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The same courtesy was extended in the village. The locals were all thrilled at the vibrancy that had returned to the town with the new hotel, and so the Silibri people looked after its guests as their own. In fact, they looked after the guestsbetterthan their own—Antonietta had been treated shabbily by many of them.
‘I don’t want to know his real name, Francesca,’ she said now, ‘because then I might slip up and use it. Tell me only what I need to know.’
‘Very well—he has his own security detail and you will need to show them your ID. He’s booked in until Christmas Eve. Although, from what I gather, I believe it is doubtful he will last until then.’
‘He’s dying?’ Antonietta frowned.
‘No!’ Francesca laughed. ‘I meant he will grow bored. Now, he wants coffee to be delivered promptly at seven.’
‘Then I had better get on.’
Francesca carried on chatting as they both made their way to the kitchen. ‘I have just finalised the roster,’ she told her. ‘And I have you down for an early start on Christmas Day.’
Antonietta stopped in her tracks, and was about to open her mouth to protest, but then Francesca turned and she saw the resigned, almost sympathetic look on her manager’s face. Francesca wasn’t just telling her that she was to work on Christmas Day, Antonietta realised. Her mother must have made it clear to her friend that Antonietta would not be invited to partake in the family’s festivities.
‘Working is better than sitting alone in that cottage,’ Francesca said as they resumed walking and headed into the kitchen. ‘I shall be here too, and so will Pino and Chi-Chi...’
All the lonely hearts were working over Christmas then, Antonietta thought sadly.
‘I’m on over Christmas too,’ said Tony, the very portly head chef—which only confirmed Antonietta’s thoughts.
Tony was married to his job, and put all his care and love into his food, and there was no exception this morning. There was a huge silver pot of coffee for their new guest, and cream and sugar, but there was also a basket of pastries and bread, a meat and cheese platter, and a fruit platter too. All the chefs, and especially Tony, could not refrain from adding Sicilian flair to every dish.
‘Tony,’ Antonietta pointed out as she checked the order, ‘he only ordered coffee, but you have prepared a feast.’
‘He is aguest.’ Tony shrugged.
‘And he’s a big man!’ Francesca said, holding out her hands high and wide. ‘Huge! He needs to eat!’
It was the Silibri way—even in the poorest home there would bebiscottiandpizzellesserved alongside coffee. There was no point arguing, so Antonietta wheeled the trolley towards the elevator.
The monastery had been refurbished to perfection, and although it still looked ancient, it had all mod cons. Antonietta often saw the guests blink in surprise when they stepped behind a stone partition to reach the discreet elevator.
She took the elevator up to the top floor and, alone for a moment, slumped against the wall as she dwelt on the message behind Francesca’s words. It really was time to accept that her family simply didn’t want her. It was time to move on.
Where, though?
Back to France, perhaps? Or to Rome?
But she hadn’t felt she had belonged in either place, and there was still her training to complete...
Catching sight of her reflection, she straightened up and gave herself a mental shake. It wasn’t the guest’s fault that she was feeling blue, and she put on her game face as she stepped out and wheeled the trolley across the cloister, past the Starlight and Temple Suites, and across to the August Suite.
A suited man stood as she neared. She had known guests to bring their own security detail before, but never to this extent. What with the extra guards outside and within, this guest must be important indeed.
The guard was not exactly friendly, but without a word he looked at the photo on her lanyard and then checked Antonietta’s face before stepping aside to let her past.
She knocked gently on the large wooden door. There was no response so, as she’d been trained to do, Antonietta let herself in with a swipe of her key card. Once inside, she turned on a side light and wheeled the trolley through the dimly lit lounge and over to the entrance to the main bedroom. She gave the door a gentle knock.
No response.
Another gentle knock and then, as she carefully opened the door, Antonietta called his name. ‘Signor Dupont?’
Again there was no response, and though the room was in darkness it was clear to her that he was asleep. His breathing was deep and even, and judging from his outline Antonietta could see that he lay on his stomach in the large four-poster bed, with a sheet covering him.
‘I have coffee for you,’ Antonietta said quietly. ‘Would you like me to open the drapes? The sun is just about to rise.’
‘Si.’He stirred in the bed as he gave his groggy reply.
