Grace Takes Off(13)
The dark eyes widened, and he placed his fingertips together, prayerfully again, but this time under his chin. “It would be my great honor,” he said with a deferential bow. “I am delighted to accept.”
“Until then, I beg my leave,” Nico said. “I must rest.” He extended his hands outward. “Please enjoy my treasures for as long as you like.” To me and Bennett, he added, “Angelo or Marco will show you to your rooms if you care to revive yourselves before dinner. If you wish, I am certain that Irena will show you other areas you may care to explore. Please make this home your own.”
With a beatific smile, he receded from our midst, stone-faced Angelo wheeling him away.
Chapter 4
I WANTED TO TALK WITH BENNETT ALONE, TO find out what had bothered him when he’d examined the Picasso skull, but we never got the chance. Our rooms, much to my delight, were in one of the two central towers, up several flights of stone stairs, making me especially happy that we hadn’t been required to haul our luggage all the way up here ourselves. Marco accompanied us, preventing conversation. We left Bennett at his room on the second floor, where he and I agreed to meet before we headed down to dinner in an hour.
Marco led me up one more floor, where the tower narrowed slightly. “This way,” he said, his voice echoing against the stone walls. The effect would have been creepy if it weren’t for the waning sunshine trickling in from the corridor’s narrow windows. From what I could tell, there were only two rooms on this level. Before Marco opened the first door to my right, I asked, “Do others stay in these rooms”—I gestured farther down the hall—“or are we alone?”
When his brows came together, I realized he thought I was concerned about my own safety. “There will be no one to bother you, signorina. We do not allow strangers into the villa.”
Rather than explain that I meant to ask whether the family and staff bedrooms were in this tower as well, I murmured my thanks. Gallantly, he turned the knob and pushed at the three-inch-thick wooden door. It slid open with barely a whisper, despite the fact that its heavy hinges had been in place longer than I’d been on the planet. Marco stayed in the hallway and I stepped past him, catching sight of my luggage in the far corner of this large room.
Before he left, I asked, “Mi scusi, dove’è il bagno?” one of the more important Italian phrases I’d mastered before we left home.
Curling his index finger, Marco had me follow him a little farther down the hall, just one door away from my room. I took a quick peek in and noted that the shower—darn it—was the handheld kind. The two things I missed from back home were fixed showerheads and full-width doors or curtains. Every single shower I’d taken in this country had resulted in puddles on the floor.
I thanked him, and as I made my way back to my room, he reminded me to feel free to call on him for anything I might need.
What I needed most, right now, I thought as I shut the door behind me, was to get myself ready for dinner quickly enough to allow time to talk with Bennett before we headed back downstairs. I needed to know what was troubling him.
I made way for my things, puzzled by the lack of décor in this room. If it wasn’t used very often it made sense not to decorate the space, but compared to the rest of the house, where priceless items fairly sat on top of one another, this stark, barren room was a surprise. Other than the double bed, an insignificant dresser in serious need of refinishing, the foggy oval mirror that hung above it, and a couple of utilitarian lamps, the room was empty. There weren’t even curtains on the two tall windows. At least the glass was clean. I peered out, over the lush landscape and at the neighboring tower. With the sun still bright enough, the rooms that mirrored mine were dark, and I couldn’t see inside. I wondered if anyone stayed in them.
Didn’t matter now. What I needed was to get myself out the door again.