Romance In Tuscany

I have just returned from a Roman holiday, well, a Tuscan holiday to be more precise, although I did technically land in Rome...but I digress. This story begins the night before l left for Italy. As fate would have it, my flight, which was meant to depart earlier that day, had been cancelled and I was delayed for 24-hours. Remembering that I had been invited to a Great Gatsby party I was not overly dismayed. Rapidly I donned by best 1930s flapper costume, called a group of friends and we shimmied our way down to the house over on Point Grey Road.

The evening, full of champagne and under-cooked barbeque, was also replete with handsome men in navy blazers and wonderfully vintage chapeaus. Long dangling pearls and stiletto heels complemented the decadent tone of the soiree and before I knew what was happening I was deep in conversation in Spanish, French and English, all with the same man. With a lovely French accent, Pierre de la Compagne stood tall and strong at 6'4''. In his white cap and v-neck cream coloured cashmere sweater, he looked like Gatsby himself. As our conversation progressed, I found my mind becoming more and more intrigued by who this gentleman was. Without thinking, and after having imbibed one too many cocktails, I heard myself casually invite him to meet me in Tuscany for the weekend. Almost as if on cue and without missing a beat Pierre responded that he would be delighted. I mentioned that although I did not have a business card with me, he could easily Google search "social clubs in Vancouver" which would lead to Campoverde, which would of course lead directly to me. I did not believe for a moment that he would remember these instructions or take me seriously about the invitation.

But just to be certain, when I arrived in the medieval city of Siena the following day, the first thing I did was check my e-mail. And there it was. Pierre's itinerary for arrival o Siena, in black and white. My heart skipped a beat. "What have I done?!" came the voice in my head, screaming. All of the doubts of inviting a perfect stranger half-way aournd the world came rushing in. "What if he is horrible? You don't even know anything about him. You don't even remember what he looks like! He must be a complete lunatic to travel so far for two-days!" The voice just would not let up. Then came the other voice, the more dangerous of the two. What if he is your perfect match? The love of your life? Maybe he is the man of your dreams. He speaks the same languages you do, loves to travel, is spontaneous, clearly successful. He must be for you!" By the time I reached my hotel room my head was spinning. Then came a knock at the door.

"Rachel?" came my friend James's voice from the other side of the thick wood. James bounced in, full of news of plans and adventures we were about to embark upon. He exclaimed, "I have terrific news! My friend is going to join us for the weekend" to which I countered, "Funny that. A friend of mine is going to come along as well." When he saw the twinkle in my eye he knew something was up. "Do tell!" I didn't have much to share. "Oh, just this fellow I met yesterday at a party in Vancouver" I smiled. James started to laugh. "Well, we are moving to a small farmhouse in the middle of nowhere in Tuscany. If this gent manages to locate you, he passes the first test."

For the next two days my emotion went from anxious to excited and back. I Google searched Pierre without much luck. Since we didn't have any mutual friends who could send me information I had to console myself by remembering it was only 48-hours to spend together.

Friday arrived, sunny, warm and smelling of possibility. I received a text message: "On my way. Have rented a car in Florence. ETA 90 mins." I decided a good swim in the pool would be bestto calm my nerves. I journaled, tidied the farmhouse, made some fresh coffee, changed outfits about three times, tidied again, fully conscious that over two and a half hours had passed and there was still no sign of Pierre. Off I went to find my phone. "1 New Message" the screen read. "Am lost in Tuscany. Have now purchased road map. ETA 30 mins." My stomach tightened. Maybe this is a sign. Perhaps this was a very bad idea after all. Maybe I have seen too many movies, read too much Jane Austen. Am I daft?

As I sat chastising myself and looking out over the vineyards, I heard the distinct sound of rubber tires on pebbles. A car was descending the long gravel road from the main highway. "Right then, here we go" I said, bracing myself for the worst as I stood on my high-fashioned, wedged heeled Italian shoes. I carefully climbed the stone steps to the driveway. As I turned the corne, Pierre was getting outof thecar. Our eyes locked and a huge grin passed from his face over tho mine. He purposefully storde over to where I stood and kissed me lightly on both cheeks. "Fancy meeting you here" he murmured. "Yes, what a delighful surprise" I countered. As I led him down th sopes to the farmhouse entrance under the warm Tuscan sun surrounded by vineyards a wonderful sense of peace and happiness washed over me. James poked his head out the door and said to us, "Welcome home! Coffee?"