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Rose seemed to have bloomed. She’d taken a lively interest in everything, making do with smiles and gestures when her limited Italian failed her and talking to everyone. She’d had a taste of all the dishes on the buffet, even the ones that she couldn’t possibly recognise, and the murmurs of approval that he’d heard showed that the village had taken her to its heart.
It was surprisingly gratifying. If asked, Matteo would have said that he didn’t care one way or the other, that Rose was Rose and the village was the village. But he did care.
He sat in the kitchen, listening to his aunt and Rose talking upstairs. He was sure that neither fully understood what the other was saying, but they seemed perfectly happy to say it anyway, clearly relying on smiles and gestures to move things along. When Angela had been here, she’d gone out of her way not to understand. It was a difference that had been bugging him all day, and which he dared not think about too much.
The front door slammed, and he heard English being spoken. And the tone of that English carried him to his feet and through to the hallway.
‘What’s up?’ A fair-haired girl, dressed in shorts and a vest top, whirled around as he spoke, obviously reckoning that she was better off talking to him than trying to make his uncle understand.
‘You speak English...?’ She must be one of the students who worked part time at the vineyard in exchange for bed and board during the spring and summer months.
‘Yes. What’s the matter?’ The laziness of the day disappeared suddenly as he caught sight of the panicked look on the girl’s face.
‘It’s Pete... My friend... We’re working here...’
‘What about Pete?’
‘We didn’t want to go to the party.’ She wrinkled her nose, as if none of it was quite sophisticated enough for her. ‘We went down to the river, first thing this morning, to swim. Pete had some wine at lunchtime and went to sleep, and I can’t wake him up.’
‘How long ago was this?’ Wine and the sun were a heady mix, and it wasn’t unusual to find that English tourists couldn’t handle them.
‘Five minutes. Just five minutes...’
‘Okay. I’m a doctor, we’ll go and take a look at him.’ The girl stared at him blankly. ‘Now.’
‘Right. Yes.’ She rubbed her shoulder, and Matteo wondered if the different shade of skin that he saw as the strap of her top moved was because she was tanned or sunburnt. ‘He’s by the waterfall.’
Matteo knew the pl
ace, he’d played there often enough as a child. The river fell ten feet over jagged rocks, and then pooled out. It was a great place to swim, and the large, flat rocks at the side of the pool were a suntrap.
‘You know where that is?’ Rose’s hand on his arm suddenly sliced through his thoughts. Even when he was trying to concentrate on what might be an emergency, she had that effect on him.
‘Yeah, I know.’
‘She’s very sunburned...’ She nodded over at the girl, who had sat down suddenly on the stairs, her hand over her mouth as if she felt sick.
‘I think we’d better call Isabella, get her to come and take a look at her. I’ll go and find the boy.’ Matteo hoped he wouldn’t need any help with him, but he turned to his uncle. Getting some men to follow him down with the first-aid kit couldn’t do any harm.
‘I’ll come with you.’ It seemed so natural that she should that Matteo had to remember that they didn’t always work together.
‘There’s no need...’ Actually, having someone who could speak English, and see the difference between sunburn and a tan might come in very useful.
‘Yeah. I know.’ She almost flounced towards the front door.
* * *
He kept up a brisk pace through the vines and then along the dry, rocky land that led down towards the river, and Rose had to run to keep up with him at times. But if leaving her behind wasn’t exactly gentlemanly, he could apologise later, after he’d found the boy and made sure he was all right.
Rose caught up with him as he scrambled down the rocks, the skirt of her dress foaming around her legs as she went. Matteo turned, holding out his hand, and she ignored it, managing for herself.
‘Is this it?’ She surveyed the rocks around the pool.
‘Yeah.’ He pointed to a striped towel, a beach bag and two empty wine bottles. ‘That’s where they were. He must have wandered off somewhere.’
‘The water...?’ Rose’s hand flew to her mouth and she ran to the water’s edge. That would be the worst scenario, particularly after a bottle of wine and most of the day spent in the blazing sun.
Matteo followed her, scanning the clear water. ‘Do you see anything?’
