by Carrie Elks
‘If I tell you I’ve seen you around, will that make you feel any better?’ He leaned forward, as if to share a secret. ‘I’m staying in the villa next to yours. When I saw you here this morning, I decided it was time to introduce myself.’
Knowing he was a neighbour made Cesca feel slightly less agitated.
‘I didn’t know there was anybody living there. I haven’t seen you down at the beach.’
‘I only arrived last week, and I’ve been busy exploring the area. I’ve rented it for the summer, an attempt to get away. To leave work behind for a while, or at least try to.’ He leaned forward, conspiratorially. ‘Though I’ve already arranged some meetings here. Everybody keeps telling me I’m a workaholic.’
Cesca smiled. She wondered what he’d say if she told him she was pretty much the opposite, barely able to hold down a job for more than a week. ‘Then a break sounds exactly what you need.’
‘I’m so sorry, let me introduce myself. My name is Gatto. Cristiano Gatto. I’m from Roma.’
‘I’m Cesca. From London.’ She reached out to take his proffered hand. ‘What is it you do in Rome?’
‘Cesca, that’s a beautiful name.’ He was still smiling. ‘I’m in the hospitality business. I have a number of restaurants in the capital.’
She felt her eyes get wide. Probably best not to tell him she’d been in the hospitality industry herself for a few weeks, even if she had been mostly dealing with cats. ‘And you were able to get away?’
He looked down at the table. ‘It was difficult. I find it hard to let things go, you see. But now I’ve met my beautiful neighbour I’m glad I made the effort.’
Oh, he was a smooth talker. She couldn’t help but smile back at his handsome face. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Cristiano. I’m glad you made the effort, too.’
The waiter came over and took their orders, returning a few minutes later with two steaming cups. Cristiano continued to talk about his restaurants, about Rome, asking Cesca what she was doing here in Varenna.
‘Tell me, Cesca, what are you doing drinking coffee all alone? Are your friends back at the villa?’
‘I’m not staying with friends.’ She shook her head, her voice cautious. She wasn’t sure how much she should reveal about herself. After all, she was a single woman in a strange country. ‘It’s a working holiday.’
‘No boyfriend either?’ His eyes twinkled. She wasn’t sure whether it was simply the reflection of the sun.
Damn, he was good looking though. In a delicious, dark Italian way. Flirtatious, too. It was almost impossible not to flirt back. ‘Not at the moment.’ She smiled at him. ‘Though I’m falling in love with your beautiful country. I feel very lucky to be here.’
‘A beautiful girl in a beautiful country. It’s the perfect combination.’ He lowered his voice again. ‘I’m very glad I found the courage to introduce myself.’
That made her laugh out loud. He didn’t seem the type who was backwards at coming forwards. Still, she accepted his compliment with a smile. It had been a long time since somebody had flirted with her, and she had to admit it felt good.
By the time they finished their drinks, Cesca’s bad mood had all but disappeared. She tried to take the bill as it arrived, but Cristiano insisted on paying, shaking his head vehemently when she offered some euros to cover her half. ‘It’s been a pleasure to meet you, Cesca. Perhaps we can meet for coffee again later this week? Or maybe I’ll see you down by the beach some time.’
Cesca thought she’d like that, more than she was willing to admit. And as she agreed readily, she realised she’d already made her mind up about staying here in Varenna. There was no way she was going to let Sam Carlton chase her out of Villa Palladino. Not after everything he’d already done to her. If Sam wanted a fight, then that’s what he would get.
She wasn’t going to let him win this time.
The house was strangely quiet when Sam woke up. He was used to being in the villa, of course – he’d spent most of his childhood summers here, after all – but he was usually surrounded by noise. Today, though, everything in the building was silent. His stomach growled, reminding him that part of his body at least was still on US time. And he’d barely eaten for nearly forty-eight hours.
Emerging from his bedroom wearing fresh shorts and a T-shirt, he padded onto the marble landing, still listening to hear if Cesca was up. He tipped his head to the side, brows dipped, but all he could hear was the faint birdsong drifting in from the gardens beyond. Maybe he was lucky, and she hadn’t yet awoken.
