Читать книгу Powerful Italian, Penniless Housekeeper - India Grey - Страница 8

SARAH woke with a start and sat up, her heart hammering.

Over the last few weeks she had got quite familiar with the sensation of waking up to a pillow wet with tears, but this was more than that. The duvet that she had kicked off was soaked and the cotton shirt she was sleeping in—one of the striped city shirts that Rupert had left at her flat—was damp against her skin. It was dark. Too dark. The glow of light from the landing had gone out and, blinking into the blackness, Sarah heard the sound of cascading water. It was raining.

Hard.

Inside.

A fat drop of water landed on her shoulder and ran down the front of her shirt. Jumping up from the low camp-bed, she groped for the light switch and flicked it. Nothing happened. It was too dark to see anything but instinctively she tilted her face up to try to look at the ceiling, and another drop of water hit her squarely between the eyes. She swore quietly and succinctly.

‘Mummy,’ Lottie murmured from the bed. ‘I heard that. That’s ten pence for the swear box.’ Sarah heard the rustle of bedclothes as Lottie sat up, and then said in a small, uncertain voice, ‘Mummy, everything is wet.’

Sarah made an effort to keep her own tone casual, as if water cascading through the ceiling in the middle of the night was something tedious but perfectly normal. ‘The roof seems to be leaking. Come on. Let’s find you some dry pyjamas and go and see what’s happening.’

Holding Lottie’s hand, Sarah felt her way out onto the landing and felt her way gingerly along the wall in what she hoped she was remembering correctly as the direction of the stairs.

‘Please can we switch the light on?’ Lottie’s whisper had a distinct wobble. ‘It’s so dark. I don’t like it.’

‘The water must have made the lights go out. Don’t worry, darling, it’s nothing to be afraid of. I’m sure—’

At that moment loud shrieks from the direction of Angelica’s room made it clear that she had just become aware of the crisis. Then the door burst open and there was a sudden and dramatic increase in the volume of her wailing. ‘Oh, God—wake up, everyone! There’s water pouring through the roof!’

Lottie’s grip tightened on Sarah’s hand as she picked up on the hysteria in her aunt’s voice. ‘We know,’ said Sarah struggling to keep her irritation at bay. ‘Let’s just keep calm while we find out what’s going on.’

But Angelica only did calm if it came expensively packaged in the context of a luxury spa. Fenella appeared beside her, ghostly in the gloom, and the two of them clung together, sobbing.

‘Darlings, what on earth has happened?’ As she joined them Martha’s drawl was faintly indignant. ‘I thought I’d fallen asleep in the bath by mistake. Everything’s soaking.’

‘Must be a problem with the roof,’ Sarah said wearily. ‘Mum, you look after Lottie. Angelica, where would I find a torch?’

‘How should I know?’ Angelica wailed. ‘That’s Hugh’s department, not mine. Oh, God, why isn’t he here? Or Daddy. They’d know what to do.’

‘I know what to do,’ said Sarah through gritted teeth as she made her way towards the stairs. Because that was what happened when you didn’t have a man around to do everything for you; you developed something called independence. ‘I’m going to find a torch and then I’m going to go out and see what’s wrong with the roof.’

‘Don’t be silly—you can’t possibly go climbing up onto the roof in this weather,’ snapped Angelica.

‘Darling, she’s right,’ said Martha. ‘It’s really not a good idea.’

‘Well, let me know the minute you have a better one,’ Sarah called back grimly. The dark house was filled with the ominous sound of trickling water and her feet splashed through puddles on the tiled floor of the kitchen as she searched for Hugh’s expensive and unused collection of tools.

Amongst them was a small torch. Flicking it on, Sarah let its thin beam wander around the walls and felt her heart sink. Water was dripping from the ceiling and running down the walls in rivulets, just like the ones streaming down the window panes outside. The patio doors shed squares of opaque grey light over the wet floor. She opened them and stepped outside.

It was like walking into the shower fully clothed. Or maybe not quite fully clothed, she thought, glancing down at Rupert’s striped shirt. Within seconds it was soaked and clinging to her, which at least meant that she couldn’t get any wetter. Shaking her hair back from her face, blinking against the teeming rain, she sucked in a breath and forced herself to walk further out into the downpour, holding the torch up and pointing it in the direction of the roof.

