A Year of Chasing Love Read online

  ‘So, Olivia, you want to know why our marriage has lasted for so long?’ she asked, her dark eyes filled with sharp intelligence. ‘Why there has never been a divorce in the Garzia family? Well, I’ll tell you why, and it’s not just one reason, it’s lots of things. My family and Filip’s family grew up together, with many other Maltese families in the area. We shared family events such as this, celebrated each village’s festas, the collecting in of the harvest, the saints’ days. We all know each other, we share traditions, we live in the same culture, we have the same expectations and belief in God.’

  Ella Garzia handed an engraved glass jug to Olivia to dry.

  ‘Our match was approved and supported not only by our parents, but also by our extended families, and therefore we were accepted as a couple straight away. Because we know each other’s histories, we can communicate and understand each other with the minimum of effort. Oh, not in an American-style talking-about-your-feelings kind of a way, but by being sensitive to each other’s moods and non-verbal signals. It’s these things, I believe, that have seen us through a terrible war and all the hardships the post-war years brought, the loss of a treasured son, and the numerous plagues that have befallen our crops. Life on a country farm is not an easy one.’

  Mrs Garzia removed the plug from the sink, wiped her hands on her flower-bedecked apron before untying it and folding it into squares.

  ‘The river of marital happiness does not always flow smoothly; sometimes there are pebbles, sometimes rocks and occasionally great boulders to navigate, but we each know our roles in our marriage and accept them without question or resentment. After the heart soars, contentment follows.’ Ella tapped the side of her nose with her index finger, then walked to the kitchen door, turning her lined face over her shoulder, a glint of mischief appearing in her watery eyes. ‘All the reasons for a contented marriage I’ve outlined are true, but of course you mustn’t forget to include the obvious one in your research project.’

  ‘What’s that?’ Olivia smiled, warming to the old lady’s frank disclosures.

  ‘Sexual attraction!’ announced Ella, giggling like a schoolgirl when she saw the expression of astonishment on Olivia’s face before sweeping out into the courtyard to join her family.

  As her glass was constantly replenished, Olivia began to relax. She marvelled at the cohesive unity of the multiple generations of the Garzia family and how their easy interactions percolated into the evening’s humidity. From her vantage point on the periphery, she was well placed to observe the variety of relationships: mother and daughter, father and son, uncle and nephew, sister and brother, grandmother and grandchild – everyone was comfortable in the company of their family and in their own skins.

  There was not one guest lurking in the shadows, feeling awkward and out of place as she had when she’d arrived. Their various communications were conducted as though part of a communal dance, a family waltz – brother sauntering over to cousin to discuss a new Vespa, uncle gossiping with a great-nephew about his choice of hairstyle, sisters cackling with laughter at a shared secret before then executing a seamless transition to chastise the cluster of children teasing the cats and the teenagers bent on substituting their own music in the audio equipment.

  Olivia realised that every family member present that evening knew the others intimately. They all possessed a shared history, a knowledge of each other’s personalities gleaned from years of attending similar get-togethers, which served to keep them connected and the family intact. Filip Garzia was clearly the uncontested head of the family, even though he had retired from running the farm in order to hone his palate on the local wine and renew his acquaintance with the boules court and, similarly, retired friends from as far back as his school days.

  Olivia had to delve way back into her memory to recall the last time she had experienced a similar feeling of well-being; it was one delicious summer in her late teens filled with a combination of music, hope and a great deal of giggling. She and her friends had been savouring the feeling of freedom after spending the previous three months revising for their A levels, safe in the knowledge they were on the precipice of adulthood, which they would spend marvelling at the elegant spires of Oxford, or the bridges of Newcastle, or the cathedral city of Durham. She had relished her holiday job as a waitress in a local café – crammed daily with tourists sheltering from the incessant Yorkshire rain – and the opportunity it offered for her to study its customers.

