4 Rosie – Day 1
The last half an hour has been spent traipsing after Gerry as he led the ‘unofficial’ tour of the house for Rosie’s benefit.
‘Glad to see Gerry’s his usual chirpy self,’ Theo says to Rosie as they walk down a corridor, just the two of them.
Villa Speranza is breathtaking. Every high-ceilinged room oozes warmth, style, and personality. And money.
Theo puts his hands in his pockets to find a key. ‘Luke says Gerry likes to wear those bright shirts to overcompensate for his lack of personality . . . That’s one thing I agree with him on.’
‘He is passionate about this place,’ she replies, tactfully. There’s something about his stepdad’s rigid body language and tight smile that does little to calm Rosie’s nerves.
‘It’s best not to encourage him or else you’ll be listening to him drawling on for days.’
Rosie had clocked Theo yawning as Gerry revealed the historical features of the restored fifteenth-century farmhouse.
He must have heard the same story countless times.
Marianne had to take a phone call so apologised for missing the tour.
Before she went she hugged Rosie and thanked her for the chocolates.
She told her they were her favourites. Rosie appreciated the compliment, but there was something in Marianne’s eyes that made her question if she was telling the truth.
‘This house is amazing, I’m genuinely interested,’ she says as they move past a textured oil painting of a washed-up ship hanging from a picture rail that runs the length of the honey-coloured corridor.
‘I thought you were doing it to be polite.’ Theo laughs.
‘No.’ She blushes. ‘There’s clearly so much history to this place and he was keen to share it with us.’
Maybe she went OTT with the questions. But Gerry didn’t seem like he minded.
You never get a second chance to make a first impression.
‘I find it annoying how he acts like he put every brick here when the truth is it’s not even his home. Mum bought it with Dad back in the early nineties and it’ll be left in a trust for me and Luke when she dies. Gerry won’t get a look in. We may all be Frasers in name but that’s it.’
Rosie remembers Theo telling her about Gerry taking her mum’s surname when they got married in the early noughties. Marianne refused to give up her identity. Even before meeting her, Rosie understood Marianne Fraser to be a woman who knows her own mind.
They stop outside a closed wooden door.
‘There was one thing I didn’t ask . . . What’s with all the security?’
‘Huh?’ Theo struggles with the key in the lock.
Some of the rooms downstairs were locked too. One stands out in her mind. Down the hallway, leading off the vast farmhouse-style kitchen, was a door with a padlock and thick metal chain. When she’d asked Gerry what was behind it, she was sure she’d seen a flicker of something pass his eyes.
‘That leads to the basement,’ Gerry had answered after a beat of hesitation. ‘The laundry rooms and larders and other boring places like that. The gardener stores his tools down there. It’s locked so Alba won’t accidentally wander in.’
Rosie watches Theo struggle with the lock. She remembers the CCTV cameras watching the property, and the way the taxi driver had looked at her. What was he trying to tell her?
She takes a breath. ‘I noticed the cameras outside. They look pretty high-tech.’
‘Gerry’s paranoid about someone breaking in when the house is empty. It’s over the top if you ask me.’ He mutters under his breath at the stiff lock. ‘Mum likes things to stay as they are, which means never updating these old heavy doors.’
She’s about to ask if he needs help when there is a loud click. It echoes.
‘And this is where we’ll be staying.’ Theo smiles, pushing open the door.
Bright sunlight makes her blink. A king-size bed stands in the centre of the enormous room, lit from the wide windows.
The duvet cover is a pale forget-me-not spring blue.
Oversized voile drapes hang from a wooden rail, the ends trailing into a sheer puddle.
The white-washed stone walls are rustic.
There is a wooden chest of drawers underneath an oval mirror.
The décor is simple but full of Mediterranean charm.
There’s a shelf with a collection of photographs. She’s drawn to one of Theo with some famous footballer taken when he was a young teenager. Next to it is a framed certificate from when he took part in a football competition in 2010, and a polished silver trophy.
