Gabi waved off her apology. ‘Not at all, you’ll pick it up while you’re here. And most of us around the lake speak English, it’s our second language.’
‘Still, I should at least try,’ Cesca replied. ‘When in Rome and all that.’
Gabi frowned. ‘This isn’t Rome. This is Milan.’
Cesca laughed. The woman must think she was crazy. ‘No, it’s an English saying. When in Rome, do as the Romans do. It means when you’re in a different country, you should adopt their ways.’
‘Well I would agree with that.’ Sandro took the trolley from Cesca. ‘But we will give you a few days before we expect fluent Italian.’
Gabi hit his arm good-humouredly. ‘Stop it, she’s here to do us a favour. We should be nice to her.’ She grabbed Cesca’s hand and pulled her along, following Sandro to the exit. ‘I’m so pleased you could come, you don’t know what a relief it is to us. Sandro’s sister is due to have a baby later this month, and she has nobody to help her. She and Sandro are orphans, you see. So we are travelling to Florence to look after her, but we couldn’t leave the villa empty.’
Cesca wasn’t used to hearing somebody sharing so much within moments of meeting them. Yet there was something so guileless about Gabi, so engaging, that she couldn’t help but join in.
‘A new baby, how wonderful,’ she said, as they walked out of the airport and into the Milan air. ‘Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?’
‘A boy,’ Sandro said, at the same time as Gabi replied, ‘It’s a girl.’
Cesca laughed at them both.
‘It will be a boy, and she will name him after me.’ Sandro looked proud.
‘We don’t know the sex,’ Gabi whispered to Cesca. ‘But both Sandro’s sister and I think it will be a girl.’
‘Then she’ll have to be called Alessandra,’ Cesca replied. ‘Almost as good.’
They reached the car – a beautiful old Fiat 500, with bright blue paint and chrome trim. Sandro opened the trunk, squeezing her case into the tiny space.
‘I’m afraid it’s a tight fit in here,’ he told her. ‘It’s a good car, very efficient, but not much room.’
Cesca shrugged. ‘Not a problem, I’m only little.’ She glanced down at her small frame. Like Gabi she was just over five feet, with a tiny waist and slender curves. Growing up, she’d felt like a dwarf next to her sisters.
The journey to Varenna took just over an hour, heading east on the main highway out of town, past luscious green fields and dusty brown construction sites. Occasionally they drove through pretty villages, with tall old buildings and verdant gardens. Gabi kept up a constant stream of conversation in almost-perfect English, telling Cesca about the history of the region, the beauty of Varenna, and how much she’d love the villa. By the time they reached the mountains surrounding Lake Como, Cesca couldn’t wait to see all the sights Gabi had described. She stared out of the window at the tree-topped cliffs, and at the sparkling lake below, wondering what it would be like to wake up to a sight like that every day.
She was about to find out.
‘Of course, the house is beautifully maintained. Signor and Signora Carlton visit every year and are always making renovations. But Signora Carlton, she likes to maintain the history of the place, too. It’s very tasteful.’
‘Who?’ Cesca frowned.
‘The owners, Signor and Signora Carlton,’ Gabi replied, patiently. ‘Our employers.’
‘I thought the villa was owned by an old Italian family. Hugh, my godfather, told me it had been in the same family for generations.’
‘Of course,’ Gabi agreed. ‘Signora Carlton, she was a Palladino before she married. She grew up in the villa. Theirs was a fairytale romance. She was studying in New York, and he was a Broadway producer. The two of them fell in love and married within a month. Now they have three beautiful children.’
‘They do?’ Cesca replied, faintly. A sense of doom was starting to descend. ‘What are their names?’
‘Well, their eldest son, Sam, you will have heard of, he’s a famous actor. Then there’s Sienna and Isabella, their daughters. Sienna is sixteen, and Izzy is eighteen.’
‘Sam Carlton,’ Cesca repeated, her chest tight. She was going to kill Hugh. ‘I’ve heard of him,’ she said. ‘I think he’s overrated.’
Gabi shot her a sharp look. ‘He’s not only talented, but very kind, too. He has a lot of time for us whenever he visits.’
‘Not that he visits very often,’ Sandro added, his eyes trained on the road. ‘He’s too busy with his movie career for that. Now Gabi has to settle for hero-worshipping him from afar.’
‘I don’t hero-worship him,’ Gabi chided. ‘I just think he’s a good actor.’
‘A handsome actor,’ Sandro added, smiling wickedly. ‘I know what’s really going through your mind.’