The low pitch of the single-storey roof was easy to see, but the torch’s weak light showed up nothing that would explain the disaster unfolding inside.

‘Sarah—you’re soaked! Darling, come in.’ Her mother had appeared in the doorway, a raincoat over her elegant La Perla nightdress, an umbrella shielding her from the rain. ‘We’re way out of our depth here. Angelica and Fenella have taken Lottie with them to get help from the yummy man next door.’

Sarah directed the torchlight higher to the spine of the roof, squinting against the rain. ‘But it’s the middle of the night. You can’t just appear on someone’s doorstep at this hour.’

‘Darling, we’re damsels very much in distress,’ Martha yelled above the noise of the rain, collapsing the umbrella as she retreated indoors. ‘This is an emergency. We can hardly wait until morning—we need to be rescued now.’

‘Speak for yourself,’ muttered Sarah disgustedly under her breath, dragging over one of the patio chairs so she could stand on it. Clamping the torch between her teeth, she used the drainpipe to hoist herself onto the low roof.

The tiles were rough beneath her bare knees, but they felt firm enough. Cautiously, shaking dripping hair from her eyes, she stood up, freeing her hands to hold the torch again. The roof sloped gently upwards to the main part of the house, and she carefully climbed higher, the dim beam of light wobbling erratically over the glistening terracotta tiles in front of her. They were uneven and bumpy but none seemed to be missing. Sarah directed the torch to the highest point, where the kitchen roof joined the wall. There seemed to be a gap…

At that moment she heard voices below and the wet blackness was suddenly flooded with blinding white light. Sarah gave a gasp of shock and, lifting her hands to shield her eyes from the glare, she accidentally let the torch slip from her grasp. She heard it clattering down the roof as she struggled to keep her balance on the slippery tiles.

‘Bloody hell!’

‘Stay there. Don’t move.’

The light was shining right up at her, making it impossible to see anything beyond the silver streams of rain in its dazzling arc. Staggering backwards, she squinted into its beam, instinctively trying to see the owner of the deep, gravelly Italian voice while simultaneously peeling the soaking shirt from her wet thighs and bending her knees in an attempt to make it cover as much of her as possible.

‘I said, keep still. Unless, of course, you want to kill yourself.’

‘Right now I’m tempted,’ Sarah muttered grimly, ‘given that

I’m half-naked and you’re shining a spotlight on me. Could you possibly just turn that light off?’

‘And if I do that, how are you going to see to get down from there?’ He didn’t have to raise his voice above the noise of the rain. It was rich and deep enough to need no projection.

‘I was managing all right until you came.’

‘Meaning you hadn’t broken your neck yet. What the hell did you think you were doing, going up there in this weather?’

Sarah gave a snort of exasperation. ‘God, you sound just like my mother. Can I just point out that I wouldn’t be up here in any other kind of weather, since I’m trying to find out where the water’s coming in. Up there I think I can see a—’

‘On second thoughts, I don’t really want to know,’ he interrupted, and Sarah clearly heard the exasperation in his tone. ‘I just want you to come very slowly towards the edge of the roof.’

‘Are you mad?’ She pushed dripping tendrils of hair back from her wet face. ‘Why?’

‘Because I know there’ll be a joist there that will support your weight.’

‘Oh, thanks a lot! Would this be a special steel-reinforced—?’

‘Sarah, just do it.’

Hearing him say her name detonated a tiny explosion of shock in her abdomen that stopped her dead for a moment. Her mouth opened, though it was a couple of seconds before she was actually able to speak.

‘How do I know I can trust you?’ she said sulkily, squinting into the dazzling light, wishing she could see him. ‘You could be anyone.’

‘You don’t, and I could, but now’s not really the time for lengthy introductions. Let’s just say that my name is Lorenzo, and right now I’m all that’s standing between you and a very nasty fall.’

His voice was doing things to her. Inconvenient things, given her position. Irritation fizzed inside her. ‘I don’t mean to be rude when we’ve only just met, Lorenzo, but you’re building your part up just a little bit. I’m not stupid, you know—I did check before I got up here that it was safe. The roof hardly slopes at all and the tiles are fixed down properly—’

Sarah took a step towards the edge and as she did so felt the tile beneath her foot crack and give way suddenly. She let out a sharp cry of anguish, her arms windmilling madly as she tried to keep her balance.

