surprise, she had come on a complete set of Jane Austen, and her choice had been made. She’d glanced through them, appreciating the beautiful leather bindings, then decided on Mansfield Park, which she hadn’t read since her school days.
The name Valentina Ramontella was inscribed on the flyleaf in an elegant sloping hand, and Emilia, in answer to her tentative enquiry, had told her, with a sigh, that this had been the name of His Excellency’s beloved mother, and these books her particular property.
‘I see.’ Laura touched the signature gently with her forefinger.
‘Well, please assure the Count I’ll take great care of it.’
However tenuous, it was almost a connection between them, she thought as she took the book away.
But, although the hours seemed strangely empty in Alessio’s absence, she was not entirely without companionship as one day stretched endlessly into the next.
Because, to her infinite surprise, Caio had attached himself to her.
He was no longer kept in the courtyard, but she’d come across a reluctant Guillermo taking him for a walk in the garden, on the express orders of his master, he’d told her glumly. Seeing his face, and listening to the little dog’s excited whimpers as he’d strained on the leash to reach her, Laura had volunteered to take over this daily duty—if the Signora agreed.
Even more surprisingly, permission had been ungraciously granted. And, after a couple of days, Caio trotted beside her so obediently, she dispensed with the leash altogether.
He sometimes accompanied her down to the pool, lying under her sun lounger, and sat beside her in the salotto in the evenings as she flexed her rusty fingering on some of the Beethoven sonatas she’d found in bound volumes inside the piano stool. At mealtimes, apart from dinner, he was stationed unobtrusively under her chair, and he’d even joined her on the bed for siesta on a couple of occasions, she admitted guiltily.
‘I see you have acquired a bodyguard,’ was Alessio’s only comment when he encountered them together once, delivered with a faint curl of the mouth.
Watching him walk away, she scooped Caio defensively into her arms. ‘We’re just a couple of pariahs here,’ she murmured to him, and he licked her chin almost wistfully.
But she never took Caio to Paolo’s room, instinct telling this would be too much for the Signora, who had no idea of the scope of her pet’s defection to the enemy.
And I don’t want her to know, Laura thought grimly. I’m
unpopular enough already. I don’t want to be accused of pinching her dog.
On his own admission, Paolo’s cold symptoms had all but
vanished, but he refused to leave his room on the grounds that he was still suffering with his chest.
Laura realised that her impatience with him and her ambiguous situation was growing rapidly and would soon reach snapping point.
These ten-minute stilted visits each evening wouldn’t convince anyone that they were sharing a grand passion, she thought with exasperated derision. And if the Signora was listening at the door, she’d be justified in wagering her diamonds that she’d soon have Beatrice Manzone as a daughter-in-law.
But: ‘You worry too much,’ was Paolo’s casual response to her concern.
Well, if he was satisfied, then why should she quibble? she thought with an inward shrug. He was the paying customer, after all. And found herself grimacing at the thought.
But as she left his room that evening the Signora was waiting for her, her lips stretched in the vinegary smile first encountered in Rome. Still, any calibre of smile was a welcome surprise, Laura thought, tension rising within her.
She was astonished to be told that, as Giacomo would be driving to the village the next morning to collect some special medicine from the pharmacy, she was free to accompany him there, if she wished.
‘You may have some small errands, signorina.’ The older woman’s shrug emphasised their trifling quality. ‘But
The name Valentina Ramontella was inscribed on the flyleaf in an elegant sloping hand, and Emilia, in answer to her tentative enquiry, had told her, with a sigh, that this had been the name of His Excellency’s beloved mother, and these books her particular property.
‘I see.’ Laura touched the signature gently with her forefinger.
‘Well, please assure the Count I’ll take great care of it.’
However tenuous, it was almost a connection between them, she thought as she took the book away.
But, although the hours seemed strangely empty in Alessio’s absence, she was not entirely without companionship as one day stretched endlessly into the next.
Because, to her infinite surprise, Caio had attached himself to her.
He was no longer kept in the courtyard, but she’d come across a reluctant Guillermo taking him for a walk in the garden, on the express orders of his master, he’d told her glumly. Seeing his face, and listening to the little dog’s excited whimpers as he’d strained on the leash to reach her, Laura had volunteered to take over this daily duty—if the Signora agreed.
Even more surprisingly, permission had been ungraciously granted. And, after a couple of days, Caio trotted beside her so obediently, she dispensed with the leash altogether.
He sometimes accompanied her down to the pool, lying under her sun lounger, and sat beside her in the salotto in the evenings as she flexed her rusty fingering on some of the Beethoven sonatas she’d found in bound volumes inside the piano stool. At mealtimes, apart from dinner, he was stationed unobtrusively under her chair, and he’d even joined her on the bed for siesta on a couple of occasions, she admitted guiltily.
‘I see you have acquired a bodyguard,’ was Alessio’s only comment when he encountered them together once, delivered with a faint curl of the mouth.
Watching him walk away, she scooped Caio defensively into her arms. ‘We’re just a couple of pariahs here,’ she murmured to him, and he licked her chin almost wistfully.
But she never took Caio to Paolo’s room, instinct telling this would be too much for the Signora, who had no idea of the scope of her pet’s defection to the enemy.
And I don’t want her to know, Laura thought grimly. I’m
unpopular enough already. I don’t want to be accused of pinching her dog.
On his own admission, Paolo’s cold symptoms had all but
vanished, but he refused to leave his room on the grounds that he was still suffering with his chest.
Laura realised that her impatience with him and her ambiguous situation was growing rapidly and would soon reach snapping point.
These ten-minute stilted visits each evening wouldn’t convince anyone that they were sharing a grand passion, she thought with exasperated derision. And if the Signora was listening at the door, she’d be justified in wagering her diamonds that she’d soon have Beatrice Manzone as a daughter-in-law.
But: ‘You worry too much,’ was Paolo’s casual response to her concern.
Well, if he was satisfied, then why should she quibble? she thought with an inward shrug. He was the paying customer, after all. And found herself grimacing at the thought.
But as she left his room that evening the Signora was waiting for her, her lips stretched in the vinegary smile first encountered in Rome. Still, any calibre of smile was a welcome surprise, Laura thought, tension rising within her.
She was astonished to be told that, as Giacomo would be driving to the village the next morning to collect some special medicine from the pharmacy, she was free to accompany him there, if she wished.
‘You may have some small errands, signorina.’ The older woman’s shrug emphasised their trifling quality. ‘But
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