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Back Escape to the French Farmhouse Save as PDF
Chapters (79)
  1. COVER
  2. About the Author
  3. Also by Jo Thomas
  4. DEDICATION
  5. ONE
  6. TWO
  7. THREE
  8. FOUR
  9. FIVE
  10. SIX
  11. SEVEN
  12. EIGHT
  13. NINE
  14. TEN
  15. ELEVEN
  16. TWELVE
  17. THIRTEEN
  18. FOURTEEN
  19. FIFTEEN
  20. SIXTEEN
  21. SEVENTEEN
  22. EIGHTEEN
  23. NINETEEN
  24. TWENTY
  25. TWENTY-ONE
  26. TWENTY-TWO
  27. TWENTY-THREE
  28. TWENTY-FOUR
  29. TWENTY-FIVE
  30. TWENTY-SIX
  31. TWENTY-SEVEN
  32. TWENTY-EIGHT
  33. TWENTY-NINE
  34. THIRTY
  35. THIRTY-ONE
  36. THIRTY-TWO
  37. THIRTY-THREE
  38. THIRTY-FOUR
  39. THIRTY-FIVE
  40. THIRTY-SIX
  41. THIRTY-SEVEN
  42. THIRTY-EIGHT
  43. THIRTY-NINE
  44. FORTY
  45. FORTY-ONE
  46. FORTY-TWO
  47. FORTY-THREE
  48. FORTY-FOUR
  49. FORTY-FIVE
  50. FORTY-SIX
  51. FORTY-SEVEN
  52. FORTY-EIGHT
  53. FORTY-NINE
  54. FIFTY
  55. FIFTY-ONE
  56. FIFTY-TWO
  57. FIFTY-THREE
  58. FIFTY-FOUR
  59. FIFTY-FIVE
  60. FIFTY-SIX
  61. FIFTY-SEVEN
  62. FIFTY-EIGHT
  63. FIFTY-NINE
  64. SIXTY
  65. SIXTY-ONE
  66. SIXTY-TWO
  67. Epilogue
  68. Acknowledgements
  69. RECIPES
  70. Lavender shortbread
  71. Apricot jam sponge cake
  72. Lavender lamb
  73. READ MORE
  74. Prologue
  75. ONE
  76. TWO
  77. THREE
  78. FOUR
  79. THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING

‘One of your extra specials,’ I say, my mouth watering, even though I’m full of Nonna’s pasta. Food is never far from this family’s minds and that’s how I know I’m Italian. Whatever else is going on, the next meal is always what’s on Nonno’s mind. And mine too. I just wish I had more time to enjoy it at home.

Once I get my promotion and buy the flat, with its fabulous kitchen, I intend to cook more. I’ve been so busy working towards the promotion, making sure Anthony Gwyn-Jones knows exactly how much I want it, that I’d forgotten everything else. I eat most of my meals at my desk and I can’t remember the last time I opened a fridge and took time to decide what to make. Once the promotion is sorted and I’m in the new flat, I’ll cook every day.

‘It’s good to have you here, Lucia.’ He smiles and gazes out over the courtyard. ‘The nights are warm, maybe too warm.’

‘It’s always like this at this time of year, Nonno. It’s the same every time I come back.’ And it is. I come for the same two weeks every year, the first fortnight of August.

‘It’s good to be here, Nonno. Semplicemente bellissimo.’ A wave of contentment floods over me.

He smiles.

‘Casa dolce casa. Home sweet home!’

And as we sit in the darkening courtyard, I can make out the outlines of the gates at its far side and the buildings beyond in the narrow street, just as they’ve always been. It is so good to be here.

TWO

I wake to the sound of singing, loud and joyous. I smile. It’s not birdsong. It’s opera from the café below. Angelo the waiter trained in opera but runs his parents’ café now. He sings every morning. It lets me know I’m back.

My bed seems moulded to my body shape but I toss back the thin duvet, walk over the cool tiled floor towards the window and push open the shutters, enjoying the warm morning sun on my skin. I reach for my phone, but stop and smile at the singing, the sun on the yellow-painted walls opposite and the sounds of the town waking up.

The smell of coffee is winding its way up from the balcony below my window.

‘Buon giorno.’ Nonna is pegging washing to the line that hangs over the balcony.

‘Buon giorno!’ I say. ‘Caffè! Pour me a cup! I’m coming down.’

‘Lucia! Great to see you back!’ Angelo looks up from serving coffee in the ground-floor café.

‘Ciao, Angelo. How’s things? Still singing?’

‘Always!’ He breaks into song again.