A Year of Chasing Love Read online

  ‘You have been invited to help celebrate my grandparents’ sixtieth wedding anniversary,’ added Niko as he slung Olivia’s holdall into the back seat of his tiny red Fiat 500 and slammed the door.

  ‘Oh gosh, no, I don’t want to intrude on your family’s celebrations.’

  Olivia balked at the thought of spending her first evening in the intimate company of Niko’s extended family. She would prefer to stick to the itinerary Rachel had devised and to interview Mr and Mrs Garzia senior in the lobby of her hotel the following morning, then spend the rest of the day indulging in the facilities of the hotel, specifically the expansive infinity pool. She could already feel the cool ripples lapping around the crevices of her body, massaging away the knots of stress that had built up over the last few months.

  ‘My grandmother does not travel to the city now, I’m afraid, Olivia. This is the better solution. Anyway, isn’t this what Rachel’s research is all about?’ Niko asked, flicking a shrewd glance in her direction as he navigated the narrow roads out of the airport. ‘Visiting a couple who have been together for over half a century in their home environment to ascertain the factors that contribute to such an enduring partnership? My parents also will be present, of course. They have been married for forty years.’

  ‘Well, in that case, it’s very kind of your family to invite me. Thank you.’

  ‘You are welcome. Perhaps this would be a good time to warn you in advance that my mother takes a huge amount of pleasure in complaining about the fact I have yet to settle down and enter the honourable institution of matrimony. Until now, I have preferred to focus firstly on my education and establishing my career as a lawyer. I’ve fought for years against their expectations that I would follow their example, marry early and produce grandchildren for them. But I will be thirty-four in December and I concede it’s time. Our life goals morph with the passage of time, do they not, Olivia?’

  Olivia saw Niko grin in her direction with a blast of such intense suggestion in his ‘come-to-bed’ eyes that she felt her cheeks redden – and he was clearly delighted with the reaction. She ignored his question and settled into her seat to enjoy the ride into Valletta, the crumbling capital city of the Maltese islands.

  Every village they drove through emerged as though seen through a sepia lens. The honey-coloured façades of the architecture, bathed in the early afternoon’s golden hue, appeared like dwellings from a bygone era. Dogs roamed the cobbled alleyways, sampling offerings in steel bowls placed on the worn stone steps by thoughtful store owners. Cats squinted on windowsills they shared with scarlet geraniums tumbling from terracotta pots.

  She saw no evidence of spotty youths hanging around street corners displaying blank expressions of intense boredom. On the contrary, the adolescents she saw were helping their grandmothers with their shopping carts or zipping by on Vespas dressed in their all-black waiter’s uniform. There was also a distinct absence of the mass migration of exhausted office workers, their faces set in a grimace of determination, up against the clock, every minute to be accounted for.

  Niko swung the ancient Fiat deftly through the city walls so fast that Olivia had to cling onto the side of her seat. There seemed to be no speed restrictions in place, nor any obligation to give way or use indicators, and road courtesy was regarded as a sign of weakness to be exploited, especially by the drivers of the ubiquitous snub-nosed buses who treated all other road users as either invisible or irritating flies.

  As they screeched to a halt at the front steps of the magnificent Phoenicia Hotel overlooking the cinematic Grand Harbour, a whiff of salty sea breeze tickled at Olivia’s nostrils. She allowed her eyes to rest for a moment on the colourful local fishing boats, jostling for attention alongside their sleek luxury yacht cousins and cruise liner rivals, all set against a backdrop of golden spires and fortified bastions.

  ‘Until later, Olivia.’

  Niko deposited her holdall at her feet, then seized her shoulders in a strong, vice-like grip to plant a fragrant kiss on each of her cheeks. Stunned, she watched in silence as he folded his long legs back into the tiny car and sped away, dust billowing up in his slipstream. To her surprise, a sharp blast of homesickness attacked her chest until she realised why – Niko reminded her of Matteo.

  Was that why she had felt so comfortable in his company?

  Collecting her bag, she strode through the hotel’s columned portico into the impressive lobby, taking in its mosaic floor, the stupendously elaborate chandelier overhead, and the sweeping split staircase that had been carpeted in crimson. The room even housed a grand piano, its keys currently silent.

