Vicky took Anna’s advice and went down to the beach. There was quite a breeze blowing, which raised goose pimples on her exposed skin, and it took several minutes to find a sheltered spot tucked into the cliffs at the farthest end.
She laid out a raffia mat, and placed her towel over it. She unbuttoned and took off her kaftan, carefully folding it and putting it into her bag, then applied pre-sun lotion to her legs, shoulders, tummy and neck, working it well in.
Out of the way of the wind it was gorgeously warm and pleasant.
Satisfied with her preparations, she found her book and pulled the sun glasses, perched on the top of her head, forward and down on to her nose, turning the pages of the paperback where she had marked it to start her next read.
Minutes turned into an hour very quickly, with the noise of the sea and an occasional bee or other insect, the only intrusions.
Mindful of not burning, she turned on to her tummy, managing to get some lotion on the back of her legs and shoulders. It was so deliciously warm, too warm really to fully concentrate on the printed word.
She laid the book down, pushed the sunglasses back on to the top of her head, and lay with her head turned to one side.
She had never basked in the Mediterranean sun before, but she knew enough from reading the woman’s magazines that a lot of girls were going topless nowadays. Could she - -?
Feeling quite daring, she reached up behind her and unfastened the clip of the bikini top, pulling the straps clear, and completely baring her back. That was enough for her, and she allowed the rest of the garment to stay where it was.
Far off, muffled by the rocks about her, she could hear the waves break rhythmically on the beach. Another insect droned by. How restful it was. A beach holiday out of the blue. She couldn’t have known that the setting was going to be so beautiful. Or so exciting.
Her thoughts returned to Carl. He was a total enigma to her. One moment, everything a woman could wish for in a man; the next, shadows of unease, of a tenseness, like a caged tiger, just beneath the surface.
There was something wrong somewhere.
The pleasant tingling of the sun on her delicate skin at the back of her thighs made her feel drowsy, and it was not long before she drifted off into a light sleep.
Anna attended to several letters and made two phone calls before she went upstairs. In the master bedroom at the front of the villa she went out on to the large balcony that faced towards the sea. Complete with telescope, it was not unlike the bridge of a ship.
She leant on the rails, looking around – searching.
It took only a few moments for her to detect the tiny figure of Vicky tucked away in the shelter of the rocks.
She swung the heavily mounted telescope in the direction of the cliffs, twirling the knob as she did so.
The blurred image grew large, come into focus, and then out again. More slowly now, she brought it back until Vicky’s face was as clear and as big as if she had been standing but a few feet away.
The detail was incredible. Anna could see the growing pinkness of her very white legs and shoulders. Really, she ought to be warned.
She went back indoors, and making sure that none of the servants saw her, made her way to Vicky’s room, closing the door quietly behind her.
She began to open drawers, searching through her clothes, checking every item, and replacing them exactly as she had found them.
Vicky had slept for over an hour when something woke her. Disorientated, she scrambled up to a sitting position, and turned to her horror to find two swarthy-looking men grinning down at her.
“Ciao.”
One of the men touched his darkly coloured curly hair in a mock salute.
They spoke slowly and deliberately in Italian, glancing suggestively at one another as they gazed down at her, their legs apart, encased in tight weathered jeans, with rough shirts open to their waists, revealing tangles of thick dark hair and gold chains.
But what really frightened her most of all about these men was the fact that they were shouldering some kind of automatic rifles.
Intimidated, she looked up at them as they continued to talk, acutely aware that she was at their mercy; that they might – just might – take their pleasure and disappear into the mountains.
Hadn’t Carl told her that the hills were dangerous?
One of the men nudged his companion and made a sign with his free hand that left Vicky in no doubt at all what part of her anatomy he was referring to.
With a shriek she suddenly realised that she was not only sitting up before them – but she was naked from the waist!
She grabbed for the bikini top, turning her back to them as they roared with laughter.
A radio crackled, a metallic, distorted voice sounded urgent – commanding.
