Hearts On Fire Episode 11
Julia planned to break with tradition and hold the first morning session in the nearby town of Montevecchi.
When all the guests had assembled on Villa Davide’s terrazza, Marianna, looking pale and with forced cheerfulness, led them through the house to the cars at the back.
“Don’t forget that lunch is at one. The boys will collect you from the drop-off point at twelve forty-five.”
Julia, hanging behind the others, spoke quietly.
“Are you OK?”
Their hostess managed a smile.
“Just a headache. It will pass. Thank you.”
Julia waited to see which car Mark chose, planning to get into the other.
He caught her eye and flashed a smile.
You’ve only just met him, she reminded herself.
“Anything you’d care to share?” Margot, the American, asked her.
“It would take too long to explain,” Julia replied.
She had no intention of sharing the truth.
“We’ve got a whole car ride,” Margot persisted.
The woman hooked her hand around Julia’s arm.
“You can sit with me and tell me all about it.”
“Another time, maybe.”
The first guests were getting into the cars.
Mark was waiting with Debbie at Luca’s saloon, so Julia joined the queue for Jacopo’s SUV, which included Océane, the French cook.
Margot tagged along.
Soon they were aboard, with the air conditioning blowing so hard that Julia had goosebumps.
To prevent Margot interrogating her, she decided to talk to Océane.
“Are you having a day trip?” she asked in French.
The cook twisted in her seat to make eye contact.
“You speak French?”
“My mother was from Bordeaux. I get so little chance to practise now.”
Océane nodded.
“I’m going to the market. Marianna normally goes, but she is going back to bed to sleep.”
“Bordeaux,” Charlie commented in French. “My father owned a château near there. The Fronsac commune. Do you know it?”
Julia should have anticipated Charlie would speak French as well as Italian, having received a classical education.
Well, the woman would not take charge of this conversation.
“No,” Julia replied. “My mother was from the city.”
A very poor part, she might have added.
“Where are you from, Océane?” she asked before Charlie could interrupt further.
A glance passed between her and the cook, signalling approval of what Julia was doing and the intention to collaborate.
They chatted for the full 15 minutes of the journey, and to Julia’s surprise Jacopo joined their conversation.
Océane explained he was a natural with languages and improving his initially limited French fast.
“He pretends to struggle with foreign languages in front of Marianna,” she added.
“You’ll have noticed his stilted English when she’s around.”
Julia had noticed, but didn’t get time to ask why he pretended in that way.
“At twelve forty-five, I will pick you up to go home,”Jacopo said once everyone except Océane had disembarked.
“I prefer a quarter to one, Jacopo,” Wizzy said with a cheeky grin.
Jacopo bowed.
“What Miss Wisteria wants, Miss Wisteria gets.”
She stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.
“Thank you. You’re a sweetheart. Even if you do wind up your mother.”
He grinned.
“I am a son. That is my job.” He turned to Océane. “Now, let’s go to the market.”
He drove away, waving out of the window, his gold ring flashing in the morning sun and his white teeth almost as bright.
He was a handsome young showman, there was no doubt about it.
“Right,” Julia began. “Follow me.”
She led at a brisk walk, hoping that the square would not be heaving with tourists.
She almost had her eyes shut in trepidation as she made the turn, but there ahead were the neatly clipped rows of trees with benches beneath, and virtually no other people.
“Here we are,” she announced. “Piazzale di something or other.”
She frowned, then laughed.
“I knew the name last night.”
“San Paolo di Valdiponte,” Charlie supplied without hesitation.
“Yes, thank you.”
“It’s after an Umbrian monastery sacked by a British mercenary for the Florentines in the fourteenth century,” Charlie added, while assessing the cleanliness of a bench.
“The ruins were bought by another Brit who turned the grounds into an English garden. Fabulous place, just the other side of Perugia,” she continued.
Julia hesitated. She did not want to interrupt while other guests were settling, but didn’t want Charlie to take control again, either.
Perhaps sensing her uncertainty, Mark stepped in.
“That sounds fascinating. I look forward to hearing that tonight over dinner.” He smiled before turning his attention to Julia.
“OK, what do you want us to do?”
“Thank you, Mark.” Julia flashed him the briefest of grateful smiles before pulling her gaze away to the rest of the artists.
“For the first half hour, simply examine the locale really closely.”
Julia ran her eyes over the guests gazing up at the endless forest clothing the mountainside.
“This morning is about observation and experimentation,” she went on.
“We’re returning to basics and thinking about how we create and develop ideas.”
She paused to let that sink in.
There was a bored sigh from Charlie, but Julia chose to ignore it.
“For half an hour, look beyond the obvious,” she continued.
“I want you to make multiple small sketches, playing with what you notice. Brief outlines of this and that.
“The best work comes from generating lots of different ideas, not developing just one.
“This afternoon, back at the villa, you can work on painting your best idea.
“Before supper we’ll reconvene to discuss what you’ve come up with.”
“There’s not much to go on,” Charlie muttered.
“Exactly,” Julia jumped in before Charlie expanded her complaints. “This is an exercise in harnessing your inner creativity and observational skills.
“It’s not about painting yet. It’s about your eyes, your senses, your imagination.”
“Any minute now she’s going to mention flip-flops,” Charlie continued as if no-one could hear her.
Julia ignored her thumping heart.
This was exactly the sort of response she’d expected.
This exercise was mostly, if she were honest, targeted at Charlie, and she wanted it to succeed.
“If you wish, go ahead. Draw someone’s shoes,” Julia replied, determined to meet the challenge.
“But with reason and focus.
“Highlight the contrast with the cobbles they’re on, or perhaps they’re flotsam in a flower planter.
“Many talented artists all produce the same Italian scenes.
“Your task is to produce something Italian, but not classically Italian.”
“Can we take photos?” Debbie asked.
“Of course. But I want your emphasis on producing multiple back-of-an-envelope type sketches. No fine details, just broad ideas and impressions.”
Julia looked around.
“Any questions?”
There were a few, but nothing she couldn’t handle.
Some guests were already sketching.
Others started to wander off, looking at this and that.
Julia tried to avoid watching Mark, but an irresistible force intermittently dragged her eyes to his easy-to-view, lean but sculpted frame.
He appeared in his own world, systematically checking the entire square from a point near a statue.
She saw a methodical person, good at detail, and she wondered what he did for a living.
He’d said his doctor had advised this holiday.
She wondered whether his job carried a lot of responsibility and if that was why he’d become so anxious.
Burnout, perhaps – that scourge of middle age.
But why had that left him terrified of fire?
She also suspected she’d seen him before, although couldn’t recall where.
Charlie appeared deep in concentration, sketching the statue.
Julia would have put money on Charlie choosing a classic subject. She’d work on that habit later.
Charlie needed to learn to interpret the statue, not reproduce it faithfully.
To be continued…