An Accidental Christmas Read online

  Chapter 2

  Ursula lay quietly under the thick duvet for a few moments as she tried to figure out where she was. Through the window, an outside light illuminated the already bright snow, making it gleam against a still dark sky.

  Italy. Abbadia San Alexis. A farmhouse. She grinned to herself, and stretched out her legs either side of the dog who still refused to move. She sighed, feeling more rested than she had in a long time. It was only when she sat up in bed that she saw them—two small faces looking silently at her through the open door, silhouetted against a night light. One of the faces giggled, and the other one nudged the giggling one, who promptly stopped. Ah, Marianna’s kids.

  She reached over and turned on the side light, revealing a girl aged about seven and a younger boy, more solemn, sucking his thumb as he frowned at her. A knitted toy of obscure origins was threaded between his fingers.

  “Ciao! You’re up early.” Ursula roughly combed her hair with her fingers.

  There was another giggle from the girl. “We’re always up early. Mama told us to go away and not come back until at least six.”

  “And what time is it now?” Ursula looked at her phone. “Ah, five-thirty.” She tried to recall the last time she’d seen five-thirty in the morning. Probably an international flight. It certainly wasn’t a time of day with which she was familiar. She propped herself up on an elbow and smiled at the two faces—one cheeky, a giggle ready at any moment, and the other, serious. “So are you coming in or are you going to get cold staring at me from the landing?”

  The girl pushed the boy, and they scampered inside and across the colorful rug which was spread on the thick planks of darkened oak. The boy continued to suck his thumb as he peered at her with intense and curious eyes. A silent shiver racked through his small frame.

  Ursula shifted over on the bed and patted the space she’d vacated. “Come and get under the covers.”

  “Your name is Orsula.” The little girl said as she tugged her brother to climb up next to her on the bed, but not where Ursula had left a space, but at the other end where the dog still lay sleeping.

  Ursula was thankful she’d put on her pajamas as the boy and girl wriggled under the duvet, their cold feet meeting her warm ones. They gazed at her while they patted the oblivious dog, who continued to snore.

  “That’s right. Orsula is the Italian for Ursula. And what are your names?”

  “This is Tomasso.” The girl poked the boy in the ribs, but he didn’t react. He was obviously used to it. “And I’m Carolina.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Carolina and Tomasso.”

  “Mama says Orsula means ‘little bear.’ Are you fierce like a bear?”

  Ursula laughed and then let the laughter die as she pondered the child’s question. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d lost her temper. She always managed to suppress her irritation or anger, to move on, to move away, before it could surface. “No, I’m not fierce.”

  “Then you’re cuddly like my toy bear?”

  She raised her eyebrows in surprise at the inquisition and tried to recall the last time she’d cuddled someone, without it being a prelude to sex. She couldn’t. “Not so sure I’m cuddly either.”

  “Then what are you?”

  “Somewhere in between, I suspect.”

  Carolina frowned and at that moment, Ursula could see the striking similarity between brother and sister. But, with the sister, the frown was short-lived. “Sort of like someone is when they’re waiting for something, then.”

  Ursula gave a quick, sharp smile to hide her surprise. Tomasso continued to stare at her, a slight frown on his face, while he sucked his thumb. Carolina looked around the room, ignorant of the fact that she’d just revealed something to Ursula of which she’d been completely unaware. “Probably. Anyway, let’s talk about you. Do you always wander into stranger’s rooms?”

  “No. But Mama said she liked you so we thought it would be all right.” Carolina pointed to Ursula’s sponge bag. “That’s pretty.”

  “Would you like to see inside?”

  Carolina twisted her mouth as she tried to repress an excited smile. “Si!”

  Ursula lay it on top of the duvet and unzipped it. Carolina crawled across the covers, her eyes huge, as Ursula took out the expensive bottles and lotions and miscellaneous other things she’d accumulated that required such a large bag. Carolina fingered a small cut-glass bottle of perfume. It was a delicate pink with a gold top.

  “Would you like to try some?”

  She nodded, seemingly overcome by being allowed to look at such exquisite treasures. Ursula sprayed some perfume on Carolina’s upturned wrist.

