Summer's Lease: Escape to paradise with this swoony summer romance: (Shakespeare Sisters)

by Carrie Elks

  By the time she got to baggage reclaim, Cesca’s was the only bag left. A battered red leather case that was going round in circles, forlorn in its seclusion. Cesca hefted it from the belt and onto a trolley, cursing the fact it was so old it didn’t have the handle and wheels that most modern luggage had.

  Her stomach contracted with anxiety as she walked into the arrivals hall. It was full of people, all waiting for their loved ones, and drivers holding cardboard signs with names on. Milan was one of Italy’s busiest airports, serving the city as well as the tourist-oriented lakes, and today was testament to that. She came to a stop and looked around, wondering whether she should try to find a public telephone and call Hugh.

  ‘Miss Shakespeare?’ A deep voice came from her left. She turned to see a tall man standing next to her.

  ‘That’s me.’ She offered him a smile. He looked to be in his thirties, maybe a little older. He also didn’t look as though he was lost. That in itself was a minor miracle.

  ‘My name is Alessandro, this is my wife, Gabriella. We’re here to take you to Villa Palladino.’

  A tiny brunette stepped forward, beaming. ‘I’m Gabi, and you can call him Sandro. I’m so pleased you’re here.’ She enveloped Cesca in a tight embrace, knocking the wind out of her. For a petite woman, Gabi was very strong.

  ‘It’s lovely to meet you,’ Cesca replied. ‘And I’m so happy you speak English. My Italian is woeful, I’m sorry.’

  Gabi waved off her apology. ‘Not at all, you’ll pick it up while you’re here. And most of us around the lake speak English, it’s our second language.’

  ‘Still, I should at least try,’ Cesca replied. ‘When in Rome and all that.’

  Gabi frowned. ‘This isn’t Rome. This is Milan.’

  Cesca laughed. The woman must think she was crazy. ‘No, it’s an English saying. When in Rome, do as the Romans do. It means when you’re in a different country, you should adopt their ways.’

  ‘Well I would agree with that.’ Sandro took the trolley from Cesca. ‘But we will give you a few days before we expect fluent Italian.’

  Gabi hit his arm good-humouredly. ‘Stop it, she’s here to do us a favour. We should be nice to her.’ She grabbed Cesca’s hand and pulled her along, following Sandro to the exit. ‘I’m so pleased you could come, you don’t know what a relief it is to us. Sandro’s sister is due to have a baby later this month, and she has nobody to help her. She and Sandro are orphans, you see. So we are travelling to Florence to look after her, but we couldn’t leave the villa empty.’

  Cesca wasn’t used to hearing somebody sharing so much within moments of meeting them. Yet there was something so guileless about Gabi, so engaging, that she couldn’t help but join in.

  ‘A new baby, how wonderful,’ she said, as they walked out of the airport and into the Milan air. ‘Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?’

  ‘A boy,’ Sandro said, at the same time as Gabi replied, ‘It’s a girl.’

  Cesca laughed at them both.

  ‘It will be a boy, and she will name him after me.’ Sandro looked proud.

  ‘We don’t know the sex,’ Gabi whispered to Cesca. ‘But both Sandro’s sister and I think it will be a girl.’

  ‘Then she’ll have to be called Alessandra,’ Cesca replied. ‘Almost as good.’

  They reached the car – a beautiful old Fiat 500, with bright blue paint and chrome trim. Sandro opened the trunk, squeezing her case into the tiny space.

  ‘I’m afraid it’s a tight fit in here,’ he told her. ‘It’s a good car, very efficient, but not much room.’

  Cesca shrugged. ‘Not a problem, I’m only little.’ She glanced down at her small frame. Like Gabi she was just over five feet, with a tiny waist and slender curves. Growing up, she’d felt like a dwarf next to her sisters.

  The journey to Varenna took just over an hour, heading east on the main highway out of town, past luscious green fields and dusty brown construction sites. Occasionally they drove through pretty villages, with tall old buildings and verdant gardens. Gabi kept up a constant stream of conversation in almost-perfect English, telling Cesca about the history of the region, the beauty of Varenna, and how much she’d love the villa. By the time they reached the mountains surrounding Lake Como, Cesca couldn’t wait to see all the sights Gabi had described. She stared out of the window at the tree-topped cliffs, and at the sparkling lake below, wondering what it would be like to wake up to a sight like that every day.

