Chapter 11

ELEVEN

Sabella

The following morning, I bake another chocolate cake. The second attempt isn't much better than the first. The cake slopes toward one side, the crust blackened on that end.

It will have to do. I don't have time to bake another, and I'm not sure I'll ever get it right. This time, I close the window and let the cake cool on the table.

After eating a breakfast of oatmeal and honey, I dress in my warmest clothes, put on my coat, and wrap the cake up in a clean dishcloth. Armed with the cake, I set out to the village. Like the previous time, I use the backdoor in case someone is watching the house. No one can see me leave via the cliffside. I'm careful to keep to the bushes until I'm a good distance away.

During the week I was locked in my husband's house, the cuts on my knee and my soles healed. My feet don't ache when I put my weight on them any longer, so this time round, I appreciate the view during the two-hour long hike.

The small village is bustling with activity when I arrive. The reason is the market that's set up in the square. I greet the vendors as I browse their produce. They reply with friendly smiles and curious expressions.

When I reach the pharmacy, I peer through the window. Mrs. Campana is inside, serving a customer.

I enter into the welcome warmth of the store, the familiar scent of eucalyptus wrapping around me, and wait for Mrs. Campana to finish with the customer. When the elderly lady leaves, I open the door for her.

"Thank you, dear," she says in a croaky voice, leaning on her cane.

"Here." I offer her an arm to help her down the step. "Careful."

She flashes me a grateful smile and continues on her way.

"Well." Mrs. Campana lifts her chin. "Look what the cat dragged in." She waves a hand toward my head. "How's your problem?"

"Gone." I grin, turning this way and that to show her my hair. "That's why I came, to say thank you. You saved my life."

She folds her hands in front of her. "That's a gross exaggeration, but I'm happy if I helped."

"I can't repay you yet." I put the cake on the counter. "I brought something to thank you for your patience."

Balancing her weight on her toes, she leans forward to study the object. "That wasn't necessary." She scrunches up her nose. "What is it?"

A little embarrassed, I unwrap the dishcloth. "I'm afraid it's only my second attempt." I suck air through my teeth. "It's supposed to be a cake. Chocolate."

She pulls a face. "Hmm."

"I thought it could be nice for your teatime break."

"Hmm," she says again.

"Anyway, I just wanted to drop that off and say thank you."

I'm about to turn when she says, "I'm not a great baker myself. That's what the bakery is for. Each to his own, as I always tell my husband when he complains about my lack of skills in the pastry department."

"Thanks for saying that." I add jokingly, "My cake is eternally grateful for your lack of discrimination. It's not a looker, but it's a really nice cake on the inside."

A smile plucks at her lips. "In any event, baking is overrated. Who has time for that?" She adds with a sly look, "Except for Mrs. Filippi who has nothing to do but gossip all day." She leans closer and lowers her voice. "The secret is in buying the box mix."

"The box mix?"

She winks. "From the grocery store. And use the oven fan. It distributes the heat more evenly. That way, the cake will come out round."

"I didn't think about that. It's a new oven, so the oven and I are still getting acquainted."

"Ah," she says with an air of expertise. "It's probably not worked in yet."

"Yes, probably." I laugh. "I hope so at least."

"Are you staying permanently?" She nods toward the hill. "In that house?"

"It would seem like it."

"What a curse."

I couldn't agree more, but I don't want to put my misery on display for everyone to witness. "It's been cleaned and refurbished since I discovered the, um…" I whisper, "…lice. It really looks nice now."

She narrows her eyes. "Did you walk again?"

"It's such a lovely day, I thought I'd get some exercise."

"Hmm." She looks from me to the cake. "I hope you didn't hike all the way down the mountain just to bring me a cake."

"I wanted to use the opportunity to explore the village."

"There's not much to see, I'm afraid. Won't you get lonely up there? It's such an isolated place."

"I'll be fine," I say with an uncomfortable smile.

"If you say so." She adjusts her glasses. "Well, if you need anything, you just have to ask."

