his agents, no doubt." He leaned back in his chair in deep
thought for a time, then he bent forward and set to work vigorously again.

He was still busy when the landlady's daughter brought in his tea. He
looked up casually and caught her eye bent on his work with extreme
interest. "Good evening, Miss Hughes," he said.

"Good evening, Mr Carstairs," she answered, and she had summoned up

a defiant sort of air to meet his eye.

Carstairs' face was like the Sphinx. "I'm going up to London to-morrow.
Would you mind letting me have breakfast at half-past six? I shall come
back by the eleven twenty, but I've got a very important piece of work here
I want to finish before I go, so please don't let me be disturbed for the rest
of the evening."
 "Certainly, Mr Carstairs. Half-past six, and I'll see no one disturbs you."

"Thanks very much." Carstairs regarding her steadily with his calm,
inquiring eyes, caught a gleam in hers that she did not want to be seen; he
gave no sign, and she went away quite oblivious of the fact that he had read
her like an open book.

Next day he went off to London and saw his lawyer brother; they talked
over his case against Darwen, and his brother very quickly decided that he
had "no case." So Carstairs returned, and in the stillness of the wee sma'
hours he examined the drawing again, and found, as he expected, four more
pin-holes. He did not smile; when in company his mirth was seldom
excessive, when alone, his features never for one second relaxed their
attitude of calm seriousness. He replaced the drawing board in its position,
leaning against the wall behind the piano, and went to bed.

The following Monday he called at the office for his month's pay. He
waited at the little shutter that the men were paid at, while the office boy
went to fetch a clerk who fetched another clerk, who consulted with the first
clerk, and called a third clerk and sent the office boy for a book and a pen,
then they all three consulted together again and reprimanded the office boy
before handing the cheque through the little shutter. Which entire rigmarole
was the outcome of insufficient work, and too sufficient pomposity. While
Carstairs waited, Darwen opened the door of his office.

"Hullo, old chap, come inside. Here, Morris, bring that cheque along
with you." He held out his hand.

Carstairs ignored it. "Thanks, I won't stay, I'm just going off to
Chilcombe."

Darwen laughed. "A Saxon," he said, "is an individual who proceeds

along 'strait' lines. I was going to ask you to come home with me this
evening. The mater would like to see you."

"Thanks very much. I should like to see your mother, but I'm afraid I
can't stop this evening."