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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

‘Buon giorno, Lucia,’ says my grandmother, appearing from the kitchen where she has cooked family meals all her adult life, however many there are of us visiting. She’s holding a cafetière in one hand and a plate of perfectly formed miniature cakes in the other. She must have bought them from the expensive bakery on the piazza. It must be a special guest. I’m sure I recognize the laugh. It scratches at the back of my brain. Someone I used to know? I’ve been so busy with work over the last few years that I’ve hardly kept in touch with anyone out here. In fact, no one. I used to have a big group of friends here and in the neighbouring town, but these days, I just arrive and decompress with Nonno and Nonna before flying back, wishing my annual holiday was twice as long.

I kiss her on both cheeks. ‘Buon giorno, Nonna,’ I say, with one eye on the balcony, where the sunshine is pouring in. ‘Chi è qui? Who is it? Who’s here?’ I whisper.

‘Go and see,’ she says, staring at me, as if she’s trying to read a reaction that hasn’t happened yet. I frown. She holds out the coffee and cakes for me to take out to the balcony and nods.

‘We are very lucky,’ she says, and I’m intrigued. But if this person is going to take on the business and keep things as they are, I have to be pleased for them too. At least I won’t be trying to run it from Wales, like I suggested to Nonno. And I’ll be able to return home, not worrying about them, knowing the restaurant is in good hands. I take the coffee and cakes, and smile as I walk out onto the balcony.

‘Buon giorno!’ I say.

‘Ah, Lucia!’ says Nonno. ‘Come, come,’ he beckons, ‘and say hello. It’s been ages since you two have seen each other.’

The visitor stands up with his back to me. Even before he’s turned, I recognize him. My whole body jolts and I think I may stop breathing too. I’d know those shoulders, that outline, that frame any time. That laugh. It’s been a long time since I’ve heard it, but I thought I knew it. He turns to me, and as I look up at him, his soft white linen shirt billowing at the edges in the breeze, his dark hair parted in the middle, falling over his face, I recognize everything about him only too well. I’m frozen to the spot. And Angelo stops singing, just as my whole world stops too.