With fumbling fingers still trying to hook up the back, she panicked.
“Stay away from me, you....”
“Scuse, Signorina...” He indicated the two-way radio in his hand. “... Signorina Mioretti say – food is ready.”
It dawned on her then with cringing embarrassment; these were two of the estate guards, on patrol.
God! How naïve could you get?
No wonder that Anna had been able to spot straight away that Vicky was a naive unseasoned traveller.
Pulling herself up to her full height, she faced the two men, gave them her haughtiest look, and waved a hand dismissively.
“Thank you.”
Still shaking from shock and her stupidity, she collected her belongings, and made her way towards the villa.
Anna was already at the table on the terrace, daintily sipping a fruit juice. Vicky, feeling stiff on the climb up from the beach, finally arrived, her heels scratching and squeaking as she made towards the table.
“Sorry. Have I kept you waiting?”
Anna smiled, elegantly crossing smooth legs.
“Not at all. There is no hurry. I’m sure you would like to freshen up first.”
“Yes – thank you. I won’t be a minute.”
As she ascended the stairs to her room, she found that her skin was stiffening; and even in the relative coolness of the villa it felt as if the sun was still burning into her back.
She washed her face and hands, and noted with alarm the pinkness of her skin. Instead of Anna’s attractive bronze tan, she was beginning to look like a boiled lobster.
From a drawer, she took out a fresh sun top and shorts, pulling them over her bikini. Satisfied, she rejoined Anna on the terrace.
“That feels better,” she said, taking a sip of her fruit juice.
“Had a good morning?” Anna enquired.
“Absolutely marvellous. I made a bit of a fool of myself with two of the guards – leaping up as if I was going to be carried off.” She looked pointedly at Anna. “I’m not accustomed to wild-looking men – with guns.”
Anna smiled, much too sweetly.
“I don’t suppose you are. But we must have protection at all times. Here in Italy, as I’m sure you know, there have been many kidnappings for ransom. Our history is full of political and criminal violence.”
Vicky nodded as the woman continued.
“I’ve told Mr McKinley on more than one occasion that the men need smartening up. They are indistinguishable from some of the Sicilian bandits I last saw when I was down in the south.”
“You’ve seen such people?” Vicky was incredulous, pausing with a drink held in her hand.
“Yes, it was a business trip. Carl had a project down there. Something to do with the pure colours and clear air.”
“I see.”
“I hope you don’t think that we have anything to do with such people.”
“Of course not. It’s just that I’m not used to private estates. Or private armies.”
A servant cleared away the dishes as a maid set fresh plates before them, and a third began to serve a fish risotto.
“Why did you really come here, Vicky?”
“I don’t understand.” She looked askance. “I've already told you.”
Anna picked up a fork and probed at the rice on her plate.
“You don’t expect me to believe that story, do you? A long lost love, and all that? A sudden impulse to travel all this way. Really! You must think I’m, stupid.”
“But it is true,” Vicky protested. “What other reason could there be?”
“I have a feeling that you’re a journalist. It’s the sort of story that a news-hungry editor might concoct.”
“I can assure you that it’s not. A journalist? Whatever next? My visit will terminate as soon as I’ve spoken to Mr McKinley – and thanked him, if nothing else, for thinking of my aunt all these years.”
Anna remained silent. She took a forkful of the risotto and followed it with a little wine.
“I wish that I could speak Italian,” Vicky sighed. “When I get back to London I intend to go to evening classes at the local college.”
Anna set her wine glass down.
“I can teach you a few words and phrases, if you wish – to help you get by in ordinary situations like shopping and future holidays.”
“Would you really?”
“We can start right away if you like.”
“That would be terrific,” Vicky exclaimed.
Anna looked around and waved in a general direction over her shoulder.
“The sea is lo mare. The beach, la spiaggia.”
Vicky repeated the words.
Anna’s eyebrows shot up as she inclined her head.
