He nodded. ‘Yeah, quite a dramatic scene where Mrs MacDonald, the governess, goes running about wildly, looking for Emily as night’s falling and then finally discovers her on top of a high cliff.’
Emma snapped her fingers. ‘Bingo! Let’s go and see if this narrow bridge could fit the bill instead of the cliff.’ She turned back to Marina. ‘Any other ideas for today?’
‘Cesare suggests going right up to the top of the valley in the high mountains – there’s a little restaurant there where we can have lunch. Sound good?’
‘That sounds great. And it’ll give us a chance to get some mountain shots for background.’ Emma nodded approvingly. ‘And maybe on the way back down we can check out this hotel. I think it could be right for the film. It exudes a sort of fin-de-siècle charm.’ She turned to Cesare and summoned her best Italian.
‘Please do you know the history of this hotel, Cesare?’ Beside her she registered Marina’s surprise at hearing her speak Italian.
‘Yes, signora, it was built in about 1910 and it has had some illustrious guests over the years, from the owners of FIAT to the Italian royal family, and even Mussolini. It was ahead of its time in that it was one of the very first hotels in Italy where every bedroom had its own private bathroom.’
He was speaking slowly and Emma was delighted to find that she understood all of this, so she turned to translate it to Rich. ‘That’s good news. It would have been newly built only a few years before the time of our movie and was very posh in its day. We should absolutely include it. We’ll take a load of shots inside and out when we come back down the valley.’
* * *
The gorge with the bridge was perfect and the setting, with the clear waters of the rushing river far below and the mountain peaks above was exactly the sort of place Emma felt sure would lend itself to the film. The remarkably narrow bridge was strung high above the roaring waters of the river. A fine mist of spray hung over a waterfall below and, as the rays of the sun caught it, little miniature rainbows danced in the light. Emma could almost see the hauntingly beautiful Laney Travers, wearing a long skirt, leaning against the handrail, high above the gorge, sobbing forlornly as her old governess fussed around her. She took a load of photos with the very slick camera provided by the studio and instructed Rich to do the same, just to be on the safe side.
From there they carried on up the valley, climbing steadily, until they emerged into the head of the valley. This was a wide flat-bottomed bowl ringed by walls of rock towering high above them into the snowline. A sign indicated that the altitude down here was just short of 2,000 metres and she could see the peaks above were way higher than that.
The broad floor of the plateau was covered with masses of white and pink wild flowers and a huge flock of sheep were happily filling up on the rich Alpine grass, while their shepherd and his massive shaggy hound kept watch. A river meandered through the middle, the pools of water along its banks framed by clumps of tall-stemmed yellow flowers. The road ran along one side and, following Cesare’s instructions, Marina parked among a handful of other cars and they got out. Coming from the heat of Turin, the drop in temperature was palpable, and welcome.
‘We’re having lunch there.’ Cesare pointed up the slope to one side and they saw a fine stone and wooden chalet. ‘That’s the rifugio and it’s open every day of the year – even when the only way to get up here is on skis or in a snowmobile. It’s only a ten-minute walk from here and the food’s good, I can assure you.’
Emma grabbed a jumper from the car just in case, but the sun and the climb soon warmed her. It was a wonderful feeling to find herself out in the clean, unpolluted mountain air, surrounded by nature rather than concrete. She had got so used to the haze of LA and the incessant growl of traffic that it came as a refreshing change to realise that all she could hear were their footsteps and distant bells. As they walked up the winding road, the view up into the high peaks grew ever more impressive and she knew this would also make a terrific backdrop to a scene in the movie.
Alongside her, Marina was keen to know more about the movie. ‘So why’s the main character thinking of committing suicide?’
Emma shook her head. ‘She’s not really. She’s just so depressed that her governess fears the worst. She’s unhappy to have been separated from her friends and packed off to Italy even though she’s secretly been dreaming of visiting Italy all her life. As the movie progresses, she gradually gets over her depression and starts smiling again.’
‘Is that because she meets a man by any chance?’ Marina was grinning.
Emma smiled back. ‘But of course. Dreaming of Italy is a romance after all.’
Over a tasty lunch of polenta with a rich game stew, Cesare told them all about the area, and Emma listened in fascination. There were paths that led from there over the mountains into France, climbing to almost three thousand metres in places. These had been used for centuries by smugglers and, as recently as the Second World War, by people trying to escape either from or into France. The area was now a National Park but, back at the start of the twentieth century it would have been popular with hunters, out to bag themselves a wild goat, or camoscio, or the even rarer stambecco, the elusive wild ibex with huge curved horns, the heads of some of which studded the walls of the rifugio. Emma typed a query, Hunters? into her phone. An image of austere gentlemen in plus-four trousers and tweed jackets accompanied by ladies in long skirts holding parasols to protect their porcelain skin came to mind and she resolved to suggest it to JM in her report.
It was a very enjoyable day and by the time they drove back down to the Grand Hotel, Emma felt confident they had made a very auspicious start. The hotel itself was duly photographed inside and out and Emma had a chat in English with the charming lady at the check-in desk, who understandably expressed considerable interest in the possibility of having her establishment featured in a blockbuster movie. Emma was able to tick the Cooperation box on that one and file it away for her final report.
They shook hands with Cesare and thanked him for his help before driving back down the valley once more. Marina, ever-organised, was already thinking about tomorrow.
‘Have you got all the photos you need as far as the mountains are concerned, Emma?’
‘Yes, I do believe I have, thanks to you and Cesare.’
‘Does that mean we head for the coast tomorrow? I need to firm up the hotel bookings.’
Emma decided to involve Rich in the decision. ‘What do you think, Rich? Shall we move on?’
He gave her a little grin. ‘You’re the boss, Emma, but I reckon we got the mountains pretty well covered today.’
‘Right, then, Marina, we head for the coast tomorrow.’ A thought occurred to her. ‘Is there anything we should visit on the way?’
‘I’ve been thinking about that. How does a brief detour into the vineyards around Asti sound? That’s one of the main wine producing areas of Italy where they make Barolo and Barbera and many other iconic Italian wines. It would most certainly have been functioning back in the early twentieth century.’
Chapter 5
The rolling hills around Alba and Asti, covered with a regular patchwork of vines, were charming, and Emma took ever more photos, particularly when they visited an old winery which had been operating in the same charming old stone building for over two hundred years. She had spent the previous evening with Rich going through the photos they had taken and filing away the best for the final report. She had been impressed at the skill and artistic talent of his photography and she had to admit that many of his photos were better than hers. She added this observation to the confidential report she was composing on him, as she felt pretty sure his father would want to quiz her about Rich’s performance. So far, so good, was her opinion at this early stage – give or take a bit of trouble getting him out of bed in the morning.