"Actually, there is something." I hook my hair behind my ear. "I need a job, something that will earn me a little money not only to pay you back but also for other commodities."

She pulls her face into a scowl. "Why doesn't your filthy rich husband give you money? He sure has enough of it going around." She mutters under her breath, "Not that anyone here wants his money."

My cheeks heat. "It's complicated."

She makes a non-committal sound.

"You don't happen to know of anything, do you?" I ask.

"It's a small village." She shrugs. "But Mrs. Paoli was taken ill with the flu. She has a small dog." She wrinkles her nose. "One of those tiny things that yaps all day. She may appreciate some help with walking it while she's sick."

"I'll ask," I say, both grateful and hopeful. "Can you please direct me to her house?"

"It's the house with the lilac shutters next to the clothing store on the main street. You can't miss it. As you're heading there, you may as well take the prescription her doctor emailed this morning. If you don't mind?"

"Of course not."

She holds up a finger. "Give me a minute."

Taking the cake, she goes to the back. A moment later, she returns with a pharmacy bag. "Here you go." She hands me the bag. "The dosage instructions are on the prescription. You better make sure she takes the vitamins. She can be forgetful about that."

"I will," I say, waving as I make my way to the door. "Thanks again, Mrs. Campana. Have a nice day."

"Wait," she calls. "What about your dishcloth?"

"I'll get it next time I'm in town," I say, shutting the door behind me.

Like Mrs. Campana said, I locate the small house with the lilac shutters and the pink flowerpots on the porch step without any problem. A miniature Pinscher sits under a lace curtain on the windowsill. She goes into a barking frenzy when I knock on the door.

Shuffling sounds on the other side of the wood. An elderly lady with pink highlights in her gray hair opens the door. She's dressed in a cherry-pink robe and matching slippers.

"Yes?" she says in a nasal voice, pressing a tissue under her nose. "Can I help you?"

"Hi, I'm Sabella. I live in the house on the hill." I hold out the pharmacy bag. "Mrs. Campana sent me with your medicine."

"Oh, yes." She pulls the belt of the robe tighter before taking the bag. "Do you mind coming in for a moment? I'd like to send her a cheque. Maybe you could deliver it for me on your way back?"

"Sure," I say, stepping inside when she opens the door wider.

The dog barks in all earnest, obviously not liking my intrusion.

"Quiet, baby," she says, but the little creature pays her no heed.

Going down on my haunches, I offer the dog my hand to sniff. "Hey, buddy. What's your name?"

The dog stops barking and reluctantly comes closer. After sniffing me, she licks my hand.

"That's Diva," Mrs. Paoli says. "She likes you."

"She's cute." I scratch Diva's chin. "Mrs. Campana said you may need someone to walk her while you're feeling under the weather. I'm looking for small jobs, so if you?—"

"Done."

I straighten. "Really?"

"It's not often that Diva likes someone. I was considering paying one of the older kids to walk her, but you never know what mischief those boys get up to. The last time, they dressed my Diva in a doll's dress and put a frilly hat on her head. The poor thing was miserable. Imagine. A frilly hat," she exclaims. "I prefer that an adult takes care of her."

I smile. "I have nothing planned. I can take her out today."

"Diva will like that. Come on in," she says, going down the hallway. "Come sit in the kitchen while I write the cheque. You can walk Diva to the pharmacy and back. It's a walk she knows well, and she likes to sniff the lampposts on the way."

She leads me to a small kitchen with pink cupboards and a small table with a pink cherry motive tablecloth. Diva follows on our heels, her nails clacking on the wooden floors.

"Would you like a cup of tea while you wait?" she asks. "I can do with one. It'll drive this nasty chill from my bones."

"Why don't I make the tea while you write the cheque?"

"Are you sure?" She clutches the ends of her robe together. "I don't want to inconvenience you."

"Not at all. Just show me where everything is."

"All right then." She sniffs. "If you insist."

