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‘Here you are!’
A woman’s voice sounded, and for a moment Jess couldn’t work out which direction it had come from. Greg turned and made his way towards the back of the hallway.
‘We stopped for breakfast.’ He spared Jess the indignity of mentioning why. ‘What are you doing here?’
A laugh. The first piece of warmth that Jess had met in this place. A figure emerged from the gloom, walking towards her. Mid-fifties, tall and slim. One of those women that made style look like a fortuitous accident.
‘I popped in to turn the heating on and put some food in the fridge.’ The woman ducked around Greg and made straight for Jess. ‘You must be Greg’s friend. I’m Rosa.’
‘My mother.’ Greg was grinning. ‘Who never misses a chance to check out who I’m associating with.’
Rosa dismissed him with a casual movement of her fingers. ‘Don’t be so parochial, darling. Your friends might want to check me out.’ She grasped Jess’s hand, holding it in both of hers, and leaned in to kiss her. ‘There. Both cheeks.’
‘The Italian way.’ Greg was leaning against the heavy stone balustrade which enclosed the stairs, his hands shoved into his pockets.
‘Don’t listen to my son. I hope you’ll come over to my home for something to eat.’
‘You live near here?’ This was Greg’s father’s house. He’d said that his mother and father had divorced when he’d been a child, but she seemed very much at home here.
‘Two miles in that direction.’ Rosa flicked her fingers towards the dark recesses at the back of the hallway. ‘You can walk across the fields, it’s a nice day.’
Jess shot a questioning look at Greg. Perhaps this wasn’t in his plan for the weekend.
‘Have you made cannoli?’ Greg was smiling at his mother.
‘Of course.’ Rosa turned to Jess. ‘Did he think to tell you to bring any walking shoes?’
No, he hadn’t. Jess wasn’t sure how well her own shoes would stand up to a cross-country walk. ‘Perhaps we can go by road.’
‘If you want. Or I think there may be a pair of wellingtons in the cloakroom. If they’re too big I’m sure that a couple of pairs of socks… ’
‘We’ll manage.’ Greg looked at his watch. ‘When do you want us?’
His mother shrugged. ‘Whenever you’re hungry.’
‘How does one o’clock suit you?’
‘Perfect. Make it one-ish. Don’t worry about being a little late.’
Greg rolled his eyes and kissed his mother, helped her into the waterproof coat that was slung on a low settle in one corner of the hallway and bade her goodbye. Alone again with him, the temperature in the cavernous, empty space seemed to drop a couple of degrees and Jess drew her jacket around her.
‘Sorry, Jess. My mother wasn’t really checking you out, she’s not like that.’
‘It was nice of her to come by, this place could do with warming up a bit. I didn’t realise that your mother lived so close to your father.’
‘My father wasn’t here much.’ Greg’s mouth twitched downwards and he turned away, moving to the door at the back of the hallway where his mother had appeared from. ‘He lived mostly in the States, but he came over here three or four times a year to take care of his business interests in Europe.’
‘He kept this place empty, then, most of the time?’ It was a huge house, even for a family. For one man, who was hardly ever there, it was ridiculous.
‘He used to entertain a lot when he was here.’ There was a trace of bitterness in Greg’s voice.
‘I suppose it was handy to see you as well.’ Jess followed him into the large, well-equipped kitchen, which could have accommodated an army of caterers.
He raised an eyebrow. ‘He was mostly working. Mum used to bring me over, and half the time we’d just make our own entertainment because my father was locked away in the study, on the phone.’
‘But she still brought you.’ A picture of Rosa, walking her young son across the fields so that he could see his father, floated into her head. How must she have felt when the boy was ignored?
‘My mother was an eternal optimist where my father was concerned. She always encouraged me to see him.’ He dumped the kettle down onto the range and lit the gas underneath it.
