They were in a cloistered courtyard, with a broad covered walkway surrounding the open central area that must cast a welcome shade in the heat of the day, but now in the evening it was softly lit and she could see more of the huge pots of olive trees set on the old stone paving in the centre, and on the low wall that divided the courtyard from the cloistered walkway geraniums tumbled over the edge, bringing colour and scent to the evening air.
But that wasn’t what had caught her attention. It was the frescoed walls, the ancient faded murals under the shelter of the cloisters that took her breath away.
He didn’t pause, though, or give her time to take in the beautiful paintings, but carried her through one of the several doors set in the walls, then along a short hallway and into a bedroom.
He set her gently on the bed, and she felt oddly bereft as he straightened up and moved away.
‘I’ll be in the kitchen with the children. Carlotta will tell me when you’re ready and I’ll come and get you.’
‘Thank you.’
He smiled fleetingly and went out, the children’s clamouring voices receding as he walked away, and Carlotta closed the door.
‘Your bath,’ she said, pushing open another door, and she saw a room lined with pale travertine marble, the white suite simple and yet luxurious. And the bath—she could stick her bandaged leg up on the side and just wallow. Pure luxury.
‘Thank you.’ She couldn’t wait. All she wanted was to get out of the dress and into water. But the zip …
‘I help you,’ Carlotta said, and as the zip slid down, she was freed from the scratchy fabric at last. A bit too freed. She clutched at the top as it threatened to drift away and smiled at Carlotta.
‘I can manage now,’ she said, and Carlotta nodded.
‘I get your bag.’
She went out, and Lydia closed the bedroom door behind her, leaning back against it and looking around again.
It was much simpler than the imposing and impressive entrance, she saw with relief. Against expectations it wasn’t vast, but it was pristine, the bed made up with sparkling white linen, the rug on the floor soft underfoot, and the view from the French window would be amazing in daylight.
She limped gingerly over to the window and stared out, pressing her face against the glass. The doors opened onto what looked like a terrace, and beyond—gosh, the view must be utterly breathtaking, she imagined, because even at dusk it was extraordinary, the twinkling lights of villages and scattered houses sparkling in the twilight.
Moving away from the window, she glanced around her, taking in her surroundings in more detail. The floor was tiled, the ceiling beamed, with chestnut perhaps? Probably, with terracotta tiles between the beams. Sturdy, simple and homely—which was crazy, considering the scale of the place and the grandeur of the entrance! But it seemed more like a farm now, curiously, less of a fortress, and much less threatening.
And that established, she let go of the awful dress, kicked it away from her legs, bundled it up in a ball and hopped into the bathroom.
The water was calling her. Studying the architecture could wait.
WHAT was that noise?
Lydia lifted her head, water streaming off her hair as she surfaced to investigate.
‘Signorina? Signorina!’
Carlotta’s voice was desperate as she rattled the handle on the bathroom door, and Lydia felt a stab of alarm.
‘What is it?’ she asked, sitting up with a splash and sluicing the water from her hair with her hands.
‘Oh, signorina! You are all right?’
She closed her eyes and twisted her hair into a rope, squeezing out the rest of the water and suppressing a sigh. ‘I’m fine. I’m OK, really. I won’t be long.’
‘I wait, I help you.’
‘No, really, there’s no need. I’ll be all right.’
‘But Massimo say I no leave you!’ she protested, clearly worried for some reason, but Lydia assured her again that she was fine.
‘OK,’ she said after a moment, sounding dubious. ‘I leave your bag here. You call me for help?’
‘I will. Thank you. Grazie.’
‘Prego.’
She heard the bedroom door close, and rested her head back down on the bath with a sigh. The woman was kindness itself, but Lydia just wanted to be left alone. Her head ached, her ankle throbbed, she had a million bruises all over her body and she still had to phone her sister.
The phone rang, almost as if she’d triggered it with her thoughts, and she could tell by the ringtone it was Jen.
Oh, rats. She must have heard the news.
There was no getting round it, so she struggled awkwardly out of the bath and hobbled back to the bed, swathed in the biggest towel she’d ever seen, and dug out her phone and rang Jen back.
‘What’s going on? They said you’d had an accident! I’ve been trying to phone you for ages but you haven’t been answering! Are you all right? We’ve been frantic!’
‘Sorry, Jen, I was in the bath. I’m fine, really, it was just a little slip on the steps of a plane and I’ve twisted my ankle. Nothing serious.’
Well, she hoped it wasn’t. She crossed her fingers, just to be on the safe side, and filled in a few more details. She didn’t tell her the truth, just that Jo had got there first.
‘I’m so sorry, we really tried, but we probably wouldn’t have made it even without the accident.’
There was a heartbeat of hesitation, then Jen said, ‘Don’t worry, it really doesn’t matter and it’s not important. I just need you to be all right. And don’t go blaming yourself, it’s not your fault.’
Why did everyone say that? It was her fault. If she’d looked where she was going, taken a bit more care, Jen and Andy would have been having the wedding of their dreams in a few months’ time. As it was, well, as it was they wouldn’t, but she wasn’t going to give Jen anything to beat herself up about, so she told her she was fine, just a little twinge—and nothing at all about the head injury.
‘Actually, since I’m over here, I thought I’d stay on for a few days. I’ve found a farm where I can get bed and breakfast, and I’m going to have a little holiday.’
Well, it wasn’t entirely a lie. It was a farm, she had a bed, and she was sure they wouldn’t make her starve while she recovered.
‘You do that. It sounds lovely,’ Jen said wistfully, and Lydia screwed her face up and bit her lip.
Damn. She’d been so close, and the disappointment that Jen was trying so hard to disguise was ripping Lydia apart.
Ending the call with a promise to ring when she was coming home, she dug her clean clothes out of the flight bag and pulled her jeans on carefully over her swollen, throbbing ankle. The soft, worn fabric of the jeans and the T-shirt were comforting against her skin, chafed from her fall as well as the boning and beading in the dress, and she looked around for the offending article. It was gone. Taken away by Carlotta? She hoped she hadn’t thrown it out. She wanted the pleasure of that for herself.