“Very good. You seem to have a natural ability to get your tongue around the words. You should do well.”
Flattered, Vicky thanked her.
“I’ll practice those words all afternoon.”
Anna laughed, not unkindly.
“I’d better give you a few more. I’ll write some down for you. You’ll soon acquire a vocabulary that way.”
Vicky shifted her weight in her chair, and drank some wine. The ribs of the seat appeared to be more uncomfortable than usual on the back of her thighs.
“Are you all right?” Anna asked, genuine concern in her voice.
“I think it’s these shorts and sunburn.”
They both laughed for the first time together.
Vicky began to wonder if she had misjudged the woman, probably because of the circumstances of her arrival. She began to feel that her thoughts of flight were an over-reaction.
“Do you still wish to go into Allassio tonight?” Anna asked.
“I’d like to if somebody happens to be going that way,” Vicky said. “But I can wait until another evening – when it’s more convenient.”
“Tonight will be fine.”
Anna got to her feet, and placed her napkin, which she had neatly folded, down on to the table.
“I’ll leave you to your sun bathing.”
Vicky winced visibly.
“I seem to be going any colour but a nice shade of brown.”
“Nonsense. You have to redden a bit at first – especially as your skin is so white and fair. You don’t want to waste time. It could quite easily be cloudy tomorrow – and for the rest of the week.”
“Really?” Vicky was surprised. “I didn’t think your weather was like that.”
“It is autumn, you know,” Anna reminded her.
“See you at dinner. Ciao.”
When she went to return to her rocky place at the end of the beach, Vicky found that she would have to walk the length of the tiny bay to get the afternoon sun.
She’d already kicked off her shoes, and as she sauntered along by the water’s edge, the waves lapped over her feet. It was a most enchanting spot. She wondered what it would be like to live here all the year round.
Enviously, she realised that Anna had everything. Summer sun and sea. Winter mountains and skiing. With Genoa, Milan and Florence, not too far away. So different from her own mundane surroundings back in England.
Vicky quickly corrected herself. Home was home. Life was what you made of it.
She wriggled her toes in the sand as another wave lapped gently past.
And how would her life be now, she thought. After the splendours of the villa.
She knew without doubt that she was a changed person; that her horizons had been irrevocably altered – widened. And the prime cause was not the scenic beauty of Europe, the sumptuous life-style at the villa, but one man. Carl McKinley.
This man had, however briefly, shown her a whole new side to herself; a side that she had never realised existed. Could she ever return to her former life?
Vicky was torn between the prospect of peaceful domesticity with the average dependable man like Clive, or the blood tingling, sometimes overpowering presence of a man like Carl.
Overpowering, yet exciting. And deep down she knew instinctively that even though she was physically inferior, a woman’s strength lay elsewhere, and that given the chance, she would be able to control that energy.
What was she saying? That behind every great man – was a woman! The trouble was that the woman was Anna, not herself, and although she had not taken to her initially, she had to admit that Anna now seemed to be becoming more friendly to her, and helpful.
Undoubtedly, in her shoes, she too would also have been at first, very wary of another, younger woman’s presence in the villa. But Anna Mioretti was turning out to be likeable, who had quickly realised that the so-called intruder, with her unsophisticated ways, was no match for her.
In any event, Vicky was not all that certain whether she actually liked Carl. He could be so distant, when the mood took him. So strangely hostile to her at times – most times.
She sighed. There was no natural right she knew of that said the opposite would automatically happen. That the man would find the woman to his liking.
But one thing was certain. If John McKinley was anything like his son, it was no wonder that her aunt...
Quite suddenly, Vicky found herself standing opposite the beach studio. She paused, and stared at it, then looked around to see if anybody was watching her.
It was a challenge, a provocation.
She shivered as she recalled Carl’s threat that if she disobeyed his instructions her punishment would not be to write out a hundred lines, but...
The blood rushed uncontrollably into her cheeks at the thought of what might happen to her.
Like a naughty girl.