Just South of Rome by Judy Nunn Read Free Book Online Page B

hot shower before bed, I decided.
    Naked, I stepped into the bathroom and fumbled for the light switch. There it was. I flicked it on. But there was no light. Instead, an animal scream ripped the air. Dear God, what had I done? I groped about frantically in the dark, trying to turn off the hideous noise. I hit the light switch by mistake. Thank heavens, at least I could see. The noise was coming from above, a high-pitched, pig-like, angry squeal. Then I saw it. The extractor fan churning and screaming like something demented.
    I found the switch and turned it off. I leaned against the wall, breathing heavily, heart pounding. Just the fan, that’s all, I told myself, just the fan. Then I pulled the shower curtain around me and turned on the taps.
    The pressure was useless but at least the water was good and hot, and I must have stood there for a full ten minutes waiting for my shattered nerves to settle.
    I was so tired that it was only when I turned off the shower that I realised I was standing ankle-deep in water. I pulled aside the curtain. The bathmat was floating. The whole bathroom was flooded and water was starting to seep over the doorstep into the bedroom.
    Wet and desperate, I ran around collecting all the bath towels and handtowels I could find and, when I’d dammed up the bedroom door, I realised I hadn’t left one with which to dry myself.
    The flannel. There was a dry flannel sitting beside the washbasin. I waded through the bathroom and back and, when I’d dried myself with the flannel, sat down on the bed and wondered whether to scream or sob.
    I was tired and defeated and sick to death of the Hotel Visconti. I couldn’t take any more. I’d book out first thing in the morning, I had no other choice.
    Then I thought of Stefano. I’d been so looking forward to tomorrow evening …
    No, damn it! I wasn’t going to let Umberto and his rotten hotel win. I’d wait until everyone was at breakfast, then I’d sneak out and explore the town. I’d sit in a chic little outdoor cafe and have hot bread rolls and cafe latte and, by the time I got back to the hotel, if they hadn’t fixed my shower, I’d demand another room, Umberto’s ‘Venezia design’ suite if necessary.
    Furthermore, I’d dress for dinner. My designer-label, pin-stripe power suit that made my legs look fantastic, and I’d order my steak and my wine and …
    Battle plans laid, I went to bed and slept like a baby.

CHAPTER FIVE
    A noise woke me. It reverberated through the room. Thunder? The floorboards seemed to be shuddering. A minor earthquake? Where was I? Morning light filtered through the wooden shutters. Yes, of course, I recollected, the insufferable Hotel Visconti. Then I heard the women’s voices and realised it was the Americans thundering down the stairs.
    The bathroom had more or less drained itself during the night, but still I had to splash my way across to the basin in order to wash. I dressed and waited until I was sure they were all at breakfast, then quietly I stole downstairs.
    There was no-one in sight. Good. The sounds of healthy eating from the dining room. The scrape of spoons in bowls, the clatter of cups on saucers. I halted momentarily at the reception area. Annita was there, but she was engrossed with her mobile phone and gave me only the briefest of nods as I walked purposefully out the main doors.
    It was a grey day, not cold, but the threat of a storm imminent. I turned right and strode down the hill towards the town, spirits lifted, glad that I hadn’t succumbed to last night’s frustration. I was looking forward to exploring Genzano di Roma.
    Not far from the Hotel Visconti I passed another villa. Beyond its huge wrought-iron gates was the stone statue of a woman, her strong, splendid face gazing up at something she was holding aloft in her right hand. As the hand itself was missing, one could only guess at the object of her attention. Weeds and wildflowers had successfully found their way through the many