He laughed, wiping his hands on the back of his jeans. ‘What do you think we could use this for? Luggage storage? Holding supplies?’
Cocking her head to the left, Sarah surveyed the space. As the dust slowly settled, she ran her hand along the shelving. ‘Original. Still feels sturdy. We would definitely need it checked, maybe reinforced.’ Looking beyond Matthew, she could make out the chicken coup, stables and vegetable garden and suddenly, she had an idea. Wide-eyed, she said, ‘What about if we turned this into a pantry? An open to the public pantry – what’s pantry in Italian?’
‘Dispensa.’
‘Yes, a commercialdispensafor the property. We can gather the fruit and vegetables, herbs, eggs and other products we produce across the seasons and sell them here. To the public, and to our guests.’
‘That’s brilliant. I love it. Sustainable. Eco-friendly. Community- centric.’ Matthew was furiously scribbling notes.
‘It could evolve with the seasons. Small batches. Seasonal. Organically-grown. I can make jams and sauces from the fruit and vegetables. I’ll just need to buy jars and grab some equipment.’ She began pacing the narrow space. ‘I can whip up a design for a brand label, something really rustic and homely.’
‘I can just picture the chalk A-frame sitting up on the ridge, directing people off the road and down from town to come visit theDispensa delle Viole.’ He addedA-frame signageto his list.
‘And a few times a week, I can bake sourdough loaves and rolls and sell them too. Or even take orders.’ She stopped by the window and turned to face Matthew. ‘Earthy tones, understated, uncomplicated. Think wicker baskets, bound dried twigs, bunches of herbs drying suspended from racks on the ceiling. Mismatched jars of varying sizes and shapes topped with small circles of fine muslin, tied off with raffia.’
Matthew basked in her flurry of ideas, thankful for her creativity and design experience. ‘I think you’ve got yourself quite an aesthetic there,’ he said, reading back over the list.
‘No,’ she said, with a serious edge to her tone. ‘This istheaesthetic for the property.’ She shooed him from thedispensaand out into the grand hall. Looking around the vast open space, she tried to imagine how she could bring it to life. Just then, a gust of wind rustled through the open double doors at the top end, moving its way along to meet them at the middle. Apart from the debris, dust and crunchy leaves scattered across the bricks underfoot, nothing else was there to catch the wind.
With a spark ignited she said, ‘I’m going to go fast. Can you take notes?’
‘Of course,’ and Matthew fumbled to right his pencil.
‘Linen. Loads of it. White and flowing. A loose-weave, nothing too heavy. Terracotta tiles. Heavy original wood. Natural grain. No stains. And industrial-style fittings – I’m thinking chromes, some black, perhaps some oxidised bronze if we can find it. Stark white walls, no cream tones. The space needs to feel homey and inviting, but not cluttered.’ Sarah pivoted slowly on the spot, noting the corners of the space. ‘A reading space.’ She indicated to the far corner opposite the kitchen. ‘Reception.’ She pointed down the opposite side. ‘Vintage leather tub chairs here by the wall. And a dining table. A ridiculously long dining table. Really solid wood, perhaps with some natural imperfections – nothing polished or refined. Some chairs. Maybe a long bench on one side. Communal dining. Everyone – guests, staff and all – everyone at the table for meals. Mismatched crockery and cutlery. Again, vintage. Odds and ends. Some kind of sideboard along that wall there.’ She indicated to the vacant wall by the kitchen entrance. ‘People can help themselves to whatever they need. And fruit and nuts, always out for snacking and enjoying. I’ll find a series of bowls or platters for that.’ Her last comment was almost a private reminder.
Matthew had given up trying to write it all down, instead using his phone to record an audio note.
Another rolling breeze moved its way through the hall, rustling through the leaves at their feet. As the tail-end of the wind caught the corners of her cardigan, she looked up. ‘Sails. Linen sails. A series of them pinned to the ceiling. Fresh and stylish. They will dance in this breeze. It will be gorgeous.’ She stopped to catch her breath for a moment. ‘Did you get all that?’
‘Every single word.’ His gaze fixed on Sarah with a mix of admiration and fascination. As she moved into one of the rooms running off the hall, his eyes ran the length of her body, appreciating her toned feminine curves. He noted how her chocolate brown eyes had sparkled in the flashes of sunshine which broke through at either end of the hall.
Catching himself for the slightest of moments, his lip gently curled into a soft unexpected smile.No, Matthew. Don’t complicate things. This is business, he reminded himself.
Clearing his throat, he followed Sarah, ready for her next stroke of genius.
Later that afternoon, with brows furrowed and lips pursed, Matthew trudged into their room with purpose. ‘Something’s up,’ he announced.
Sarah, who was sat on their bedroom floor surrounded by loose pages from her notebook, looked up from her iPad. ‘What do you mean?’
He held out the list of tradespeople that Saverio had left him. ‘I’ve called them all; they’re either no longer registered, and therefore not able to work, are retired, are injured or their number has been disconnected.’
‘All of them?’
‘Literally all of them, Sarah. I called all twelve of his contacts.’
Her expression dropped. ‘That’s weird. What about a Google search? Surely there are other local businesses nearby.’
‘I tried. I rang four general contractors in the area. It was all sounding promising; people were happy to stop by to quote on works and take a look. Then, as soon as I mentioned who I am and the property, they either hung up on me or were suddenly unable to take the job.’
Sarah’s left eyebrow hooked. ‘You don’t think Saverio . . .’
‘I really hope not. But if first impressions are anything to go by.’
‘There’s something to that guy. I swear. It doesn’t sit well.’
‘I really want to give him the benefit of the doubt here. I do. But it’s all just . . .’
‘A littletooconvenient?’
