‘Fig tree over there,’ he said, nodding towards a tree in the corner. ‘The best figs you’ll find anywhere in the world. And there, two orange trees.’
She heard the trickle of water and saw a fountain,not in the centre as you might expect, but falling from three decorative spouts into a stone trough up against a wall.
‘Water sprites,’ he said, seeing her looking. ‘The spouts.’
She took a long breath and let it out slowly. ‘So,’ she said.
‘So,’ he replied. ‘Ready to meet the old boy?’
They crossed the courtyard and then went through another archway into an anteroom which led to a stone staircase. The stairs eventually opened onto a grand vaulted corridor perfumed with beeswax and the smell of lemons and lined with floor to ceiling windows on one side and portraits on the other.
‘This is a hidden palace,’ she whispered. ‘And absolutely glorious, not a fortress at all.’
He laughed. ‘You’re right but I think it may have once been both.’
Tapestry chairs and tall brass lamps polished to a shine stood at intervals and half a dozen oriental rugs that must have cost a fortune lay along its length. She glanced out of one of the windows and looked across at another sumptuous building with statues perched along its stone balconies.
‘Goodness!’ she said.
‘Wait till you see the view from the other side.’
They went through a hall and then he knocked on a door. It was opened by what she assumed must be a butler dressed in black. ‘Sir, miss,’ the man said with a little bow. ‘Follow me.’
‘Does your uncle have an apartment here?’ she whispered.
‘The entire palace is his, but he prefers to live in just one apartment.’
‘Who lives in the other apartments?’ she asked.
He was about to reply but she stepped away catching her breath as they were led to an uncovered upstairs terrace with a view right across the island.
‘Great, isn’t it?’ he said with a grin. ‘Ah, there’s my Uncle Addison.’
The man who had been sitting in a cane armchair gazing over the balustraded terrace at the view, sprung to his feet. ‘I never tire of it,’ he said and bounded over to hold out his hand. ‘Pleased to meet you my dear. I’m Addison Darnell. Do call me Addison.’
She stopped herself from curtseying just in time and managed to say, ‘Riva Janvier.’
The man before her was tall, over six foot, broad-shouldered and with the same cornflower blue eyes as his nephew. He wore a velvet waistcoat in navy over a crisp white shirt. His face was tanned and covered in a network of fine lines, but what she found extraordinary was the vitality that seemed to spring from him. That and his long white hair tied back at the nape of his neck.
‘Come and join me, Riva,’ he said and turned towards the view. ‘Not too hot for you?’
‘Not at all. There’s a lovely breeze up here.’
He smiled back at her. ‘Isn’t there? And so much sky. That’s why I love it.’
‘Only when we can drag him away from his work,’ Bobby said, and when he saw Riva’s look of surprise he added, ‘My uncle is a rather well-known painter.’
‘I dabble,’ the older man said.
‘Hardly.’
‘Those portraits in the corridor?’ she asked.
‘Yes. Afraid so.’
‘But they’re beautiful.’
‘You can come again,’ he said and grinned at her. ‘Maybe you might sit for me one day.’
