Italian Escape. Liz Fielding

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       CHAPTER FIVE

      ‘GOOD MORNING.’

      Cheerful, well-modulated tones rang clearly across the room. The tones of someone who embraced each morning, someone raised on kippers, kidneys and anaemic toast. Someone raised on hearty pre-breakfast tramps across fields and woodland trails, a well-trained spaniel at their heel.

      ‘I hope you slept well?’ the cheerful inquisition continued.

      ‘Buongiorno.’ Forcing a polite smile on his face, Luca turned to face her. He might prefer silence, a brisk walk, black coffee and a newspaper to help him wake up properly but Minty was a member of that despised breed: breakfast chatterer.

      And, annoyingly, using his newspaper as a barrier wasn’t working. She just chatted on regardless. He lowered it reluctantly. He should have gone in earlier, had his coffee and read his paper in the peaceful privacy of his office.

      She was dressed and ready to go, a file by her side and the ubiquitous iPad in her hand. Sure, the effect looked industrious but Luca would bet good money that she was checking her social media accounts, not actually working. His mouth twisted wryly as he observed her. At least Minty was taking her new job seriously, sartorially at least, he noted. She definitely looked the part of a young marketing executive in a pretty grey dress that fell to just above the knee, teamed with a lemon cardigan and yet another flimsy pair of flip-flops, these the same colour as her cardigan. She had twisted her hair up into a knot with just a few tendrils hanging down. She looked as fresh as a lemon sorbet.

      And just as desirable.

      No, he reminded himself. Don’t go there. But he felt that increasingly familiar pull towards her, the heating of his blood as it flowed through his veins. Minty by comparison looked as cool as the sorbet she resembled, sitting on the tiled counter as she swiped the tablet’s screen, swinging those long, bare legs; slim, muscular, formed on the hockey fields of England’s best schools.

      He forced himself to look away, to concentrate on the coffee and paper before him, but his gaze was inexorably drawn to the lithe figure. Did she know how much it annoyed him when she did that? Counters were for chopping things on, for cooking, preparing, not for sitting. Not for swinging ridiculously long legs. Why didn’t she sit in a chair like every other human being?

      ‘I need to leave; do you want a lift?’

      Okay, that was a little abrupt, but she didn’t look surprised. She bit her bottom lip thoughtfully and drew his unwilling attention to the curve of her mouth and the full bottom lip that he knew was put to good use, charming its owner’s way through life.

      ‘A lift? Careful, Luca, a girl might think you enjoyed having her around.’

      ‘It seems silly to be using two cars, that’s all. Wasteful.’

      Truth was, it was nice to have someone else around. The farmhouse was too big for one. It was crying out for conversation; music; laughter; love; noisy family suppers around the table.

      And so was he.

      ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘A lift would be nice.’ She sighed. ‘I do appreciate you putting up with me. I’m sure you can’t wait for me to be gone. I’ll look for a room soon, but I’m not sure I can afford a house round here; I’ll have to share.’ She pulled a face. ‘I’m sure Daddy will say it’s good for me, but I don’t see how rows about who ate the last yoghurt and whose turn it is to do the washing up are character-forming.’

      ‘Don’t rush. Take your time, save up a bit.’ He saw the surprise in her eyes and elaborated, ‘This was your home too, once. Rose would be glad that you are here.’

      ‘Actually, it was always your home,’ she corrected him gently. ‘It couldn’t have been easy, having your aunt and uncle move into your parents’ house. And then for me to turn up as well; talk about salt in wounds.’

      For one moment it was as if all the breath had been sucked out of his body and all Luca could do was stare at Minty. In all the years he had known her, she had never once acknowledged that he had a right to resent her presence. Maybe she was growing up after all, developing empathy. Becoming the woman he had always thought she could be.

      He hoped not. That could complicate everything.

      ‘I was grateful that Gio and Rose gave up their lives to move here so that I could have some continuity,’ he said after the silence had stretched thin between them. ‘The thought of moving to London after everything—leaving Italy, the countryside, my home, the factory, all my memories... I don’t know if I would have coped. But I didn’t have to. They moved here, took over the house and the business, raised me and allowed me to carry on. Your presence for a couple of months a year was a small price to pay.’

      Minty СКАЧАТЬ