Shaking his head, Matthew gave a chuckle. ‘I already have.’
‘That’s complicating things just a little,no?’ Noting that Matthew had no retort, he added, ‘Just think about it.’
quindici
‘On three?’
‘Yep. Ready.’ Sarah fastened her safely goggles, took a step back and braced herself for the smash.
‘One . . . two . . . three!’ The power behind Matthew’s whack shattered the toilet bowl, the force driving the giant mallet to ricochet to the side, narrowly missing Sarah. ‘Shit! Are you ok?’ He rushed to her.
‘Better than the toilet bowl.’
‘This is dangerous. How about you—’
‘Shush. I am not going anywhere, so don’t even suggest it.’
The smash felt good. It was redemptive and vindicating. After a few initial weeks of tough hands-on work, and very little sleep as compensation, both Sarah and Matthew were running low on energy, and sustained concentration was growing difficult. Sharing the inflatable mattress in the main hall would soon come to an end. Their proper mattress and bedroom furniture were due to arrive the following week, and Petunia promised their room renovations would be complete in time. That finally meant having privacy.
Just as they were about to start collecting the shards of decimated sage-green porcelain, Angelo appeared at the door of the bathroom. The lines of his face were drawn and his eyes seemed darker than usual.
Matthew immediately sensed trouble. ‘What’s wrong?’
With his wicker basket still in hand, Angelo said, ‘I have just come from themercato. People are talking in Fiorellino, Matteo. About you, and aboutcaraSarah.’
Matthew and Sarah shared a worried look before removing their safety goggles and gloves.
Sarah’s left eyebrow hooked. ‘Good news travels fast around here, I see.’
‘What are they saying?’ Matthew asked.
‘They were talking about the renovations and about who they think will win the inheritance.’
‘The Trust?’ Matthew’s shoulders rose. ‘How would anyone—’
‘Word from the other D’Adamo estate, I heard.’
Matthew’s fingers met his temples. ‘These locals who are talking . . . Who are they?’
‘Many people, Matteo. They said the road into Fiorellino was blocked this morning by a truck. It was carrying Carrara marble for . . .them.’ Angelo flicked his head in a westerly direction. ‘Yourcugini. Themercatodid not start on time because of the delay. The first time ever. Saverio was not happy.’
‘Carrara marble?’ Sarah’s mind shot back to the exquisite white expanse of it in the Palazzo D’Adamo lobby in Florence. As her eyes dropped to the dated porcelain at their feet, reduced now to dangerous rubble, her heart sank a little.
‘Yourcuginawas there too.’
‘Silvia?’ Sarah asked.
‘Sì. Talking to the stallholders and townspeople. Collecting names and telephone numbers. Then she left with Saverio.’
‘There’s a dangerous pairing,’ she said dryly.
Hearing this, Matthew’s eyes closed and he shook his head. ‘What a mess. Was Luca there?’
‘I didn’t see him.’
‘Where did they go? Silvia and Saverio, I mean,’ asked Matthew.
‘I don’t know. But my friend with the chickens, Antonia,’ he patted his basket, ‘said that Silvia asked her not to sell to other hotels in Fiorellino, and tried to give her money.’
