‘Oh, no. My goodness, no. It’s just some contract with a chemical supplier I need to sort out. It’s just unfortunate that it’s happened now. It’s not Danny’s fault.’
‘Well, can’t they email you the documents you need? Surely you don’t have to fly back?’
‘If I don’t go back and sort this out, then I’ll never hear the end of it.’
I nod my head, trying to show Elias some understanding no matter how difficult this is for me. Blood is always thicker than water, and Danny needs him.
‘So, yeah, just enjoy the pool, finish writing your book and relax. Then I’ll be back, and we have the rest of the summer to enjoy.’
‘Okay. I mean, it wasn’t what I envisaged this morning, but I do understand that things come up. So when will you fly back?’
‘Tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow? I thought perhaps we would have a day or two first. You’ve only just arrived.’
‘Yeah, I know. Sorry. Danny’s already arranged the flight for first thing.’
I rub my finger along the rim of the glass as I think of Danny possibly planning this all along. He may have even booked the flight before we had taken off.
‘Okay, so I suppose we should make the most of this evening then,’ I say.
Although, truthfully, Elias’s news has turned the evening into one mighty damp squib.
Chapter Thirty-Two
As Elias leaves for the airport first thing, he promises he will be back as soon as possible. I watch sadly as the car he has only just hired reverses from the driveway. I try to smile as I wave goodbye, but, in all honesty, I am on the verge of tears. We were supposed to spend the summer together and now, after the first day, he has rushed off on urgent business. If I hadn’t been to his home and seen how Danny struggles with the situation, I would definitely have trust issues at this point.
I close the door and walk around the villa, looking at the rooms as the morning light beams through the gaps in the shutters on the windows. I open them up and let the light cascade into the rooms, but still, despite the sunshine, I can’t help feeling gloomy. I tell myself that I will finish writing the book by the time Elias returns and that we will have the rest of the summer to enjoy ourselves. What is the rush? But without him, this place feels enormous as my flip-flops echo on the marble floors. The warmth of the villa when I walked in with Elias yesterday appears to have vanished, and I shiver as I turn the air conditioning down.
Eventually, I tell myself not to be so silly. Why on earth am I complaining that I have been left alone in such a beautiful villa? I must make the most of it. So, I throw on my kimono and sit down at the desk. I feel like Barbara Cartland as the creative flow pours out from me. Every now and then, as I type, I look up at the gorgeous views across the sea and smile. I might be here alone, but it is one of the most spectacular places to be by myself. Now that I am starting to get over the shock that Elias had to leave for a short while, I will be fine. In fact, I may even go for a wander around a little later if I can finish my work before it gets too dark.
I type away until the afternoon, when I realise I have been working for hours without a break. I need something to eat, but we only picked up a few bits in the supermarket on the way over here, as we were supposed to be dining out again tonight. I am about to see what I can find in the fridge when I spot an older lady walking up the driveway. It seems odd as I am not expecting anyone, and Elias certainly hadn’t said anything about a visitor. I notice she is carrying a basket, so perhaps she is from the rental company that Elias used and is dropping something off.
‘Bonsoir, madame,’ she says.
‘Bonsoir.’
‘Parlez-vous français?’
‘No, English. Sorry,’ I say.
‘Ah, no problems. The realtor said one English couple bought the villa.’
‘Oh, no, we haven’t bought it! We’re just using it for a holiday.’
‘Ah, okay. As you like. I’m Renee, your neighbour.’
Neighbour?I decide not to tell her once again that I’m only on holiday.
‘I’m Lucy. So, you live near here, how lovely.’
Renee pulls at my arm and takes me outside as she points to her beautiful pink villa, which contrasts with our cream property. It has similar arched balconies and white balustrades, but lemon trees grow bountifully in the grounds.
‘Gosh, that’s beautiful.’
‘Merci, dear. It’s nice around here. I brought you this,’ she says, handing me the basket.
I look at the woven basket that reminds me of something I used in cookery lessons during secondary school. It’s lined with red and white check linen, and inside is a selection of beautiful pastries.
