Last of the Summer Vines: Escape to Italy with this heartwarming, feel good summer read!. Romy Sommer

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СКАЧАТЬ Cleo’s number.

      ‘Did Delta’s CFO yank their business, or has he agreed to let you re-structure the loan?’ I asked, the moment my BFF answered.

      Cleo sighed. ‘You’re on leave, Sarah. You’re not supposed to be thinking about work. Doctor’s orders, remember?’

      I huffed out an exasperated breath. ‘An actuarial doctorate does not give Kevin the right to tell me what to do.’

      ‘No. But his being your boss gives him the right.’ Cleo’s voice softened. ‘He cares about you, Sar. We all do. You’ve been working yourself into an early grave. You really need to rest.’

      ‘I am resting. But do I really need to rest for the entire summer? One week is enough. Two tops.’

      Cleo sighed. ‘You’re burned out. You may not appreciate how dangerous that is, but those of us who love you do. You need to find yourself a healthy work-life balance, and you’re not going to rediscover that in a week. Go read a book, or be a tourist, or get a hobby. Better yet, get back on the dating horse.’ She barked a laugh. ‘Not that you ever were on that horse! The only reason you dated Kevin was because you didn’t have to leave work to meet him.’

      ‘I don’t need a man to have a healthy work-life balance. I’ll sign up for yoga classes. Hell, I’ll even take up meditation if it means I can come back to work sooner.’

      Cleo laughed again. She had a fun laugh, easy and bubbly. I wondered what my own laugh sounded like. It’d been so long since I’d laughed at anything.

      ‘You know what works quicker than meditation? Getting laid! Find yourself a sexy Italian stud and have your way with him. You’ll feel so much better!’

      Not. Going. To. Happen.

      The taxi driver’s gaze met mine in the rear-view mirror, his one heavy brow rising in a lewd grin. Oh God, he hadn’t heard that, had he?

      Not in your dreams, dude. I frowned fiercely at the mirror, and he looked quickly away.

      ‘I’m burned out, not braindead.’ I dropped my voice so the driver couldn’t eavesdrop. ‘Holiday romances are more trouble than they’re worth.’

      ‘Oh, I don’t know. That guy I hooked up with in Spain was definitely worth it.’ Cleo’s voice turned heavy with suggestion.

      ‘Yeah, so worth it you can’t even remember his name!’

      She giggled. ‘It wasn’t his name that made the impression.’

      I shook my head, though I knew she couldn’t see. No one knew better than I where wild and thoughtless holiday romances could lead – to relationships that didn’t last, to unexpected and unwanted pregnancies, to a mother who flitted around the world trying to recapture her lost youth, and a father I’d barely known. Nope. Growing up the product of a holiday fling, no way would I ever be stupid enough to indulge in one.

      One-night stands, brief flings, passionate affairs … they just weren’t my thing.

      But the sudden and unwanted memory of serious grey eyes made my stomach contract in a way I’d almost forgotten. I pushed the memory aside. ‘Not. Going. To. Happen.’

      ‘I know how you feel about holiday romances, but you’re not some impetuous teenager,’ Cleo continued. ‘You’re a sensible woman, and you know all about birth control. You can’t keep letting what your mother did—’

      ‘Geraldine,’ I corrected automatically. My ‘mother’ didn’t deserve that title.

      Cleo sighed. ‘Okay, so no holiday romance, then. But when you get back you could—’

      ‘If you suggest online dating again, I will have to kill you. Those three days I spent on that app were just too depressing.’

      ‘We could try speed dating?’ Cleo asked hopefully. She really was a sucker for punishment.

      ‘Absolutely not! Dating of any kind when you’re over 35 is the most demoralising experience any woman can have. All the decent single guys our age are either taken or gay. No thanks! If I can’t meet someone organically, I’d rather be alone.’

      Cleo sighed. ‘You are not over 35. You are 35. And that is far too young to give up on sex.’

      I glanced at the taxi driver, but this time his eyes stayed on the road. ‘So did Delta’s CFO agree to the compromise deal?’

      ‘He did. He’s allocating one of his most senior finance people to work with us to re-analyse their financials and re-structure the loan. Kevin’s put me on it. Everything will be fine.’

      I let out a breath I hadn’t even realised I’d been holding. ‘I can’t thank you enough. I know my mistake has put everyone else under terrible pressure.’ Guilt burned a bitter taste in my mouth. How could I not have factored in something as obvious as the client’s cash flow situation? My incorrect calculations had put one of our most valued clients at risk of bankruptcy. If one of my own underlings had made a mistake like that, I’d have fired them on the spot, none of this ‘shame, you’ve been working too hard’ molly-coddling everyone was doing with me. I really was luckier than I deserved to be.

      Cleo’s voice softened. ‘We don’t mind. We care about you, and we understand that mistakes happen, especially when someone’s as sleep deprived as you’ve been. Just promise me you’ll catch up on some sleep while you’re there. Enjoy the sun and breathe a little. Work will still be here when you get back.’

      I sighed. ‘Okay, I promise.’

      ‘So have you met your father’s lawyer yet? What’s the castle like?’

      I glanced out the window again. After an hour of the same view, of vineyards giving way to patches of dark forest, and then yet more vineyards, the beauty had started to pall. But now the taxi swung off the main provincial road, onto a bumpy, dusty farm road that had once been tarred. It was so rutted the sedan had to slow to navigate the bumps. ‘Not yet, but we’re nearly there.’

      ‘I’m sorry I can’t be there with you. You sure you’re going to be okay sorting through your father’s things on your own?’

      ‘Of course I’ll be fine.’ It would be hypocritical to get choked up over someone I hadn’t seen in years, someone I hardly spoke to. After all, it wasn’t as if I’d lost a father. Aside from a handful of summers in my childhood, I’d never really had a father. He hadn’t been involved in my life in any meaningful way; he hadn’t attended any of my school concerts, or netball games, or even my graduation. All his love had been reserved for his vines, with nothing left to spare for people.

      Yet when I thought of him, I could still smell red wine, lemons and sunshine. He’d taught me how to drink wine – though he’d hardly approve of the way Cleo and I sloshed down the cheap stuff.

      I said goodbye to Cleo and hung up, stuck my mobile back into my bag, and turned to the view again.

      The road climbed now between the rolling hills, and I recognised the landmarks – a tiny stone chapel in the fold of a valley to the left, the long low wall of a neighbour’s property, then the shrine at the crossroads with its faded painting of an angel. Just around that next СКАЧАТЬ