Her fragile self-confidence didn’t need this project to founder as well.
To cheer herself up, Meg turned her attention to the rest of the garden. Once upon a time it had produced all the food for the villa. Decades of neglect meant it was now nothing more than an area of infrequently mown grass and overgrown fruit trees. Without regular care their long, lissom branches grew in all directions, throwing welcome pools of shade throughout the day. She parked her barrow in one of these slightly cooler spots, beside an ancient dipping pool. Then she went back and locked the garden door. That would ensure she wasn’t disturbed. Returning to her barrow full of tools and provisions, she tied one end of a length of twine around the neck of her water bottle. Lowering it into the dipping pool would keep the contents chilled. Then she started work.
The structural work of repairing the hard landscaping was complete, so it was left to Meg to begin the best job of all. She was about to mark out new flowerbeds, and couldn’t wait to get started. There would be borders at the foot of the encircling wall, designed to complement the new garden buildings. Meg’s mind had been turning over ideas for a long time. Now she needed to see them marked out on the ground, to get a feel for how they might work in reality. Once she had the details right, work could start. That meant there would be something worth seeing by the end of the week. The bigger the impact she could make on Gianni Bellini, the more likely he was to let her stay. Or so she hoped.
She began measuring up and marking out, but soon felt overdressed. The first things to go were her sandals. The short, prickly grass beneath her bare feet made her laugh with the excitement of it all. She was making the closest possible contact with this grand estate, and it was fun! Curling her toes into the hot turf she carried on, hammering in pegs and laying out string to plan the new flower-beds. There was so little air movement that soon her hat and shirt began to cling uncomfortably in the heat. She hesitated for a moment, wondering if she was brave enough to strip off completely. Glancing around, she came to a decision. The garden wasn’t overlooked. Working in her underwear was no worse than wearing a bikini, and she had worked in one of those often enough at home. The door into her sanctuary was locked. No one would see. If she was careful to avoid getting sunburned, no one would ever know.
Impulsively, she tore off her outer clothes and went back to work. When the sun parched her skin too fiercely, she dodged back into the shade and enjoyed a drink of pool-cooled water from her bottle. She was straightening up to assess how the outline was developing when a frighteningly familiar voice almost sent her into orbit.
‘Is this how all English gardeners dress, Megan?’
Meg whirled around and her heart stood still. It was Gianni: the real one, not the exhausted version who had tried to send her away the day before. Today he looked every inch as seductive as he had done at the Chelsea Flower Show. That alarmed her as much as his anger had done.
‘What are you doing here?’ she burst out, her hands trying ineffectually to cover all the bits her scanty underwear was failing to hide.
He nodded towards the villa. ‘I live here, remember?’
Meg was caught completely off guard. ‘I’m sorry—how could I possibly forget?’ She gasped. A blush was no defence against him. He continued looking at her with undisguised interest.
‘You certainly seemed to have done.’
‘I never dreamed anyone would disturb me in here. The door was locked. I have the only key. How did you get in?’ she blustered, embarrassment mixed up with growing anger.
One hand in his pocket, Gianni strolled over to the old medlar tree where Meg had hung her hat and shirt. Plucking them from the branches like particularly desirable fruit, he made his way over to her. He took his time. It was painfully obvious to Meg that he was making her wait for her clothes. She wasn’t in the mood to be toyed with. As soon as he got close enough she snatched her things from his hands and pulled them on. He watched with something close to amusement. Then he drew a second key from his pocket with a flourish.
‘As I said—I live here. I have a copy of every key in the place.’
Barefoot but otherwise decent, Meg rallied.
‘That doesn’t explain why you felt the need to come in here.’
‘It wasn’t a need. It was a want. I wanted to see you, Megan.’
There was a haunting look in his dark eyes. It was so delicious she could hardly meet his gaze. Nervous that he might be able to read all sorts of things from her own expression, she looked down at the coarse wiry grass at her feet. All sorts of hope were beginning to stir deep within her, but there was only one she could put into words.
‘I hope you’re feeling better, Count.’
His smile widened, bright as pearl against the golden warmth of his skin. ‘Yes, I am—but call me Gianni, please.’
Meg’s heart did a little skip—until she realised he probably gave that bonus to all his staff.
‘Part of the reason I came out here was to thank you,’ he went on. ‘You were right. I was overtired when you arrived. All I’ve done since then is sleep—and enjoy an excellent late lunch.’
‘That’s good,’ Meg said with genuine relief.
‘Afterwards I went down to the kitchens, where they told me that the meal I so enjoyed was your idea. What made you challenge Cook?’
She looked up quickly to find out exactly how much trouble she was in. In response Gianni smiled, raising his eyebrows in silent approval. It was an expression that made her shiver, despite the heat.
‘You looked so distracted. I knew eating would be way down on your list of priorities. When I saw steak on today’s menu I thought it sounded far too heavy for this weather. I decided to cater for myself, and guessed you might like something light and familiar too. I’d already discovered from chatting with the other staff that you attended boarding school in England. It just so happens my aunt is now Head Chef at the same place. I rang and asked her what dishes would be most popular at your old school on a day like today.’
Meg didn’t add that everyone loved comfort food in times of trouble, but could see he knew that already. The softening around his eyes proved it to her.
‘That shows real initiative, Megan,’ he said with conviction. ‘Especially in view of what happened when you suggested it to my cook. I’ve come straight from the kitchens. As soon as she has finished the larder inventory, she’ll be coming out to apologise to you for the things she said.’
Meg blinked at him. An apology was the very last thing she expected, in the circumstances.
‘Pardon?’
‘The staff said she tried to pull rank, but you stood your ground. Well done. You’re the first member of staff who’s done that to her.’
‘Are you saying you don’t mind?’ Meg said warily. People grand enough to employ gardeners never usually bothered to praise their staff.
‘I’m delighted, Megan.’ His voice lilted slowly over her name, trying it out for size.
‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’ She asked uncertainly. ‘I mean, I hadn’t been here for more than two minutes before picking a blazing row with your cook. She’s an old family faithful; I’m the new arrival—and you’re taking my side?’
Gianni
