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CHAPTER ONE
Six weeks later
ANTONIETTAWASUPlong before the Sicilian winter sun. For a while she lay in the dark bedroom of her little stone cottage, listening to the sound of the waves rolling in and crashing on the rocks below. It might have worked in the meditation of monks of old, and it might be a tranquil backdrop for the guests, but it brought little peace to Antonietta.
It was two weeks until Christmas and since her return there had been little progress with her family. If anything the situation had worsened, with rude stares and muttered insults whenever she ventured into the village, and when she had gone to her parents’ home the door had been closed in her face by her father.
Yet she had glimpsed a pained look in her mother’s eyes from the hallway—as if hermammahad something she wanted to say.
It was for that reason Antonietta persisted.
Sylvester had married and moved away from the village, so there was little chance of bumping into him. And it was good to walk on the beach or in the hillsides she knew. Work was going incredibly well too; her colleagues were friendly and supportive and her training was first class.
Having showered, she went into her wardrobe to select her uniform. It varied—when she was working at the Oratory she wore white, but today she was working on cleaning the suites, so would need her regular uniform.
But as she went to take out her uniform her fingers lingered on the new addition to her wardrobe.
Yes, Aurora was a wonderful seamstress indeed, and the scarlet dress had arrived yesterday! However, just as Antonietta had been reluctant to hand over the fabric, she was even more reluctant to try it on. The dress was bold and sensual and everything she was not.
Still, there was not time for lingering. Her shift started soon, so she pulled out her uniform and got dressed.
The uniforms were actually stunning: the Persian orange linen went well with her olive skin and her slender figure suited the cut of the dress. Antonietta wore no make-up, either in or out of work, so getting ready didn’t take long. She pulled her hair into a neat ponytail and then, having slipped on a jacket, made her way across the grounds towards the monastery.
Her little cottage was quite some distance from the main building. Still, it was a pleasant walk, with the sky turning to navy as the sleepy stars readied themselves to fade for the day, and there was a crisp, salt-laden breeze coming in from the Mediterranean.
And there was already activity at the Old Monastery!
A couple of dark-suited gentlemen were walking around the perimeter of the building and Pino, the chief concierge, was lookingverydapper this morning as he greeted her warmly. ‘Buongiorno, Antonietta.’
‘Buongiorno, Pino,’ she responded.
‘We have a new guest!’
The hotel housed many guests, but with the extra security visible Antonietta had already guessed there was a VIP in residence.
Pino loved to gossip and was determined to fill her in. ‘We are to address him as Signor Louis Dupont. However...’ Pino tapped the side of his nose ‘...the truth is he is really—’
‘Pino...’ Antonietta interrupted.
She adored Pino, and always arrived early to allow herself time to chat with him. Pino had recently lost his beloved wife of forty years, Rosa, and she knew that work was the only thing keeping him sane. Still, given that Antonietta was already a main source of gossip in the village, she refused to partake in it now.
‘If that is how he wants to be addressed, then that is enough for me.’
‘Fair enough,’ Pino said, and then he took a proper look at her. ‘How are you doing, Antonietta?’
‘I’m getting there,’ she said, touched that with all that was going on in his world he still took the time to ask about her. ‘How about you?’
‘I’m not looking forward to Christmas. Rosa always made it so special. It was her favourite time of the year.’
‘What will you do? Are you going to visit your daughter?’
‘No, it is her husband’s family’s turn this year, so I’ve told Francesca that I’ll work. I decided that would be better than sitting at home alone. What about you—has there been any progress with your family?’
‘None,’ Antonietta admitted. ‘I have been to the house several times but they still refuse to speak with me, and my trips to the village are less than pleasant. Perhaps it’s time I accept that I’m not wanted here.’
‘Not true,’ Pino said. ‘Not everyone is a Ricci—or related to one.’
‘It feels like it.’
