you ask her to slow down?’ said Jessica.
Delia held up a hand. ‘Non capisco,’ she tried.
The flow of words slowed abruptly, and the woman made tutting noises before coming closer, and, jabbing her chest with a plump finger, said as one talking to idiots, ‘Benedetta.’
‘Signorina Vaughan,’ said Delia, pointing to herself.
That brought an immediate and delighted response. ‘La Signorina Vaughan, si, si.’
‘Looks like she was expecting you,’ Jessica said.
Delia touched Jessica’s arm. ‘Signora Meldon.’ And then, ‘Ch’e la Villa Dante?’
That brought more si, sis.
Delia was relieved. But the woman was off again, and, seeing their incomprehension, reached out and took their hands to lead them to the open door. ‘Scirocco!’ she said, pointing dramatically to the heap of red sand that had come to rest by the stone threshold.
‘I think she means sirocco,’ said Delia. ‘Si, scirocco,’ she said, and made a whooshing sound to indicate a mighty wind.
The woman nodded vehemently, and then, catching sight of the man standing by the table, flew at him, talking once more at the top of her voice. She paused for a second, to push him forward, saying, ‘Pietro, Pietro.’ Then she thrust a large broom into his hands and propelled him out of the door.
‘Looks like he’s on sweeping duty,’ Jessica said. ‘What’s the Italian for breakfast?’
‘Bother, I can’t remember,’ said Delia. She mimed putting food in her mouth; instant comprehension, and Benedetta was urging them out of the kitchen. She bustled past them, and led them along to the entrance hall. There she flung open a door and led the way into a room hardly visible in the semi-darkness. There was the sound of shutters opening, and light poured in from two sets of doors.
Delia stepped out through the doors. ‘It’s a colonnade,’ she called back to Jessica. ‘With a vaulted roof.’ She came back into the dining room. ‘It runs all along this side of the house and there are steps further along down into the garden. Necessary shade for hot summer days, I suppose, and there are plants weaving in and out of the balustrade. Clematis, for one, with masses of flowers, and wisteria.’
‘Prima collazione, subito!’ Benedetta said, setting down a basket of bread and a jug of coffee before whisking herself away.
It was a large, high room with faded frescoes on the panelled wall. A glass table, set on ornate wrought-iron supports, ran almost the length of the room. Four places were set at one end of the table. ‘For our fellow guests,’ Delia said. ‘We’re obviously the first to arrive.’
‘No one said anything to you about a host or hostess, did they?’ Jessica said. ‘I mean, there could be a horde of Malaspinas.’
‘I told you, there was nothing to be got out of Mr Winthrop, it was like talking to a deed box. But the French lawyer did say there was no one living at the villa now. Perhaps we’re all to gather here, for a formal reading of the will.’
‘Or to be bumped off, one by one, like in a detective story,’ Jessica said cheerfully. ‘In any case, they’ll have to lay an extra place, if four are expected, since they can’t have known I’d be coming as well.’
‘I suppose the others were held up by the wind. Or maybe they’ll arrive at the last minute. It’s not the end of the month yet; the others might not be able to get away as easily as us. Let’s hope they’ll know something about the mysterious Beatrice Malaspina. Or perhaps it will all turn out to be a dreadful mistake, and they’re the grieving heirs and will toss us out into the storm.’
‘Doesn’t look like there’s any storm in the offing just at present,’ Jessica said.
Delia stood beside the French window, restless, wanting Jessica to hurry and finish her breakfast.
Jessica poured more coffee. ‘Are we going to look round the house?’
‘Before anything, I’d like to go to the sea,’ said Delia, catching her breath after a sudden fit of coughing. ‘Sea air will do me the world of good.’
‘You and your fascination with water,’ said Jessica. ‘No, don’t fidget and fret. I’m hungry, and I’m going to finish my breakfast in my own good time. Then we’ll go and indulge your Neptune complex.’
Delia loved the sea, and water in all its forms, and the sight of the shining Mediterranean from her bedroom window had filled her with longing to go down to the shore. ‘Besides, it’s not as though we’d rented the house. It seems rather rude just to prowl around it,’ she said, sitting down again and trying not to look impatient.
‘Do you suppose there’s a private beach?’
‘Probably,’ said Delia, thumbing through her dictionary. ‘Spiaggia is the Italian for beach. I shall ask Benedetta.’
‘Can you manage that? When did you learn Italian? Didn’t you only do French and German at Cambridge?’
‘We musicians pick up quite a bit, and I bought a Hugo’s Italian in Three Months to study during rehearsals, there’s a terrific amount of sitting about. Crosswords get boring, and I can’t knit, so I decided to improve my mind and expand my horizons.’
Benedetta came in to offer more coffee and Delia enquired about the beach, which brought a volley of head-shaking and finger-wagging.
‘Can’t we go?’ Jessica asked.
‘I don’t think it’s territorial, more concern for our health.’
Benedetta was pointing at Delia’s chest and making hacking noises.
‘Especially for you. She’s noticed your cough.’
More Italian poured out of Benedetta, accompanied by much gesticulation.
Delia shrugged. ‘She’s lost me. We’ll just have to find our own way. Il giardino?’ she said to Benedetta.
Which brought more frowns from Benedetta, and a reluctant gesture towards the steps and the garden and, finally, a dramatic rendering of a person shivering, crossing her arms and slapping herself vigorously.
‘She wants you to put on a coat or jacket,’ Jessica said. ‘I don’t need Italian to understand that.’
‘Compared to England…Oh, all right, I can see you’re about to fuss as well.’
Once outside, Delia was glad of the jacket she’d thrown over her shoulders; the air was fresh and the light breeze had none of the heat of the southerly wind of the night before. Jessica had pulled a jumper on over her shirt and thrust her feet into a pair of disreputable plimsolls.
They went out through the dining room into the colonnade, blinking in the strong sunlight.
‘There are paintings on the walls,’ said Jessica, stopping to inspect them.
Delia was already running down the
