resulting in a double coughing fit.
‘Now we both look a mess,’ he said, trying to brush dust out of his hair and from his clothes. ‘I need to go into the village, and I think I’ll go now before I get any dirtier. Do you want anything?’
She hesitated only a moment before saying, ‘Yes, please. I’d like some sugar, and some good coffee.’
It was acceptance, the sign that she was making a small space for him. She wondered how he would react.
‘Fine,’ he said briefly. ‘Nothing else?’
‘No, thank you. Nothing else.’
He jumped into the van and made a noisy departure. He was gone an hour and when he returned he had more provisions. There was food, milk, meat and pasta, and the back was piled high with logs, each about twelve inches long.
‘For the range,’ he said. ‘You’re going to run out of them soon.’
She had been planning to go to the village for more logs, but it was a heavy job, and her bouts of queasiness had left her not feeling up to it.
She wondered if he suspected, but it was too soon for her to show. And Luca was not perceptive enough to guess.
But when she tried to pick up some logs he stopped her instantly.
‘Why don’t you take that?’ he said, pointing to the box of food. ‘I could do with some pasta. You’ll find vegetables, tomato puree, and Parmesan cheese.’
It meant nothing. Of course he wanted to do all the heavy work because his pride was tied up in this. And he had always been chivalrous, she recalled. How he had loved to wait on her and tend her, as though she was almost too precious to touch. How gently he had spoken to her, never raising his voice, trying to stand protectively between her and the world.
It was old-fashioned and definitely not ‘liberated’. She was a modern, independent woman, who needed no such cosseting. But her eyes softened as she recalled how wonderful it had been.
‘Hey!’ yelled Luca.
She came out of her happy dream. ‘Did you speak to me?’
‘Yes. I said, are you going to make that pasta, or are you going to stand there dreaming all day? There’s one very hungry man here. Get moving!’
To his bafflement she began to laugh. She tried to stop but something had overtaken her and it quickly became uncontrollable.
‘Becky-’
‘I’m sorry, I’m trying to-to-’
‘What’s so funny?’ he demanded, aggrieved.
‘It’s just the contrast-never mind. It’s not important.’
‘If it’s not important, what’s stopping you feeding me before I die of hunger?’
‘Nothing. I’m on to it now.’
She grabbed the box and hurried inside, still laughing. It took a moment to bring herself under control, but she felt better afterwards. Somehow the little incident had restored her sense of proportion, and she had a feeling it had needed restoring.
Her pasta skills had been rusty when she’d first arrived here, but she’d been polishing them up, and now made a respectable job of it, including the tomato sauce.
‘Ready in ten minutes,’ she called.
He looked in through the window.
‘Fine, I’ll just clean up a bit. The logs have made me dirty again.’
She gave the pasta another stir before going outside, where he was at the pump. He’d stripped off his shirt and was trying to pump water over himself with one hand and wash himself with the other. Since the pump belched water only jerkily, he wasn’t managing very well.
Fetching a few useful items from the kitchen, she went to help him.
‘I’ll do the pump,’ she said, handing him the soap.
He soaped himself thankfully while she poured water over him. The sun glinted gloriously off every drop streaming from the spout, over his long back and powerful arms.
‘Now your hair,’ she said, spraying something over the dust that seemed embedded in his scalp, and massaging hard to work up a lather.
‘It’s in my eyes,’ he bellowed.
‘Oh, stop being such a baby!’
‘You’re a heartless woman.’
‘OK, here comes the rinse,’ she cried, pumping again.
When the suds had gone she handed him the towel she’d brought out and he dried himself thankfully.
‘That’s better. Hey, what’s this?’ He snatched up a plastic cylinder from the bench where she’d set it.
‘It’s as good as anything for the purpose.’
‘You washed my hair with washing-up liquid?’ he repeated, aghast. ‘Do you realise you’ve made me smell of lemon?’
‘Well, I had to use something before your hair set solid, and the only shampoo I have smells of perfume.’
‘Lemon’s just fine,’ he said hastily.
Now that the ice had been broken they bickered amiably over the meal, inching their way carefully towards a place where this new relationship would be possible.
After lunch he went around the house, testing locks, and was shocked by what he found.
‘The front door doesn’t lock properly, and the back door doesn’t lock at all. Lucky I brought some more.’
As he fixed the new locks into place he said crossly, ‘You’ve been sleeping here like this? No locks? Anyone could have walked in.’
‘Since nobody comes here, it didn’t seem important. Still, I’m glad you’ve done that.’
He went back to work on the roof, hauling wood up and hammering mightily, until he had put in place a rough frame.
‘With any luck, this will be your last night under that hole,’ he said, looking up from directly beneath it. ‘By tomorrow night I should have rigged up some covering.’
‘It’s going to be very cosy in here,’ she said appreciatively. ‘Thank you, Luca.’
But he was yawning and didn’t seem to hear her.
‘I feel as though I’m falling apart,’ he said, rubbing his shoulders as he wandered out into the kitchen.
‘Let’s eat.’
He collected logs to refill the range while she lit candles, for the light was fading fast.
A candlelit meal might have been romantic, but he seemed determined to rob the atmosphere of any semblance of romance, watching her cooking like a hawk and making a stream of interfering suggestions until at last she said crossly, ‘All right, do it yourself.’
‘I will. I will.’
‘Fine!’
‘Fine!’
She went into the bedroom and sat on the bed, in a huff, for about ten minutes. Then she returned to the kitchen, having recovered her sense of humour.
‘You’ll turn the food sour,’ he objected.
‘No, I’m all right now. Shall I take over?’
‘No, thank you,’ he said with more haste than politeness. ‘I have everything under control. This will take a while, so why don’t we have mushrooms and rice first? You can prepare the mushrooms and I’ll put the water on for the rice.’
She worked on the mushrooms for the next few minutes, until forced to stop by a queasy stomach.
‘Are you all right?’ Luca asked.
‘There’s just something about the smell of raw mushrooms,’ she said.
‘You’ve never said that before.’
