Matthew’s eyes remained fixed on the cherubic faces lining the ceiling. ‘You’ve been sent to me by an angel. I’m sure of it.’ He turned to face her. ‘I loved seeing you in your element today. You just came alive. I’ve never seen anyone move so quickly through mounds of furniture and bric-a-brac.’
‘Instinct. That’s all it is.’ She gave a humble shrug. ‘I just respond to creative urges. Today was all about developing a narrative in the pieces I selected. There had to be a common thread, something that brought it all together. The first thing that really grabbed me was the wood. What is wood representative of? Life. Fertility. Nature. Wood leads us to consider things like weight and grain, shape and form. Then I picked pieces to complement yet subtly offset the main showstopper items. Opposites attract, right?’ Matthew’s mind momentarily paused and held onto that thought. ‘The heavy wood was calling out for silver, bronze and glass. Mismatched chairs, odds and ends, random picture frames. Just wait. I’ll transform this place in no time. Thank God they’re happy to keep it all until we’re ready for it.’ She drew both arms up and over her head with a yawn, and Matthew caught the slightest glimpse of the top of her breasts, loose under her pyjama top.
Sarah continued with her explanation of the aesthetic she wanted to streamline through the design of Convento delle Viole. Matthew heard it all, but didn’t listen to a word. Quietly he studied her; the feminine curve of her hips and toned thighs, the way her waist cinched in, even in her pyjamas and the rosy hue of her high plump cheek bones. Arriving at the decision that he too was attracted to her, he immediately compartmentalised the realisation, shelving it in that little quiet corner of his memory beside her earlier compliment.
Andthatkiss.
quattordici
Petunia stood at six-foot and was built like a rugby player; broad-shouldered with a stumpy neck, her trunk and legs solid and strong. Her hair was gathered in an oily plaited ponytail so tight, it made Sarah’s eyes water at how her follicles must have pulled.
She was flanked by a group of men of varying ages, all carrying equipment and tools, poised as if prepared to engage in battle at Petunia’s signal.
‘Signor D’Adamo?’ she asked as Matthew and Sarah approached.
‘Sì. Matteo.E lei è mia moglie,Sarah.’
Petunia’s beady eyes assessed the pair and her face registered no expression. ‘Parla italiano?’ she asked, gesturing to Sarah.
Matthew shook his head. ‘No.’
‘Non parlo inglese.’ Her tone was rigid and she righted her spine, standing impossibly straighter still. Sarah heard Petunia’s neck crack even at a few metres distance.
Matthew turned to Sarah. ‘She doesn’t speak English.’
‘I gathered as much,’ Sarah said, inwardly wincing at the inconvenience her lack of language skills posed.
‘Questo?’ Petunia nodded in the direction of Convento delle Viole.
‘Sì.’ Matthew promptly informed her that the building needed a full renovation: structural, electrical, services, finishes. He explained that the project had a tight deadline and fixed budget.
Petunia silenced him with a condescending wave of the hand and walked past them before she turned and clapped her hands, causing a deafening noise that reverberated down the hall. Her men immediately kicked into gear.
Matthew and Sarah shared a look of intrigue, then followed.
Petunia moved through the space without reserve. She banged her bulbous fists against the plaster walls, watching them crumble away under her force. Her eyes scanned the framework while her hands pulled at fixtures, flicked switches and turned on taps. After each, she paused, as if making a mental list of the works that needed to happen.
Petunia ascended the stairs and her crew dutifully followed. At the sight of the hospital cots and rubbish on the upper floor, she simply grunted before making her way to the large double doors at the end of the hallway. She opened them, locked the external shutters in place then, with the ease of a giant, she picked up a cot and strode confidently to the doors.
Matthew’s heart jumped. How on earth was she able to lift that thing?
Poised with the hospital cot in her fierce embrace, she asked Matthew, ‘Volete questi letti?’
‘No. We don’t want them.’
She peered out over the balcony, apparently ensuring the landing area was clear, then threw it with the force and precision of an Olympic shot-putter. Sarah and Matthew both flinched at the crash.
Gazing down at the tangle of springs and contorted metal, Petunia announced with an air of pride, ‘Fatto!’
Sarah stifled a giggle.What a woman, she thought.
After poking her head through the upstairs bedrooms, Petunia returned to Matthew and Sarah. ‘Va bene.’ She flicked her head in the direction of her men. On cue, each gathered their tools and they dispersed through the building.
With a click of her fingers, Petunia signalled that Matthew and Sarah were to join her to talk business before she had started down the stairs.
In a hushed whisper, Sarah gushed, ‘I love her!’
‘She’s going to get shit done, that’s for sure.’