‘What the hell is her problem, anyway?’ he murmured.
He pulled open the refrigerator, grabbing an almost-empty carton of juice from the shelf. Without bothering to pour it into a glass, he swallowed the dregs straight from the spout. Leaving the carton on the side, he went back to look for food. There was some fruit in there, along with some platters of uncooked meat. Tomatoes – of course – all luscious and ripe, and some fresh pasta, too.
No snacks, though. No beer either – not that he wanted any yet. But it was just occurring to him that he might want some later, and if there was none in the villa, he’d need to find some. Gabi and Sandro knew what he liked to eat and drink – hell, they knew all the habits of the Carltons – but of course they hadn’t bothered stocking up for his arrival. Not when they’d known nothing about it.
Groaning, he raked a hand through his hair. Any other time and he’d either go out and buy some snacks himself, or at least find some mobile reception in Varenna and call his PA in Hollywood who could arrange for some sort of delivery. But if he left the villa, he risked exposing himself and letting people know he was here. Which was really against the point.
He supposed he could try going out in the evening, under the cloak of darkness, and hope for the best. But after everything he’d been through, he was unwilling to risk it right then. The fewer people who knew he was here the better. A phone call to his PA would almost certainly alert his exagent and possibly his parents to his whereabouts. As far as Sam was concerned, that was almost as bad as the paparazzi finding out.
The front door slammed, and Sam lifted his head up, stepping away from the fridge. Footsteps approached, echoing against the marble floor, then Cesca walked in.
‘So you’re still here, I see,’ she said.
‘Last I looked, it was still my house.’
‘Your parents’ house.’
‘Same difference.’ Why did she manage to bring out the worst in him? He felt like a petulant child having a playground argument. ‘And anyway, where else would I go? I came here to keep my head down and have some quiet time without always being followed by the paparazzi. I’m not exactly going to parade through Varenna, am I?’
‘I thought you might have gone home.’
‘This is home. At least for the next couple of months. I’m not going anywhere.’
‘Nor am I.’
Sam sighed. It was last night all over again. She really was as stubborn as a mule.
‘Look, you don’t like me. I get it. And right now I’m not exactly fond of you. So the way I see it we have two choices: either you leave and find somewhere else to live, or we both stay here and be miserable.’
Her mouth was set in a straight line. He’d already seen enough of her to realise this meant she was settling in for a fight. He huffed again, feeling the frustration rise inside him.
‘There’s no way I’m leaving. I was given this job and I intend to do it to the best of my ability. And anyway, even if I could leave, I can’t afford to go anywhere else. Not without a job.’
‘I could pay—’
‘Don’t you dare offer to help me out,’ she shouted. ‘I don’t want any of your money. I just want you to go away and leave me to my job, so I can start pretending you never existed.’
So there it was. Last night’s impasse hadn’t disappeared at all, in fact it looked like it had pulled up a chair, made itself cosy and was settling in. Some escape this was turning out to be.
He shook his head, a sense of doom pulling at his guts. He couldn’t help but feel this was all going to end in tears. Almost certainly his.
‘Then I guess we’re both staying.’
‘I guess we are.’ She folded her arms across her chest. ‘And if we’re going to be living together we need some ground rules.’
This was going to be good. ‘Such as?’
‘Such as no coming near me unless invited first. And there will be no invitations.’
‘Done.’
She glanced at the mess he’d left on the countertop. ‘And you tidy up after yourself, and do your fair share of chores.’ She eyed the empty juice carton meaningfully. ‘And if you use something up, you go out and purchase a replacement.’
‘I can’t do that.’
‘You can’t do what? Tidy up after yourself? Figures, someone like you must have so many minions to do that for him.’
‘Don’t be stupid, I’m perfectly capable of clearing up. I meant I can’t go out and buy replacements.’
‘Why not?’ Cesca frowned.