Suddenly she was afraid.

‘It’s OK. You’re all right.’

‘That’s easy for you to say,’ she gasped with a slightly wild laugh. ‘You’re not the one who’s about to crash through the roof and end up on the kitchen table.’ She closed her eyes for a second, waiting for the adrenaline that was pumping through her and making her feel shaky and unsteady to subside.

‘That’s not going to happen.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because I’m not going to let it.’ The beam of light swung away from her and she shivered in the sudden darkness. But a moment later he spoke again, and his voice was closer now.

‘I can’t do this and hold the torch, so you’re going to have to listen very carefully and do what I say. OK?’

‘OK.’ Her voice sounded small and quiet. But perhaps it was just because her heart was suddenly beating very loudly, making the blood pound in her ears. The torch was on the ground far below, its powerful beam cutting through the indigo darkness and turning the rain on Angelica and Hugh’s limestone patio into pools of mercury. Up here it seemed very dark.

‘Come carefully towards the edge of the roof and stop when I tell you.’

Sarah did as he said, letting out another whimper of fear as she felt another tile crack. Rain was running down her face, making her eyes sting. She closed them.

‘That’s it. Stop there,’ he ordered, and although his voice was harsh there was a peculiar intimacy to it. ‘Now, reach out your arms. I’m going to lift you down.’

‘No! You can’t! I’m too heavy, I’ll…’

But the rest of her protest was lost as she felt one arm circle her waist, and then she was being pulled against his body.

Through the thin layer of their wet clothes she could feel the warmth of his skin, his hard-muscled chest. Instinctively her hands found his shoulders, and even through her shock and fear she was aware of their power. Heat suddenly erupted inside her, tingling through her chilled body.

‘Thank you,’ she muttered, trying to pull quickly away from him as her feet made contact with something solid. Instantly the world tilted and her stomach gave a sickening lurch as she felt herself falling and realised she had just stepped off the edge of the table they were standing on. He grabbed her again, pulling her back into the safety of his arms.

‘I’m beginning to think you have a death wish,’ he said grimly, sweeping her legs from under her and holding her against him as he climbed down from the table in one fluid movement.

‘If I did I could think of more elegant ways to end it all than falling off a roof while wearing nothing but my nightie. Now, please, put me down.’

‘The gravel is sharp and you’ve got no shoes on.’

‘I’m fine. I can manage. Please…’ she said, miserably aware that by now his back was probably groaning with bearing the weight of her. Although he certainly showed no sign of noticing that she was heavier than your average feather pillow. Against her ear his breathing was perfectly slow and steady, and his pace easy. It didn’t slow at all at her words either, she noticed with a thud of alarm and helpless excitement as they rounded the corner of the house and he made straight for the hulking shape of a large 4x4 that loomed out of the darkness. ‘Where are you taking me, anyway?’

‘Home.’

‘Look, stop, please. And let me go!’

He sighed. ‘If that’s really what you want…’

Unreasonable disappointment shafted through her as he set her down on the wet gravel and stood back. She wobbled slightly as the sharp stones cut into her feet. Out of the warmth of his arms, she realised how cold she was.

‘It is,’ she said and hoped that the sudden feeling of uncertainty about that wasn’t evident in her voice. ‘Look, it’s very kind of you to help, but we’ll be fine here until morning. We’ve never even met before and there are five of us here, so—’

‘Actually, you’re wrong.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, for a start, your family are already there, at Castellaccio.’

‘What? But they can’t…we can’t…possibly descend on you. It’s out of the question-we’ll manage fine here.’

‘Funny. That wasn’t what your sister said. Or her friend— Fenella, was it?’

Bloody Fenella. Her words from earlier echoed mockingly around Sarah’s head. He sounds delish. I wouldn’t mind getting on the right side of him…Of course, never in a million years would she pass up the opportunity to get a foot in the door of a film director’s luxury palazzo. Limping as quickly as she could after Lorenzo Cavalleri, it wasn’t just the sharp gravel beneath Sarah’s bare feet that made her wince.

