Chapter Three #3
His eyes twinkled. ‘There are other vacancies, but Mum insists. You know how to access the correct lift?’
‘Sheenagh showed Gran and me once.’ Dumbfounded, her eyes filled with tears at the kindness of Mairead’s dearest friend, for decades her oasis of Scottishness in Italy. Wordlessly, she sought Sheenagh out and they exchanged a long, silent, understanding hug.
It was past 8 p.m. before the last guest departed Lounge Panorama and Jade was glad that no one had tried to extend proceedings into the night – though Mairead might have enjoyed that, had she been present in more than spirit.
As Jade used the discreetly impressive keycard on the door in Reception that led to the side vestibule and the exclusive elevator, mentally she sent her grandmother a message.
I’ll be sleeping in one of the posh suites on the top floor.
I remember us standing in the windows to watch the boats when we were supposed to be fetching down the winter quilts.
A few minutes later, letting herself into Suite Two, she paused to admire what had once been storage rooms but was now a massive bedroom with a six-foot bed and expensive green rugs.
A seating area boasted a low table and two cream chairs that swivelled so their occupants could either face the view or the room.
A bistro table of opalescent marble with chrome-framed chairs stood near the glass doors.
What a glorious set-up. And no doubt movie or rock stars had occupied this room before her.
Or even the latest generation of Formula One drivers, who used to stay at Villa d’Este, years ago, and helicopter into Monza circuit.
From here, the view over the lake was more stunning than ever.
The water was turning steely as the sun sank.
A ferry departed the jetty, one of the express vessels with stabilisers either side of the bow, while sunlight danced on the rippling water and little boats lined the marinas like mismatched shoes.
Even the surrounding mountains looked slightly smaller from so high up.
Along the road below, people marched like ants.
The last thing to investigate was the bathroom, where she found an enormous oval bath and pristine white robes with towelling slippers in their pockets.
Instantly, lounging in a robe felt immensely appealing.
She kicked off her shoes and stepped out of her dress .
. . then remembered the whisky she’d meant to pick up, Mairead’s favourite tipple from her original home on the Isle of Mull.
‘Crap.’ She crossed the room and located the minibar.
There were only two miniature bottles of Scotch and – of course – neither of them was Ledaig.
She groaned. What a pain. She’d have to dress again and . . .
She glanced at the smart black room phone and the magic words Room Service jumped out at her.
‘You’d be shocked at my laziness, Gran,’ she said aloud as she lifted the receiver.
She dialled eight and when her call was answered said, ‘Could I have a bottle of Ledaig in Suite Two, please?’ She went on to explain that there should be a bottle left from the funeral and how to spell ‘Ledaig’.
‘Of course, madam,’ came a female voice. ‘Someone will be right up.’
While she waited, Jade ran the bath, emptying the bottle of deliciously sandalwood-scented bubble bath into the gushing flow.
She could read on her phone while she soaked.
British or American books and magazines kept her English up to date.
Then, realising that room service was about to arrive when she was in her underwear, she belted herself into one of the fluffy white robes and slid into the padded slippers that proved a balm to her aching feet.
When a knock sounded at the outer door, prepared as she was for someone to deliver her order, she hadn’t anticipated that it would be Leo Sartori.
Clutching the doorknob, she took in his height and the way his hair fell forward.
Despite the blue jacket that brought out the colour of his eyes, with a tray balanced on his hand he looked like a butler.
His face was more lived-in than when she’d held it between her hands and kissed it, half a lifetime ago, though his laughter lines exceeded the lines of fatigue – just. Stupidly, she said, ‘You don’t work here. ’
One side of his mouth lifted. ‘True. I offered to help. And I wanted to check you were OK.’ He hesitated, his smile fading. ‘Your whisky.’ His tray bore a full-sized rounded bottle of amber Ledaig whisky and a cut-glass tumbler on a white napkin. He furrowed his brow.
She read concern in his face and belatedly considered hangovers and pickled livers. ‘I’m not going to drink it all.’
