Sign of the Times Read Online Free PDF Page B

missing.   She vowed to ask the signora’s advice.

    The pièce de resistance was the tiramisu .   Sig.a Tagliaferri revealed it had taken only five minutes to make.   It was like heaven to Holly’s taste buds.   They rounded off the meal with a selection of cheeses.   Holly was replete.   The wine which Giampiero had recommended had gone down a treat.   The evening continued until they were all sated and slightly sozzled.   Holly was glowing, partly from the red wine, but mainly because she really enjoyed being in Italy and in the company of Italians.   Swaying slightly, she bid them goodnight.   Today she had felt like one of the family, exchanging escapades and imparting tales. She flopped onto her bed and was asleep in seconds.

    Her dreams were confused.   One moment Tom was there, her knight in shining armour, the next Dario was alongside Tom, replacing him in his vintage sports car.   Holly wasn’t sure if Dario had a sports car, vintage or otherwise.   For all she knew he drove a Fiat 126.   No, he wouldn’t drive that kind of car, not with such a house.   Maybe he was a Ferrari man.   Holly awoke feeling more heady than when she’d gone to bed and she was pretty sure that it wasn’t all down to alcohol.

    As she had slept late, Holly passed on breakfast, hungry to go out and get some ammunition for her novel.   She spent the next few days visiting Sistina, Stia and Chiusi la Verna.The audio tour of Poppi castle impressed her.   She also purchased some of the Lamponi la Verna , a raspberry alcoholic drink distilled by the monks at the monastery at La Verna.
    Guido and Emilio showed her the surrounding area.   They introduced her to Zita who ran the salumeria, where the Tagliaferris bought their cold meats.   Zita was ninety.    It was customary to spend thirty minutes in Zita’s when you had only gone in for a hundred grams of prosciutto.   Like the chess players and Giampiero, she knew everything about everyone.   Whether it was how Carlo’s goat was coming along, or that Natalia had been spotted in Arezzo with Sig.a Lazzerini’s husband having lunch, or that Alfonso’s nephew had graduated from an English university, they kept the gossip moving.   Emilio even let Holly ride the tractor, so she could experience life in the fields first hand.   Her hand flew over the paper as she took page after page of notes.   Guido and Emilio seemed to have resigned themselves to not being Holly’s type and had become good friends.
    Today Holly had decided she would go to the market, to see what fare they sold.   The signora told her to try the home-made pastries stall which Pina ran.   Holly was eager to set off as she didn’t want to miss out by arriving late.

    The market was already thronged with people, some milling around chatting, others perusing the wares on the various stalls.   Holly passed the butcher’s stall, where fresh duck and chicken vied for pride of place among the venison and veal.   Moving on, she came to one of several fruit and veg stalls, where she spotted the fichi d’india she’d tasted for the first time a few days ago.   They looked rather different in their raw state.   Everything looked larger, juicier, more misshapen – no European directives had affected these, she thought.   As she turned away from the stall, a shadow flitted past.   She stood stock still and stared.    She could’ve sworn that was Dario.   Was she going mad?   Had she been thinking of him so much, she’d even managed to conjure him up.   Giving herself a shake, she moved on to the next stall.
    Holly pottered through the remainder of the market.   The sun beat down mercilessly from its pole position.   She came across a stall which sold fans and although she didn’t quite fit the pre-requisite ninety years of age, she bought herself one anyway. As she rested against the edge of a stall, fanning herself with her new purchase, she saw the man again.   Practically launching