He reached the car and pulled open the door. A small light inside went on and she felt her heart stop, and then start again with a painful thump as she caught a fleeting glimpse of hard cheekbone and sharp jawline darkened with stubble before he melted back into the darkness and went around to the other side of the car.

For a moment he had reminded her of the man in the pub that night. The man who had kissed her. But of course that was ridiculous; he was Italian, and male—that was where the coincidence ended. Getting into the car, she quickly did up her seat belt and, as he got into the driver’s seat beside her, deliberately turned her head and looked out into the wet night.

She could hardly remember what he looked like anyway, she told herself crossly. Because it was unimportant. He was unimportant.

‘First thing tomorrow I’ll get a decent local builder to come and have a look at the roof and then hopefully we can get it sorted out,’ she said stiffly as he started the engine.

‘You know many decent local builders?’

‘No, but I’m guessing that any local builder would be better than the idiots that Hugh and Angelica brought over from London. God knows what they’ve done.’

‘My guess is they’ve put the tiles on upside down. Tuscan roof tiles curve slightly, and it appears they’ve laid them so that the water flows right down between the gaps. If I’m right the whole roof will need redoing.’

Sarah groaned. ‘Oh, God, but the wedding’s the day after tomorrow. I’ll have to think of something.’

There was a slight pause, and then he said quietly, ‘Why is it your responsibility?’

Sarah stared through the silvery lines of rain on the window.

‘You’ve met Angelica and my mother. They’re each as hopeless as the other, and we can’t wait until Hugh and Guy get here if it’s going to be sorted out before the wedding.’

‘Hugh I’ve met, but who’s Guy?’

The windscreen wipers beat a steady tattoo, like a heartbeat in the womb-like interior of the car, and warm air from the heater curled around her, making her chilled skin tingle. She felt suddenly very, very tired and leaned her head back against the soft leather seat, closing her eyes. ‘Guy’s my stepfather. Angelica’s father. He’s the kind of person who makes things happen and gets things done—especially for Angelica, but I suspect that re-roofing an entire house in under twenty-four hours is beyond even his capability.’

‘You don’t get on with him?’

‘Oh, I do. You couldn’t not. He’s charming, witty, extremely generous…’

‘But?’

She was dimly aware that the car had come to a standstill, but he didn’t turn the engine off. Below the throb of the engine she could hear the rain pattering on the roof, and it made her feel oddly safe and protected. Or maybe it was this man that made her feel like that—this stranger, Lorenzo Cavalleri. For a moment she thought back to how it had felt to be in his arms when he had rescued her from the roof. The strength that she had sensed in him, that was more than just a matter of hard muscle…

She sat up abruptly and opened her eyes, feeling for the door handle.

Rescued her.

Uh-uh. She didn’t need to be rescued. She didn’t ask for it and she didn’t want it. She could cope perfectly well without a man, and she wasn’t going to make the mistake of letting her hormones rule her head again. Not after Rupert. Not after the man in The Rose and Crown that night. Perhaps she should ring Italian Accents Anonymous.

‘He’s not my father, that’s all,’ she said abruptly, pushing the door open and getting out of the car. The shock of the cold rain on her newly warmed skin was almost a relief.

Small world, thought Lorenzo, getting out of the car and walking round to where she waited by the palazzo’s double front doors. He felt a smile touch his mouth as he looked at her. She was standing perfectly still, perfectly straight, almost as if she was oblivious to the rain that was plastering her hair to her head and running down her face. Most women he knew would be horrified at the idea of being so thoroughly drenched—like her sister, for example, who had insisted on an umbrella being found before she would even make a dash for the car back at the farmhouse.

‘The door’s not locked. Please, go in.’

She didn’t move. ‘Look, I’m sorry about this,’ she said as Lorenzo moved past her, pushing open the door. ‘Really. It doesn’t seem right. We don’t even know you. Maybe we should just go and—’

The light from the hallway spilled out into the wet night. Standing back to let her go ahead of him, he saw her blink in the sudden brightness, and then watched her eyes widen, her lips part in silent shock as realisation hit her.

Her hand flew to her mouth, colour blooming in her rainshiny cheeks as she took a couple of steps backwards into the darkness. Lorenzo reached out and grabbed her wrist, pulling her into the hallway.

‘You’re not going anywhere,’ he said softly. ‘Not this time.’