‘Right.’ He waited. She remained in the doorway. After a moment, he said apologetically, ‘I think the idea is that I carry in the tray and place it neatly on the table, mentioning cordially but respectfully that you’ll find ice in your minibar and asking if there’s anything else I can help with.’
‘Oh.’ Briefly, she considered taking the tray from him – he wasn’t the only one who could balance it on one hand – and then shutting the door. But that would be venting her mood on the wrong person . . . even if it was one who’d once broken her heart.
She stepped aside. ‘I’ve already located the ice tray and I don’t need anything else.
Thanks,’ she added belatedly, as he stepped past her.
Then she caught sight of steam billowing out through the bathroom door.
‘Oh, shit, the bath!’ She almost collided with him as she spun on her heel and plunged into the steam to grapple with the tap, losing a slipper en route.
When she returned to the main room, he was still standing by the table between the two padded swivel chairs. The tray was neatly arranged.
‘Waiting for your tip?’ she joked feebly, feeling caught out in just a robe and undies, but managing to at least retrieve the errant slipper.
He smiled. Then he sobered. ‘I wanted to say something about Mairead, Jade. She was a wonderful woman. I don’t have a single bad memory of her.’
His words seemed to pull a drawstring tight inside Jade’s throat. Grabbing the whisky bottle, she twisted the top but her hands were moist from the bathroom steam. Gently he took it and cracked the seal before handing it back, then he fetched ice from the minibar.
‘Thanks,’ she muttered, tipping two ice cubes from the glass bowl he proffered into the cut-glass tumbler and pouring in enough Ledaig to cover them. After a moment’s thought, she lifted the open bottle and sent him an enquiring look.
His blink of surprise as he realised that he was being offered a drink was almost comical. ‘Thanks. Great.’
Soon they were sitting in the cream-coloured chairs, the whisky bottle on the table between them, their gazes on the ever-changing view up the south-west leg of Lake Como. ‘To Mairead,’ he said, in a toast. ‘Trust her not to want a sad funeral.’
She lifted her own glass, eyes burning. ‘To Gran, who I’m sure considered ordering a ceilidh band so we could dance Scottish reels.
’ As he chuckled, she took a healthy gulp of Ledaig and its peaty burn flayed the back of her throat.
It made her voice husky. ‘How long will you be home? Sheenagh told Gran things didn’t work out with Isabella and your hotel.
I’m sorry.’ Sheenagh had kept Mairead updated with her family’s news, the highlights of which Mairead then conveyed to Jade.
Though always listening politely, Jade had deliberately not exhibited much interest in Leo.
They’d gone their separate ways. A little curiosity was natural, but too much might have indicated that she wasn’t over him – which she was. Obviously.
‘Things certainly didn’t. She and her dad have taken on the hotel.’ His bleak expression turned his eyes more grey than blue.
She decided that he wasn’t – as she’d thought downstairs – older and wiser, but older and warier. Try as she might not to, she still knew him. Knew that voice and the flat expression in his eyes. Leo had been hurt. ‘I’m sorry,’ she repeated.
He looked into his glass. Then his shoulders lifted on a sigh and he surprised her by continuing. ‘I thought we were solid, busy getting on with life, bringing our dream of our own, independent hotel to fruition. But I’d underestimated the effect of her dad being back on the scene.’
Jade lounged deeper into her chair, keeping a hand on the vee of her robe to avoid flashing her underwear. ‘He hadn’t been around?’ She hadn’t realised she and Isabella had had an absent father in common. She hadn’t thought they’d had anything in common. Except . . . well, yeah. Leo.
He lifted his eyes to the panoramic view of the lake where a motorboat churned a line of white froth behind itself as it headed into the expanse of water.
The sun was sinking towards the mountain opposite, bathing the lake in a rosy glow and turning terracotta roofs orange.
‘He and her mother, Maryam, split when Isabella was fourteen. He went to South Africa, where he had family. The first summer, he gave Isabella a fantastic few weeks with him at his new place, with a pool. Her mum said it gave her princess tendencies.’
Jade managed not to say, ‘So that’s where she got it from,’ remembering how snooty Isabella had been at Massimo’s wedding.