They stopped and stared at her. “I am sorry, Mrs. Rowland. Of what do you speak?”
“Oliver. He went with you today.”
“You are mistaken,” Mr. Schonberg said.
Confusion pierced her mind. “But he went onto the mountain with you today.”
“No, that was yesterday. Not today.”
“Oh, did you see him?”
“I saw him at breakfast this morning. He must have gone with someone else.”
“Who?” she asked, knowing Mr. Schonberg probably didn’t have the answer.
“I don’t know, but if he’s not back by now, he’s unlikely to make it back in the dark. Visibility is very low. You saw him go up on the mountain?”
“Well, no,” Clemmie said. “I…” What proof did she have that he’d gone anywhere? None. It was an assumption she’d made. “Perhaps I am mistaken.”
“Maybe you are difficult company, no?” the Italian man said as he walked past them into the dining room. “And he has continued on his journey without you.”
Mrs. Schonberg tsked him. “Awful man. I’m sure he’s simply lost track of time.”
“If he’s on the mountain, that would be bad. He cannot walk in the dark. It would be too dangerous.”
“I don’t know if he did,” Clemmie admitted. “I just assumed he went with you.”
“Maybe he went to the village?” Mrs. Schonberg suggested. “There is a tavern.”
Of course. He must have gone in search for her. Had she taken so long it had worried him? It was a possibility. The tavern would have called him. It would be disappointing that he’d distracted himself so completely, but he was a young man, and he did have the tendency to get waylaid by interesting company. Who knows what kind of traveler he could stumble across in the village tavern, no doubt plying him with fantastic tales.
“Of course,” she said, feeling less worried. That was the most logical solution. He was in the village, and had probably imbibed a little too much to make his way home.
“Would you care to join us for supper?” Mrs. Schonberg asked.
“That is very kind.”
And she might as well, because Oliver probably wasn’t coming back that evening, unless he found someone to drive him. Hopefully, he wouldn’t attempt the road in the dark, being in a less than sober state.
Her worry was assuaged a little, not completely. She would wake in the morning, and he would be ready with his apology for how he’d let the day slip so completely.
Chapter 8
THE AIR FELT MOIST WHEN Clemmie walked down to the village the next morning. As expected, Oliver hadn’t been there when she’d woken, and there was no sign he’d been in the room. Mr. Weber hadn’t seen him, so there was nothing for her to do but go in search for him.
Yesterday, she’d been so excited walking down this road, for a venture out on her own. Now, she wasn’t quite as excited, having to go in search of her husband. Perhaps he’d gotten into trouble of some kind, or had hurt himself and was unable to walk.
At this point, she was holding her tears back, because this wasn’t amusing, being worried about a missing Oliver. They were supposed to be on their way this morning, but that didn’t look like it was about to happen.
Before leaving, she’d told Mr. Weber where she was going and why, so he could inform Oliver if he came in. When he did, and came to find her, she was going to be very cross with him.
In her worry and anger, the village seemed less distant than yesterday. The weather seemed to be clearing, which was good. There might actually be a bit of sun that day. The sun in Italy was supposed to be wonderful and frequent this time of year, Oliver had assured her. Some warming sun and gentle breezes would do her nicely right now.
Closing her fists in her gloved hands, she tried to generate more warmth in them. The moist coolness of the mountains seemed to get into her very bones, and she looked forward to sitting with some tea in front of the fire. Or better yet, setting off from here and heading south.
The village looked very similar and she searched for the tavern first, which she found in a building clad with dark wood and small windows. It was too early for many customers inside, and she certainly didn’t see Oliver sitting at one of the tables.
The barkeep was a round man with a white apron. He had a thick gray mustache, and round eyes. He regarded her as she approached. “Do you speak English?”
“Little,” he said.
“I am looking for my husband.”
A man at the bar laughed and Clemmie gave him a chiding look.
“His name is Oliver and he is English. Was he here yesterday? Brown hair and blue eyes.”
The man shook his head and shrugged, and she didn’t know if that meant no, he hadn’t see him, or that he didn’t understand. So she repeated her question in German.”
“No Englishmen yesterday,” he finally said and Clemmie was stumped.
“Oh,” she said and looked around. Oliver didn’t really speak any other languages, so it wasn’t as if he could pass himself off as another nationality. “Can you tell me, please, where is the village doctor?”
“No doctor here. There is a surgery in the next village.”
“Oh,” she repeated, trying to think where else he could be. It could be that someone had helped him to the doctor if he’d injured himself. Someone along the road could have stopped and taken him on to the surgery. “I…” she started, not knowing how to finish. “Thank you.”
Leaving the tavern, she looked around and then walked to each shop and asked there, but no one had seen him.
She’d been sure she would find the answer in the village, but it seemed he hadn’t been here at all. The only place to check
