Page 86 of Sunrise over Strawberry Hill Farm

She looked away and reached out for her wine glass.

He reached out and held her hand over the cold glass. ‘Why can’t you just accept the compliment for once? You look lovely. There, I said it. What’s the matter?’

‘I don’t know.’

He let go of her hand and watched as she took a large sip of wine.

‘Maybe it’s been so long since I received a compliment, that I don’t know how to accept one when it comes along,’ she finally said.

He frowned. ‘You’ve clearly been dating the wrong men.’

‘I haven’t been dating any men. Well, except Tyler, of course,’ she added.

Nico suddenly felt his humour drop away. ‘Yes, let’s not forget Tyler.’

‘What about you?’ she asked. ‘When was the last time you dated anyone?’

He hesitated. ‘Five years ago,’ he told her.

‘Wow, that doesn’t sound like a very positive hit rate,’ she said, laughing.

‘Well, that one stung a bit,’ he said. ‘I found her in bed with my father.’

Flora’s face turned to shock. ‘No!’ she spluttered.

Nico shrugged his shoulders. ‘I know. Tell me that it serves me right. That I’m just like my father and deserve it.’

But Flora shook her head. ‘I don’t think you’re like your father at all. Look at what you’ve done for Grams. For my home. You’re not the selfish man you think you are. You’re not your father.’

Nico took a deep breath. Was she right? He wasn’t sure.

He glanced at her face and found that the minutes ticked by as he stared into her eyes, unable to look away.

Finally, she was the first one to blink. ‘For the record, Grams agrees with me and so do quite a few other people here in Cranfield. You’ve made good friends.’

He nodded, noticing how she had moved the conversation on.

He was almost pleased when Katy delivered their main courses to the table. Flora had chosen an asparagus risotto. Whereas Nico had been amazed to find lamb tagliata on the menu. It had been a favourite dish of his grandfather’s over the years, with his grandmother making it with watercress and tomatoes.

Nico stared down at the plate for a moment, inhaling the sweet scent of rosemary and garlic. But he hadn’t been prepared for the first mouthful. It tasted of warm summer evenings, of smoky air, of grapes being harvested and of his grandmother’s delicate perfume. It tasted of Tuscany. And of a home that he would never see again.

The food grew thick in his throat, despite the delicious taste. He almost felt overwhelmed by it.

‘Are you okay?’

He looked up to find Flora watching him with a worried expression.

‘I’m fine,’ he told her, picking up his glass of red wine but almost spilling it down himself. He sighed and leaned back in his chair. ‘Or not, I guess.’

She took his hand across the table. ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

He took a deep breath. ‘The food,’ he said, his voice full of emotion. ‘Food was always a huge thing at home. Like your grandmother’s cooking. It just reminds me, that’s all.’

She gave his hand a squeeze. ‘Tell me,’ she said.

And so, whilst they carried on eating, he found himself talking of the rolling hills of Tuscany. Of his grandfather’s serious nature but gentle eyes, of his grandmother’s huge bear hugs. Of the way the grapes tasted when they were warmed in the sun. Of the first taste of the wine vintage each year.

The meal rushed by in a blur, with maritozzo con la panna for dessert. Even that was a revelation, the classic Italian dessert filled with cream and the traditional honey. Nico was almost dumbstruck for a second time.