‘Because I’m famous. Everybody will know me, and I’d like to keep my presence here quiet, you know? I’ve come to get away from all the tabloids and the gossip and the bloody paparazzi, not to invite them to come and stay with me. I won’t be leaving the villa, and I certainly don’t want anybody to know I’m here.’
Cesca bit her lip. ‘Nobody knows you’re here at all?’
‘Why, are you planning to commit murder and hide my body in the cellar?’ Sam laughed uneasily. ‘My friend Will knows, but he’s the only one. So I’m afraid you’ll have to call off your dastardly plan.’
‘I was thinking more that I’ve got some leverage,’ she told him, flashing him a gloating smile. ‘If you step out of line, I’ll let everybody know you’re here.’
‘You wouldn’t . . . ’ He could feel his cheeks heating up. ‘Why would you threaten that?’
She leaned forward, her voice almost a hiss. ‘Because if you can stick to your side of the bargain and not bother me, then I’ll pretend you don’t exist. Maybe that way we can live together without wanting to kill each other.’
Sam wasn’t sure they’d ever be able to do that. ‘Maybe we both have something to lose. I’ve got leverage over you, too. If you tell anybody I’m here, then I’ll call my parents and ask them to get rid of you, which will leave you with no money and no job.’
Her face paled, in spite of the tan of her skin. ‘You wouldn’t.’
He smiled. ‘Try me.’
She shook her head, swallowing hard as she stared out into space. Finally she brought her eyes over to meet his. ‘OK, it’s a deal.’
‘There’s one more thing.’
‘There is?’ She looked surprised.
‘If I give you some money, I’d like you to keep this refrigerator supplied.’
She stared at him, as if mulling his words over. As if to show some sort of concession Sam picked up the empty juice carton and put it into the recycling bin, taking care to collapse it first. Cesca watched him carefully, her face placid and still. This time she wasn’t giving anything away.
‘Please?’ He used his sweetest tone, wanting this conversation to be over for once and all.
She swallowed, her delicate neck bobbing. Her chest rose and fell with a deep breath. ‘OK.’
8
How many fond fools serve mad jealousy!
– The Comedy of Errors
Sam was everywhere she looked. Not the real-life, smooth-tongued person, oh no, he was wise enough to hide his face. But his likeness smiled out of every wall, with photographs documenting his growth from a grinning, messy-haired boy into awkward teenager. Then there was the man himself, complete with sharp jaw and white teeth, his hair flopping across his forehead artfully. How had she not noticed them before? All these photographs on side tables and affixed to the wall had been in the villa all along, but it was only since Sam had arrived in Varenna that they had made themselves known.
And now it felt as though they were taunting her. Reminding her that this was his home, and he could throw her out whenever he wanted. The arrogant bastard.
He’d been here for almost a week and she still couldn’t stand the sight of him. Every time they talked it seemed to turn into an argument, heated and angry, leaving both of them breathless. It was exhausting.
Sighing, she picked up her notebook and her sunhat, deciding that a morning spent on the villa’s private beach was preferable to being cooped up with Sam. It was just past eleven; Cesca’s shadow was short as it followed her across the patio, her sandals clipping the old paving stones as she walked down towards the footpath. Around the corner she could hear the gardeners talking to each other in fast Italian, their voices loud as it pierced the relative silence of the garden. She smiled as she listened, not able to discern any words, but impressed nonetheless at just how beautiful they sounded. No doubt the gardeners would be old and rotund when she saw them, but their voices were anything but. They were deep and throaty, their sentences rising and falling like music, and Cesca let it wash over her as she approached.
‘Buona mattina, signorina,’ the eldest gardener called across to her. He was wearing long, dark trousers and a grey T-shirt, his belt so tight his stomach bulged over the top. His face was deeply tanned from a lifetime exposed to the sun, his cheeks speckled with smudges of dirt where he’d been digging in the soil. Cesca lifted her hand and gave him a wave, aware she should know his name, but not able to remember it. Sandro had introduced them on her second day there, explaining that the gardeners came to the house three times a week. Like locusts they arrived in a swarm, descending on the greenery, able to tidy the whole estate up in a matter of hours.
