The Widow by Anne Stuart Read Free Book Online Page A

windows were spotless, and she pushed them open to stare at the rolling countryside and the tangled gardens just beneath her. That was another thing Pompasse had let slide. While her room had been kept as a shrine, the precious formal gardens had been allowed to turn into a jungle. No more neat, weed-free rows pruned into submission—they were wild and uncontrolled. And for some reason Charlie liked them better that way.
    She could still see Maguire out there, moving through the tangle. “For an insurance adjuster he certainly doesn’t seem that interested in work,” she muttered.
    Lauretta leaned past to look out into the garden. “You met him already? He’s been working very hard searching for those old books and paintings, signora. Going through papers and notes and things since he arrived. He showed up yesterday afternoon and I put him in Pompasse’s room. It was the only one that was ready, but I’ll move him if you wish.”
    â€œI’m surprised no one told us he was coming,” Charlie said. The villa was large and rambling, but not limitless. And she’d been planning to put Henry in Pompasse’s room when he arrived. She knew it would please him, and she needed his presence nearby. “I suppose we can move him later if we have to. Tell me, how is the old church? Has it fallen in completely?”
    â€œIt’s falling in, as it has always been,” Lauretta said genially. “Things don’t change much around here.”
    â€œYou’re right, of course,” Charlie said. “It just seems like centuries since I’ve been back, and yet nothing has really changed. Everyone’s still here—Madame Antonella, Gia, you and Tomaso.”
    â€œNot everyone, Signora Charlie. Pompasse is gone.”
    â€œYes,” Charlie said, knowing she should weep. Knowing that Lauretta would clasp her to her massive bosom and comfort her. But also knowing she just couldn’t do it. She’d shed her tears for Pompasse in New York. Back in Tuscany, she remembered the bad parts all too well.
    She glanced back at her bed. She was jet-lagged, exhausted, and a midday nap would have done wonders. But the thick damask coverlet was the same one she’d slept under. The same one under which she’d accepted Pompasse’s straining flesh. She wasn’t going to lie down on it if she could help it. “I think I’ll just strip the bed and then take a little nap. Those coverings are too heavy for me—I like something a little lighter. Surely there must be a duvet in the place.”
    Lauretta didn’t blink. “Of course, cara. I was planning roasted chicken for dinner, but if you have any other preference…?”
    â€œNo, that’s fine,” she said absently. “My fiancé will be coming in a couple of days, as well as my mother. I hope that won’t be too great an inconvenience?”
    â€œIt’s what I’m here for, Signora Charlie. Will your fiancé be sharing your room?”
    â€œNo,” Charlie said flatly. She was half tempted to launch into a dozen explanations, of how she and Henry had chosen to wait, how it might be disrespectful to Pompasse’s memory, how she liked her personal space. She resisted her need to explain.
    Lauretta simply nodded, accepting the answer. “Would you like me to strip the bed for you, Signora Charlie? I’ll be happy to.”
    â€œThat’s all right, Lauretta. It’s easy enough for me to do. Do you want any help in the kitchen? I still love to cook, you know. I even have my own restaurant in New York.”
    â€œI know,” Lauretta said, beaming proudly. “But today is your first day back at home, and you need to rest. Tomaso and I will cook dinner, and all you will have to do is enjoy.”
    Looking at Maguire and Gia across the table, no doubt, Charlie thought. It wasn’t an appetizing thought, but she smiled at Lauretta, anyway.