He looks embarrassed and goes to turn the frames over. ‘I didn’t know Mum still had these.’
‘No, don’t. You look so young.’ Rosie pulls his hand away.
‘I was sixteen and thought I knew everything . . .’ he says with a poignant sigh. ‘Seeing them reminds me of what I could have achieved. I was this close to making it, getting signed to a professional club.’ He pinches his fingers together.
She can’t imagine him in that world.
‘You’ve never told me that before. What happened?’
He takes one last look at the shelf. ‘Life.’
Rosie steps towards the large oak wardrobe. It has fancy curved handles and looks about a hundred years old. The doors creak with age as she opens them.
‘Julietta will have done it,’ Theo says, watching her shake her head in awe.
All of her clothes are hanging neatly from hangers, colour-coordinated.
‘Julietta?’
‘She’s worked here for years. You can’t leave anything lying around for a second without her tidying it up.’
He says it like it’s a bad thing.
‘You didn’t tell me about the place having staff,’ Rosie says.
‘You didn’t ask.’ He laughs. ‘It’s not a big deal, baby. It sounds grander than it is.’
Maybe not to him.
She moves towards the open window, breathing in the fresh summer air.
The land around the house goes on for miles.
The neighbours, some distance away, are hidden behind tall trees.
It’s a lot more remote than she’d pictured.
Rosie had hoped that once she’d arrived and completed the initial introductions she would start to feel less on edge. If anything, she is even more anxious.
‘There’s Julietta, who’s the chief housekeeper.’ Theo comes and stands behind her, pressing gently against her. ‘There’s kitchen staff to wash the pots, local teenagers usually, and the groundskeeper, Paulo.’
Rosie’s gaze follows to where he’s pointing. An older man dressed in green has his back to them, bent over an iron trough full of flowers.
‘And all this land belongs to this house?’ Rosie asks.
‘Yeah. You can’t see the pool from here, but it’s pretty nice.’
There’s a patchwork of low bushes that separate the olive grove and the orchard, individual smaller gardens with ornate stone statues dotted in between. Her eye lands on one that looks out of place, full of wildflowers and long, stringy grass. It’s a contrast to the manicured lawns of the others.
Theo follows her gaze. ‘That’s Mum trying to save the planet or something. Gerry hates that it’s such a mess; ruins the aesthetic, apparently,’ he says, deadpan. ‘It’s best not to go there.’
She takes one final look at the view, unsure what to say, before Theo pulls the drapes shut and tugs on her waist.
‘Come here.’ He leads her towards the bed. She knows what’s on his mind.
‘No! I need a shower. I’m gross.’
‘Not to me you’re not.’ He gives her a look that melts her heart. ‘Mum and Gerry are heading out. I told them we were having a nap. The others haven’t arrived yet. We’ve got loads of time before dinner . . .’
***
Half an hour later, having been unable to resist his advances, she walks into the ensuite to have a shower and freshen up for dinner.
The contents of her make-up bag are displayed like a counter in a department hall.
Everything is laid out in size order, silver lids glinting under the spotlights.
It’s a little unnerving to think of a stranger going through her things.
Thankfully she didn’t pack any sex toys.
A rush of heat washes over her at the thought.
She takes her mind off it by connecting to the Wi-Fi and opening her messages. The WhatsApp she sent her mum at the airport remains unread.
‘Everything ok?’ Theo asks.
‘Fine,’ she replies, minimising the app.
She goes to unpack her carry-on rucksack and frowns. Where is everything?
‘If you’re looking for your passport that’ll be in the safe.’ He shrugs, eyes back on his phone screen, playing snippets of tinny pop music she’s heard on TikTok.
‘The safe?’
‘Yeah. Gerry has this thing about making sure all the valuables are locked away.’
She clenches her jaw at her things being rifled through, decisions made on her behalf.
She realises what he’s said. Locked away. Another security precaution. What is there to be scared of?
He must see the look on Rosie’s face, picking up on her apprehension.
‘Don’t worry. He’s being overly cautious. Nothing ever happens around here. I promise.’