13. Chiara #2
“Tell me if that arrangement changes.” I pull the laboratory statement toward me again. His promise isn’t proof she will listen, but I can make sure Rosalia and the groundskeeper know where I’m working. “I won’t be the last person told again.”
“You won’t.” He writes the instruction beside his copy of the investigator’s message, then turns the page toward me so I can see it. “I’ll have Ferro contact you directly about the inquiry as well.”
I ask for copies of the records we have reviewed, and Lorenzo takes them to the copier. He’s not stalling or questioning what I want. He’s just helping, the way he’s been helping all day with the drainage and the jasmine and the trial strip.
Why does that make this harder instead of easier?
I put the copies in my folder. My lawyer can verify the change to the inquiry directly with Ferro. For the first time, I can leave this study with more information than I brought in.
“I should collect the journals and go.” I close the folder over my new copies. “I said I’d leave after lunch.”
“I’ll walk you to the bedroom.” He opens the study door. “Unless you’d rather I wait here.”
“I can find them.” I take my folder from the table before he can offer to carry it. “You can wait downstairs.”
Before going upstairs, I leave my forwarding address with the estate office for any mail that still arrives for me. I ask them to send it to Lucia at the farmhouse for collection, rather than have couriers coming to the cottage door.
There are gaps in my wardrobe, but most of my clothes are still here. The journals sit on the nightstand beside the empty box Lorenzo promised. I open the top one long enough to see the familiar soil readings, then close it and pack the stack into my canvas bag.
Lorenzo is waiting downstairs when I come back with the bag. He reaches for the door as I approach, then holds it while I carry my work out to the car.
“Tomorrow morning.” I put the evidence folder beside the journals. “I’ll text you before I leave the cottage.”
“Drive safely.” He steps away from the car instead of leaning into the open door to prolong the goodbye. I notice because I had braced for an argument, and now there isn’t one.
I secure the bag on the passenger seat where I can see it and start the engine.
Lorenzo stands in the courtyard watching as I pull away, and I don’t let myself look in the mirror until the estate gates close behind me.
I take the journals back to the cottage that afternoon and leave them on the desk in the bedroom.
Before bed, I set an early alarm and put the volume on the cover-crop trial beside my keys. In the morning, I text Lorenzo before setting out in the dark, then arrive while the groundskeeper is still gathering his equipment.
Lorenzo is beside the trial strip, marking the route I suggested yesterday with small flags for the groundskeeper to check. His boots are muddy from walking the terrain, and he has a measuring tape in his hand that he’s using to check the spacing.
“You’re early.” I leave my bag and the journal on a dry patch of the low wall, away from the mud.
“I wanted to make sure I had the line right.” He straightens up and gestures at the flags. “Does this match what you showed me?”
I walk the marked route. He has followed the line I showed him, leaving a gap beside the patch I want undisturbed.
“That’s the route.” I move my bag farther back on the wall to keep the journal dry. “Let’s check it with the groundskeeper before anyone digs.”
“This patch stays as it is.” He points to the bare section beside the clover. “Even if someone thinks they’ve missed a bit.”
“Especially then.” I write the same instruction beside the sketch in my journal. “Otherwise I’ll have lovely tidy rows and no comparison.”
“I can disappoint anyone who wants tidy rows.” He moves a flag back from the edge of the patch, careful not to tread on it. “I have some experience of being difficult.”
“Some?” I glance up from the page before I can stop myself. He looks at me, then laughs, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from joining him.
It feels good to make him laugh. I’m allowed that, aren’t I? I can enjoy a minute beside him without owing him the rest of my life. I turn back to my notes, and he leaves the moment alone instead of asking what it means.
The groundskeeper checks the route with us before his men begin. I make sure they understand which patch must stay untouched. Lorenzo stays to help, hauling equipment and filling wheelbarrows beside men who aren’t used to seeing him work in the mud.
By afternoon, the crew has linked the new channel to the existing drainage line. It’s a small change, but I won’t have to start from nothing if we get another downpour.
“I’m coming back tomorrow.” I close my notebook on the completed sketch. This is another day I’m choosing, and I want him to hear that. “I want to monitor how the new channel performs if we get rain overnight.”
“I’ll be here.” He wipes mud from his hands onto his already-ruined trousers. “Same time?”
“Earlier if I can manage it.” I gather my journal and my bag. “I’ll text you when I’m leaving the cottage.”
He lifts a hand as I pull away. I have seen him spend whole days on the estate’s work before. Today, some of that time belonged to something I asked for, and he didn’t make me feel I was keeping him from a more important task.
***
That evening, I call Rosalia from the cottage kitchen. My trial notebook is open beside my supper; I have already brushed most of the dried mud off its cover.
“He has his own notebook now,” I tell her.
“For the plants?”