  A pang of regret wormed its way into her heart as she sipped on her glass of wine. That was over twenty years ago! What had happened to the girl with the rosy cheeks and the toffee-coloured hair made frizzy by the rising condensation in the café from the warm bodies and damp cagoules? Her teenage self would hardly recognise the woman she had become, loitering in this pretty courtyard in the middle of the Mediterranean, wondering how soon she could escape back to the anonymous five-star hotel where she was staying – alone.

  Thankfully, she was jolted out of her spiralling monologue of despair by the timely arrival of Niko.

  ‘Enjoying the evening, Olivia?’

  She experienced a repeat of the lower abdomen lurch at the way he pronounced her name. Or could that just be the fact that she had lost count of how many jugs of the family’s red wine she’d consumed at dinner?

  ‘I am, thank you. Your grandparents are very generous to have included me this evening.’

  She glanced across to where Ella had pecked her husband on the cheek before shooing him off to join in with an impromptu game of boules. Unexpectedly, the tenderness between the couple sparked tears in her eyes.

  Nothing escaped Niko. Without saying a word, he reached out, slid his palm gently into hers and led her out of the courtyard, dodging the chaos as the wooden tables were dragged away to allow the dancing part of the evening to begin, laughing at his cousins who were lugging two huge loudspeakers, attached to a tiny iPod, onto the cobbles.

  ‘Everyone looks so happy, so relaxed in each other’s company.’

  ‘I’m sure my grandmother has explained to you why our extended family remains intact, unaffected by the spectre of separation or divorce. As you already know, they consider me a little peculiar because I’ve chosen to remain single for so long. But, unlike my sisters, I’ve relished the opportunity this choice has afforded me to study abroad, to experience a little of the wider world before returning home to settle down.’

  For a few precious moments, as they sauntered along the neat rows of vines, Olivia allowed her gaze to rest on the horizon, enjoying the way the last ripples of violet light vanished into inky darkness leaving only the moon and the eternal canopy of stars to illuminate the vineyard.

  ‘It’s the same in many other Maltese families, particularly those living in rural communities. Look around you tonight and you will see many enduring relationships – not only marriages but relationships between the generations, between friends, between neighbours – we love each other. Our shared personal history, a deep knowledge of our family’s traditions, is the reason why marriages in Malta survive. Of course, our religion plays an important role in that endurance, too – pre-marriage pregnancy is rare here, but the stability of our childhoods, and witnessing our parents and grandparents strive to ensure a secure home, provides us with a formidable example to emulate.’

  ‘Mmm, I think you’re right.’

  Niko’s words catapulted Olivia’s thoughts back to her own parents’ celebration of their forty years of marriage a year ago. As their only child, she had garnered every spare moment of her sparse reserves of time to hire a room at Newby Hall – her mother, Julie’s, favourite stately home in North Yorkshire – to make sure they celebrated in style. She adored her parents, both of whom had supported her every dream without question or complaint, no matter how wacky. Looking back on that joyous occasion, she realised with a stab of guilt that it had been the last time she had spent a whole weekend in Nathan’s company.

  As the silvery moon played hide-and-seek with
the clouds, an errant gust of air funnelled by the vines sent a shiver through Olivia’s silent contemplation.

  ‘You’re cold. Here, take this.’

  Niko draped his jacket over her shoulders and the faint aroma of tannin, mingled with his unique cologne, infiltrated her senses. Goose bumps skittered across her forearms and she marvelled at the kaleidoscope of sensations one person could feel at the same time. As she took in the sensuous curve of Niko’s lips paused inches from hers, the soft sigh of his breath tickling her cheek, her thoughts became an unintelligible melee of chaos; her heart bounced at the way he was looking at her, yet her body and her brain were telling her that the feelings swirling through her veins were of affection, friendship, and nothing more. She took a step backwards, lowering her gaze, and Niko took the hint.

  ‘Come on, let’s re-join the party. I hear music!’

  Niko slotted his arm through hers again, and they emerged from the shadows into the courtyard where the muffled burble of conversation and laughter was rudely interrupted by the first notes of ‘Gangnam Style’ blasting from the speakers. Every member of the Garzia family under the age of fifty flooded the makeshift dance floor and performed their own individual version of the Korean dance routine.

