and she would have probably started feeling restless in a few months anyway, but... She glanced once more at the night-cloaked hills and valleys, the mellow stone of the villa perched on its hill gleaming in the moonlight. She liked living here. It was peaceful, with plenty of subjects to photograph. She’d be sad to leave, if it came to that.
But maybe Larenzo just meant a swim before he left for Rome again. She switched on the heating and then turned to go inside; as she turned a shadowy form loomed up in front of her and her breath came out in a short gasp. She must have swayed or stumbled a little, for Larenzo put his hands on her shoulders to steady her.
They stood like that for a moment in the doorway, his strong hands curling around her shoulders so she could feel the warmth of his palms through the thin cotton of her T-shirt, and how her heart pounded beneath it. She didn’t think he’d ever actually touched her before.
She moved one way, and he moved another, so it was almost as if they were engaged in a struggle or an awkward dance. Then Larenzo dropped his hands from her shoulders and stepped back.
‘Scusi.’
‘My fault,’ she murmured, her heart still thudding, and moved quickly through the kitchen to flick on the lights. Bathed in a bright electric glow, things felt more normal, even if she could still feel the imprint of his hands on her shoulders, so warm and strong. ‘So.’ She turned to him with a quick smile, a brisk look. ‘Have you eaten? I can make you something.’
He looked as if he was about to refuse, and then he shrugged. ‘Why not? I’ll go change while you cook.’
‘What would you like to eat?’
Another shrug as he turned away. ‘Whatever you make will be fine.’
She watched him disappear down the hallway, her lips pursed in an uncertain frown. She’d never seen Larenzo like this. Not that they’d actually had that much conversation, beyond discussing pool maintenance and house repairs. But even when talking about such mundane matters, Larenzo Cavelli had exuded a compelling charisma and energy, a life force. He was a man who, when entering a room, made everyone turn and take notice. Men tried to suppress their envy, and women undressed him with their eyes. Emma counted herself as wilfully immune to the man’s magnetic vitality, but its absence now made her uneasy.
Her frown deepening, Emma opened the fridge and stared at the few items inside. She always did a big shop right before Larenzo arrived; she bought all the ingredients for gourmet meals for one and made them for him to eat alone, usually out on the terrace overlooking the mountains.
Now she glanced askance at the half-dozen eggs, a few slices of pancetta and the end of a wedge of cheese that comprised the entire contents of the fridge. With a sigh she took it all out. A bacon and cheese omelette it was.
She was just sliding it onto a plate when Larenzo came downstairs, dressed now in faded jeans and a grey T-shirt, his hair damp and spiky from a shower. She’d seen him casually dressed before, many times, but for some reason now, perhaps because of how different Larenzo seemed, her heart gave a weird little flip and she felt awareness shiver over her skin. Clearly he still possessed some of that charisma and vitality, for she felt the force of it now.
‘Sorry it’s just an omelette,’ she said. ‘I’ll do a big shop tomorrow.’
‘That won’t be necessary.’
‘But—’
“Aren’t you going to join me?’ He arched an eyebrow, nodding towards the single plate she’d laid out, a challenge simmering in his eyes.
In the handful of times he’d been at the villa, Larenzo had never asked her to eat with him. The two of them alone on the terrace would have been awkward, intimate, and Emma happily ate leftovers in the kitchen, one of her photography books propped against the salt and pepper shakers.
‘Um...I’ve already eaten,’ she said after a second’s pause. It had to be past ten o’clock at night.
‘Come have a glass of wine. I don’t feel like being alone.’
Was that a command? Emma shrugged her assent; she wouldn’t mind a glass of wine, and perhaps Larenzo would tell her what was going on.
‘Okay,’ she said, and she fetched two glasses while Larenzo selected a bottle of red wine from the rack above the sink.
While Larenzo took his plate of eggs out to the terrace, Emma retrieved her sweater from the sitting room, slipping her arms through the sleeves as she stepped outside. The moon was high and full above the pine-blanketed hills, the Nebrodi range’s highest peak, Mount Soro, piercing the night sky. Larenzo was already seated at a table overlooking the pool, the water glimmering in the moonlight, but he rose as Emma came forward with the two glasses and proffered the bottle of wine. She nodded her assent and sat down while he poured.
‘This is very civilised,’ she said as she accepted the glass.
‘Yes, isn’t it?’ Larenzo answered. ‘Well, let’s enjoy it while we can.’ He raised his glass in a toast and Emma lifted hers as well before taking a sip. The wine was rich and velvety-smooth, clearly expensive, but she put her glass down after one sip and gave her boss as direct a look as she could.
‘You’re sure everything is all right?’
‘As right as it can be,’ Larenzo answered, taking a sip of wine.
‘What does that mean?’
He set his glass down and stretched his legs out in front of him. ‘Exactly that. But I don’t want to talk about myself, not tonight. For a few hours I’d just like to forget.’
Forget what? Emma wondered, but clearly Larenzo didn’t want her to ask.
‘You’ve been my housekeeper for nearly a year and I don’t really know the first thing about you,’ he continued, and Emma stared at him in surprise.
‘You want to talk about me?’
‘Why not?’
‘Because...well, because you’ve never expressed an interest in knowing anything about me before. And actually, I’m quite a boring person.’
He smiled, his teeth gleaming in the darkness. ‘Let me be the judge of that.’
Emma shook her head slowly. This evening was becoming almost surreal. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘Where did you grow up?’
An innocuous enough question, she supposed. ‘Everywhere, really. I was a diplomat’s kid.’
‘I think I remember you mentioning that in your interview.’ He’d interviewed her in Rome, where she’d been working as a chambermaid in a hotel, just one in a string of jobs she’d had as she moved from city to city, exploring the world and taking photographs.
‘And you haven’t minded being stuck up here in the hills of Sicily?’ he asked, his wine glass raised to his lips. ‘All by yourself?’
She shrugged. ‘I’m used to being on my own.’ And she preferred it that way. No ties, no obligations, no disappointments. The occasional bout of loneliness was not too high a price to pay for that kind
