out into the jug.
‘One jug won’t last long,’ he said tersely. ‘Better fetch any other container you’ve got.’
She fetched two more jugs and when he had filled those too he carried them inside.
‘Luca-’
‘I just don’t want you on my conscience,’ he said hurriedly. Then, as she opened her mouth, with a touch of desperation, ‘Be quiet!’
Silence.
‘Can I say thank you?’ she asked at last.
‘No need,’ he snapped and walked out before she had time to say more.
Through the car window he grunted something that might have been a goodbye, and in another moment she could see his tail lights growing smaller. Then he was gone altogether.
In the bedroom she began to go through the pile of bed linen and realised that there was enough here to ward off the night chills. None of it was very expensive, nothing to overwhelm her, just the gift of a thoughtful friend, if she wanted to take it that way.
But then she remembered the box of food, and something made her hurry back to the kitchen to begin turning it out and examining the contents.
When she did not find what she was looking for her search became feverish, though whether she was trying to prove him better or worse than her suspicions she could not have said.
There were several cartons of fresh milk, for which she was genuinely thankful, tea, a box of shortbread biscuits, fresh bread, butter, ham, eggs and several tins of fruit. And two large, juicy steaks.
But no sugar.
No real, fresh coffee.
Either of those things would have told her that he intended to return. Their absence left her not knowing what to think.
She cooked one of the steaks that evening, and ate it with bread and butter, washed down with a large mug of tea.
She made up the bed, not sorry to exchange the rough sheets for the smooth new ones and pile on the blankets, although she replaced the brightly coloured quilt on top.
Before retiring she treated herself to fresh tea and shortbread, then slipped blissfully between the sheets. She had expected to lie awake for a long time, puzzling about Luca’s sudden appearance, but she fell asleep almost at once, and slept soundly for eight hours.
In the morning she felt more refreshed than she had for months. She had been planning to go into the village to stock up, but Luca’s gift had made this unnecessary. She could keep her privacy a little longer, and spend today enjoying her favourite occupation, reading one of the books she had brought with her.
She wondered if she ought to do some thorough housework first, in case he returned. She didn’t want him to feel that she was neglecting his property.
So she cleared everything away, swept the floor and did a thorough dusting. But still she did not hear his car approaching, and the house began to feel very quiet.
There was a patch of grass in the garden that caught the sun well, and where she could place her chair and read to her heart’s content. It also had the advantage that she could not see the track up which he would come, if he came.
It was as well to be free of that kind of temptation, so she chose this spot. After a while, she moved.
When she did finally see a vehicle it was not Luca’s expensive car, but an old van that lurched drunkenly along the rough track, until it came to a standstill just outside the gap in the fence that served as a gate. Luca’s head appeared through the cab window.
‘Have I got room?’ he yelled to her.
She studied the gap. ‘I don’t think so.’
He jumped down and came to see for himself.
‘No, it’s too narrow by six inches. OK, I’ll put that right.’
He went to the back of the van and returned with a large hammer, which he swung at the wood until it gave way. He was dressed in jeans and a shirt, and looked like a different man from the one she had known recently.
One hefty kick completed the demolition of the wood, enabling him to bring the van further in and halt near the front door. He jumped down and looked up into the sky, then at his watch.
‘I’ve got time to make a start, anyway,’ he said.
‘A start on what?’
But he’d already gone to the back, opening the doors. Inside was a mountain of long planks, and a ladder, which he pulled out and carried around the side of the house, setting it against the wall, just below the hole in the roof.
With Rebecca watching, he climbed up and inspected the damage with the eye of a professional. She saw him tap some beams and try to shake them. What he found seemed to satisfy him, for he shinned back down the ladder.
‘A cup of tea would be nice,’ he said.
He spoke hopefully but he wasn’t looking at her, and she knew that what she said next was crucial. It would take only a word to wither him with the snub she sensed that he dreaded, or to set their relationship on a new, less stressful footing. The future would be decided in this moment.
‘Tea already?’ she said, smiling slightly. ‘You’ve only just arrived.’
‘But the British always give their workmen tea,’ he pointed out. ‘Otherwise no work ever gets done.’
‘In that case, I’ll put the kettle on,’ she said lightly.
It was done. For good or ill, she had made it possible for him to stay.
While she made the tea she heard him crawling about on the roof, until he descended, went to the van, and came back with a smaller ladder that he took through to the bedroom.
She knew he would check to see if she’d used the sheets and blankets he had brought her, and was glad, now, that she had. A few moments later she found him in there, examining the roof from the inside.
‘Those beams won’t stand any weight,’ he said. ‘I’m going to have to take them down, so for a while you’ll have less roof than you have now.’
‘It hardly makes any difference,’ she pointed out cheerfully. ‘A large hole or a very large hole, the effect is the same.’
‘True. I’m glad to see that you have the right pioneering spirit.’
‘Meaning that I’m going to need it? All right, I’m prepared for the worst.’
‘You’re lucky something hasn’t fallen on you already. Look just there.’ He was pointing upwards.
‘Let me get closer.’
‘All right.’ He held the ladder while she climbed up, and she could see at once what he meant. The beams were less sturdy than they looked from below, and would not have survived much longer.
‘Come down,’ he said, ‘and I’ll get rid of them.’
‘Will they land on the bed?’ she asked.
‘Some of them, yes.’
‘Then give me a moment to cover it.’
He helped her protect the bed with the old blankets, then said, ‘Right. Stand well clear.’
He was giving orders again, but it did not irk her as it had done before, because here his expertise justified him, and there was reason in everything he did.
Nor did she feel like getting too close when he started swinging the hammer and sending wood crashing down. Some fell outside the house, but some landed inside. Having made an appalling noise, he studied the result with satisfaction and began clearing up the wood.
He performed this task with brisk efficiency, without seeming to notice that this was her bedroom. His only comment came when she tried to lift a heavy plank.
‘If you do that, what am I for?’ he asked, sounding pained.
She stood back, and waited until all the wood was gone. But then she insisted on helping him gather up the blankets with their burden of dirt and splinters. Together they carried them outside and shook them thoroughly,
