The Italian’s Baby

Carried away by her arguments, she’d failed to see the pit opening at her feet until she fell into it. She had forgotten about the cause of their quarrel. Now it came back to her, and she fell silent.

‘Do you want to talk about that?’ he asked.

‘Not really,’ she said hastily. ‘There’s nothing to say.’

‘No.’ He seemed deflated. ‘No, I guess there isn’t.’

CHAPTER TEN

SHE was gathering up the remains of the snack and preparing to go indoors when she heard the faint sound of a voice behind her.

‘I’m sorry, Becky, for everything.’

‘What?’

She turned sharply, not sure if she’d really heard the words, but Luca was already rising.

‘Time I was getting back to work,’ he said, stretching his limbs. ‘Let’s see how far we can get with this roof today.’

He fixed several beams, but then the light was too poor for him to go any further, so he fetched some roofing felt from the van.

‘I’ll just nail this over the gap for tonight, so that you’ll have some cover,’ he said. ‘Tomorrow, with any luck, the roof should be finished.’

When he’d fixed the felt into place he ate the meal she’d prepared as quickly as possible. She had hoped they might talk some more, but he said goodnight and left.

He had made the repairs just in time. That night the heavens opened. Summer was finally over and the first storm of autumn was impressive, especially to the woman looking up at the felt, and wondering how strong it was. But no water was dripping down into the bedroom. As a builder, Luca knew his stuff.

Just as she was beginning to relax she heard a crash from outside, and sat up sharply, listening for any further worrying noises. But the pounding of the rain blotted out all else.

At last she got out of bed, threw on a dressing gown and made her way outside. The wind hit her like a hammer, hard enough to blow her back inside if she hadn’t clung to the doorpost. Breathing hard, she steadied herself and tried to look around through the rain that was coming down in sheets.

She could see no sign of trouble, but another noise came from around the corner of the cottage and she headed that way, arriving just as a fork of lightning illuminated the lean-to where the logs were stored, revealing that the roof had come down.

‘Oh, great!’ she muttered. ‘Now the wood will get wet and it won’t burn, and the kitchen will fill with smoke, and probably fifty other things will happen. Great! Great! Great!’

There was only one thing to do. Gathering up a pile of logs, she began to stagger back to the front door. On the way the dressing gown fell open and she tripped over the belt, falling into the mud and taking the logs with her.

Cursing furiously, she got to her feet and surveyed the soaking logs, aided by the lightning that obligingly flashed at that moment.

‘Damn!’ she told the heavens. A blast of thunder drowned her out. ‘And the same to you!’

Suddenly Luca’s voice came from near by. ‘Becky, what are you doing out here?’

‘What does it look as if I’m doing?’ she demanded at the top of her voice. ‘Dancing the fandango? The lean-to came down and the wood’s getting even wetter than I am, which is saying a good deal.’

‘OK, I’ll fetch it in,’ he yelled back. ‘Go inside and get dry.’

‘Not while there’s wood to be moved.’

‘I’ll do it.’

‘It’ll take too long for one person. It’ll be drenched.’

‘I said I’ll do it.’

‘Luca, I swear if you say that once more I’ll brain you.’

He ground his teeth. ‘I am only trying to take care of you.’

‘Then don’t! I haven’t asked you to. I’ll do the wood on my own.’

‘You will not do it on your own!’ He tore his hair. ‘While we’re arguing, it’s getting wet.’

‘Then let’s get on,’ she said through gritted teeth, and went back to the pile of logs before he could argue again.

They got about a quarter of the wood inside before he said, ‘That’s it. There’s enough there for a few days, and during that time we can bring some of the rest in and dry it out.’

‘All right,’ she said, glad to leave off now her point was made. ‘Come in and get yourself dry.’

They squelched back indoors, Luca slamming the van’s open door in passing with a force that showed his feelings.

Once inside, Rebecca lit some candles, then rooted inside a cupboard, glad that the one luxury she had allowed herself was a set of top-quality towels and two vast bathrobes. They were chosen to be too big, so that the occupant could snuggle deep inside, which was fortunate, or Luca could never have got into one.

‘Why didn’t you call me?’ he asked, sitting down and pulling the robe as far around him as he could.

‘Because I’m not a helpless little woman.’

‘Just a thoroughly awkward one,’ he grumbled.

‘Oh, hush up!’ She silenced him by tossing a hand towel over his head and beginning to rub, ignoring the noises that came from underneath.

‘What was that?’

He emerged from the towel, tousled and damp, and looking oddly young.

‘I said you should have knocked on the van door and woken me.’

‘I’m surprised you didn’t hear the lean-to go down, the noise it made.’

But then she remembered that he had always slept heavily, sometimes with his head on her breast.

‘Well, I didn’t. It was mere chance that I woke up when I did. Otherwise, I suppose you’d have taken the whole lot indoors.’

‘No, I’d have been sensible and stopped after a few, like we did.’

He grunted.

‘And don’t grunt like that as though you couldn’t believe a word I say.’

‘I know you. You’d say anything to win an argument.’

She grinned. ‘Yes, I would. So don’t take me on.’

‘No, I’ve got the bruises from that, haven’t I?’ he asked wryly.

‘We’ve both got bruises,’ she reminded him. ‘Old and recent.’

He looked at her cautiously. ‘But you’re still speaking to me?’

‘No, I’m speaking to this man who turned up to mend the roof,’ she said lightly. ‘Good builders are hard to find.’

He gave a brief laugh. ‘My only honest skill.’

‘Don’t be so hard on yourself,’ she said quietly.

She thought he might say something, but he only grabbed the towel and began rubbing his head again.

She made some tea and sandwiches and they ate in near silence. He seemed tired and abstracted, and she wondered if he was regretting that he had ever started this.

‘What happened to you?’ he asked suddenly, while he was drying his feet.

‘How do you mean?’

‘Where did you vanish to?’

‘Didn’t your enquiry agents tell you that?’

He grimaced an acknowledgement. ‘They traced you to Switzerland, then the trail went cold. I guess you meant it to.’

‘Sure. I knew you’d hire the best, and they’d check the airlines and the ferries, and anywhere where there was