Page 66 of Sunrise over Strawberry Hill Farm

‘Every Italian boy wants to be a footballer,’ he said, with a small smile. ‘I even tried out for the Roma football team, but I didn’t make the grade. Good thing too. My grandmother and grandfather needed me and I was happy to help. I worked the land and tended the vines. Did maintenance on the house. It was a better life for me.’

‘Did you see your dad very much back then?’ she asked gently.

He looked at her. ‘Sometimes he rocked up and dragged me away somewhere on holiday until he got bored with me.’

Flora took a sharp intake of breath. There was real pain there behind his words and she felt terribly sorry for his sad childhood.

‘But when I was older, sometimes I could take the time off and head off somewhere by myself.’ He smiled at her. ‘I’m still impulsive, I’m my father’s son, for better or worse. Spur of the moment, go with the flow, that kind of thing. Go to the seaside for the day? Sure.’

‘Steal a Ferrari?’

He smiled back at her. ‘Why not? The only thing stopping you from doing the same is you.’

She shook her head. ‘There’s no Ferrari for me to borrow around here.’

‘Where would you go if you could head off?’ he asked.

She shrugged her shoulders. ‘That’s the thing, I truly love it here. It’s home. It just wasn’t my dream.’

‘What was?’

‘Painting. But it’s not exactly a stable career choice, is it?’ She laughed.

He looked at her. ‘When was the last time that you painted anything like that canvas in my bedroom?’ he asked.

She shook her head. ‘I honestly can’t remember. Years, I think.’

‘Maybe you should start painting again when you have some time spare,’ he told her, studying her with deep brown eyes.

‘Maybe.’

‘Well, you’ve made this barn and the tents look amazing,’ he said. ‘You should be proud of your talent.’

She blushed. ‘Thanks.’

He looked at her for a long time and she had a feeling that he was going to say something else when the ball bounced over near to them and he gave it a mighty kick back to the others, causing them to persuade him to join in their game.

The conversation made her think, though. So when she finally went to bed later that evening, she pulled out her old art set. But it had been so long that the watercolours had dried up and were completely unusable. She stared down at the paints in dismay.

At a sound in the corridor, she looked up, realising that she had left the bedroom door open.

Nico was just passing by and looked in the open doorway. He was about to say goodnight when he saw what she was holding. ‘Are you thinking about painting again? That’s great!’ he said, nodding his approval.

Flora shook her head. ‘They’re not much use now,’ she told him with a small smile, showing him the state of the dried-up palette.

‘Maybe you should buy some new ones for yourself,’ he said softly.

‘Maybe.’ She stood up from the bed. ‘Well, goodnight.’

‘Goodnight.’

After she had closed the door, she went back to the bed and looked at the palette for a long time before closing it with a decisive snap and placing it in the small bin next to her dressing table.

Maybe it was better this way, she thought.

But still, her heart yearned to paint once more.

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