She coloured slightly. ‘That was very considerate of you, Mr Rayburn. Thank you. And you’re right – I was relieved when I thought that you were asleep. I’m going to have to stamp on the situation before it goes any further, but it won’t be easy. To be honest, I’ve no idea what to do.’
‘I fear that Nick’s a very determined young man, who’s not used to heeding the advice of others. But Clare seems a sensible young lady. It wouldn’t surprise me if she soon finds our Nick a little too abrasive for her taste. We can but hope so.’
‘You’re very observant, Mr Rayburn.’ She smiled at him. ‘In fact, you’re quite the dark horse, aren’t you?’
‘Advanced years do bring with them some advantages, albeit not that many. You, on the other hand, are very young for such a responsibility. There isn’t much that I haven’t seen, dear lady, and if I can be of any help at all, at any time, you mustn’t hesitate to call upon me.’
‘Thank you very much, Mr Rayburn. That’s a very kind offer. I hope I don’t have to take advantage of it, though.’
‘As I say, I think you’ll find that Clare will solve the problem for you. She seems a perceptive young woman. But my offer will remain on the table. I believe that’s the expression.’
There was a noise in the doorway, and Howard and Paula came out with vanilla ice creams, closely followed by Clare, who held a strawberry cornet. Jenny saw that Stephen had bought the same flavour for himself.
‘I see you remembered fragola,’ she told him, laughing. ‘And not once, but twice.’
He smiled shyly, glancing at Clare out of the corner of his eye.
She beamed back at him, and his smile widened.
They decided that they would eat their ice creams whilst they walked slowly back to the minibus, and they set off across the piazza with Jenny and George leading the way, and Howard and Paula bringing up the rear.
Halfway down the hill, Clare suddenly called out to the group to stop, as the Andersons weren’t behind them any longer. They all turned round and looked back
Paula and Howard were standing outside the car hire office, next to a pale grey van that was parked up against the wall of the narrow lane. A man in mechanic’s overalls was talking to them. Whatever he was saying, Paula didn’t look too happy about it, but she glanced at Howard and then nodded agreement. The man spoke again, pointed to the van, made a frustrated gesture and went back into the office.
‘That’s strange,’ Clare said in surprise. ‘Didn’t Paula say she doesn’t speak Italian? She clearly understood what that man was saying. How could she, if she doesn’t even know enough Italian to ask for an ice cream? Bit of a weird thing to lie about.’
‘We must be mistaken,’ Nick said, and started walking down the hill again. ‘No one would say they couldn’t speak Italian if they could. There’d be no reason to lie about it. In fact, they’re more likely to say that they can speak the lingo when they can’t, rather than the other way round.’
‘Could you hear what they were saying?’ Stephen asked.
‘Not really. We were too far away,’ Clare replied.
‘Well, that’s it, then.’ Nick smiled in triumph. ‘The computer instructions were in English, weren’t they? And so were the details on the wall outside the car hire office. We know the man in the internet café doesn’t speak English, so I bet it’s the car hire man who does.’
Stephen nodded in agreement. ‘What Nick says makes sense, Clare.’
Clare’s face cleared. ‘You’re right, it does.’
A moment later, Paula came clattering behind them on the cobblestones.
Chapter Five
Jenny lingered beneath a mulberry tree at the side of the terrace and watched them.
Max was standing at the edge of the terrace, looking cool and relaxed in well-cut chinos and a pale grey open-necked shirt. He had a glass in his hand and was staring out at the garden. Stephen hovered at his side, clearly restless, his back to the view, his eyes riveted to the patio doors. Every so often, Max looked around at Stephen and said something to him. Each time, though, he had to nudge Stephen and repeat himself before Stephen was able to answer him.
It was pretty clear what Stephen was thinking about.
But it wasn’t so easy to know what went on inside his uncle’s mind, she thought.