  Check-in was swift and efficient. When she got to her room, she swallowed two painkillers, dragged out the Caribbean-inspired bikini she had purchased especially for the trip, tied up her hair and made her way to the Bastion Pool deck. As she pushed through the wrought-iron gates fashioned in the shape of a peacock and caught her first glimpse of the twinkling aquamarine-blue of the pool set against the cobalt of the Mediterranean Sea, and the island of Manoel beyond, her headache drained from her temples.

  She had taken only three steps into the pool area when the pool guy rushed over to place a mattress and drape the thickest, fluffiest, whitest towel she’d ever seen over a sun-lounger, before offering her a cocktail from the well-stocked bar. On impulse, she ordered a tall glass of rosé and soda with plenty of ice in honour of Hollie and Matteo, tossed her paperback onto the plastic table, dropped her kaftan to the floor and dived into the crystal-clear water.

  Ah, pure unadulterated heaven!

  After twenty lengths in the deserted pool she felt the compacted muscles at the back of her neck and shoulders loosen and her body relax. Thirty minutes later she’d completed her session of water therapy and flopped onto the sun-lounger, totally rejuvenated. She took a couple of sips of the waiting spritzer, lay back, closed her eyes and promptly fell asleep. When she woke, she had a throbbing head and her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth.

  Glancing at the watch she had forgotten to remove, she shot up from her recliner. Six o’clock! No way! She only had an hour before Niko would be back to collect her.

  Chapter 6

  Olivia stood under the invigorating jets of the power shower, mortified that her skin had taken on an unflattering hue of post-box red. She had committed the heinous crime of forgetting to cover her lily-white skin with copious lashings of the Factor 50 suntan lotion that she had picked up from the Duty Free. Matteo would be horrified at the lapse in her skin care regime – all those wrinkles! But it was the peeling pink Rudolph nose that caused her the most immediate concern. She patted on a smudge of foundation and dusted her cheekbones with a sweep of blusher before stepping into a short, apricot-and-ivory sundress, fastening the silver-hooped belt around her waist, and then sliding her toes into her favourite sequin-bedecked sandals.

  Her wardrobe decisions were not taxing – she had only had enough room to cram one outfit suitable for a family celebration into her holdall. She ran her fingers through her caramel hair, now highlighted with flaxen streaks from the sun, and tucked one side behind her ear before attaching a pair of large pearl earrings – a bon voyage gift from Rachel.

  A glint of gold in the bathroom mirror caused Olivia to pause in her preparations. Was it okay to still be wearing her wedding ring? Should she remove it?

  She wiggled off the band that had meant so much to her when Nathan had first slotted it onto her finger seven years earlier. A white line remained, so incongruous against her sunburnt fingers, and tears suddenly prickled at the corners of her eyes as she placed the precious symbol of her marriage into her cosmetics purse. However, there was no time to dissect the final conversation she’d had with Nathan before he had left for Singapore, or to worry about why he hadn’t returned her calls since he’d arrived because if she didn’t hurry up she would be late.

  For some reason, Olivia was inordinately pleased at Niko’s reaction when he appeared in the temple-like foyer of the hotel a
t precisely 7 p.m. and insisted she performed a twirl in the centre of the mosaic on the lobby floor. She knew her self-esteem had taken a battering over the last few weeks and she was grateful to him for his polite attentiveness.

  ‘You look spectacular, Ms Hamilton.’

  To her surprise, when Niko dropped a kiss on the back of her hand, an unfamiliar ripple of desire curled through her lower abdomen – the guy really was handsome, with smouldering chocolate-brown eyes, his hair neatly barbered into a quiff for the party, and a tight black T-shirt that showcased his gym-honed biceps to perfection. Olivia self-consciously re-tucked her hair behind her ear and forced herself not to blush when she saw Niko had noticed how the kiss had affected her.

