A clerk from the hospital phoned Lara later that day to tell her in broken English that Mr Samuel Baker was ready to go home. Lara found Samuel in a patient transfer room. He was sitting in a reclining chair, his left arm in its cast propped up on a pillow, his right hand holding his phone to his ear. He was speaking in Italian, his voice rising and falling, his jaw jutting. Short sentences. Exasperated sighs. Then it was done.
‘Hi,’ Lara said, smiling, trying not to be intrusive.
Samuel’s eyelids were heavy over those blue eyes, his pale skin so translucent under the fluorescent lights that his veins showed. The bright green paint on the walls didn’t help his pallor.
‘Is everything okay?’ Lara ventured, nodding to his phone.
Samuel let out a puff of frustrated air. ‘My daughter, Giovanna.’
‘Is she coming to see you?’
‘No. She lives in London. Wants me to go and live with her. Thinks this is a sign.’ His eyes softened a little then, almost as if a small smile was brewing at this mystical notion.
‘What do you think?’
He shook his head almost imperceptibly, but said no more.
‘How are you feeling?’ she asked, leaving the family argument behind them. She perched on the arm of the recliner next to his. There was only one other person in the room, his eyes cast down at a newspaper.
Samuel grunted. ‘In need of a decent meal,’ he muttered.
‘Well,’ she said, buoyed to think that this was something she could help with, ‘let’s get you home and get that sorted. I’m okay in the kitchen. I could whip you up something really nice if you tell me what you’d like.’ She hoped he wasn’t too much of a carnivore; she ate a little meat but didn’t relish handling it.
He raised the knobbly pointer finger of his right hand. ‘Before we go, let’s get a few things straight.’
‘Okay,’ she said, bracing herself.
‘How long will you be here, in Italy?’
‘I don’t know yet.’
‘How long will you be staying with me? If you plan on going soon then I’d rather find an assistant from somewhere else.’
Lara sensed his nerves beneath the bravado. It was an awful feeling, she knew, to be vulnerable. ‘To be honest, I can’t say for sure.’ His eyes pinched in the corners. ‘But I would like to help you out for a while. If you’re happy to have me, of course. I can get you references and so on, if you like.’
He nodded curtly, but seemed relieved that she wasn’t rushing away for the time being. ‘We need to agree on the terms of your employment,’ he said, trying to recover some control.
‘Good idea,’ she said. ‘In fact, I have a notebook and pen here in my bag—let’s write it down, shall we?’ If real estate had taught her anything it was to take scrupulous notes.
Samuel eyed her bag as she pulled out the notebook.
Lara clicked her pen and smiled at him. ‘Ready.’
He held out his hand for the notebook. She passed it to him, along with the pen. He scribbled down a figure with his right hand; the writing was shaky and the penmanship from a different era. He passed it back to her. ‘I’ll pay cash as you obviously don’t have a permit to work here. It will include your board in the villa and use of the car.’
‘The car?’
‘I have an Alfa Romeo. Bought it in 1995 and it’s still going.’ He said this proudly, with a lift of his chin. Everyone liked to feel they’d made a good purchase, especially when it was an expensive one.
‘Oh yes, I saw that,’ she said, remembering seeing the square-jawed bonnet of a black car under a terracotta-tiled carport with vines proliferating over it. Never having been interested in cars, her eyes had just ticked over it.
‘Hours are six to six a day, with a two-hour break in the middle.’
Six a.m.
‘Hm. What about duties?’ she said, narrowing her eyes at Samuel. He was old, frail and in need of help, but she suspected he was far more cunning than one might think.
‘You’ll be my personal assistant,’ he said, narrowing his eyes back at her.
‘Give me some examples,’ she said, tapping her pen on the page.
‘Shopping, cooking, cleaning, taking me to appointments. I have to come back here in a couple of weeks to have this changed,’ he said with disgust, raising his left arm with the heavy cast.
‘What about helping you with showers and getting dressed, things like that?’
Samuel huffed and looked to the ceiling. ‘Maybe.’
‘And what about looking after the goats…the milking?’
‘Have the goats been milked this morning?’ he asked, his eyes widening, and she could see it clear as day: the goats were the thing he loved most now. She felt for him.
‘Matteo gave me a lesson in milking and we sorted it out.’
Samuel nodded, obviously relieved. ‘Yes, I suppose I’ll need you to help with the goats too. And the garden.’
The garden? She was hopeless at gardening. She loved planting seedlings with Daisy and Hudson, watering them, watching them grow and bloom, then picking the flowers or the beans or snow peas or strawberries. But that was it. Once that first flush of blooming life had passed her interest faltered.
Lara considered the figure on the notepad in her hand and the extensive list of duties, uncertain if this was something she should commit to. She certainly wouldn’t abandon Samuel right now—he needed her. He’d been through a lot since yesterday morning and it was showing.
Besides, where would she go? She had no plans, and a job like this would buy her more time as she wouldn’t have to dip into her savings. She felt somehow bonded to him now, as though she was meant to be here, ever since she had been in the right place at the right time at the Trevi Fountain. Speaking of which, why had he thrown his wedding ring away? She was dying to know. And as for herself, maybe keeping busy was just what she needed to stop having nightmares about…him. A spiralling sense of helplessness was to be avoided right now.
‘Okay, look. I can do all this, and I’m happy to help you. But I want Saturdays and Sundays off,’ she said firmly. If she was going to stay in Tuscany, she’d at least like to explore a little.
Samuel raised his chin. ‘Saturday afternoons after one o’clock, and Sundays,’ he countered.
‘Alright, I agree. Deal?’ she said, holding out her hand to him.
‘Deal,’ he said, and shook it.