The drive along the Amalfi Coast was stunning, with the Mediterranean Sea sparkling in the sunlight. Nicoletta felt invigorated, despite the impending meeting with Signore De La Roche. "Speriamo bene" (let's hope for the best), she thought, as she turned onto the road leading to Castello dei Fiori.
Nicoletta's reluctance deepened as she took the familiar right-hand fork to head for the house, she'd hoped never to set eyes on again - Castello dei Fiori. But as she slowed to turn into the drive, Nicoletta sternly controlled her misgivings. "Dai, Nicoletta, professionismo!" (come on, Nicoletta, professionalism!) she told herself. She took professional note of the refurbished splendor of the gates and the well-tended air of the tiered garden as she negotiated the hairpin bends of the steep drive. "Il giardino è proprio bello" (the garden is really beautiful), she observed. At last, no matter how slowly she drove, she reached the graveled terrace and came face to face with Castello dei Fiori again.
Nicoletta switched off the ignition, but remained in the car for a while, taking a deep breath. "Va bene, cerchiamo di essere obiettivi" (okay, let's try to be objective), she thought, as she viewed the house with a purchaser's eye. The last rays of sunset light glittered on arched windows and flamed on red brick walls. "La luce è magnifica" (the light is magnificent), she noted. It was a typical, rambling villa of its era, with a turreted square tower stuck on the end like an afterthought—the taste of the self-made industrialist who'd built Castello dei Fiori for his mother-in-law.
Unable to put off the moment any longer, Nicoletta got out of the car, shivering more with apprehension than cold. She belted her long winter coat tightly, pulled her hat low over her eyes, collected her briefcase, and crossed the terrace to the arched front door. "Ecco, ci siamo" (here we are), she thought, as she unlocked the door and switched on the lights. She stood still in surprise on the threshold, taking in the changes. The old red Turkey carpet was gone, and the austere beauty of the black and white tiles was revealed. "Il restauro è stato fatto bene" (the restoration was done well), she observed.
Nicoletta let out the breath she'd been holding. The hall was so much smaller than her memory of it. But, most important of all, it was empty. No ghosts at all. Almost light-headed with relief, Nicoletta went through the rest of the rooms, switching on lights, noting the quality of the pale carpets and the padded silk curtains. "La casa è stata trasformata" (the house has been transformed), she thought. No furniture, which was a drawback. It was much easier to sell an inhabited, furnished house. Which was probably why the place was sticking.
As she glanced at her watch, frowning, Nicoletta realized the client was an hour late. "Spero che non sia un problema" (I hope it's not a problem), she thought, feeling a sense of unease. Castello dei Fiori was not a place she cared to linger in after dark. "Meglio aspettare dentro" (better wait inside), she decided, as she went back downstairs to wait for the client.
The client was an hour late, and Nicoletta was growing increasingly uneasy in the vast, empty spaces of Castello dei Fiori. She didn't care to linger in the house after dark, especially not alone in the tower rooms. A shiver ran down her spine at the mere thought. Instead, she turned her attention to the kitchen, a bright and welcoming space that was sure to be a major selling point. Few clients these days wanted a formal dining room as the only place to eat, and Nicoletta was pleased to see that the vendors had joined the old larder to the kitchen, creating a vast, glossy space with room for an eating area.
The fashionable dark blue Aga stove was a highlight, and Nicoletta stood still for a moment, admiring it. Suddenly, memories flooded back of her own childhood kitchen, where an old, coal-fired Aga had been the centerpiece. She remembered the struggle to load it, the endless raking out of ashes... A voice in the hallway snapped her back to the present.
Nicoletta pushed through the door to find a tall, imposing figure craning his neck to examine the staircase. Impatience radiated from him like heat. As she coughed to announce her presence, he spun around, his expression transforming from irritation to courtesy. He bowed slightly, his eyes narrowing as he took in her face.
"Pardon, mademoiselle," he said, his voice low and smooth. "The door was open, so I came in. My plane was delayed. If I kept you waiting, I apologize." Nicoletta's instincts told her that this man wasn't one for apologies, but she smiled politely nonetheless.
"How do you do?" she replied, extending her hand. "I'm Nicoletta from Costa d'Amalfi Properties." The man's gaze lingered on her face, taking in every detail, before he nodded curtly.
"Unfortunately, my assistant's ill and couldn't come," Nicoletta admitted reluctantly, returning his scrutiny with interest. He wore a formal dark overcoat, worn open over a city suit, and he was younger than she'd expected, with thick, longish black hair and smooth olive skin, a straight nose. But his mouth curved in strikingly sensuous contrast to the firm, dark-shadowed jaw. And something about him revived the feeling of unease she'd experienced at the first sound of his voice on the phone.
"I had expected someone older, mademoiselle," he said at last, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "
Nicoletta felt a flicker of annoyance but reminded herself that her mission was to sell the house, not alienate the client. "Va bene" (all right), she thought to herself, exerting herself to please. So, she took him on a tour of the ground-floor rooms, extolling the virtues of the space and the wonderful views by daylight over the bay. "A pity you arrived so late," she said pleasantly. "The view is a major attraction of Castello dei Fiori. La vista è magnifica" (the view is magnificent).
"So, I was told," he replied, raising a quizzical eyebrow. "Is it good enough to compensate for the architecture? You must admit that the exterior lacks charm."
"True," Nicoletta conceded. "But the house was built to last. È una casa solida" (it's a solid house).
Nicoletta led the way upstairs, pointing out the various selling points as Julien explored the bedrooms. "Il restauro è stato fatto con cura" (the restoration was done with care), she said, highlighting the beautifully restored staircase. On the way downstairs again, she stressed the advantages of the immaculate interior decoration, the new central heating system, the recent rewiring, and the curtains and carpets included in the price.