  Again, Niko drove his rust-blistered Fiat out of the city at speed, its ancient suspension objecting loudly to the wanton thrashing, a light breeze playing with Olivia’s hair. The roads into the interior of the island where the Garzia family’s farm and vineyard were located became increasingly narrow and winding the further they travelled and the view beyond the tiny vehicle’s path was jaw-droppingly scenic. There wasn’t a single high-rise sugar-cube of a hotel in sight, simply an undulating patchwork of scorched earth with swirls of golden wheat and barley interspersed with neat rows of green vines and potato crops.

  They shot through ancient hamlets, their buildings blending in perfect harmony with the landscape, their stonework rinsed in a weak solution of ochre-coloured paint. Everywhere she looked there was an image that merited a gilt frame. There was no jarring intrusion of modern architecture, only pretty alleyways dotted with ceramic pots stuffed with white geraniums and tiny chapels in tranquil town squares trimmed with fairy lights. In no time at all, they were whizzing past a medieval walled town, rising from the meadows like a desert mirage, its skyline tinged with a golden halo of light.

  ‘What an amazing view!’

  ‘That is Mdina – you must find the time to take a trip there whilst you are here. The city was the capital of Malta until the Knights of St John arrived in the sixteenth century and chose to make Valletta their home instead. If you are interested in art, St John’s Cathedral houses a magnificent painting by Caravaggio, but for me Mdina is a truly magical place.’

  Olivia pondered the town set into a low hill, wondering what secrets its walls concealed as Niko continued with his tour guide soliloquy.

  ‘It is necessary to explore its streets on foot as only wedding cars, hearses, and emergency vehicles, are permitted through the fortified gates, and it is for this reason it has been named “the silent city”. A visit to St Paul’s Cathedral is an absolute must; its ceiling frescoes are spectacular! I’d be happy to show you round if you like?’

  ‘That sounds great, thank you.’

  Olivia tore her eyes away from the impressive sight and smiled across at her new friend and willing chauffeur. He clearly adored his country with a passion and she immediately regretted her faded connection with her own hometown of Leeds. Of course, she still visited her parents who lived in a small village on the outskirts as often as she could, but she hadn’t graced the city with her presence for over twenty years. Yet here she was, agreeing to visit the medieval capital of an island in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea with a guy she had just met.

  When the sign for Zebbug appeared, Niko slowed the Fiat to a more respectable speed and Olivia heaved a sigh of relief, loosening her grip on the side of the passenger seat.

  ‘This is a very picturesque village.’ Olivia smiled, surveying the miniature church that could only have room to fit a congregation of twelve. ‘Why is the bunting out?’

  ‘In Malta, every community celebrates the day of its own patron saint with a feast, or festa. There’s always a competition to see who can put on the biggest, the best, the wildest, the most exuberant of shows. We decorate the streets and buildings with lights and flags. We have parades and lots of fireworks. Children toss confetti from the balconies. Everyone joins in. We even have brass band concerts, which I think is a hangover from the British rule.’ Niko smirked.

  ‘Our food is shared and the wine flows freely. It’s a shame you won’t still be with us when my favourite festival takes place – l’imnarja. There’s traditional music, lots of dancing and a plentiful supply of fenkata – a wonderful rabbit stew. There are horse and donkey races – I can just see you perched on the back of a donkey.’ Niko nodded down at Olivia’s silver sandals with four-inch heels and she laughed – practical they were not! ‘Okay, at last, we arrive!’

  Niko swung the steering wheel to the left and the little car bumped down a cypress-lined avenue, the land to either side carpeted with fennel and dotted with purple and white clover, wild irises and rows upon rows of lush green vines and vegetables. Then, just a few seconds later, the Garzia family’s three-hundred-year-old farmhouse came into view, the burnished stone of the house’s crumbling façade reflecting the final golden rays of the evening sun.

  Olivia jumped from the passenger seat, a smile tugging her lips. To her untrained eye, the building’s architecture held a Moroccan feel, built around a central courtyard that would no doubt provide an oasis of shade and calm on any other day but this. Carved niches in the surrounding walls were adorned with blue-and-white ceramic pots filled to bursting with bright, fragrant geraniums. Chiselled plaques and terracotta urns completed the illusion that she had inadvertently stumbled into a film set.