Max came across as open and uncomplicated, but no matter how genuine he seemed, it must all be a veneer. Unfortunately for her, it was a veneer that seemed to be firmly in place. From the small amount she’d seen of him, she knew that it wasn’t going to be easy to discover what lurked beneath the easy charm.
And she didn’t have unlimited time, which made it all the more difficult.
As far as she knew, he was only going to be joining them in the evenings. It was true that when the end of the week arrived, all the members of the class would go home and she’d be alone for the rest of the summer, doing the paintings that he wanted, but he might decide to leave for England soon after the others. If he did, she wouldn’t have had sufficient time to find out why he and his brother had behaved so cruelly towards her father, and that meant the part that they’d played in his death could forever remain a mystery.
Of course, she might always have another chance the following summer, but there was no guarantee that Max would want to see art classes there again, much as he might think now that he would. And even if he did, there was no certainty he’d ask her to run them for him.
If he did … the thought of waiting another whole year before she could try to find out the truth … well, it didn’t bear thinking about.
She’d have to take advantage of every opportunity she was offered, no matter how slight, to encourage him to stay on in Italy for at least some of the time that she’d be there on her own. If he did so, she’d see him occasionally and she’d have to make the most of that time.
They’d probably not get much beyond exchanging platitudes and discussing her drawings. There wasn’t enough time to build more of a friendship than that, but exchanging platitudes would be better than nothing, and might just lead to something more. It was vital that she worked on their friendship in the few evenings that they had together that week, and she couldn’t afford to waste a single precious minute.
The patio doors suddenly swung open and Clare came through them, wearing a short yellow cotton dress, her hair a mass of lustrous red curls that gleamed in the light. Nick followed closely behind her.
Stephen made a beeline for Clare. ‘Can I get you a drink?’ he asked, positioning himself in front of her.
‘Ooh, yes, please.’
He went over to the table at the side of the terrace, where several bottles of Prosecco lay on a bed of ice alongside a glass jug of peach purée, picked up one of the bottles and opened it. When he’d finished mixing two Bellinis, he carried one of the drinks carefully across to Clare.
Jenny moved swiftly to the table and helped herself to the other drink. Raising her glass to Stephen, she laughingly thanked him as she hurried across the terrace to Max’s side.
Max glanced down at her, smiled briefly, then looked back at the view. She followed his gaze across the spotlit garden to the feathery tips of the olive trees, their fragile leaves a deepening grey in the fading light of the day.
‘This is truly an artist’s paradise, Max. The view from up here is inspirational.’
‘It is, isn’t it? It looks different in every light, but with the sun setting over the plain, this is a particularly beautiful time of day. It’s my favourite, in fact.’
‘I think it’s mine, too,’ she said. ‘It’s so calm. But a place like this always holds something for an artist, no matter the time.’
‘You’re absolutely right about that. I don’t remember if I told you in London, but I collect paintings in a small way – nothing terribly grand – and whilst I obviously enjoy looking at my pictures, nothing surpasses the pleasure I get from a view like this. There’s always something new to be discovered.’
‘I’m guessin
g that there’s a connection between your fondness for your art collection and the fact that you’ve set up the courses here.’
‘I’m sure that’s true, but it also owes a lot to my total lack of artistic skill. I really admire anyone who can paint – perhaps because I’m so useless at it myself – and if I can do anything at all to help those interested in art to improve, then so be it.’
Jenny gave him a sly smile. ‘And of course, it’s nothing to do with the profitable use of pre-existing facilities.’
Max laughed. ‘Well, maybe just a little bit. I am a businessman, after all. But it’s a bit of a worry, you being able to read me like a book,’ he added in amusement.
‘Perhaps “like a painting” would be a better comparison in the circumstances,’ she said with a smile. She tore her eyes away from his face, and forced them back to the view ahead of her. ‘Whatever the reason, it’s a wonderful place to have an art course and I’m glad that you decided to go down this path.’
‘Me, too. But you wouldn’t believe how many people were against it.’