She opens a cupboard filled with pink crockery and takes down a hot-pink tea pot. "The cups are here." She points at a pantry door. "The tea is in there. Sugar too." She shuffles toward the door. "Or honey if you prefer." Her voice drifts down the hallway as she disappears through the doorframe. "I'll be back in a sec."

While she gets her cheque book, I wash my hands with the rose-perfumed soap at the sink and dry them on the baby-pink towel that hangs on a hook on the wall. After filling a pink vintage kettle with water, I switch it on for the water to boil. I'm not surprised that the tea in the pink tin decorated with ballerinas is a pink hibiscus and raspberry mixture. Even the drawer from which I take a teaspoon is lined with pink polka dot kitchen paper.

When Mrs. Paoli returns and sits down at the table, I pour two cups of the fragrant infusion. I take the chair opposite her and frame the paper-thin porcelain teacup with the roses painted around the rim between my palms, enjoying the warmth that seeps into my skin.

"You said you live in the house on the hill," she says, stealing a glance at me as she signs her name on the cheque.

"That's right." I blow on the tea before taking a sip. "This brew is divine."

"Thank you," she says with a lift of her chin. "It's not available in the store. I order it online from an organic producer." She puts the pen down. "Are you family of the Russos?"

"No." I clear my throat. "I mean yes. I suppose so." Flustered, I add, "I'm Mr. Russo's wife. I'm not used to the new surname yet."

Placing a hand over her heart, she says with round eyes, "You don't say."

I take the medicine from the bag and shake a vitamin from the bottle, which I leave in her saucer. "Mrs. Campana said this will help for your cold."

She leans across the table and asks in a hushed voice, "Is it true that the house is a pigsty?"

I flinch. "I can't deny that it was in a less than desirable state when I moved in, but you don't have to worry. It's been cleaned since."

"Oh." Red blotches taint her cheeks. "I didn't mean that you're dirty. I can see you're perfectly clean. I was just wondering. Word goes around. Toma mentioned something to a friend of a friend's cousin." Leaning closer still, she whispers, "Does he live there now? Your husband?" She crosses herself. "I suppose after what happened with the accident it must be difficult to live in the big house."

Sighing, I give her the same answer I gave Mrs. Campana. "It's complicated."

"Ah." She nods. "Arranged marriages always are. That family never believed in marrying for love. But to be married to the likes of Angelo Russo on top of that?" She pats my hand. "It can't be easy."

Diva barks, saving me from having to reply.

"I think she's impatient to go out," Mrs. Paoli says. "She hasn't done her business yet." She gets up and takes a plate covered with a napkin from the cupboard that she puts on the table before sitting down again. She removes the napkin to reveal pink finger biscuits. "Have a boudoir before you go." Taking one from the plate, she breaks off the end and offers it to Diva who snatches the treat from her fingers. "They're rose flavored."

"Thanks," I say, taking one of the cookies.

"Here." She tears the cheque from the book. "This is for Mrs. Campana."

Swallowing the stale cookie down with the last of my tea, I get up and carry our cups to the sink. "Thank you for the tea. It was delicious."

"Don't worry to rinse that," she says when I open the tap. "The cups are dishwasher safe." She pushes to her feet. "Let me get you Diva's leash. She's very obedient. You won't have any problems with her."

After putting the cheque in my pocket, I follow her to the entrance.

"Will ten euros per hour do?" she asks. "That's the going rate around here."

"Perfect." Feeling bad for taking her money, I say, "But only if you can afford it."

"Of course I can." She hooks the pink leash onto Diva's diamond stud collar. "Otherwise I wouldn't have offered."

Thanking her again, I take the leash and lead the little dog down the street. "Come on, Diva. Let's get some exercise. It's a beautiful, sunny morning, a perfect day to stretch your legs."

The dog agrees with a yelp, trotting energetically beside me. Every few meters we stop for Diva to sniff the lampposts or to inspect a leaf on the pavement. I don't miss the lift of the curtains in the windows as we pass the houses that line the street, but I pretend not to notice.

