Learning to Dance Again by Frankie Valente Page B

be a pleasant change for you.’
    Julia grinned at him as she got in the passenger seat.
    ‘Just a bit.’
    Tony started the engine and they set off along the busy street towards the town centre and then took a sharp turn towards the mountains that rose up almost immediately from the edge of the town.
    A cooling breeze ruffled Julia’s hair and she rested her arm on the edge of the door.
    ‘How was your journey here?’ Tony asked.
    ‘Well apart from nearly getting a fifty euro fine for not validating my train ticket, it wasn’t bad. And I’m a little bit tired now after getting up at five this morning.’
    ‘Well you have a whole month to get over that. I’ve never had anyone staying that long before. Most people come for just a week or two. What prompted you to come over here for so long?’
    Julia paused for a moment, wondering whether to tell him the truth or to find some more palatable explanation. She had no idea how much contact she would have with her landlor d.
    ‘It’ s my fiftieth birthday this month, and I really didn’t feel much like celebrating it, so I decided to run away to Sicily and hide away from the world.’
    ‘ That’s a bit drastic. You don’t look that old; why are you so fed up about turning fifty?
    ‘ Well,’ Julia sighed, ‘the truth is, my husband died in April and I’ve been sitting around the house ever since, getting more and more fed up. I decided I might as well be miserable in the sun.’
    ‘Ah, I see. I’m sorry to hear tha t. My wife died five years ago so I know how you feel. Well, I can certainly promise you some sunshine, and I hope it makes you feel a little less miserable.’
    ‘Did it work for you?’
    ‘Not really; no.’
    Tony smiled conspiratorially at her as they stopped at a junction and waited for a gap in the traffic.
    ‘What brought you to Sicily? You’re English aren’t you?’
    ‘My wi fe was Italian. Eleonora taught English at the University in Palermo; but we met in London while she was still studying.'
    ‘I see. So what do you do?’
    ‘I’m a writer; so I can pretty much work where I like.’
    ‘What kind of writing do you do?’
    ‘Crime novels mostly.’
    Julia turned to look at him; she was picturing the bookshelf in her bedroom. There were a number of novels sitting on the shelves that Duncan had enjoyed reading, and she had an image of one of them in her head.
    ‘Don’t tell me you’re Anthony Hugo who wrote In Too Deep ?’
    ‘That’s me,’ he replied, looking faintly embarrassed.
    ‘Duncan used to read your books. We have some at home. I haven’t read any of them though, sorry. Wow, I can’t believe it. Duncan would have been thrilled to have met you.’
    ‘Thank you. I’ m sorry I didn’t get to meet him too. I don’t meet many people who have read my books any more. I don’t do book tours these days. My publisher gets pissed off with me, but since Eleonora died, I can’t be arsed to leave Sicily much. I don’t have many reasons to go back to the UK. My parents died years ago, and my son and daughter live in Italy. They’re both at University in Rome.’
    They were driving down a very narrow lane lined with trees and giant cactus plants. Tony slowed the car and turned into a driveway and stopped in front of a wrought iron gate. He picked up a remote control from a compartment on the dashboard and pointed it at a control on the gatepost. The gate swung open slowly and they carried on up the long shady driveway until the villa came into view.
    An old and battered blue Fiat Panda was parked on the driveway next to a white scooter. Tony parked the car and got out and opened up the boot. He took out Julia’s suitcase and led the way to the side of the main house.
    Julia followed, feeling a quiver of excitement at seeing where she would be spending the next few weeks. At the back of the villa there was an open view of the sea. Julia hadn’t appreciated how high up the side of the mountain they had driven; it hadn’t