  The evening’s celebration was well underway. Maltese music tinkled in the background from speakers dangling from an upstairs window, and necklaces of fairy lights hung from the eaves like floral garlands. Two long wooden tables, bedecked with red and white gingham tablecloths, were laden with bowls of salad, couscous and chunks of rough brown bread, interspersed with well-used earthenware jugs filled with the Garzia estate’s red wine. At least thirty people were either devouring the delicious food at the tables or chattering at the kitchen door before delivering even more dishes to the tables. Children in their smartest shirts and party dresses, their hair combed so neatly they looked comical, chased pet cats away after tempting them forward with morsels of ciabatta dipped in home-pressed olive oil.

  The rich fragrance of home-cooked cuisine drifted to Olivia’s nostrils and caused her stomach to growl, but the cacophony of laughter and high-pitched gossip, coupled with crying babies, shrieking children and barking dogs made her feel like an intruder. As she was absorbed into the throng of Niko’s family, she was surprised at the frisson of nerves that tingled through her veins, so she took a quick step backwards, her heel crushing down on Niko’s toe and causing him to expel a yelp of pain.

  ‘Oh, Niko, I’m so sorry!’

  Olivia reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear again, her go-to reaction whenever she felt anxious. She suddenly felt as though she had no right to be there, as though she were gate-crashing a private family celebration, and envisioned the gathering falling into a horrified silence that she’d had the audacity to intrude on the joyous occasion – but of course they didn’t. Niko immediately grasped the situation, linked his arm through hers and led her to where the party’s guests of honour presided at the head of the largest food-laden table.

  ‘Hi, Nanna, Pops, this is Olivia Hamilton.’

  ‘Ah, Olivia, it’s good to meet you. Welcome to our home!’ declared Niko’s grandmother, a petite, well-rounded woman, her ash-coloured hair set into neat rows of curls in honour of the auspicious occasion. She reached up with her thumb and forefinger outstretched to pinch Olivia’s cheek. ‘My husband and I are thrilled you could join us to celebrate our anniversary this evening, aren’t we, Filip?’

  Olivia couldn’t prevent a giggle from erupting when she saw Niko’s grandfather, who had an enormous linen serviette tucked into the neck of his shirt, pause theatrically, a huge barbecued chicken leg at his lips. He smiled a welcome at Olivia, rolled his eyes at his wife, then resumed his enjoyment of the family feast, every dish prepared with a well-practised hand and a soupçon of affection.

  ‘Thank
you so much for inviting me, it looks like a great party!’

  ‘Ach.’ Mrs Garzia waved her arthritic hand as though it was nothing before switching to speak to Niko in speedy Maltese. From her tone, Olivia imagined her saying something along the lines of ‘Fetch the girl a glass of wine, Niko, and make sure she eats some of your mother’s fenek. She looks like one of those anorexics. A plate of your mother’s home-cooking is what she needs.’

  Despite her lack of understanding of the local language, Olivia was left in no doubt as to the old lady’s dim view of her slender frame and washed-out complexion. Whilst Niko went off to do his grandmother’s bidding, she perched on the edge of a wooden bench at the adjacent table, next to a small boy who immediately fixed his dark brown eyes on her, clearly wondering who this strange woman was that his Uncle Niko had brought to dinner until he was distracted by the arrival of the anniversary cake, topped with a fanfare of candles.

  She couldn’t eat the mountain of kapunata, a sort of Maltese ratatouille, that Niko placed in front of her, but relished the pastizzi – tiny diamond-shaped parcels of flaky pastry wrapped around spinach and ricotta. She savoured the flavours with a gusto she had forgotten she possessed, before moving on to slurp on an over-ripe nectarine, its juice trickling down to her arm and dripping from her elbow. She caught Niko’s mother watching her, smiling with vicarious pleasure as her creations disappeared into a grateful stomach, and Olivia slowly reacquainted herself with the power of good food and welcoming company.

  As Niko had been commandeered by his father and uncle to discuss the state of their vines, she decided to return her plate to the kitchen where the women of the Garzia family had congregated. She grabbed a tea towel, anxious to repay their generosity. She smiled as Mrs Garzia senior plunged her hands into the porcelain sink, repelling all objections from her daughter and gesturing to Olivia to take her place next to her.