Italian Escape
The location may be more upmarket, but Jenni has hopes that the memories she and Stella make will be just as good
Jenni leaned on the railings of the hotel terrace. An early morning breeze was ruffling the smooth surface of the lake below her, chasing
tiny waves into the shadow of the mountains.
The warm air on her skin was gentle and full of promise.
She sighed with pleasure. Perhaps she and Stella would swim again later, after their boat trip to Malcesine.
It was the first time that Jenni and her daughter had ventured to come on holiday together since Stella had left school.
The trajectories of their busy lives crossed more rarely these days.
Stella had been working round the clock in a busy hospital in Leeds since she qualified as a doctor last summer.
Jenni’s own business was only just recovering from a difficult couple of years.
They had been lucky to snatch this brief escape to Italy together. The last-minute flights to Verona had been too tempting to resist.
Somewhere in the distance, an engine backfired noisily, rousing Jenni from her reverie. She could make out flashes of bright red as an open top car darted in and out of the tunnels in the mountain around the shore.
Lake Garda was famous for its section of the Mille Miglia road race, where vintage cars competed to race from Brescia to Rome and back again. This driver clearly fancied his chances.
Jenni shuddered. The trip in the hire car on steep roads from the airport was not one she was anxious to repeat, despite her bravado in front of Stella. Stopping at red traffic lights seemed to be optional in Italy!
“Are you ready, Mum?” Stella called from the patio door.
Her cheeks were lightly flushed from the sunshine the day before and her long hair had been swept up elegantly into a top knot.
In her crisp white T-shirt and denim shorts, Stella looked more relaxed than Jenni had seen her in ages. A lie-in and a good breakfast had clearly done her the power of good.
“I’ll just pop back to the room for my rucksack,” Jenni assured her, “And then I’ll meet you by reception.”
Minutes later, they were striding down the steep drive of the hotel to the narrow streets below.
Several flights of steps led them into the bustling alleyways of the town, where tourists were being enticed into delicatessens, bars or gift shops.
Each one seemed to sell an infinite variety of products with a lemon scent.
The town of Limone was aptly named for its ancient lemon houses, which shielded the precious fruit from harsh winter frosts in the northern mountains.
Jenni could personally vouch for the limoncello cocktails she and Stella had sampled the night before. Their candlelit walk through the stone columns in the terraced gardens had provided spectacular views at sunset.
The lake looked equally beautiful now on a hot summer morning, its azure waters glinting in the bright light. Jenni needed her sunglasses already.
The ferry to Malcesine zigzagged gently across the lake to the pretty, medieval town. Pastel coloured houses with tiled red rooftops nestled around a striking castle amid the olive groves.
However, it was the slopes of Mount Baldo, towering above them, which Stella wanted to explore. She led the way to the cable car station where a long line of visitors snaked up the stairs.
“Do you think you can endure the queue, Mum?” she asked, pressing an extra bottle of mineral water into Jenni’s hands. “It will be worth it to see the lake from the top.”
“I’m willing if you are,” Jenni replied.
In fact, they had one of their best conversations, swapping more news than they had done in months, as they waited. Jenni had seldom seen Stella so animated. When they finally reached the platform, their excitement increased.
They pressed their faces against the glass as the cable car swung them slowly and silently round and up towards the station near the summit.
Lake Garda spread out its long fingers to the north and south, glittering like a jewel beneath them in the heart of the mountain
ranges.
“It takes your breath away,” Stella murmured. Her awe was audible.
“It’s certainly different from the holidays we took when you were little,” Jenni replied. “All those caravans in Cornwall and soggy campsites in the New Forest. We didn’t have much money in those days.”
“I liked those trips too,” Stella reassured her. “We had a lot of fun.
“It was making memories that counted.”
Jenni nodded in agreement. Their travels had brought them closer, despite frazzled arguments when Stella was a teenager and the unpredictable weather.
The glass doors of the cable car slid open and Stella took her mother’s hand. Together they walked out onto the sunlit Italian summit to explore.
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