  “Um, it’s lovely.”

  “You can have it if you like.”

  “Really?”

  “Sure.” She looked at the silent boy, who’d emerged from the other end of the bed to climb in beside her. “And Tomasso, is there anything you’d like?”

  “Oh, all Tomasso ever wants is a story,” Carolina said dismissively.

  “A story, hey? Well, let me think. How about a story about a Swedish boy who is turned into a tomte—which is like a little gnome or pixie—and jumps on the back of a goose and flies over Sweden?”

  Tomasso’s eyes widened, and he nodded vigorously.

  Ursula told the story as Carolina fingered through Ursula’s trinkets until she yawned, also snuggled in close to Ursula, and went to sleep. Tomasso continued to listen until he, too, eventually fell asleep. With both the children and the dog fast asleep, Ursula lay back, closed her eyes, and joined them.

  It wasn’t until much later, when early morning sunshine flooded the room that Ursula awoke to discover they’d all gone.

  Ursula opened the door to the kitchen, and a wall of heat and noise hit her. A woman in her sixties sat at the table and noticed Ursula immediately. Her mouth turned into a perfect O-shape. “Demetrio! You didn’t tell me she’s beautiful.”

  Demetrio grinned at Ursula, and dragged out an oak-backed chair with a rush seat for her. “Because you didn’t ask.”

  Ursula reached across the table to the woman and shook her hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Signora Pecora. Thank you so much for letting me stay the night.”

  The woman dismissed her thanks with a wave of her hand. “We wouldn’t have a stranger left to find a room on such a night.” The woman called out to her husband who was just entering the room. “Papa! Come and meet Orsula.”

  Papa tipped his cap at Ursula. “We’ve met already. Last night.”

  “You men! You tell me nothing.”

  Papa merely smiled, plainly used to this admonishment, before disappearing outside again, toward the sound of children’s laughter.

  “Come, Orsula,” continued Nonna. “Sit beside me so I can see you better.”

  Ursula did as she was told, and Marianna slipped a cup of coffee onto the table in front of her. “I hope you slept well?”

  “Of course she slept well, Marianna! Why wouldn’t she?” interjected Nonna.

  Demetrio laughed as he brought fette biscottate and warm rolls fresh from the oven, to the table. “Nonna is very superstitious. She believes that only if you are in the wrong place, at the wrong time, will you not be able to sleep.”

  “Then, I’m in the right place at the right time.”

  Demetrio looked up and held Ursula’s gaze. His eyes were warm and a slight smile played on his lips. “Si, I believe you are.”

  Ursula looked down at her coffee and took a studied sip, trying her best to ignore his gaze that played such havoc with her senses.

  Marianna looked from one to the other of them, and grinned. Then she saw Ursula’s confusion and changed the subject. “In the wrong place if you ask me. Too close to the kids’ bedrooms. I hear you had an early morning visit from two of my brood.” She grimaced. “Sorry about that.”

  “No problem. They’re adorable.”

  Marianna frowned playfully. “Are you sure you’re talking about my kids?”


  “A giggling girl, and a boy who loves stories?”

  “They’re the ones!”

  As if on cue, the two children she’d met earlier entered the room, followed by a weary-looking Papa carrying a wriggling baby in his arms.

  Nonna opened her arms wide. “Children, come here and tell me what you’ve been doing.” She picked up a wet cloth, and while Tomasso tried to describe the books Papa had been showing them, she wiped the ring of milk from around his mouth, before beckoning for Marianna to rinse the cloth through. She did so immediately. There was no doubt as to who was in charge of this household.

  By turns, Nonna petted her grandchildren and organized her children. She gave instructions to Marianna on how hot the milk should be for the caffé latte, while simultaneously admonishing Demetrio for allowing Ursula to be covered by the dog blanket, and heaping food onto her husband’s plate. Papa sat quietly, only glancing up from time to time, to beam benignly on everyone.