‘Where are you off to?’ It was only when the second man spoke that she realised it was Sam. Without waiting for an answer he turned and began to talk to the gardener again, Italian words dancing from his mouth as though it was his native tongue. He sounded so different, his voice even deeper, almost guttural. And though every part of her screamed not to acknowledge it, she couldn’t help but admit it made him even more attractive than he already was.
‘I’m going down to the beach. Then later I might go into town again. Because I can.’ She wrinkled her nose at him. Once again, he made her feel like a twelve-year-old girl.
‘Maybe you can pick up a few things for me?’ he asked smoothly. ‘I’ve nearly run out again.’
Her lips tightened. She wanted to tell him where to stick his things, and refuse to help him at all. Every time she saw him she acted like a child.
‘I said I would, didn’t I?’ she said. ‘Make a list and leave it in the kitchen, I’ll pick it up on my way out.’ There, she was keeping her end of the agreement, even if it made her want to stab her own eyes with toothpicks.
She walked through the formal gardens and out into the wilder, shrub-filled landscape beyond, reaching the steps that led down to the beach. The sun reflected off the lake and straight into her eyes, making her squint as she covered her forehead with her hand. The beach was small but beautiful, with a covering of tiny shale that disappeared into the water. The Carltons had erected a small covered deck here, with sun loungers and tables to sit at while marvelling at the view offered by the lake. It was here that Cesca decided to spend her day sketching out her play. And though she hadn’t begun to write the scenes yet, it still felt like a huge achievement. Over the last week she’d somehow managed to come up with the skeleton of a story – only an outline and barely fleshed out at all – but it was more than she’d managed for the past six years.
Leaning back, she tried to imagine what it must have been like to grow up here, spending sunburned summers splashing in the water, surrounded by family and friends. From what she’d seen in the photographs, Sam had two younger sisters, who tended to stare up at him adoringly in nearly every portrait. She expected they had followed him around the villa in much the same way, running down to the beach with their swimsuits on,
trailing buckets and spades behind them, demanding that Sam threw them into the water one more time.
He seemed to have that effect on women. Most of them, anyway.
Her throat tightened. She’d never been abroad in her life until now. She and her sisters had spent their school holidays in their Hampstead home, bouncing like pinballs between the library and the garden, sometimes taking picnics up to the heath. Even if he could have afforded to take them away, her father would have almost certainly baulked at the idea of taking four young children abroad with him. Cesca couldn’t blame him, really, they’d each been a handful in their own way.
A shot of jealousy at Sam’s easy life shot through her body, straightening her back like a rod of iron. She should channel the feeling, put it into her writing. That was easier said than done, though, especially when the object of her envy was sharing the villa with her. Was she going to feel permanently on edge for the whole time they were together?
‘So we meet again!’ Cristiano Gatto was standing at the fence separating the Carltons’ part of the beach from their neighbours’. He leaned on the wood, his white shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing tanned arms and a thick silver wristband. Smiling warmly at her, his teeth were almost sparkling in the sun. The sight of him was enough to make her grin right back.
It was so easy to interact with Gatto. He was like a ray of sunshine standing there, so guileless and friendly.
‘You don’t look like you’re ready to sunbathe,’ Cesca called back. Standing up, she wrapped her sarong around her waist, aware of her almost-nudity compared to his fully dressed attire. Bikinis were great if everybody was wearing them. Otherwise they made you feel like a Playboy Bunny in a house full of Hugh Hefner-style smoking jackets.
‘I’m still exploring.’ Cristiano glanced at his silver watch. ‘I have a meeting this afternoon, but I wanted to check out the beach. It’s very beautiful.’ His eyes were still on hers. The way he talked sent a welcome shiver down her back.
‘It’s even better in the evening,’ she told him. ‘All the lights on the boats come on, and the lake reflects them. There’s such a peacefulness to it, sitting here and staring across the water.’