  ‘Come on!’ yelled Niko, grabbing her hand and dragging her into the melee.

  ‘Oh, God, no!’

  But she found herself joining in, copying the actions until the music moved on to an Ibiza Mix. Perspiration gathered on her temples and beneath her breasts and she begged to be released from the throng to go in search of a glass of water.

  She perched on an upturned bucket, kicked off her sandals and continued to watch the Garzia family party, revelling in the surge of happiness that broke through the armour of anxiety she had worn since Nathan had dropped the bombshell of their divorce. She had been welcomed into Niko’s family celebrations with open arms and there was a warm fuzzy feeling floating inside her chest and, when she glanced at her watch, she was astounded to find it was well past midnight. Only the younger generation had continued to dance – until the introduction of slower, smoother rhythms had served to clear the courtyard of the teenagers.

  ‘Want to dance with me?’ asked Niko, clearly unsure of her reaction after what had happened amongst the ripening grapes.

  The evening air had retained the day’s warmth and the younger children had long since been chased off to bed so that their parents could enjoy a smooch to replenish the coffers of togetherness. Olivia smiled and stepped into Niko’s arms, their bodies moulding together perfectly as they swayed to the music beneath the candlelit lanterns that cast a romantic amber glow over the dancers. However, after only one dance, exhaustion began to grab at her bones. She was so worn out by the trauma that had been dumped in her path over recent weeks that she wished she could simply fall asleep, secure and protected by these strong arms, even though they weren’t the arms she wished were holding her.

  The music had to end some time, and when it did the couples reluctantly broke apart.

  ‘Night, Niko!’ called Anna, Niko’s twin sister, raising her eyebrows in a clear question. Her mane of glossy hair, an identical shade to her brother’s, had broken free of its sophisticated up-do, but she looked happy at the success of the evening’s celebrations.

  ‘Goodnight, Anna. See you at the Kalafrana Festa next Saturday, and you two little monkeys had better behave this time or you’ll have your Uncle Niko to answer to.’

  Niko kissed his sister on the cheek, hugged his brother-in-law, Joseph, and watched the couple disappear into the darkness with two bleary-eyed little boys in tow, the tallest wiggling his fingers in Olivia’s direction.

  ‘Okay, it looks like the party’s over. Come on, I’ll drive you back to Valletta, or you could stay here at the farmhouse if you wanted?’

  The intensity of Niko’s eyes as he searched her face for a clue as to how she felt about his invitation caused her to waver whilst she flicked through her options. She struggled to fathom the reason she felt so drawn to Niko – after all, they had only met that day and yet she felt like she had known him for years. But hadn’t she felt exactly the same way when she’d first met Matteo? That unconditional, uncritical acceptance of a good friend? Niko was handsome, intelligent, and he was clearly attracted to her, but her heart refused to budge from its place on the perch marked Nathan Fitzgerald.

  ‘Thanks, but I think I’ll go back to the hotel, if that’s okay.’

  ‘Sure.’

  She hooked up her sandals with her index finger and trotted with Niko to where he’d abandoned the Fiat, ignoring the swoop of regret in her stomach. However, she knew it was because she was leaving the warm embrace of Niko’s large, extended, happy family rather than anything at the romantic end of the spectrum. Fortunately, Niko knew the roads back to Valletta like his family tree and they were soon drawing up in front of the magnificent portico of her hotel where the over-attentive doorman leapt forward to open Olivia’s door, leaving no time to linger beyond a friendly goodnight peck on the cheek.

  ‘May I offer my services as your tour guide on Monday? A trip to Mdina, perhaps?’

  ‘Sounds great, thank you.’

  Olivia waved until Niko’s little car disappeared from sight then mounted the steps to the lobby, the siren call of her bed drowning out any other cogent thought. As she slipped between the cool cotton sheets, the final image to flicker across her mind was one of her dancing with Niko in the courtyard and she knew that he would be a friend and nothing more, because whilst he was attentive, not to mention incredibility sexy, he was not Nathan.