‘Against it?’ She turned to him in surprise. ‘Why on earth would they be against it? It’s a brilliant idea.’
‘You should put on cookery courses, I was told by anyone I mentioned my plans to. It’s the in thing. But imagine being indoors all day, tied to a hot stove, peeling potatoes, chopping vegetables, when there’s all this going on in the world outside.’ He gestured to the garden. ‘Nope, I told them, it’s got to be art classes.’
Who had he discussed his plans with, she wondered and took a sip of her drink. She was pretty sure he wasn’t married. There hadn’t been any mention of a wife in the articles she’d read online. But there could be a girlfriend back in England, and, thinking about it, there probably was. The fact that he ran a successful company and had property abroad was more than enough to make him highly eligible.
She glanced up at his strong profile, and a sudden heat rushed to her face.
And so was the fact that he was very, very good-looking. Even if he didn’t have a single penny to his name, he would still have been in great demand.
But not by her. Even if she wanted to fall for him, her feelings about what had happened to her father would stop that happening.
Also, she was in danger of assuming that because she found him so attractive, he might want something more from her, too. But there was no reason to think that just because he’d offered her a job he’d start to look at her in a romantic way. And if he didn’t, it’d be so much easier for her to keep her focus.
A thought suddenly hit her, and she felt a sharp stab of panic. If he did have a girlfriend, she might be planning to join him at some point over the summer. It wasn’t something he would have mentioned at the interview in London – his plans for the summer were none of her business – but just in case a girlfriend was coming out, it was all the more urgent that she develop a friendship with him as quickly as possible.
Inspiration struck.
‘You’re right,’ she said with a bright smile. ‘Art classes are much more suitable for this location than cookery would have been. But you’re wrong about something you said earlier, or rather you’re wrong about something you implied.’
He looked at her in surprise. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You said that you didn’t have any ability for art.’
‘Well, I haven’t – I’m absolutely hopeless at drawing and painting, and trust me that’s an understatement.’
‘But you could learn to paint. It’s a myth that you’ve either got talent or you haven’t – everyone can be taught. After that, it’s just hard work.’
‘Do you really believe that?’
‘I know it’s true. I’ve seen people start an art class without a clue which end of the brush to hold. And I’ve watched them work hard, lesson after lesson, until in the end they’re absolutely amazed at what they’ve achieved.’
‘Thinking of my past efforts, I find that virtually impossible to believe,’ he said with a wry smile. ‘I’m afraid I’m still inclined to subscribe to the natural ability theory: I’m the living proof of that.’
‘So put it to the test,’ she said lightly, trying not to show how much she wanted him to agree. ‘Come along to some of my classes and see how you get on. Stephen’s going to join us; you could come over with him. There’s more than enough equipment for an extra artist.’
She held her breath.
‘I might just do that,’ he said slowly. ‘You’ve got me thinking now. It could be fun, and after all, what have I got to lose? You know, you may just have got yourself another pupil.’
She let her breath out slowly. If Max came to the classes, she’d see a lot more of him. It was a start, but no more than that, as the others would be there, too. She must keep on thinking. What she really needed was quality time alone with him, which meant she’d have to come up with a way of getting him by himself.
She glanced at him, at the planes of his face, which gleamed like burnished gold in the rays thrown out by the dying sun.
Her mind went into overdrive. Then, bingo – inspiration struck again. She had an idea, and if she got it right, Max might pick up the threads and make the suggestion she wanted …
‘You know you ignored all advice and chose art over cookery,’ she said, injecting a bouncing lilt into her voice, ‘for purely selfish reasons, I’m very glad you did.’
‘For selfish reasons? Now that’s intriguing.’ He looked amused, she was pleased to see.
‘Yes, definitely for selfish reasons. I wouldn’t be here if you’d plumped for cookery, would I? I make a mean omelette, but I’d be hard pushed to stretch that skill for a whole week. Day one, find bowl; day two, remove three eggs from beneath nearest chicken; day three, break said eggs into bowl. And so on.’
