‘Graziefor your company tonight,’ she said. ‘This new . . .’ She gestured between them. ‘It’s better.’
‘I agree.’ His lips twitched shyly. ‘Buonanotte, Lucia.’
The pair turned and made their way to their respective doors. In unison they unlocked them, shared a final smile, and disappeared within.
Foscari met Lucia at the landing to her apartment, clearly happy to have her home. He circled her feet as she made her way to the window. Alex’s top windows were all illuminated, and she found a new ease in the fact that she knew he was home. There was something reassuring, she realised, about having him close by. She hadn’t expected to feel this way, but having now turned a corner with Alex, Lucia felt this was a positive step forward for both of them.
She pulled at the silken curtain tassel, allowing the heavy navy fabric to drop into place across the window. After a quick shower, she gave Foscari a gentle kiss goodnight between the ears and crawled into bed.
Her last thought for the night, before she succumbed to much-needed sleep, was the sensation of Alex’s breath caressing the back of her neck in the darkness of the wings of Il Camino.
That felt good . . .
Just after midnight, Lucia was woken by the sound of Foscari scratching at the wooden landing by the stairs. At first, Lucia thought she had been dreaming it, but the noise soon progressed to distressed growling. Lucia sat upright in bed and tapped the covers to coax Foscari back to her side.
Unusually, Foscari ignored her invitation and began pacing the first rung of the staircase.
‘Che c’è, amorino?’ Lucia pulled herself from the bed and walked to where Foscari was now crouched low on all fours, growling and yipping in the direction of the lower floors.
Suddenly, Lucia heard what she thought sounded like metal on glass.
Tink. Tink.
Collecting Foscari in her arms, she strained to listen more closely.
Tink. Crack. Smash.
The faint echo of glass hitting wood caused the skin across her scalp to prickle.
Someone was downstairs.
Eyes darting to and fro, Lucia realised she was trapped; she had nowhere to go, and no way to lock out whoever it was in the school below.
Then came the sound of footsteps; purposely quiet, treading slowly.
Foscari jumped from her arms and sought refuge on the window seat behind her.
Lucia crept to the kitchen as quietly as she could and collected her large meat mallet. Tiptoeing back to the landing, she heard the sound of whoever it was ascending the stairs.
Her heart pounded with such ferocity that she could feel the reverberation in her fingers, which were tightly wound around the mallet’s handle.
What she wanted to do was scream, but paralysing fear had stolen her voice. All she could do was pin herself to the wall beside the landing, mallet raised defensively, and wait to strike. She tried to keep as still as possible, but her trembling hands betrayed her.
Just wait . . . No! Wait for what?
From somewhere deep within, a courageous force gripped Lucia and pushed her forward.
This washerhouse.
Herlife.
No one was going to terrorise her, no matter how hard they tried.
With the curtains pulled closed, there was little to no light to reveal anything of the intruder beyond their bulky frame. As the person carefully made their way up the stairs to the landing of the second floor, Lucia found her voice.
‘CHI CAZZO SEI?!’ she bellowed from the top of the stairs, mallet held high in her grasp.
The intruder – a male, she could deduce from the sound of his breathing – didn’t reply. He simply bounded up the final flight of stairs at full speed, directly towards her. Lucia threw the mallet at him with all her might. While it did hit him and cause him to grunt in pain, all it did was slow him down for a moment.
