Gabi launched back into Italian, letting out a stream of words that Cesca couldn’t understand. Her sentences shot out like bullets. Cesca leaned back in the car, leaving Sandro and Gabi to their heated exchange. Even their argument sounded beautiful, thanks to the Italian language.
She closed her eyes, letting the afternoon sun bathe her face. As soon as they got to the villa she was going to find a way to call Hugh and arrange for a flight back home. There was no way she was going to sleep in a house owned by a Carlton. Plus she needed to get back to London so she could give Hugh a really good piece of her mind, face to face.
She glanced at her watch. It was two hours since she’d landed in Milan, and she wasn’t planning to stay in the country any longer than she had to. If Cesca had her way, she’d be back on a plane within a few hours.
Some trip this was turning out to be.
As Sandro pulled the Fiat up to the gates, Cesca took a moment to take in the sumptuousness of Villa Palladino. The house itself was surrounded by tall, stucco walls, with bougainvillea tumbling over the top, as if it was trying to escape onto the road. Their way was blocked by wrought iron gates, which she could see led to a driveway flanked by Mediterranean cypress trees. Elegant in their height, the thin evergreens swayed softly in the wind, dancing to a silent tune.
It was breathtaking. For a moment, Cesca felt a pang of regret that she wouldn’t be able to stay and enjoy the splendour. But then she remembered who owned it, or rather who their son was, and her resolve hardened.
‘Is there a telephone I could use?’ she asked. ‘I haven’t got any coverage on my mobile in Europe.’ She hadn’t been able to afford the roaming charges. Better to walk into town once a week and find an Internet café or
public telephone. At least that way she could keep a control on her expenses.
Sandro shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not. Signora Carlton insists on seclusion when the family visits. No telephone line, no Wi-Fi, and the networks barely stretch this far.’ He pulled his own phone from his pocket. ‘I have to walk into Varenna myself to get a signal. I’d be happy to lend you this.’
‘It’s fine, thank you, if I have to walk into town I can call from a phone box.’ Probably best to have some privacy for the choice words she wanted to say to her godfather. ‘But I have to admit I’m surprised there’s no connectivity here, what with Mr Carlton having such an important job.’ Cesca frowned. Foster Carlton – Sam’s father – had been the director of the National Theatre in London for years. It had rocked the acting community when the brash American had taken over such a prestigious role, but he’d taken the theatre from strength to strength.
‘That’s why his wife insists on complete seclusion when they visit. She’s been known to throw his phone in the lake if he doesn’t turn it off.’ Gabi turned to her and smiled. ‘She’s as fiery as he is.’
Cesca’s mouth turned dry. ‘I’ll need to walk into town this afternoon,’ she told Gabi. ‘I have a few telephone calls to make.’ And plane tickets to buy. Somehow she was going to have to find the money to pay for them, too.
‘Of course,’ Gabi agreed, smiling. ‘We can all go in together. It will be a pleasure to show you around.’
The interior of the villa was just as entrancing as the outside. The floor was laid with warm, polished wood, and the walls painted in the palest of creams. Dark beams crossed the ceiling, and the rooms were filled with lush, green plants and beautiful furniture, reflecting the impeccable taste of the owners. Gabi led Cesca from room to room, keeping up a stream of conversation, telling her about the cleaners, the gardeners, and where the main electrical fuses were, in case of emergency.
Cesca barely listened, overwhelmed by the beauty of the villa. What a contrast to her shared apartment in London, with its threadbare carpet and mismatched tables. She’d left there this morning, carrying a single suitcase, and somehow she’d ended up here. It was some kind of cruel joke that she couldn’t stay. Who wouldn’t be inspired by such beauty?
When they walked into the living room, Cesca could see that Gabi had saved the best until last. The space itself was impressive enough, with vaulted ceilings and arched glass doors that led to the garden, but it was the view that made her gasp. A paved terrace, flanked by beautifully tended topiary, led down to a well-maintained lawn, sloping down to the next level. Then there were the flowerbeds, filled with geraniums and pelargoniums, their colours a delight to the eye. A winding path from the lawn led down through a small box hedge maze, with the sparkling lake beyond. Though she couldn’t see it, Cesca knew from Hugh’s description there was a small beach between the garden and the lake. The thought of the sun warming the sand excited her.
‘It’s beautiful,’ she whispered, to herself as much as to Gabi.
‘It is,’ Gabi agreed. ‘Sandro and I are very lucky to have this job. We’re very grateful to have such gracious employers in Signor and Signora Carlton. They’ve been so kind to us, especially now when Sandro’s sister needs him.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Most employers wouldn’t let us leave in the height of summer. But they have been kind enough to find us an angel – you – so that we can go and help Sandro’s sister.’
It was almost impossible to ignore the way her stomach contracted. Cesca tried anyway. It would be fine, the Carltons could easily find somebody else to house-sit. It wasn’t the most strenuous of jobs, being at Lake Como for free.
‘It’s been very hard for the Carltons since their son became famous,’ Gabi continued. ‘This is the only place they’ve been able to spend time with him without being surrounded by the paparazzi. They value their seclusion and privacy so much, it’s hard for them to trust anybody. That’s why they were so delighted to find you. They told me you were recommended by a dear friend. That means a lot to them, to know you’re not here simply because of their fame.’
Tearing her eyes away from the beautiful vista, Cesca forced a smile onto her face. Just a few hours and she would be gone from here, and this would all be somebody else’s problem.
It didn’t stop her from feeling guilty, though.
‘You lied to me.’ She sounded petulant, she knew, but Cesca couldn’t help it. She leaned her head on the glass door of the phone box, waiting for Hugh’s reply. If only he’d hurry up, this call was costing a fortune.
‘I simply omitted the truth, and it was for your own good. Face the past head on and all that, but I knew there was no way you’d go if you knew who owned the house.’
‘Damn right I wouldn’t have. And now I’m in the most awkward situation. Did you know the couple who run the house are leaving next week to help his sister have her baby? And that they think I’m an angel for coming over to rescue them?’
Hugh laughed, and it made Cesca want to throw the phone. She might have, too, if it wasn’t connected to the box.
‘That’s because you are an angel. Can’t you give it up to fate and simply let it be? Or look at it this way: the Carltons owe you after what their son did. Think of this as retribution.’
‘Hugh! There’s absolutely no way I can stay in that house. What if I have to talk to them? Oh my God, what if they come and stay while I’m here?’
‘They’re in Paris for the summer, I thought I told you that. Foster is a visiting director at a theatre there, there’s no opportunity for them to travel to Italy. That’s why they needed a house-sitter.’
‘All of them?’ Cesca asked ominously.