He laughed. ‘You’ve got a point there. Yes, I think I might have expected a little more for my money, both as an employer and as a punter. Now, if you’d been able to make tagliatelle al tartufo, in addition to making an omelette, then we could have been in business.’
A bolt of excitement shot through her. She could build on this. ‘That’s your favourite dish, is it?’
‘Indeed it is.’
She sighed loudly. ‘Sadly, that’s not in my repertoire: truffles don’t abound in Cornwall and the family I was with in Florence never had them. At least, not the truffly kind: only the chocolate sort.’ She let a trace of innocent flirtation creep into her voice. ‘That means I’d have been handicapped from the start. I’d never be able to master something I’ve not even tasted. I wouldn’t know what I was aiming for.’
He caught his breath in mock horror and raised his hand.
‘We need to fix that, and fast, just in case I ever decide to give in and replace art with cookery. We’ll look at the activities you’ve planned for the coming week, and pick a day when the class will be so worn out by the evening that they won’t notice if you sneak off and play hooky. Then you and I can go to a place I know in Bevagna that serves the best Umbrian food.’
Success! She’d done it.
But she must watch what she said, she thought quickly. Sounding too eager could be counterproductive with a man who was probably bored rigid by women throwing themselves at him, and she wouldn’t want him to think her interest in him was anything more than simple friendship.
‘That’s very kind of you, Max, but you don’t have to, you know. I could order it when we go to Assisi. We’re there for the whole of Wednesday.’ Smiling, she glanced up at him, and caught him staring intently down at her. Their eyes met.
‘No, I prefer my plan,’ he said with a slight smile, and he turned back to the garden. ‘Tagliatelle al tartufo is something to be tasted for the first time when you’re with a connoisseur. And apart from that, after the amount of time I’ve spent with Stephen recently, I’d quite enjoy a change of company.’
His final words were almost drowned out by the sound of Clare screaming with laughter. They turned at the same moment
to see what was happening.
Stephen had opened a new bottle of Prosecco and the sparkling wine had gone all over his hands. To Clare’s amusement, he was licking the wine off his skin.
‘I rest my case,’ Max said with a grin.
Laughter lines crinkled the corners of his eyes whenever he smiled, she noticed. And that was often. And he had the deepest brown eyes she’d ever seen.
Dragging her eyes away from Max, she caught sight of Nick, who was standing just behind Clare, watching Stephen with a supercilious air. She felt a momentary chill, and her eyes moved to Stephen. She smiled vaguely in his direction. ‘Stephen seems nice,’ she said, watching him pour the remaining Prosecco into Clare’s glass.
Max glanced at his nephew. ‘Yes, he’s a really great kid and I’m very fond of him, but there are limits to how much one wants to hear about the million and one forms of social networking that he enjoys, and about his music and so on. Nope, I’m ready for a more adult sort of conversation. Having dinner with the group tonight will be a good start – at least, I hope it will be – and we can get to know each other even better if you’ll have dinner with me one evening this week.’
A warm glow crept through her. She couldn’t have asked for a more successful outcome to their conversation. For a moment, she imagined them sitting opposite each other at a small table, a candle flickering between them …
She kicked herself back into the present.
‘I hope you do enjoy this evening,’ she said quickly. ‘They’re a mixed bunch, and some are more adult than others. I’m sure there are also some bores you wouldn’t want to sit next to.’ She smiled at him. ‘For your sake, I hope the conversation this evening will be on the more adult side, rather than less.’
‘Adult or not, I’m grateful to you for letting me barge into what is, after all, your show.’
‘I prefer to think of it as our show.’
He raised his hands in surrender. ‘OK. I’ll go along with it being a joint thing. And now, in the interests of adult conversation, I think I’d better try to inject some maturity into Stephen before we sit down for dinner. Excuse me, would you?’
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