Sue Moorcroft - One Summer in Italy - The most uplifting summer romance you need to read in 2018

The teenage girl – Amy, the owner had called her – although appearing in danger of buckling under the weight of a well-laden tray, moved briskly, her face pink with exertion. After watching her for another few moments and deciding she was fundamentally OK, Levi checked out Davide, who, as he swept tables clear with angry movements, didn’t seem to be able to make up his mind which of the waitresses to glare daggers at. A man who’d sexually harass a younger colleague found no favour with Levi and that he’d proved to be the owner’s son made it worse. Little shit. Levi was usually a live-and-let-live kind of guy but his old man, ‘Bullet’ Gunn, had run a repair garage all Levi’s life and treated his workers with friendly respect. Levi had followed his dad’s example when it came to his own business.

Emptying the second pannier, he glanced at the dark waitress, her upswept hair glossy beneath the sun. She looked about thirty to his thirty-five. A crisp black dress emphasised her shape and a white apron hugged her hips. As he watched, she paused to speak with Amy, tray of empties aloft. She seemed to have the younger girl’s back, judging by the way she’d launched into battle in – impressively – both Italian and English. After watching for another second, he locked his panniers, grabbed his paintbox from the bungees securing it and took himself indoors.

Now he had the opportunity to study Casa Felice as he returned to the cool of the reception area, he found it charming. Where the walls were plastered they were painted white, but large areas of craggy russet stone had been left exposed, a contrast to the dark grey marble of floor and front desk. A wooden banister curved up alongside the stairs.

Room 303 proved as pleasant a surprise as the foyer had been, though oddly shaped. It held a modern bed and an eclectic mix of graceful furniture, and the bathroom was up to date and clean. Levi had booked a ‘superior’ room, all that was available at short notice, so was glad to see something for his extra seventy euros a night, especially the balcony that gazed over tiers of tilted terracotta roofs and the road curving down the hill into a jumble of buildings.

Montelibertà was a select but significant tourist destination, much of it made from the same rock it perched upon, like a little brother of the city of Orvieto to the north. Casa Felice stood on the edge of the town, secluded in its own grounds yet only a ten-minute walk from the centre. According to the website it boasted fifty guest bedrooms over three floors. The road outside, Via Virgilio, led out of town to an extensive country park. Il Giardino, he reflected, was neatly positioned to tempt those who’d worked up thirst and hunger with a country walk.

The ground fell away from the hotel at the back too, and he paused to drink in the view over the shrubs and lavender of the gardens below the terrace where the valley steepened. Large tracts of the slopes were darkly clothed with trees below the hazy purple peaks, some with other towns on the summit. He itched to get out the watercolour paints that had provided his major means of relaxation since his school days. Instead, conscious of his rumbling stomach, he returned to the cool indoors to take a shower and make his way downstairs to seek refreshment.

Half an hour later he was seated beneath the shade of one of Il Giardino’s off-white parasols. He had no trouble finding a vacant table. It was now three o’clock so perhaps many tourists had lunched already. Both waitresses were still working and the dark one appeared before him, producing her pad and pen from her apron pocket.

‘ Buon giorno ,’ she greeted him brightly. ‘Would you like to order?’ Her eyes were brown and her skin golden. If he hadn’t heard her speaking English he would have taken her for Italian.

‘ Buon giorno .’ He ordered a large beer and an arancino rice ball stuffed with ragù.

‘Coming right up.’ She returned in a couple of minutes bearing a tall glass of pale beer and deposited it on the table. ‘Your arancino will be ready shortly.’ She shot a swift glance around and then lowered her voice. ‘Thanks for your help earlier. It made things a lot easier.’

‘It felt like the right thing to do.’ He took a long, satisfying draught of his beer, the chill liquid cutting through any remaining journey dust in his throat. As she’d raised the subject he asked, ‘Is the other waitress OK?’

‘I think so.’ Her eyes smiled. ‘I’m not sure how you saw the incident when you and your motorbike didn’t arrive until after it had taken place but I’m grateful, and I know Amy is.’

Levi shrugged off the first part of her sentence. ‘That guy – Davide? He’s not around right now?’

She grinned, her teeth white and even. ‘Benedetta thought it was a good idea to send him on his break.’

He chuckled. ‘I suppose Casa Felice’s not like one of those massive places where it’s easy to assign staff members to opposite ends of the building and know they’d be unlikely to see each other.’

She nodded. ‘Especially as Amy and I live in at Casa Felice.’

‘Do all the staff?’

‘No, most of the kitchen and housekeeping staff are local and many of the wait staff are too, but Benedetta likes some native English speakers for the tourists. Amy speaks German as well.’

‘Remarkable,’ he said. ‘What time does your shift end?’

Her smile faltered. ‘I’d better get back to work.’ She turned smartly away.

Watching her glide off to a nearby table and begin to clear, he realised that she’d taken his question as a prelude to asking her to join him once she’d finished for the day.

He hid a rueful grin as he lifted his beer glass. Her hasty evasion had certainly put him in his place.

Promise #4: Lay flowers for your grandparents

It was Monday before Sofia got a break after seven straight days on duty.

It was a shame that, as long as Sofia and Amy both worked in Il Giardino, their time off together would be limited. They’d bonded right from their first evening when Sofia, thinking Amy looked a bit lost, had suggested eating together. Over pasta, Amy had been wide-eyed to hear about the string of waitressing jobs Sofia had fitted around caring for her dad. In turn, Sofia had been green with envy over Amy’s tales of living in Germany with her expat British family.

The evening had ended in giggles as they pored over the list of rules that had awaited them in their rooms, Benedetta’s name printed in capitals at the foot. ‘Wow,’ Sofia had commented. ‘ Staff are required not to go here, wear that, do the other. We’ll be sacked for sure.’

They’d each managed not to transgress so far.

Benedetta had given Amy the weekend off as Amy was used to handling euros, but her Italian was sketchy so she needed to concentrate hard when serving the locals. Also, she was visibly exhausted by long shifts on her feet in the bright sun or late into the evening.

Sofia hadn’t minded waiting until training was over and she was established on the staff rota for her precious two days off – and now they were here. She could catch up on laundry in the staff kitchen-cum-utility-room this evening but this morning, after a couple of extra hours in bed, she meant to embark on the fulfilment of another promise to Aldo, one that had felt too important to be squeezed into the few off-duty hours she’d enjoyed so far.

It meant flouting Benedetta’s rule that staff should avoid any area of the hotel where their duties did not take them, especially when not in uniform. However, Sofia risked entering the coolness of the reception area when she saw Aurora on duty because she was thought Aurora would be less wedded to the rules than Benedetta. Sofia had learned to like Aurora as readily as she’d learned to dislike her brother Davide, who seemed to go through every day resenting working for his mum and serving food to pink-faced tourists.