Rafe nodded and glanced at her, and was slightly bemused when he noticed her eyes. It wasn’t so much that they were as black as treacle, and thickly lashed, it was more that he had never seen such sadness. Oh, it was not anything tangible—she was not downcast or grim—but there was an abject melancholy in them that tugged him out of deep introspection. And that was no mean feat, for Rafe had a lot on his mind.
An awful lot.
The black-eyed maid took out the trolley, and by the time she returned Rafe was back in bed. Before closing the drapes, she topped up the water by his bed.
‘Thank you,’ Rafe said, once the room was mercifully back to darkness. He actually meant it, for she had worked unobtrusively and had not, unlike so many others, pushed for conversation, nor dashed to help unasked. He almost smiled again when he remembered her offer to fetch the nurse rather than assist herself.
‘What is your name?’ he asked.
‘Antonietta.’
And that was that.
Well, almost.
She wheeled the trolley back to the elevator and then went down to the kitchen and picked up the tablet to make a note of his requests. The internal computer system for the domestic staff was easy to navigate—she checked the box to say that he had declined having his suite serviced and added a note that he was not to be disturbed.
Yet she lingered a second.
His photo was up now, and she flushed as she looked at his elegant features. He wore black dress trousers and a white fitted shirt and there was a scowl on his lips and his eyes were narrowed, as if warning the photographer off.
She accidentally clicked on his profile, but there was only his pseudonym there.
Signor Louis Dupont.
VVIP
So, he was very, very important.
And in the box where normally a guest’s requests were noted there was instead a direction.
All queries and requests to be directed to Francesca.
All hours.
‘Is everything okay, Antonietta?’
She turned to the sound of Francesca’s voice and saw she was chatting with Tony.
‘Of course. I was just about to make a note regarding a guest but I’m not able to fill it in.’
‘Because all Signor Dupont’s requests are to be relayed first to me ,’ said Francesca.
‘He didn’t even try one of my pastries?’ Tony was aghast when he saw that the trolley had been returned untouched.
Francesca, of course, thought she should have done better. ‘You should have left a selection for him to nibble on.’
‘He made himself very clear,’ Antonietta said, blushing a bit as she did so, knowing that Rafe’s lack of compliments to the chef would not go down well. ‘I was just about to make a note—he has asked that the chef...’ she hesitated and slightly rephrased Rafe’s message ‘...should please not add anything to his order.’
Even that did not go down well.
Tony flounced off and she later found out from Vincenzo, the head of PR, that he had been discovered in tears.
‘You know how temperamental Tony is,’ he scolded her. ‘And he’s especially upset today because the Christmas rosters are out. Could you not at least have diluted such a prominent guest’s criticism?’
‘But I did dilute it,’ Antonietta said. ‘Anyway, I thought Tony was happy to be working on Christmas Day.’
Vincenzo just huffed off, leaving Antonietta wondering what on earth she’d said wrong this time. Still, there wasn’t time to dwell, and for the rest of the day she worked with Chi-Chi. Or rather Antonietta worked while Chi-Chi did the slowly-slowly .
The slowly-slowly was a way to look busy while getting precisely nothing done, and Chi-Chi had perfected it. She had even tried to share her method with Antonietta.
‘You can doze in the cleaning room, but keep some dusters on your lap, so that if Francesca pops her head in you can look as if you’re in the middle of folding them,’ Chi-Chi had explained when Antonietta had first started working there. ‘But never cross your legs while you sleep or it will leave a red mark on your calf, and Francesca will be able to tell you’ve been in there for ages.’
‘I don’t want a bar of it,’ Antonietta had told her.
She had known Chi-Chi her whole life, but she wasn’t a friend, exactly, just someone she knew and, unfortunately, with whom she now worked. Chi-Chi’s aim in life was to find a husband and do as little as she could get away with in the meantime. Once, Antonietta had actually seen her dozing on her arm as she supposedly cleaned a mirror, only to suddenly spring into action when Antonietta made her presence known!
‘I saw your papà yesterday,’ Chi-Chi said as she ate one of the turn-down chocolates while Antonietta dusted. ‘He couldn’t stop and speak for long, though, but he said he was busy getting things ready for the Christmas Eve bonfire. Will you be going?’ she enquired, oh, so innocently.
‘Of course,’ Antonietta said. ‘The fire in the village square is a tradition. Why wouldn’t I go?’
Chi-Chi shrugged and helped herself to another chocolate. ‘What is he like?’ she asked.
‘My papà ?’ Antonietta said, pretending she had no idea to whom Chi-Chi was referring.
‘No, silly! The new man who is staying in the August Suite. I wonder what his real name is? He must be important. I have never seen so much security.’
‘ All our guests are important,’ Antonietta said, refusing to be drawn.
Still, at the mention of the August Suite, and not for the first time, Antonietta glanced at her pager. But, no, Rafe had not paged her. Nor, when she checked, had he made any requests for in-suite dining. In fact later that afternoon she found out that his nurse had been given her marching orders for daring to make an unscheduled check on her patient.
Rafe had clearly meant what he’d said about not wanting to be disturbed.
At the end of her shift, as she walked back to her little cottage, Antonietta found she was glancing up in the direction of the August Suite. It was too far away for her to tell if he was on the balcony, but she wondered about him, wondered how he had spent his day and how he was.
For the first time ever Antonietta truly wondered about a man...
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