Will He Ask Her to be His Bride?. Trish Wylie

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      Something to watch, thought Hester, biting her lip.

      ‘You’re not a bit like her in other ways, though,’ added Lowri. ‘Alice is pretty, but she’s not slim like you. She’s very smiley and cuddly, though.’

      ‘And I’m not?’

      Lowri eyed Hester objectively as they went upstairs. ‘When you smile it sort of lights up your face, and I notice it more because you don’t smile all the time. And you use make-up and scent, you have a great haircut, and your clothes are sort of plain but always look just right, like Chloe’s mother. And you’re young,’ she added as the final accolade. ‘Mrs Powell said Alice was very lucky to catch a husband at her age.’

      Poor old Alice, thought Hester. ‘And what age would that be?’

      ‘I’m not sure. More than thirty, anyway.’ Lowri looked at her curiously as they went into the bathroom. ‘How old are you, Hester?’

      ‘Twenty-seven—and I’m hungry, so let’s hurry it up.’

      After Flavia’s excellent lunch, all three were a little somnolent as they sat at the table on the loggia.

      ‘Lord knows I don’t feel like it, but I must do some work this afternoon,’ announced Connah, yawning.

      ‘I feel sleepy too,’ said Lowri, surprised.

      ‘Then why not have a nap on your bed and leave Hester in peace for a couple of hours?’

      ‘Later we’ll have a swim,’ promised Hester.

      ‘OK,’ said Lowri, getting up. ‘I’ll read for a while. You don’t have to come up with me,’ she added, but Hester was already on her feet.

      ‘I want my book. I fancy a nice peaceful read by the pool.’

      ‘Make sure you keep under an umbrella,’ advised Connah.

      ‘Alice can’t sit in the sun, she gets all red and shiny,’ said Lowri as they went upstairs. ‘But you don’t, Hester.’

      ‘Genetics—olive skin like my father. Right, then. When you’ve had a rest, get into your bikini and join me by the pool.’

      ‘Have you got a bikini?’ asked Lowri as she began to undress.

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Wear it this afternoon!’

      ‘I’ll see.’

      ‘Oh, please, Hester. I bet you look really cool in it.’

      ‘I’ll think about it. Enjoy your book, and I’ll see you later.’

      In her own room Hester exchanged her shorts and T-shirt for a sea-green bikini bought for France. She eyed herself in the mirror and thought why not? She added the long filmy shirt bought to go with it, collected her book, hat and sunglasses and the tote bag that held everything else and went downstairs to compliment Flavia on their lunch. The afternoon sun was hot as she made for the pool and she was grateful for the shade of an umbrella as she settled down with the book she’d started in bed the night before. The bed had been supremely comfortable and the room cool and airy, but sleep had been elusive. The sounds of the night through the open windows had made her restless because, added to the mix, she knew Connah was sitting alone on the loggia.

      Hester was absorbed in the novel when a shadow fell across her book and she looked up with a smile, expecting Connah. But a complete stranger stood smiling back at her. A handsome Italian stranger at that.

      She shot upright, pulling her shirt together.

      ‘Perdoneme, I startled you,’ he said apologetically. ‘I thought you were the Signora Anderson. Permit me to introduce myself. I am Pierluigi Martinelli.’

      ‘Hester Ward,’ she said formally. ‘How do you do?’

      ‘Piacere. You are here on holiday?’

      ‘Yes.’ Hester cast a look back at the house, relieved to see Connah about to join them, hand outstretched to the visitor.

      ‘Hello, Luigi. I didn’t know you were here.’

      ‘Connah, come estai!’ The two men shook hands. ‘I have just arrived. I came through the woods and along the private path into your garden. I am at the Castello for a while.’

      ‘Have you met Hester?’

      ‘We introduced ourselves, yes,’ said Luigi, smiling at her. ‘Are the Andersons here?’

      ‘No. Just Hester, myself and my daughter.’ Connah took Hester’s hand. ‘Darling, would you be an angel and ask Flavia to bring us some coffee?’

      Darling? Hester gathered up her belongings. ‘I’ll get Lowri up while I’m there.’

      Grateful for the long, filmy shirt which veiled most of her from the Italian’s appreciative gaze, Hester went quickly up the garden and into the house to announce, as best she could, that they had a visitor.

      ‘Caffè, per favore, Flavia, per signore Martinelli.’

      The name had a dramatic effect on the plump little woman. ‘Il Conte? Maddonnina mia—subito, subito!’ Flavia went into overdrive as she began laying a silver tray with the Andersons’ best china.

      Amused, Hester went upstairs to find Lowri already changed for her swim. ‘Your father has a visitor, so put a shirt on top. I won’t be a moment. I’m going to change.’

      The glowing face fell. ‘But you said you were going to swim with me!’

      ‘And I will, later, but right now I’m going to get dressed.’

      Lowri gave an admiring look at the sea-green bikini. ‘Do you have to?’

      ‘Yes, I do. Go on down and meet the visitor, if you like. I’ll be five minutes.’

      ‘I’ll wait for you,’ offered Lowri.

      ‘Flavia’s making coffee for the visitor. Why not run down and ask if you can carry something to the pool for her?’

      ‘OK. But don’t be long.’

      Hester pulled on a white cotton jersey shift at top speed, the word ‘darling’ reverberating in her head. At last, her hair caught up in a careless knot, gold thong sandals on her feet, dark glasses in place, she went downstairs to the kitchen where, with many apologies and much hand-waving, Flavia explained that the cakes meant for dessert after supper had been served to Il Conte with his coffee.

      ‘Non importa,’ said Hester airily, and took the ice-filled jug of lemonade Flavia handed to her.

      As she strolled down the descending tiers of flower beds towards the pool, Hester watched the two men standing together, with Lowri between them like a small referee. They were both dark, mature men, but Signor Martinelli, or Il Conte as Flavia called him, was unmistakably Latin. He wore elegant casual clothes, as expensively СКАЧАТЬ