‘Certo! And don’t hesitate to call or drop by my office if I can offer further clarification.’
Matthew took this moment as a cue to end the conversation and stepped forward to usher Saverio from the doorway. ‘I’ll be sure to reach out if we need anything,’ he added, doing his best to not sound disingenuous.
The three of them made their way out onto the front courtyard, with Saverio framed by the distant view of Fiorellino sul Monte over his shoulder. Saverio stopped, ‘I almost forgot. At the back of the documentation I have provided you with a contact list of local workmen. Gardeners. Plumbers. Carpenters. Builders.Così via. When looking for contractors, I would appreciate if you considered these before looking outside Fiorellino. Stimulate our local economy with some work,no? They know this area best, after all.’
‘That’s very helpful, thank you,’ Sarah commented.
‘And great to meet you, Saverio.’
With a twitch of his left eyebrow, Saverio reminded, ‘Sindaco.’ Lighting himself a thin cigar, he nodded his farewell from his Alfa Romeo. The engine whirred to life and he tore up the driveway at an alarming speed.
Only when the car was no longer visible on the ridge did Sarah feel it safe to comment. ‘What’s the chance he’s going to keep averyclose eye on us?’
Matthew gnawed on the inside of his cheek. ‘I thinkwe’regoing to need to keep a very close eye onhim.’ Handing her the folder ofComune-directed jurisdiction, he added, ‘Something tells me that this “welcome wagon” was more of a warning.’
‘How did he even know we were here? Wejustarrived.’
‘This guy’s got eyes everywhere, I reckon.’
Sarah shrugged and made her way to the bricked ledge at the end of the courtyard. She opened the folder in her lap and began shuffling through the papers.
Matthew held Saverio’s business card between his right thumb and forefinger. ‘Sindaco del Comune,’ he read in a low whisper to himself. ‘You’re going to make this extra difficult for us, aren’t you?’ Letting out an exasperated sigh, he turned to Sarah and called out across the courtyard, ‘Did I see two bottles of wine in that hamper?’
‘It’s only eleven thirty,’ she replied, laughing at the implied suggestion.
‘Fuck it. You in?’
Further exploration of Convento delle Viole proved to be just as worrying as the mess on the upper floor. The kitchen – situated on the bottom floor, with a large window over the sink, and a working door leading to the rear courtyard – had more to offer than Sarah and Matthew could’ve imagined. As promised, they indeed found a brand-new fridge – large with stainless-steel doors – stocked with essentials. Sarah was relieved to discover that they had been left a collection of cheeses, some fruit and vegetables, eggs, smallgoods and a few glass bottles of milk, each complete with a thick layer of cream sitting under the lid. A double farmhouse-style sink was supported either side by stone-topped benches, with open shelving underneath.
In the centre of the kitchen sat a large stainless-steel square-shaped workbench which, Matthew noted, had a rickety set of wooden legs. To the left of the kitchen was a modest-sized walk-in pantry. Broken shelving sat in two piles on the floor, with damage to the plaster work up the walls, indicating where they had once been attached.
After poking their way through the kitchen, they decided to commandeer the large room across the corridor as their bedroom. It had two large windows which looked out onto the front courtyard, and boasted enviable views across the valley. The room housed a small enclosed en suite, complete with freestanding tub, a seatless toilet with a flush chain hanging from the ceiling and a narrow porcelain wash basin.
‘The water’s running!’ Sarah called to Matthew, who was busy assessing where to best set up a makeshift bed for the night. ‘Only problem is . . . it’s shit-brown.’ She peered into the basin and watched as the murky water gathered in the sink before gurgling its way down the drain.
Matthew paced along the opposite wall, trying to eyeball its length. ‘Just leave it to run. It should clear.’ Using his long strides as a measure, he said, ‘Around eight metres here. And I’d say . . .’ he continued to walk and measure, ‘around twelve along here.’ Sarah poked her head around the door so she could make sense of his rambling. ‘This room’s enormous. It’s like an apartment.’
‘Good. We are going to need some privacy and a space of our very own.’ She emerged, wiping her hands on the back of her pants. ‘It’s running clear now, and the toilet actually flushes. I can’t believe it.’
Matthew kneeled down beside his luggage and withdrew his phone charger from his carry-on bag. Together, they stood over a power board attached to a small electric generator. The generator, the size of a shoe box, was plugged into a loose-fitting wall socket. Noting the exposed rodent-gnawed wiring, Matthew said, ‘This, on the other hand, is an OH&S disaster waiting to happen.’
‘Don’t you dare plug that in there,’ Sarah warned, tugging on his arm.
‘This is the only source of modern power we’ve seen in this place. Alberto said they left us with working power.’ He leaned across, ready to connect the charger.
‘Matthew.’ Her tone sharpened. ‘I haven’t come all this way to be widowed on day one.’
‘Hardly.’ Matthew connected the charger cord to his phone and moved to insert the charger into the socket. His body suddenly straightened then jerked forward and he crumpled to a heap on the floor.
Sarah screamed, throwing herself on him. ‘Matthew! Matthew!’ With all her might, she pulled at his torso, trying to roll him onto his back. His dead weight was too much for her and all she could manage was to simply roll him onto his side. ‘Matthew, can you hear me?’ Suddenly, a cheeky grin formed across his lips, unable to be restrained any longer. He erupted in laughter as her hands clawed at his face. ‘Are you kidding me?’ she yelled, catching her breath. Indignant, she dropped him to the dusty bricks. ‘You scared the life out of me.’
‘You should see the look on your face!’ Matthew teased.
With her hands on her hips, she now stood over him. ‘Are you happy?’
Assessing her body language, the laughter returned. ‘C’mon. If we’re not going to laugh, we’ll cry, right?’
With a crumpled nose and scrutinising eyes, she drew in a long breath. Dropping her arms and shoulders, she conceded. ‘You’re right. But that wasn’t funny!’
