of the walls pulled the sea and sky right into the room. Dark mahogany furniture and ceiling fans provided a nice contrast, giving an old-world feeling, cooling the light.
She walked on through the soaring archway into the bedroom, where delicate white flowers in small sparkling glass vases had been placed around the room. Again, the light. The room seemed lit with sunshine—a bright, white light. On a table in the far corner there was a silver ice bucket in which stood a cold bottle of Limoncello , the local aperitif. There was a breeze, and freshly pressed white linen curtains billowed from their ties at each side of the open terrace doors.
She heard the porter leave, closing the door behind him, and then she walked out onto the terrace and into the sunshine and dazzling colors of southern Italy. The terrace, high on the cliff overlooking the town, seemed to jut out over a massive forest of trees below—the tops of the trees just touching the terrace. Overhead white clouds streaked the clear blue sky. Scarlet and purple fuchsia bloomed everywhere, even cascading over the white parapet balcony of the terrace, and purple and yellow and red bougainvillea grew wild in the trees.
There were citrus trees, with fruit hanging from the limbs, and bottle brush and cypress, and smaller flowers springing up, winding everywhere—orange and red and pink and yellow—seeming to explode from thick vines and bushes, peeking out through the larger, darker, greener leaves. And beyond all this were the coastline and the sea and the dancer’s green island, and then nothing further on but the horizon.
Peter came out onto the terrace and stood beside her, taking in the view.
“Beautiful,” she said.
“Like no place else.”
Suddenly fatigued, she rested her hand on Peter’s shoulder. Although it was already late afternoon, a few fishing boats, small enough to be local, still bobbed offshore. She pointed and Peter followed the direction. “Look how the sun catches the nets, that flashing silver way out there?”
“All as advertised.”
“And the water, green close in, then blue.” She turned to look at him. “Can you hear the waves?”
“All I can hear right now is that bed calling. I worked most of the way over. Need a quick nap.” He slipped his arm around her shoulders and she leaned against him. This was the land of dreamy dreams, the land of the lotus. They’d come here to relax. She could forget everything here for a while.
“You coming?”
She smiled. “Yes. I’ll be right in.”
Peter kissed the top of her head and released her, going back inside. Holding onto the top of the parapet, she swung back, stretching her arms, arching her back, and looking up at the sky. She took a long deep breath of the fragrant salt sea air. After a few minutes she turned around and went into the bedroom. Peter was already fast asleep. So she took off her shoes and lay down beside him and fell immediately asleep with her hand unconsciously resting over the little bulge.
The nap helped. But with the time change from the trip and still somewhat fatigued from the long flight and drive from the airport, they decided on an early dinner at the hotel. Since he’d woken up, Peter seemed somewhat distracted, Rebecca thought. She watched him in the mirror as she brushed her hair and he dressed for dinner. Something was bothering him. It was that case he was working with Mac, she knew.
When he stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets jingling change and looking out over the terrace, she put down the brush. “I’m ready,” she said.
He turned and she felt his eyes on her as she walked to the table where she’d left the small purse. She wore an apricot-colored silky slip of a dress that she’d always liked with her long red hair, although still she worried that he would notice the new thickening of her waist. But he merely walked toward her, taking her hand in his and saying that she looked beautiful tonight.
Le Sirenuse was
She walked on through the soaring archway into the bedroom, where delicate white flowers in small sparkling glass vases had been placed around the room. Again, the light. The room seemed lit with sunshine—a bright, white light. On a table in the far corner there was a silver ice bucket in which stood a cold bottle of Limoncello , the local aperitif. There was a breeze, and freshly pressed white linen curtains billowed from their ties at each side of the open terrace doors.
She heard the porter leave, closing the door behind him, and then she walked out onto the terrace and into the sunshine and dazzling colors of southern Italy. The terrace, high on the cliff overlooking the town, seemed to jut out over a massive forest of trees below—the tops of the trees just touching the terrace. Overhead white clouds streaked the clear blue sky. Scarlet and purple fuchsia bloomed everywhere, even cascading over the white parapet balcony of the terrace, and purple and yellow and red bougainvillea grew wild in the trees.
There were citrus trees, with fruit hanging from the limbs, and bottle brush and cypress, and smaller flowers springing up, winding everywhere—orange and red and pink and yellow—seeming to explode from thick vines and bushes, peeking out through the larger, darker, greener leaves. And beyond all this were the coastline and the sea and the dancer’s green island, and then nothing further on but the horizon.
Peter came out onto the terrace and stood beside her, taking in the view.
“Beautiful,” she said.
“Like no place else.”
Suddenly fatigued, she rested her hand on Peter’s shoulder. Although it was already late afternoon, a few fishing boats, small enough to be local, still bobbed offshore. She pointed and Peter followed the direction. “Look how the sun catches the nets, that flashing silver way out there?”
“All as advertised.”
“And the water, green close in, then blue.” She turned to look at him. “Can you hear the waves?”
“All I can hear right now is that bed calling. I worked most of the way over. Need a quick nap.” He slipped his arm around her shoulders and she leaned against him. This was the land of dreamy dreams, the land of the lotus. They’d come here to relax. She could forget everything here for a while.
“You coming?”
She smiled. “Yes. I’ll be right in.”
Peter kissed the top of her head and released her, going back inside. Holding onto the top of the parapet, she swung back, stretching her arms, arching her back, and looking up at the sky. She took a long deep breath of the fragrant salt sea air. After a few minutes she turned around and went into the bedroom. Peter was already fast asleep. So she took off her shoes and lay down beside him and fell immediately asleep with her hand unconsciously resting over the little bulge.
The nap helped. But with the time change from the trip and still somewhat fatigued from the long flight and drive from the airport, they decided on an early dinner at the hotel. Since he’d woken up, Peter seemed somewhat distracted, Rebecca thought. She watched him in the mirror as she brushed her hair and he dressed for dinner. Something was bothering him. It was that case he was working with Mac, she knew.
When he stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets jingling change and looking out over the terrace, she put down the brush. “I’m ready,” she said.
He turned and she felt his eyes on her as she walked to the table where she’d left the small purse. She wore an apricot-colored silky slip of a dress that she’d always liked with her long red hair, although still she worried that he would notice the new thickening of her waist. But he merely walked toward her, taking her hand in his and saying that she looked beautiful tonight.
Le Sirenuse was
Similar Books
