Page 7 of Sunrise over Strawberry Hill Farm

Grams had talked about Nico’s famous father and so Flora brought out her phone to google him. There were plenty of images for Flora to gaze at in open-mouthed amazement. Paolo Rossi seemed to be always having one scandal after another in the tabloids.

Then, to her horror, she saw that his son was listed in similar stories. The photographs all seemed to be of one girlfriend or another, flashing lightbulbs and all the tabloid titillation of a euro-trash lifestyle.

Flora flung her phone down onto her bed with a howl of dismay. He certainly wasn’t to be trusted whilst he was visiting them. She had to protect her grandmother. The sooner Nico Rossi left Cranfield, the better, as far as she was concerned.

4

Having heard so much about the summer his grandfather had spent at bustling Strawberry Hill Farm all those years ago, Nico was somewhat surprised that there was no one else around except Grams and her granddaughter.

He had been invited inside to sit in the surprisingly colourful farmhouse kitchen. It was large and clean but also full of the aroma of home cooking, with the nearby range giving out a cheery warmth.

A familiar perfume twitched his senses and he looked around until he spotted a pot of basil on the windowsill. The reminder of the sweet smell of his grandmother’s Italian kitchen made him catch his breath.

Nico took a grateful sip of the hot coffee that Grams had just handed him. ‘Grazie, Helen,’ he said. ‘Thank you. I need this.’

‘You must call me Grams,’ she replied. ‘After all, you’re like family to me. And you should have just knocked on the door last night rather than sleeping in your car,’ she added in a stern voice, having now discovered that he had fallen asleep in his car overnight.

Nico shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t have dreamt of disturbing you,’ he replied.

After all, Grams might have the spirit and eyes of a young woman, but she was eighty years old now. Still, he could see the passion and drive that his grandfather had spoken about when they had met all those years ago.

A passion that was most definitely hidden deep inside Flora, he decided as she stalked back into the kitchen in a change of clothing. She gave him a scowl before pouring herself a mug of coffee. She was as cold as Grams was warm.

He knew what the problem was, of course. She had heard about the family name, seen the Ferrari and immediately painted him as a chip of the block. He had been experiencing this for many years and it didn’t surprise him.

But whereas he had been a playboy, many years ago, that no longer ran true. Nor did the Rossi fortune have any wealth to its name either. Yes, his clothes were expensive and his jeans a designer brand, but they had been bought years ago when the money had been flowing and he had been happy to spend it. But as time had gone by, and fortunes fluctuated, he had held on to his decent clothes and stopped buying anything new. They were beautifully made and so they lasted.

Unfortunately, he had learnt too late to save enough money to buy the vineyard from his father. He had failed his grandparents and had let them down at the worst moment. And let himself down in the process.

But, of course, he wasn’t going to explain any of this to his hosts.

‘Thank you,’ he said, as Grams placed a plate piled high with delicious-looking muffins in front of him. ‘This looks great.’

‘Tuck in,’ she told him, putting another plate of food in front of Flora. ‘There’s plenty to go around.’

‘Nonno never said you were such an amazing cook,’ said Nico, after the first delicious mouthful.

Grams waved away his compliment with one hand. ‘I probably wasn’t in those days,’ she said, laughing. ‘After all, I was only eighteen. We were young and stupid, as everyone is at that age. But that was a very long time ago now. You know, Lorenzo always spoke about you in his letters. How are things with you these days?’

‘Great,’ said Nico, the muffins suddenly growing thick in his throat. ‘I’ve been taking care of the family business until recently.’

‘How is the vineyard?’ asked Grams.

‘Last year’s harvest was one of the best yet,’ replied Nico, his smile growing a little more painful on his face. ‘In fact, I’ve got some bottles of wine in the car for you as a present.’

‘How wonderful,’ Grams told him. ‘I shall enjoy a tipple later. Now, where are you staying whilst you’re in England?’

Nico shrugged his shoulders. ‘Actually, I haven’t made any plans other than visiting you.’

‘Then I insist that you stay for a couple of nights at least,’ said Grams. ‘If you have the time, of course.’

Nico was touched by her kindness. ‘Grazie. I’d enjoy that very much.’

‘Excellent.’ Grams looked delighted. ‘And then we can have a proper chat and you can tell me all about the vineyard.’

Nico took another sip of coffee and nearly tipped it down his shirtfront, such was his shaking hand. How could he tell Grams that his father had sold the place? That the history and hard work that his family had given over the years had all been for nothing?

For a second, his heart ached with the pain of failure. He had failed his family name, his grandparents, everyone. Surely he hadn’t done everything that he could have done to protect the family house? Paolo was impetuous and idiotic, but Nico was certain that some of the blame must lay at his door.