Читать книгу Dreams Of Tuscany - Kate Fitzroy - Страница 9

CHAPTER TWO

Back once more at the office, Zoe made herself the coffee she had refused at the restaurant. She needed the caffeine to help her through the rest of the day. She sorted listlessly through some files of properties and made a selection to take with her in case the Partridge couple found the mill house not to their liking. She still had half an hour to kill before she needed to leave to meet them. She idly turned on the computer and scrolled through her in-box of emails. The list was long and she was only halfway through when the door flew open and Paolo, in his usual way, burst into the office.

‘Ciao, bellissima – come stai? How you going?’ He threw his jacket onto a chair and flung himself full-length on a leather sofa that made up the reception area of the small, front office. ‘Me, I could sleep for three hours! Tell me, why do the mad dogs of English always want the appointments in the middle of the afternoon?’

‘I suppose they try to make the most of the time they have in Italy. Mr. Knight, my client for Villa Sognidoro, is already on his way back to the airport.’

Paolo sat up abruptly. ‘Gone! Gone already! What you say to him to scare him away, carissima!’ He burst out laughing.

Zoe smiled despite herself. ‘It really was as though I scared him away, Paolo, you have hit the nail on the head!’

‘He hit his head on a nail – you mean he hurt himself in that old ruin?’ Paolo looked at her anxiously. ‘Is he hurt very bad?’

Zoe began to giggle and then to laugh until tears ran down her face.

‘Oh Paolo, don’t worry, it wasn’t like that…it’s an idiom…you see…’ But it was no good, she was laughing too much to explain the intricacies of the English language.

‘Idiot – who is idiot – me or this Mr. Knight?’ He looked at her with a pretence of hurt on his face as he clutched his heart.

‘Don’t – oh don’t!’ Zoe was trying to stop laughing as suddenly she had a strange desire to cry. She wiped her eyes and smiled at Paolo. ‘All men are idiots, you know that quite well, Paolo!’

‘My wife she say the very same thing to me at lunch…tutti gli uomini sono pazzi…imagine that…my own wife!’

‘What did you do to deserve it, Paolo? Confess!’

‘Well, we talking about you, cara!’

‘Talking about me – whatever for?’

‘I telling her how you look very, very sad this morning and she say is because you are lonely. That I am big idiot not to see that you are lonely.’

Zoe looked up sharply. ‘Lonely? Am I?’

‘Yes, you are – but you not to worry because I have solved it all. Two ways I have solved it. I am a genius!’

‘You are…you have?’ Zoe looked at him anxiously. She had worked with Paolo long enough to know that his sudden inspirations were usually disastrous.

‘My first big idea is you come to family lunch on Sunday.’

‘Well, thank you, Paolo, that would be great.’ Zoe looked at him in puzzlement. As she often spent Sundays with the Santini family this did not appear to be a big idea by Paolo’s standards. He was nodding and smiling a stagey, secret smile and tapping the side of his nose knowingly. Obviously very pleased with himself.

‘And your second big idea?’ Zoe asked.

‘Is in your jeep!’ Paolo leapt off the sofa and rushed out of the office, shouting, ‘Follow me, vieni vieni!’

Zoe obediently followed Paolo outside. He was already across the square and standing by her jeep, practically jumping up and down as he pointed to the back seat. Zoe glanced in and gasped. A very large and silky red setter looked up at her then stretched and lazily wagged his tail.

‘A dog! Paolo! A dog for me?’ Zoe said in amazement.

Paolo smiled happily and rubbed his hands with satisfaction.

‘His name is Fidele, he is son of my dog. Is very good race…very aristocrat. He very sweet, molto gentile, and very how you say, fidele…’

‘Faithful! He’s very faithful. Oh Paolo he’s so beautiful. Thank you, grazie mille!’ Zoe opened the jeep door and the dog gracefully jumped out. Zoe rested her hand on the dog’s smooth forehead and stroked him gently. They walked back to the office and Fidele trotted happily between them. As soon as they were in the office, the dog jumped onto the sofa and stretched out again. He raised his big, brown eyes to look at them, then sighed happily and fell asleep.