I deliver the cheque to Mrs. Campana and return Diva home without incidents, collecting my payment that Mrs. Paoli slipped into an envelope.

"If you want," she says, "I can pay you at the end of the week. You can come every day, can't you?"

"Sure," I say. "I'm happy to do it for as long as you need me."

"Perfect." Holding Diva under one arm, she waves me off. "See you tomorrow around the same time."

The uphill hike home is more tiring, but I meant what I told Mrs. Campana. I'm enjoying the exercise, not to mention getting out of the house. I keep vigilant as I near the property, watching for movement in the thicker vegetation on the riverbank or for footprints in the dust, but the surroundings are quiet.

When I reach the house, I do a quick walk around the veranda. The garden furniture is undisturbed, except for a dent in a cushion on one of the chairs. Someone sat here, and it wasn't me.

On the side of the kitchen, I check the window. A small handprint stains the glass. A shiver rolls through me when the sun dips below the mountain. The peak casts a long shadow over the house. The hair on my nape stands on end. That feeling of being watched creeps up on me again.

"Hello?" I call. "Is someone there?"

The only answer is the echo of my voice.

I unlock the backdoor, letting myself into the warm house. Making sure to lock the door behind me, I drop the key in an ornamental bowl on the counter.

The walk left me thirsty. I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and down it on my way upstairs. It's not dark yet, but I pull the curtains in the bedroom closed before stripping and having a shower.

After dressing in a sweater, comfortable leggings, and fluffy socks, I go back downstairs to make dinner. The glow on the horizon has turned from gold to purple. I close the blinds downstairs and double-check that all the doors and windows are locked. Then I switch on the new fancy stereo sound system, select a lively playlist, and gather one of the recipe books.

Heidi highlighted a few simple, easy recipes. I hum to the music as I season chicken breasts with thyme and rosemary before popping them in the oven. While the chicken is grilling, I slice and salt aubergine. I leave the slices to sweat, using the time to tidy up. According to the recipe, sweating the aubergine removes the bitterness. When the aubergine is ready, I rinse off the salt, pat the slices dry, and arrange them on a baking tray. After dribbling over olive oil, I put the tray on the top level in the oven.

Fabien stocked the wine fridge with bottles of white and red. The fridge has two separate sections, which allows for the red and white wine to be stored at different temperatures. Grabbing the first red my hand falls on, I uncork the bottle and pour a little wine into a fat-bellied, long-stemmed glass. As I sip my wine, I set the table with the beautiful new crockery and cutlery and light a candle that I place in the center. The ambience is cozy. None of the pretty things or delicious-smelling food are mine, but I'm grateful for the luxuries. I'm especially thankful that I don't have to sleep on a dirty, louse-ridden mattress tonight.

Visiting the village and interacting with people other than Heidi lifted my spirits. For the first time since my wedding day, I experience a sense of peacefulness.

I'm about to sit down when, through the open door, I spot a light through the gaps of the blinds in the lounge. Maybe Heidi came to check on me. The thought makes me smile. The company is always welcome, and I'll be glad not to eat alone. She can judge my first cooking effort and give me tips for improvement.

I go to the lounge, leave my unfinished wine on the coffee table, and pull the blinds open a crack to peer through the window. The car that stops in front of the house isn't the Land Rover Heidi drives. It's the Jaguar.

The peace that was within my grasp not a second ago vanishes. My stomach squeezes into a ball as my husband opens his door and folds his tall body double to get out of the car. Dressed in a black coat with the collar flicked up over a dark suit, he looks both dangerous and as if he just stepped out of a very normal, very civilized office meeting. He adjusts his lapels as he stares up at the house for a couple of beats before making his way along the path with long strides.

Dropping the blinds, I swallow. It's too soon and too long. I made my decision, but I'm not ready.

When the scraping of a key in the lock sounds in the space, announcing the end of my week-long reprieve, I strip my clothes and go down on my knees. It's time to fight again. This round, with compliance. Before he opens the door, I'm waiting like an obedient whore naked on the floor.