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What if Francesco had financial problems? She had had to remonstrate with him on more than one occasion about his generosity.
Guiltily she had skimmed the typewritten letter. The convoluted wording and technical language it was couched in meant she hadn’t understood one word in five, but one thing she had understood was the signature at the bottom of the page.
She would have recognised that distinctive bold flourish anywhere.
What was Francesco’s name doing at the bottom of a letter from a bank?
She had suddenly remembered an incident that had not seemed important at the time. It had been the first time he had driven her up to his remote home two days earlier. On the way she had pointed at the name plaque on a large automated gate and laughingly asked if that was where he lived.
‘Romanelli is a common name around here.’
Around the next bend she caught a fleeting glimpse of a vast honey-coloured stone building that resembled a fairytale castle.
‘The people who live there must be very rich,’ she commented.
‘They own the estate.’ ‘Is it large?’
‘Many thousands of acres.’
Of course, she forgot the rich people in their castle when he brought her to his home. Though only half the conversion was completed, Francesco’s home, which he explained he was converting with his own hands, totally enchanted her.
It was a perfect marriage of rustic and contemporary. All the materials, he proudly explained, were locally sourced, many reclaimed from other old buildings which had fallen into disrepair.
Francesco’s plans for the place were ambitious.
‘When it is finished there will be a glass corridor linking the two wings and that gable end will be glass.’
‘It’s beautiful, Francesco,’ she said, her imagination fired by the picture he drew.
‘It is perfectly habitable at the moment. Is it somewhere you could imagine living?’
‘I’ll never live anywhere half so beautiful.’
‘You could.’
‘You mean for the rest of my holiday?’ ‘I mean stay here. Live here with me?’ The request startled her, but she still did not understand the sigificance. ‘You mean permanently? But I have a job, a life … I …’
‘You misunderstand. I am asking you to marry me.’
Thinking of that castle, she had opened his laptop.
A few moments later the Internet had confirmed her suspicions.
Erin had confronted him immediately.
She had
expected him to be defensive and perhaps annoyed that she had gone behind his back, but Francesco had been totally relaxed about the entire thing.
‘Quite the little detective,’ he murmured indulgently.
‘But you said that you work with horses.’
‘And so I do. I did not lie to you. I just do other things, too.’
‘Like make lots of money.’
‘So long as I have enough to support a family I don’t see that the state of my bank balance is relevant.’