  She was about to find out.

  ‘Of course, the house is beautifully maintained. Signor and Signora Carlton visit every year and are always making renovations. But Signora Carlton, she likes to maintain the history of the place, too. It’s very tasteful.’

  ‘Who?’ Cesca frowned.

  ‘The owners, Signor and Signora Carlton,’ Gabi replied, patiently. ‘Our employers.’

  ‘I thought the villa was owned by an old Italian family. Hugh, my godfather, told me it had been in the same family for generations.’

  ‘Of course,’ Gabi agreed. ‘Signora Carlton, she was a Palladino before she married. She grew up in the villa. Theirs was a fairytale romance. She was studying in New York, and he was a Broadway producer. The two of them fell in love and married within a month. Now they have three beautiful children.’

  ‘They do?’ Cesca replied, faintly. A sense of doom was starting to descend. ‘What are their names?’

  ‘Well, their eldest son, Sam, you will have heard of, he’s a famous actor. Then there’s Sienna and Isabella, their daughters. Sienna is sixteen, and Izzy is eighteen.’

  ‘Sam Carlton,’ Cesca repeated, her chest tight. She was going to kill Hugh. ‘I’ve heard of him,’ she said. ‘I think he’s overrated.’

  Gabi shot her a sharp look. ‘He’s not only talented, but very kind, too. He has a lot of time for us whenever he visits.’

  ‘Not that he visits very often,’ Sandro added, his eyes trained on the road. ‘He’s too busy with his movie career for that. Now Gabi has to settle for hero-worshipping him from afar.’

  ‘I don’t hero-worship him,’ Gabi chided. ‘I just think he’s a good actor.’

  ‘A handsome actor,’ Sandro added, smiling wickedly. ‘I know what’s really going through your mind.’

  Gabi launched back into Italian, letting out a stream of words that Cesca couldn’t understand. Her sentences shot out like bullets. Cesca leaned back in the car, leaving Sandro and Gabi to their heated exchange. Even their argument sounded beautiful, thanks to the Italian language.

  She closed her eyes, letting the afternoon sun bathe her face. As soon as they got to the villa she was going to find a way to call Hugh and arrange for a flight back home. There was no way she was going to sleep in a house owned by a Carlton. Plus she needed to get back to London so she could give Hugh a really good piece of her mind, face to face.

  She glanced at her watch. It was two hours since she’d landed in Milan, and she wasn’t planning to stay in the country any longer than she had to. If Cesca had her way, she’d be back on a plane within a few hours.

  Some trip this was turning out to be.

  As Sandro pulled the Fiat up to the gates, Cesca took a moment to take in the sumptuousness of Villa Palladino. The house itself was surrounded by tall, stucco walls, with bougainvillea tumbling over the top, as if it was trying to escape onto the road. Their way was blocked by wrought iron gates, which she could see led to a driveway flanked by Mediterranean cypress trees. Elegant in their height, the thin evergreens swayed softly in the wind, dancing to a silent tune.

  It was breathtaking. For a moment, Cesca felt a pang of regret that she wouldn’t be able to stay and enjoy the splendour. But then she remembered who owned it, or rather who their son was, and her resolve hardened.

  ‘Is there a telephone I could use?’ she asked. ‘I haven’t got any coverage on my mobile in Europe.’ She hadn’t been able to afford the roaming charges. Better to walk into town once a week and find an Internet café or
public telephone. At least that way she could keep a control on her expenses.

  Sandro shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not. Signora Carlton insists on seclusion when the family visits. No telephone line, no Wi-Fi, and the networks barely stretch this far.’ He pulled his own phone from his pocket. ‘I have to walk into Varenna myself to get a signal. I’d be happy to lend you this.’

  ‘It’s fine, thank you, if I have to walk into town I can call from a phone box.’ Probably best to have some privacy for the choice words she wanted to say to her godfather. ‘But I have to admit I’m surprised there’s no connectivity here, what with Mr Carlton having such an important job.’ Cesca frowned. Foster Carlton – Sam’s father – had been the director of the National Theatre in London for years. It had rocked the acting community when the brash American had taken over such a prestigious role, but he’d taken the theatre from strength to strength.