‘That is one very spoilt dog!’ Paolo shook his head in mock despair. ‘My wife, Serena, she spoil him from the moment he is born.’

‘But won’t you miss him – he looks like a hunting dog. Don’t you need him?’ Zoe had to ask, although she had already lost her heart to the big, gentle creature.

‘Well…tell you the truth. Fidele is very scared of the gun noise. When the gun it goes bang then Fidele he goes galloping home.’ Paolo shook his head sadly. ‘He has a very good nose…wonderful nose…but is not a good gun dog. I give him to you for not to be lonely and you no like the guns. You two happy together. Perfect result! Any time you not want him or go on holiday then you bring him back to me and Serena. OK?’

‘Very OK, Paolo, thank you and Serena.’ Zoe looked at Paolo and could tell he hadn’t quite finished.

‘And another thing is…’ Paolo hesitated and examined his nails. ‘My wife she say I am big idiot for another thing too.’

‘There’s more?’ Zoe sat down on the sofa beside Fidele, stroking him as she looked anxiously up at Paolo.

‘Is not my fault, Zoe. I worry about you like I am your father and I not like you go to meet clients all alone in the old country houses. Now you take Fidele and I feel you are safe.’

Zoe looked doubtfully at the dog sound asleep on the sofa. Fidele didn’t look like a guard dog. Then she asked, ‘But why did Serena think that made you an idiot? It was very kind of you – if unnecessary.’

‘And then I kill the three birds with one stone – is English idiom, no?’ Paolo smiled nervously.

‘Yes but it’s normally two birds, Paolo. Why three birds? Anyway I am losing count of your great ideas. Just tell me the rest of your story.’

‘Well, when this Mr. Knight phoned after you left this morning – he phoned to ask if you can make earlier the appointment. I tell him you on your way and then, then – I don’t know why but I think it make you safer if – then I…’ He faltered to a stop.

‘Go on, Paolo – what did you do next?’ Zoe looked at him sternly.

‘Then…well, then I tell this Mr. Knight that you are my wife!’

That night Zoe lay awake, her window wide open, listening to the unceasing noise of the cicadas. In her head she played back her lunchtime conversation with Alex Knight. Over and over again she went through all that he had said. Suddenly she sat bolt upright. She remembered how he had reacted when she had mentioned ‘her boss’. Of course, he had thought she was talking about her husband. Zoe flung herself back on the bed in exasperation. And it was no wonder that he hadn’t made any moves…he was a decent guy who didn’t play around with other people’s wives. Zoe rolled onto her stomach and angrily pummelled her pillow, groaning in exasperation at Paolo’s kind attempt to protect her. Supposing Alex had gone away with the idea that she was the sort of wife who would play around? Looking into his eyes, blushing and behaving like a schoolgirl – Zoe squirmed at the thought. How could she let him know that she wasn’t married to Paolo or anyone else for that matter? She could hardly send an email saying ‘by the way I’m not married!’ Zoe curled up into a small ball and pulled the sheet over her head. Then she heard a soft movement in the darkness. She flung the sheet back and looked quickly around the room. Fidele had made his way softly up the stairs and was lying in the moonlight at the foot of her bed.

‘Fidele, you are the most beautiful dog in the world.’ she said aloud. She heard his tail thump the floor and then she fell into a deep sleep.

The next day Zoe was glad to be busy, too busy to think about Alex Knight, although she constantly checked her mobile for a message from him. She spent the entire morning in the company of Mr. and Mrs. Partridge, who had decided the mill house was the perfect property. They were pleasant enough company and Zoe was well-accustomed to falling in with people’s dreams. Alex Knight was not the only one with an Italian dream. As lunchtime drew near she knew the Partridges were hoping she would join them for an extended lunch. When they invited her she accepted. Why not? But she steered them away from da Luigi – that would be too much. When they suggested eating at the hotel where they were staying, Zoe agreed happily. The Hotel Bellapensieri was a wonderful hotel set in the peaceful hills to the south of Siena.

