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‘Sorry.’
She wandered into the bathroom, which was more like a temple with its mosaic tiles.
‘It’s designed like a compass,’ he said, looking up. ‘It’s a bit spooky.’
‘Please don’t tell me it’s haunted.’
‘Okay, I won’t. But we can swap for tonight and you can have the pink room.’
‘Isit haunted?’
‘I have been known to switch rooms some nights, but I promise I’ll go to the couch if the ghost comes out.’
‘I don’t know when you’re joking.’
The skies did behave for Alicia.
Dante made them lovely drinks on the terrace as stars started to dot the night sky and the lights of Sicily went on across the water.
Then their luggage arrived, along with a butler who made the one at the hotel look sprightly. ‘I’ll take it up,’ Dante called out, but the man was already doing it.
The most beautiful dinner came up through a service hatch. Under a big silver cloche there were slabs of ravioli in a buttery sage sauce.
‘So, your family are at the hotel?’
‘They are.’ He looked over at her. ‘Don’t lecture me and say that they should be here. The cook and the butler are a married couple,’ Dante explained as he served up. ‘They make your hotel butler look young, and dinner for six would kill them. Of course, they’re complaining that they’re not eating here too.’
‘Your family are complaining?’
‘No, the staff. We’re back in Sicily now. They rule the place. I can’t tell them, though.’
‘Is that why I couldn’t pull the rope in your room?’
‘No, that summons a lover. There’s a cord between the rooms, so don’t pull it if you only want coffee.’
God!
‘Gino messaged. He suggests you meet him on Sunday. He feels that if you’re with him when he visits the convent...’
‘I don’t know.’ She was slicing into her delicate ravioli as if it were steak.
‘Alicia, did something happen?’ he asked. ‘You hear all these things...’
‘Nothing like that.’ She took a drink. ‘They were good to me—well, for the most part—and I had a nice childhood.’ She was struggling now, but for the first time she was really debating going back, asking for advice.
And not about Beatrice.
‘I’ll come if it helps,’ Dante offered. ‘I have no issues having some straight words with Reverend Mother.’
‘Really, no.’ Absolutely she wouldnotbe going back with Dante. ‘Let me think about it.’
‘Sure. Now probably someosso bucco,’ he said, ‘made with love by my wheezing cook.’
But it wascaponata. It was a very Sicilian dish, rich, sweet and sour, with aubergine and capers, olives and roasted peppers, and there was fresh crostini. It was so nice when scooped on the crisp bread.
‘Thank you,’ she said.
‘For what?’