  ‘That’s why his wife insists on complete seclusion when they visit. She’s been known to throw his phone in the lake if he doesn’t turn it off.’ Gabi turned to her and smiled. ‘She’s as fiery as he is.’

  Cesca’s mouth turned dry. ‘I’ll need to walk into town this afternoon,’ she told Gabi. ‘I have a few telephone calls to make.’ And plane tickets to buy. Somehow she was going to have to find the money to pay for them, too.

  ‘Of course,’ Gabi agreed, smiling. ‘We can all go in together. It will be a pleasure to show you around.’

  The interior of the villa was just as entrancing as the outside. The floor was laid with warm, polished wood, and the walls painted in the palest of creams. Dark beams crossed the ceiling, and the rooms were filled with lush, green plants and beautiful furniture, reflecting the impeccable taste of the owners. Gabi led Cesca from room to room, keeping up a stream of conversation, telling her about the cleaners, the gardeners, and where the main electrical fuses were, in case of emergency.

  Cesca barely listened, overwhelmed by the beauty of the villa. What a contrast to her shared apartment in London, with its threadbare carpet and mismatched tables. She’d left there this morning, carrying a single suitcase, and somehow she’d ended up here. It was some kind of cruel joke that she couldn’t stay. Who wouldn’t be inspired by such beauty?

  When they walked into the living room, Cesca could see that Gabi had saved the best until last. The space itself was impressive enough, with vaulted ceilings and arched glass doors that led to the garden, but it was the view that made her gasp. A paved terrace, flanked by beautifully tended topiary, led down to a well-maintained lawn, sloping down to the next level. Then there were the flowerbeds, filled with geraniums and pelargoniums, their colours a delight to the eye. A winding path from the lawn led down through a small box hedge maze, with the sparkling lake beyond. Though she couldn’t see it, Cesca knew from Hugh’s description there was a small beach between the garden and the lake. The thought of the sun warming the sand excited her.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ she whispered, to herself as much as to Gabi.

  ‘It is,’ Gabi agreed. ‘Sandro and I are very lucky to have this job. We’re very grateful to have such gracious employers in Signor and Signora Carlton. They’ve been so kind to us, especially now when Sandro’s sister needs him.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Most employers wouldn’t let us leave in the height of summer. But they have been kind enough to find us an angel – you – so that we can go and help Sandro’s sister.’

  It was almost impossible to ignore the way her stomach contracted. Cesca tried anyway. It would be fine, the Carltons could easily find somebody else to house-sit. It wasn’t the most strenuous of jobs, being at Lake Como for free.

  ‘It’s been very hard for the Carltons since their son became famous,’ Gabi continued. ‘This is the only place they’ve been able to spend time with him without being surrounded by the paparazzi. They value their seclusion and privacy so much, it’s hard for them to trust anybody. That’s why they were so delighted to find you. They told me you were recommended by a dear friend. That means a lot to them, to know you’re not here simply because of their fame.’

  Tearing her eyes away from the beautiful vista, Cesca forced a smile onto her face. Just a few hours and she would be gone from here, and this would all be somebody else’s problem.

  It didn’t stop her from feeling guilty, though.

  ‘You lied to me.’ She sounded petulant, she knew, but Cesca couldn’t help it. She leaned her head on the glass door of the phone box, waiting for Hugh’s reply. If only he’d hurry up, this call was costing a fortune.

  ‘I simply omitted the truth, and it was for your own good. Face the past head on and all that, but I knew there was no way you’d go if you knew who owned the house.’

  ‘Damn right I wouldn’t have. And now I’m in the most awkward situation. Did you know the couple who run the house are leaving next week to help his sister have her baby? And that they think I’m an angel for coming over to rescue them?’

  Hugh laughed, and it made Cesca want to throw the phone. She might have, too, if it wasn’t connected to the box.

  ‘That’s because you are an angel. Can’t you give it up to fate and simply let it be? Or look at it this way: the Carltons owe you after what their son did. Think of this as retribution.’

  ‘Hugh! There’s absolutely no way I can stay in that house. What if I have to talk to them? Oh my God, what if they come and stay while I’m here?’