In the kitchen, she pointed out its practical and aesthetic virtues. "The kitchen has been completely renovated." she said, smiling. But at last, there was only the tower left to explore. Nicoletta preceded Julien into the hall, her pulse racing and her hands clam. As she pressed a button in the wall beneath the stairwell, a door slid aside in the paneling to reveal a lift.
"This is set in the turret itself," she said, trying to sound composed. "It takes you to the bedroom floor, of course, then on to the top room in the tower, Monsieur De La Roche."
He smiled, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Ah! You saved the pièce de résistance for last, signorina Blanchi. Is it in good working order?"
"Yes," Nicoletta replied, devoutly hoping she was right. "To demonstrate this, we can inspect the three floors of the tower on foot, then call the lift up to the top floor to bring us down again."
Wishing now she had compelled herself to explore the tower alone first, Portia led her client into the ground-floor chamber, a light and airy apartment with windows gracing three outer walls. And empty, much like the corridor. She exhaled with slight relief. "I believe this was designated as the morning room by the lady of the house when it was originally constructed. This door opens into the lift, while the adjacent one conceals a spiral staircase ascending to the next floor." With a sense of purpose, Portia guided the way up the winding stairs to a room akin to the one below, then, at last, her heart pounding like a war drum, she hurried up the final flight to the pinnacle of the tower. She activated the light, gestured for her client to enter the room, then stood just inside the doorway, her back against the wall, feeling giddy with relief.
"The view here is quite marvelous during the day," she remarked breathlessly. The Frenchman regarded her with concern. "You appear quite pale. Are you unwell, mademoiselle?"
"No, I'm perfectly well." She managed a smile. "Out of condition, I require more exercise."
He looked skeptical. "But not at this moment, I think. Is this the button for the ascenseur? Let us ascertain its efficiency."
In the claustrophobic, strangely menacing confines of the small elevator, Portia felt constrained by her companion's physical proximity, acutely aware of dark, narrowed eyes fixed upon her face as they glided silently to the ground floor.
"Most impressive," he remarked as they stepped into the hall.
"Installed in the early part of the century, when the house was outfitted with electricity," Portia said unevenly, the blood beginning to circulate normally in her veins once they were out of the tower. "Have you seen everything you desire, Monsieur De La Roche?"
"For the moment, yes. Tomorrow, in daylight, I shall conduct a more thorough inspection. I believe there is a path leading down to a private cove?"
Nicoletta nodded. "But there's been no maintenance work done on it for a long time. I'm not sure how safe it is."
"If the weather permits, we shall explore and find out," He replied, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You have not shown other prospective purchasers around Castello dei Fiori?" he asked.
"Oh, yes, quite a number," Nicoletta contradicted him quickly. "The property's attracted a lot of interest."
"I meant you, personally, mademoiselle," Julien clarified.
"Myself, no, I haven't," Nicoletta admitted. "My colleague usually handles viewings in this area." She smiled politely. "Have you any more questions?"
"Of course, many more," He replied, glancing at his watch. "But I shall ask them tomorrow. Soon it will be time for dinner. Let us drive to the hotel." Nicoletta's eyes widened slightly as he added, "I am entertaining some clients to dinner at the hotel. Will you join us?"
Nicoletta shook her head. "Grazie, but I won't, thanks," she said. "It's an early start tomorrow, so I'll have supper in my room, then get some sleep."
His eyes sparkled with amusement. "A boring programme," he observed as Nicoletta switched off the last of the lights.
"But very attractive to me after a busy working week," she assured him pleasantly.
"Then I trust you will enjoy it," Julien said, smiling. "Allora, you will go first so I can make sure you arrive safely," he added, his Italian pronunciation smooth and confident.
"Arrivederci, signorina," He said, his voice low and smooth. "I shall talk to you later. Drive very carefully."
"I always do," Nicoletta replied, smiling. "Goodbye."
She got in the car, fastened her seatbelt, and drove off quickly, dismayed to find she already needed her headlights in the fading light. The sky was a deep shade of indigo, and the stars were beginning to twinkle like diamonds scattered across the canvas of the universe. As she turned out into the road, she looked in her mirror, rather disappointed that he hadn't waited to watch her out of sight.
Not, she told herself severely, that there was any reason why he should. Only an impractical fool would have hung about in the rain, getting soaked to the bone for no good reason. And her acquaintance with Signor De La Roche might be slight, but one thing was very clear. He was no fool.
Nicoletta focused on the road ahead, her mind still processing the encounter with the intriguing and somewhat unsettling french man. She couldn't help but wonder what had drawn him to Castello dei Fiori, and what he planned to do with the property if he bought it. As she drove, the windshield wipers swished back and forth, hypnotic in their rhythm, and the sound of the engine hummed in the background.
As the darkness and heavy rain intensified, Nicoletta decided it would be safer to drive to her friend's place in Amalfi, rather than risking the long drive back and potentially being late for her meeting at Castello dei Fiori the next morning. She navigated through the winding roads, the rain-soaked streets gleaming in the faint light of the streetlamps.
With a sense of unease, she drove on, the darkness and the rain enveloping her like a shroud. Finally, she saw the lights of her friend's house in the distance and breathed a sigh of relief. She pulled up to the door, grabbed her bag, and dashed inside, grateful for the warmth and safety of her friend's home.
"Ciao, amore!" her friend exclaimed, embracing her warmly. "What brings you here tonight?" Nicoletta explained the situation, and her friend nodded understandingly. "You're welcome to stay as long as you need. Let's get you dried off and into some warm clothes." Nicoletta smiled gratefully, feeling a sense of relief wash over her.