Picture of Innocence(46)

The next morning she awoke to the overpowering smell of strong coffee, and, easing herself up the bed, saw the maid approach with a tray which she placed on the bedside table.

‘Buongiorno, signorina. The Signora say to bring coffee,’ she said in fractured English, ‘Breakfast in one hour.’

‘Grazie!’ Lucy said. ‘Scusi—’ She sprang out of bed and dashed to the bathroom. When she returned, after having been sick, the maid was still there.

‘Signorina? Come stai?’

Lucy saw the worried frown on her face and knew enough Italian to reassure her she was fine. The maid left.

It was probably the wine she’d drunk last night, Lucy thought. She was not accustomed to fine red wine—or any wine, for that matter. She poured out a cup of hot milk, with the merest dash of coffee, and standing looking out of the window sipped it slowly.

The view really was breathtaking … And then she saw the yellow sports car shoot off down the drive. Good—Lorenzo had gone out. With no fear of him appearing, she relaxed a little.

She took a leisurely shower and wondered what to wear. It was a sunny day, and she wanted to have a look around the gardens. With that in mind she decided on a pair of soft denim jeans and bright flowing top. She tied her hair back in a ponytail and finally ventured out of the bedroom.

She did not need to look for the breakfast room. As soon as she reached the foot of the grand staircase Gianni appeared as if by magic and showed her to yet another room—not as large as the others she had seen, but just as elegant, and somehow more homely. Anna was already seated at the table, and looked up as she entered.

‘How are you, Lucy? Maria told me you were a little unwell.’ She frowned. ‘Please sit down, my dear. My doctor calls to see me most days at noon—if you like you could see him as well.’

Lucy smiled and took a seat. ‘No, that is not necessary. I am fine—just too much wine, I think,’ she said with a rueful smile. ‘But I wouldn’t mind a walk in the gardens after breakfast. The fresh air will do me good.’

‘Well, if you are sure, I will give you a guided tour,’ Anna offered. ‘Really it should be Lorenzo, but he has gone to the bank. I told him to take the day off, but he takes no notice of me. He works far too hard—always has. When my husband died—good man though he was—the bank was left in a poor condition. Lorenzo took over and soon put everything right, expanding all over the world, but sometimes I do wish he would slow down a little. Which is why I am so pleased he has found you, Lucy—you are just what he needs.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that.’ Lucy finally got a word in. ‘We are close friends, but realistically we have very little in common.’ And with a quick change of subject she added, ‘Before I forget, I must call Elaine and tell her of the change of plan.’

Elaine was surprised but happy to agree to the new arrangement of taking Thursday off while the shop was looked after by a temp.

Lucy, on the other hand, was stressed to bits.





Oddly enough, once outside, with the scent of pine trees and perfumed flowers mingling in the warm morning air, Lucy felt better. Meandering with Anna along the paths and terraces of the glorious garden was relaxing. She learnt from Anna the names of dozens of plants, and when they got to the lake learnt the sailing boat had been Lorenzo’s when he was a teenager, and he still used it occasionally.

According to Anna he was still a keen sailor, and spent most of his leisure time at Santa Margherita, where he had a villa. He kept a larger racing yacht at the marina, and sailed it very successfully in quite a few races round the Mediterranean.

Lucy was surprised. When Lorenzo had told her he had a yacht she had assumed he meant some big luxury motorised ship. A smile quirked her lips. She did think he looked like a pirate sometimes, so she should not be surprised, she told herself as they walked back to the house.

Lunch was served, and Anna’s doctor, who was a widower, joined them at the table. He was a distinguished-looking, charming man, and Lucy warmed to him immediately. She had a sneaky suspicion his interest in Anna was more than medical.

Then the butler appeared, and Lucy was surprised when he informed her Lorenzo was on the private line and wishing to speak to her. He escorted her to the rear of the house, into what was obviously a study, and handed her the telephone.

‘Hello?’ she said. She could hear voices in the background, one a woman’s—probably his secretary.

‘Ah, at last.’ Lorenzo’s deep dark voice echoed in her ear. ‘Are you getting along all right on your own, Lucy? No slip-ups?’

‘Yes. And if by that you mean have I told your mother that her brilliant saintly son is really a rat? No, I have not.’