As they pulled into the entrance to the car park Zoe drew her breath in sharply. Could it be? In the far corner of the car park a shining, pale blue Mercedes coupé was just pulling out of the exit. Surely she had seen the distinctive dark, grey head of a tall man in the driver’s seat?

As she walked across the car park she asked the Partridges, ‘Do you know if that was a Mr. Knight just leaving the car park in the Mercedes?’ Zoe tried to make her voice as casual as possible.

‘Yes, it looked like it – we met him last night and had a brandy with him after dinner. Nice chap!’ Mr. Partridge said, cheerily.

‘So nice…’ agreed Mrs. Partridge, ‘and so talented. It must be wonderful to be able to write like that.’

‘Oh is he a writer?’ Zoe asked.

‘Oh yes, he writes film scripts,’ Mr. Partridge replied. ‘Must be worth a bob or two, but a very modest bloke. In the end, he gave us the names of quite a few of his film scripts and even we had heard of them, hadn’t we, Linda…although we’re not great film buffs. Real stick-at-homes we are, aren’t we, Linda?’ Mr. Partridge put his arm through his wife’s and they smiled at each other in contentment.

‘We like our own company and just a few books,’ said Mrs. Partridge, smiling at Zoe. ‘And now of course we spend a lot of time with our grandchildren. That’s why we want the mill house…for big family holidays. Our youngest daughter can’t be much older than you and she already has four children. We’re so proud of them aren’t we, John?’

The Partridges smiled at each other again in mutual satisfaction as they arrived in the cool entrance hall of the hotel and the conversation continued with Mrs. Partridge listing her grandchildren. With all the will in the world, there was no way that Zoe could reasonably turn the conversation back to Alex Knight. Why had he told her he was going to the airport last night?

Later that night the question returned to haunt her. She lay in the dark once again, turning over all the possibilities and even the most unlikely reasons for him to have lied to her. She flinched as the word resounded in her head, but he had lied. She spoke the hard word aloud, ‘Liar!’

Fidele, stretched out at the foot of the bed, sighed and seemed to give a yawn of agreement.

Well, she wasn’t going to spend another night tossing and turning and thinking about the elusive Mr. Knight. She turned on the reading light and for a moment watched the insects drawn to the outside of the mosquito netting in the window frame. Suddenly she felt an unexpected pang of something that could be homesickness. Not that she could actually miss home as such. Her parents lived in a beautiful Georgian house on the outskirts of Bath, surrounded by antique furniture and works of art. A beautiful house but she could not call it home. Maybe it was home to her parents. They lived a calm and elegant life together. A life that had never truly accepted a child. Zoe, a single child, had been sent away to school at what seemed to be the first possible opportunity. Her holidays had been spent at a number of foreign holiday resorts, skiing or by the sea. Au-pairs, ski instructors, tennis coaches and tutors played major roles in the holiday fun but her mother and father remained in the background. No, she couldn’t possibly be missing home. Maybe if her parents had been like the Partridges, exuding love and the warmth of a real family life, it would have been different? It must just be the heat that was making her long for the cool of England. She reached for her book and looked at the cover: Pride and Prejudice. She was definitely not in the mood for anything involving a romantic hero. She took another book from the bedside table. Early Italian Art. She sighed and practically threw it across the room. Did absolutely everything have to remind her of Alex Knight? Fidele shifted uneasily on the rug at the foot of the bed.

‘Sorry, Fidele, did I wake you again?’

The dog gave one of his noisy yawns that sounded just like a disapproving groan.

‘I know, it’s time to get to sleep and time to stop talking aloud, too!’ She turned on the bedside radio and soon the rapid Italian voices debating politics bored her to sleep.