  After what seemed to Ursula to be a chaotic quarter hour, everyone was seated around the scrubbed pine table, even the little ones, and tucking into their plates of warm bread rolls, butter, jam, cookies and leftover mini frittatas covered with spicy tomato sauce. But even then, the talk didn’t die down. Between mouthfuls of food, each of the family had something to say.

  “Vincenzo called,” Marianna said. “Would you believe he has to work over Christmas?”

  “Noooo!” said Nonna in equally shocked tones. “But why?”

  Marianna turned to Ursula. “As I mentioned before, Vincenzo is my husband, and his company works him too hard. He was meant to be joining us in a few days.” She turned back to her mother. “He says he can’t leave Budapest until the contract is signed and sealed.”

  “Then why don’t you go to him? The children will be fine with me here.” Nonna turned to the little ones. “Won’t you, tesori mio?”

  Carolina’s smile revealed her missing baby teeth. Tomasso nodded, but his frown didn’t disappear. Ursula was beginning to wonder why he frowned so much.

  “There! You see. Go to your husband. A man needs his woman beside him at Christmas.”

  “Nonna!” Marianna screwed up her face and shook her head. “You’re living in the dark ages. Vincenzo is fine. He’s on his own, in a flash hotel, food whenever he likes.”

  “Fine? You think living in a hotel is fine? No!” Nonna shook her head fiercely. “No, Marianna. A man needs his home and family around him. Especially at Christmas.” She leaned over and grasped Papa’s hand who looked up, startled. “Isn’t that so, Papa? Remember the time when I was in hospital with Demetrio?” Papa nodded and turned his attention back to the frittata. Nonna addressed Ursula. “It was a difficult birth. Demetrio was so big, and my midwife insisted we go to hospital. But”—she shrugged—“it was fine in the end.” She grinned at Demetrio. “And I got myself a big, bouncing boy.” She blew a kiss across the table to Demetrio, who rolled his eyes and took her hand and kissed it with exaggerated courtesy. Then she leaned into Ursula. “A big bouncing boy who I still worry about.”

  “Nonna!” Demetrio exclaimed. “I left home over ten years ago. There’s no need to worry about me. I have my own business—”

  “Business? What kind of business is landscape design?”

  “I thought you were a farmer,” Ursula said, surprised.

  “He should be a farmer,” Nonna said triumphantly, turning back to Demetrio. “The farm is here, Demetrio. Your father isn’t getting any younger.”

  “Nonna!” said Papa, indignation stirring him from his breakfast. “I think I can manage my own farm.”

  Nonna shrugged. “You may think so…” She shrugged again, conveying her doubt in that one gesture.

  Demetrio shook his head and turned to Ursula. “I have a landscaping business which despite what Nonna infers—”

  “I’m not inferring anything! I’m saying that you should be here, on the farm, where you belong—”

  “In spite of what Nonna says, I’m more than happy in my work, and I have a wonderful team of people working for me.”

  “And you’re based in Florence?” asked Ursula.

  “Yes. But of course, my work takes me all over Italy.”

  “What kind of landscaping do you do?”

  “I specialize in sustainable landscaping—landscaping with heritage in mind—preserving the past for the future. That’s why I enjoy coming home so much.”

  “Of course you do. Because it is your home, Demetrio,” said Nonna.

  Demetrio ignored his mother’s interruption. “As I was saying, I enjoy coming home—aside from the wonderful company—because this land has been untouched for centuries, and I’d have it remain so.”

  “Then you should come home and help your Papa with the land!”

  “Nonna! I have another home, another life, in Florence.” He took hold of her hand and squeezed it. “Of course this is my family home, but I’m happy with my life. Why do you worry about me?”

  Nonna shrugged and continued to eat, knowing full well she had the attention of everyone. “You’ve not been truly happy since Elisabetta died.”

  The clatter of forks on dishes and conversation immediately stopped, and there was absolute silence. Ursula looked up at Demetrio in time to see his face fall and his eyes cloud over with pain. She looked away, not wanting him to know she’d witnessed his look of devastation.

  Papa leaned over to Nonna and placed a worn, weathered hand on hers. “Nonna,” he said reproachfully.

