Shaking her head, she pulled the door open and stepped out of the telephone box. There were only a few more weeks until Gabi and Sandro got back. She could make it until then, couldn’t she?
It was the afternoon before Cesca got the chance to sit down in the library, turning on the computer and flexing her fingers, ready to type. She had her notebook beside her, the white paper covered in scrawls only she could decipher, with pieces of dialogue and stage directions for the next scene.
There’d been no sign of Sam when she’d returned. The dishwasher held the evidence of his breakfast, so he’d at least been up that morning. Cesca assumed he was somewhere in the gardens, continuing his reading sprint. It was easy to get lost among the lush greenery and trees, and if you wanted to you could probably hide out for a while.
The first thing that hit her when she opened up her play was the amount of red covering the screen. The usually black and white document was covered in lines. Red down the left side of the document where changes had been made, comments on the right in speech bubbles, and bold words where things had been deleted, the sentences underlined to emphasise the fact.
There were tracked changes on her document. Changes she hadn’t made.
Her stomach churned as she stared at the screen. She felt invaded, as though something precious had been stolen from her, and it took her breath away.
A moment later, the anger arrived. Her whole body tensed as the explosion started deep inside her, rising up until even her face was bright red with ire.
How bloody dare he? Because there was only one suspect in Cesca’s mind. Only one person who would think it was OK to go into somebody’s private document and not only read it, but actually make comments on it. She should have password protected it from the beginning, or stored it somewhere other than in the documents, but God, what a bloody ego that man had if he thought she would want him in her private thoughts.
Cesca punched the off button. It was as though a red veil had descended, clouding her thoughts, making her see everything through a wrathful light. She stomped out of the library, determined to find him and give him a piece of her mind, even if it meant she was fired from her job.
He wasn’t in his bedroom or the living room, or any part of the villa, so she swung open the glass doors that led to the garden, stalking out onto the patio in her sandalled feet. Standing there, she looked left and right, trying to work out which way to go first.
‘Sam?’ she shouted out, a frown pulling the corner of her lips down. ‘Where are you?’ She didn’t care that nobody was supposed to know he was here. Didn’t care if the entire neighbourhood heard. As far as she was concerned, his need for privacy came very low on her list of priorities.
No response. Either he wasn’t close enough to hear, or he was ignoring her. She wouldn’t put that past him.
Huffing loudly, she stormed off in the direction of the trees. It was so typical of him to put her to even more inconvenience. ‘Sam? I need to talk to you.’
She climbed uphill, heading to the top boundary of the estate. Built on a cliff, the gradient was surprisingly steep, and the exertion, coupled with the warmth of the afternoon, was making her overheat. Rivulets of perspiration ran down her chest.
When she found him, she was going to kill him. It was best for all concerned to put them all out of their misery. Just a little squeeze of her hands and pouf! he would disappear. Nobody could blame her for that.
‘Sam?’ She was almost screaming now, the frustration of not being able to locate him making her words loud and shrill. ‘For God’s sake show yourself!’
A rustle of the trees in front of her alerted her to his presence. Sam stepped out of the lush vegetation, rubbing his face, his brow wrinkled with what looked like confusion. ‘Are you OK?’ he asked. ‘Are you hurt?’
Hurt? She was mortally injured, and it was all thanks to him.
‘No, I’m not all right. I’m the very bloody opposite of all right.’
He stood there open-mouthed, staring at her, tipping his head to the side as if to try and make her out. ‘What’s happened?’ He reached out for her with one hand, the other rubbing his brow. ‘Can I help you?’
She cringed away from his touch. ‘Let go of me.’
‘So we’re back to that again.’
‘Back to what?’ she asked. ‘To me realising what a complete and utter prick you are? To you behaving like you always do – as though you’re more important than anyone else?’
Sam blinked. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve been up here all morning, reading. I haven’t done anything.’ He smiled at her, as though he expected her to take his word for it.
‘Oh yes you have! You interfered with my play, you bastard. How could you? Didn’t you break me enough the first time? Or are you just so bored you’d rather mess everybody else’s lives up just for the hell of it?’
Emotions passed over his face. First understanding, then shock, followed by what looked almost like shame. He frowned.
‘How did you see that?’
‘Because you left comments all over it.’
He rubbed his hand across his face. ‘But I saved it somewhere else. You weren’t supposed to see that.’
Her eyes widened. ‘That’s your excuse?’ she bit out. ‘It’s my fault for seeing it, not your fault for interfering?’