A breeze fluttered the curtains, bringing with it a citrus scent. A butterfly drifted in, fluttering between them and landing on the edge of the coffee table.
‘As you can see,’ he said, gesturing to the butterfly, ‘this place is a gift, with so much beauty and nature everywhere. I want you to treat it as a home from home.’
Fern smiled. ‘It’s hard to imagine having a home this beautiful.’
‘Well, enjoy it while you’re here. Feel free to explore, sit, think and work anywhere you like. The only private spaces are the guest bedrooms; everywhere else is communal. So if you fancy sitting in the dining room to draw or in here looking out over the terrace, then please do. In the library, there are art books or novels to read, but you’ll find paper, pencils, paints, everything, I hope, you could possibly need. Just help yourself. And here’s a sketchbook to get you started.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, blown away by his generosity as she took the black A5 sketchbook from him and ran her fingers over the cover’s elegant linen-effect finish.
‘You’re most welcome. The only set time for anything is dinner and occasionally we’ll go out somewhere as a group during the day. Like tomorrow morning at ten we have a walking tour of Anacapri or to the Belvedere di Migliera, a viewpoint which I’m certain will inspire you. Apart from those things, this is your time.’
Matteo’s echo of what Stella had said at dinner the other evening reaffirmed that coming here was the right decision. She rarely took time out for herself. Back home, there was always someone else to think about, things to do and worry over. Thinking purely about herself was an alien concept, but one she was very much looking forward to putting into practice.
* * *
Despite the luxury and elegance that emanated from every part of the retreat, both Edith and Matteo had stressed that dinner was a relaxed affair and that there was no need to dress up unless she wanted to. Fern kept on her colourful palazzo trousers but swapped her linen top for a black fitted one with scalloped lace sleeves.
She brushed her hair, slicked on a berry-coloured lipstick and gazed at her reflection in the en-suite mirror. She felt more relaxed than she thought possible being somewhere new and filled with strangers, but the welcome had been heartfelt and her nervousness about gate-crashing had been erased by Matteo’s warmth. Her conversation with him earlier had been easier than she’d expected. Ideas had tumbled from her, a release of creativity that she’d blocked for two decades. Matteo had encouraged her, his eyes gleaming as her enthusiasm grew. She’d felt breathless with excitement as they’d parted ways. And now, even though she was only heading downstairs for dinner, that excitement had returned, making it feel as though it was a proper night out.
Fern reached the ground floor and followed the sound of voices through the villa. As she reached the living room, her phone buzzed. A message from Paul.
The chilli was lush – ta for making it. Got home late and off out for a drink so needed food. It’s strange you not being here.
Was he actually missing her? With a flood of guilt, she realised that she hadn’t thought about him all day or thought to tell him where she was. Not that he’d probably care, but she had an overwhelming feeling of wanting to keep the retreat to herself. She thumbed a reply.
Figured you might need a quick meal. Have a good evening xx
She tucked her phone away and went outside, past the pool and onto a terrace half hidden by foliage and surrounded by looming trees. Candlelit lanterns flickered warm light across the terrace, making shadows dance over the leaves and the happy faces of Matteo and his guests sat around the large circular table that seated ten. Fern got a thrill at being allowed to be a part of such an exclusive group.
Hellos echoed across the terrace as she joined them.
There were two empty seats and as an elderly man leaning on a walking stick joined her, she realised she wasn’t the last to arrive. He was wearing an expensive-looking suit with a handkerchief tucked in the pocket.
‘Good evening everyone,’ he said, his twinkling eyes casting around the table before landing on Fern. ‘I don’t believe we’ve yet had the pleasure of meeting.’ He held out his hand and she shook it. ‘I’m Arthur.’
‘Fern.’
‘Delighted to meet you.’ He took the glass of red wine Matteo offered and settled himself at the table.
Matteo turned to Fern. ‘Red or white wine?’
‘I’d love white, thank you.’
He handed her a glass and he motioned to the empty seat next to Edith. She sat down, her heart thumping. Chatter and laughter flowed across the table.
Edith leaned towards her and knocked her wine glass against Fern’s. ‘You are about to experience your first rather special evening at the retreat.’