Summer At Villa Rosa Collection. Kate Hardy

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       CHAPTER FOUR

      ‘A COUPLE OF WEEKS,’ she muttered as she grabbed her wheelie and retreated to the privacy of Sofia’s bedroom. A little time to get her head around an entirely new future. Was that too much to ask?

      The shutters were closed and the light bulb didn’t respond to the switch but there was enough light filtering through the louvres to find her wash bag. The water would be barely warm but at least she’d have the bathroom to herself while she grabbed a few minutes to take a shower and wash her hair.

      She’d once crept into Sofia’s private suite and it had seemed the most glamorous thing in the world to her. The windows had been dressed in something gauzy, the bed had been covered with an embroidered silk throw and in the bathroom there was a huge, claw-footed bath with brass fittings that had been polished to a gleaming gold.

      There had been piles of fluffy white towels and, on recessed glass shelves, there had been an array of gorgeous scented bath oils, bubbles and soaps from the most expensive retailers.

      Rosa Absolute, Gingerlily, Orange and Bergamot...

      She placed her rather more basic shower gel and shampoo on the shelf, turned on the shower and, looking for a towel, opened the cupboard and pulled one out.

      The water was emerging in fits and spurts that had the pipes rattling and it was only lukewarm but it would do and, having peeled off her wet robe, she stepped into the tub.

      * * *

      Cleve watched Miranda walk, stiff-backed, into the house. The effect was totally undermined by the wet silk clinging to every curve and her hair, always sleekly pinned up under her uniform hat at work, was loose and curling as it dried. Catching fire in the sunlight.

      Aware that he wasn’t the only one enjoying the view, he turned on the man standing beside him.

      ‘How long?’ he asked.

      ‘I’m sorry?’

      ‘How long have you known Miranda Marlowe?’

      ‘To the nearest minute?’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Thirteen hours and twenty minutes give or take the odd second. She told me that she was nicer after eight hours’ sleep.’ He pulled a face. ‘I’m not convinced.’

      ‘But if you’re not...’ He let the unwelcome thought die. There was no one. He was responsible for her decision to leave, although why she’d choose to give up flying... ‘Who are you? What are you doing here?’

      ‘Matthew Stark. I live in the village. I kept an eye on Sofia and now I keep an eye on the house. When I saw the light...’ He shrugged.

      ‘You thought she was a burglar?’

      ‘There was a time when you could have left the door unlocked but these days there are villains who’d have the lead off the roof and strip out the pipes for scrap metal.’

      ‘You took a risk coming up here on your own.’

      ‘If there had been a truck I’d have gone back to the village and called the polizia. I assumed someone had broken in looking for anything they could steal or a place to sleep.’

      ‘And instead you got Miranda in a bad mood.’ Realising that he’d been curt, he offered his hand. ‘Cleve Finch.’

      ‘To be fair the bang on the head couldn’t have helped and the house is a mess. I’m glad she’s got company,’ he said, as he took it, then offered him the bag he was holding. ‘Cornetti. From the village bakery. They were supposed to be a peace offering.’

      Cleve ignored the bag. ‘What bang on the head?’

      ‘She had her head in the cupboard under the sink looking for the stopcock when I arrived. She gave it a bit of a crack when she looked up. She looked a bit unsteady for a moment but she said she was just tired and wanted to sleep.’

      ‘And you left her?’

      ‘She didn’t give me a choice. The phone line to the villa came down in a storm several years ago and was never repaired, but I did explain how to call if she needed help.’ He gestured with his head towards the house. ‘Have you known her long?’

      ‘Six years.’ Six years, eight months and four days. ‘It was her eighteenth birthday, she’d just got her pilot’s licence and had taken the plane her father had given her for a spin. There was a tricky crosswind as she approached the runway but she touched down as light as a feather.’

      That perfect landing, her brilliant smile as she jumped down onto the tarmac with her newly minted pilot’s licence in her hand, the sun catching the hint of cinnamon in her hair and setting it ablaze, was as fresh in his mind as if it had happened yesterday.

      There had been kisses and cake for everyone. He wasn’t part of the family or Marlowe Aviation. He’d been there completing a deal to buy his first freight aircraft and maybe he’d been on a high too, because he’d assured her that if she went for a commercial licence he’d give her a job. She’d instantly invited him to her and Immi’s party and later, in a shadowy corner of her parents’ garden, they’d shared a kiss that hadn’t been about celebrating her PPL. It had been just about them. Would have been a lot more than a kiss if her younger sister—giddy on champagne—hadn’t stopped him from doing something of which he would have later been ashamed.

      There had been other kisses. She’d lain in wait for him when she knew he was flying in. And she’d never let him forget his promise to give her a job.

      He realised that Matt Stark was waiting but there was nothing more he wanted to share. ‘Thanks for these,’ he said, finally taking the bag. ‘Hopefully they’ll sweeten her mood.’

      ‘Good luck with that.’ He let himself out through the side СКАЧАТЬ