  ‘They’re in Paris for the summer, I thought I told you that. Foster is a visiting director at a theatre there, there’s no opportunity for them to travel to Italy. That’s why they needed a house-sitter.’

  ‘All of them?’ Cesca asked ominously.

  ‘All of them,’ Hugh confirmed. ‘Lucia and the girls are spending the summer with him, and I think their son is filming in LA.’ He was very careful not to say Sam’s name, she noticed.

  ‘I still can’t stay here. You’ll have to tell them I’m leaving. I’m planning to go into an Internet café and find a flight home.’

  There was silence for a moment. Cesca stared out of the glass windows of the phone box, and into the piazza. Gabi and Sandro had taken a table in one of the cafés, and were chatting away to the waitress. Another pang of guilt shot through Cesca’s body.

  ‘What if I can guarantee no visitors?’ Hugh asked. ‘You’ve seen the place, it’s completely secluded. It’s beautiful. Perfect for you, dear girl.’

  Cesca added ungrateful to her list of sins. ‘It would be perfect,’ she agreed, ‘if it wasn’t for the family who own it.’

  ‘They’ve never done anything to you. Not Foster or Lucia. And maybe it’s the best place to bury some of your demons. You can breathe, you can write, you can come to learn there is good and bad in everything, it all depends on your outlook.’

  From her position in the piazza, Gabi caught her eye and waved madly, a huge smile on her face. Cesca had only met her a matter of hours ago, and yet they’d taken to each other right away. Almost like another sister – not that she needed any more. Now she was going to ruin their plans.

  She hated this, so much.

  As if he sensed a softening, Hugh went in for the kill. ‘Why don’t you give it a week and see how you feel then? Do it for me. Give yourself a bit of time to think about things, and then call me next Friday. I’ll be ready to book you a ticket if you want me to.’

  ‘Will that give the Carltons enough time to find a replacement for me?’

  Hugh sighed. ‘There is no replacement. If you aren’t able to do it, their housekeepers will be staying at the villa. The only reason they agreed to let them go is because I suggested you could step in at the last minute. I’m sorry, but there it is. Give yourself a chance to sleep on it and think things through.’

  There was no doubt about it, she was between a rock and a hard place, and it was getting more uncomfortable by the minute. Cesca stared out across the piazza again, torn between shouting louder at Hugh and hanging up to join her new friends for a coffee. The sun was slowly
sinking down in the sky, casting orange rays across the paved ground, and there was nothing more she wanted to do than go out there and pretend to be a tourist for a few hours.

  But could she do it for Gabi and Sandro? She wasn’t sure if she could stay in that house and not feel constantly anxious.

  Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes. She couldn’t be the one to spoil Gabi and Sandro’s plans, not after they’d been so kind to her.

  ‘OK,’ she said, aware that she’d been agreeing to things outside her comfort zone ever since she spent the night at Hugh’s. ‘I’ll stay. But you need to know I’m going to be cursing your name every night. I might even make a voodoo doll.’

  He laughed again. ‘I’ll let you know when I feel the pain. And you’ve made the right choice. You’re stronger than you think, just give yourself a chance. You’ll be pleasantly surprised.’

  Cesca shrugged, even though he couldn’t see it. There were worse places to find yourself than in a secluded villa by the side of Lake Como, and worse situations to find yourself in than being given free run of the house for the summer. If she was going to have a nervous breakdown, at least she could do it in style.

  That would be something to write home about.

  4

  Having nothing, nothing can he lose

  – Henry VI Part III

  Sam Carlton leaned back in his chair, rubbing his face with his palms. The bristles from three days’ beard growth scratched at his skin. He hadn’t bothered shaving since he’d first been contacted by the journalist, it hadn’t seemed worth it.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ he finally said. ‘What possible reason would she have for selling her story?’

  Charles Dewitt folded his arms across his chest, his head tilted to one side as he stared back at Sam. They’d known each other for six years, since Sam had moved to Hollywood and been referred to the Dewitt Artist Agency. With a movie offer already in hand, Charles had snapped him up as a client. Since that time, Sam’s career had skyrocketed, first as part of the Summer Breeze movie franchise, then in the leading roles that had come flooding in after his initial success.