  Chapter 7

  That night Olivia slept better than she had for years, and she refused to put it down to the copious amount of alcohol she had been plied with at the party as she often drank more than that when she met Hollie and Matteo at Harvey’s. For the first time in as long as she could remember, there had been no waking in the early hours, anxiety gnawing at her stomach and points of advocacy being rehearsed on a ticker tape loop around her brain.

  Sunday morning had dawned without her, and she regretted missing the Mediterranean sunrise, watching the salmon-pink fingers of light banishing the darkness to welcome in another sun-filled day. And yet she had woken refreshed, luxuriating in breakfast in bed before taking a long, hot shower to wash away the remaining cobwebs of sleep. She intended to spend the whole day stretched out by the pool, this time under a parasol and a floppy straw hat, with her laptop, a paperback, and a regular supply of cocktails.

  Ignoring the impish voice whispering in her ear that she was, once again, resorting to the analgesic that alcohol provided to ensure that her habitual tendency to fret about life and all its challenges was kept at bay, she selected a sun-lounger in a quiet spot and settled down, her laptop resting on her naked thighs. Before she indulged in her first swim of the day, she needed to write up the notes of her interview with Mr and Mrs Garzia, send them to Rachel, and then compose the next of her promised Lessons in Love for Hollie and Matteo.

  After a slow start, her fingers whizzed over the keyboard as she detailed the evidence that she had collated from talking to not just Ella and Filip Garzia, but also the other members of Niko’s extended family: his twin sister and her husband, his uncle and aunts, and his married cousins, as well as his parents. Happy with the conclusions she had drawn in the first of her reports to Rachel, she paused for a long time, her eyes lingering on the hypnotic undulations of the bobbing yachts and fishing boats in Valletta’s northern harbour as she tried to disentangle the essential ingredients of her findings for her email to her friends. Eventually she managed to compose her next pearls of wisdom and began to type:

  Olivia Hamilton’s Lessons in Love: No 4. “A shared cultural background ensures mutual interests and social networks which, in turn, supports harmonious partnerships.”

  Olivia Hamilton’s Lessons in Love: No 5. “Growing up in a stable extended family, with an enduring parental marriage to emulate, provides an increased likeliho
od of your own relationship lasting.”

  A possible sixth ‘lesson’ sprang into her mind when she recalled the comfortable interaction and joyful togetherness exhibited by the whole Garzia family, from great-grandparent to mischievous toddler, but she realised that she had already covered this revelation in Lesson No 2, so she must be on the right track.

  She clicked the ‘Send’ button and closed her laptop, finishing off her second mojito and signalling to the waiter for a third, relishing the sensation of the ice-cold cocktail slipping down her throat. The view from the swimming pool terrace was sublime, from the hotel’s meticulously pruned gardens to the angular, honey-hued architecture crammed onto the peninsula upon which Valletta had been built and the rippling sapphire of the Mediterranean Sea beyond, the whole panoramic vista set to the symphonic chirp of the local crickets.

  Olivia knew she was experiencing a little slice of paradise and it struck home with lightning force everything she had missed out on in favour of the treadmill of corporate life. She sighed, a sound tinged with regret, and as the heady mixture of the midday sun and alcohol took their toll, her demons escaped their guy ropes and refused to be corralled, issuing a sharp sting of misery as she recalled the details of her one and only conversation with Nathan before he had left for Singapore.

  ‘Liv, I’m so sorry the papers were served in that way! I specifically instructed Eleanor Garfield, Ralph Carlton’s colleague, to write to you in the first instance to advise you that the proceedings were about to be issued. I know it’s no consolation, but I’ve demanded an immediate written apology to be sent to you. I hadn’t realised Ralph Carlton could be so vindictive!’

  ‘Really, Nathan? The leather-scaled ogre I’ve been moaning about for the last ten years? The rabid rottweiler of the divorce courts?’

  ‘But I didn’t engage him to act on my behalf. I insisted on dealing with Eleanor. I felt sick when Katrina filled me in on what had happened in the Edwards & Co foyer. I can’t apologise enough, Liv. Look, I intend to lodge a formal complaint about his blatant breach of the code of conduct with the OSS.’