  She shrugged. “Well… I don’t know… it’s just…” But she must have realized the pain she’d caused because she put another frittata on Demetrio’s plate, poured him some more coffee and pushed his mug toward him as if food and a hot drink would cure everything.

  Ursula helped the baby, Lorenzo, fill his spoon with yoghurt which he then decided to hurl across the table at Carolina who shrieked and burst into noisy tears.

  Marianna leaped up, obviously relieved to break the silence and wiped Carolina’s face. She gave a hug to console her, while Lorenzo stolidly picked up Tomasso’s spoon and began feeding himself, apparently oblivious to, or maybe happy because of, the chaos he’d created.

  Ursula wiped up the mess, not wanting Demetrio to be aware that she’d witnessed the breach in his defenses, not wanting him to know that she’d seen the pain that lay beneath that happy and charming exterior.

  No doubt about it—Demetrio had loved and lost. But not lost in the sense of being rejected, lost as in completely and irrevocably. Ursula’s heart went out to him, but all she could do was give him space, by helping Marianna and the children clear up the breakfast things, and allow him time to recover.

  By the time Ursula returned to the table with a fresh jug of coffee, things seemed to have returned to normal. Demetrio was sitting facing Tomasso, with one arm casually slung over the back of the chair, while he told a rapt audience about a local tale of legendary animals that were sighted in the woods every Christmas. Tomasso’s eyes were wide, and the frown had disappeared.

  Marianna brought another warm roll from the oven for Papa, who, despite his slender build, appeared to eat more than anyone else. “Demetrio! Don’t fill Tomasso’s head with all that superstitious nonsense!”

  Demetrio ruffled the boy’s hair. “He can cope. Can’t you Tomasso?”

  Tomasso nodded, wide-eyed. “Of course I can. And it’s true, Mama, Uncle says it is.”

  Marianna shook her head at Demetrio and returned to the kitchen. Demetrio cleared his throat and changed the subject. “So, Ursula, do you have any plans today? No”—he held up his hand with a grin—“I nearly forgot. You don’t plan, do you?”

  “I plan 99.9% of the time. My friends and family wouldn’t understand how I came to be here, in the holiday season, without accommodation booked. They’d think something strange has happened.”

  Demetrio didn’t miss a beat. “Has it?”

  Ursula suddenly realized they were virtually alone—Papa had taken their empty pl
ates to the kitchen sink and was talking to Marianna about her husband’s work, and Carolina and Tomasso had slid under the table and were surreptitiously feeding the dog. Nonna’s attention, meanwhile, was focused on trying to wipe Lorenzo’s face.

  “Has it?” Demetrio repeated. They looked at each other across the stained and worn pine table with the remnants of breakfast cups, bread crumbs, all the ordinary things of life, with a gaze that was most definitely not ordinary. “Maybe,” she said softly. She shrugged. “I don’t know yet.”

  Demetrio sat back in his chair and smiled—a confident, warm, kind and inviting smile. She could have given a list of adjectives to describe that smile, but she didn’t need to dissect it to understand it. She felt it from the tips of her toes, up through her body, through to her fingers, which she flexed, as she tried to prevent herself from responding.

  He leaned forward, resting his folded arms on the table, his gaze suddenly more intense. “When will you know?”

  She sucked in a deep breath as she tried to control the shimmer of need that went through her body. Nonna, now freed from Lorenzo by Marianna, saved Ursula from replying by commanding attention once more.

  Nonna turned to Demetrio and slapped his arms. “Not on the table. I’ve brought you up better than that!” He shook his head and laughed. “So,” she continued. “You’ll be going into Abbadia today to finish off the preparations for tonight?”

  “Of course,” Demetrio replied. “I’ve been doing it for over ten years. I’m not going to stop now.” He stood up and looked down at Ursula. “Would you like to come along and watch?”

  “I’d like to come along and help if I can. And I need to check out accommodation.”

  Nonna’s face dropped. “But there’s no need. You can stay here, with us.”

  “But I can’t impose on your family at Christmas.”

  “You’re not imposing. I like having guests. Besides, there won’t be any free rooms at the hotels. People stay for the week of festivals, not for only one night.”