Rose Alexander - Under an Amber Sky - A Gripping Emotional Page Turner You Won’t Be Able to Put Down

‘How do you work that out?’ questioned Anna, a note of challenge in her voice.

‘If that’s all the damage the quake caused,’ Jovanka explained, ‘then you know that this is a house that can withstand anything.’

Anna nodded, purporting a knowledge of seismic activity and its effects that Sophie knew was utterly feigned.

Outside, behind the house, the garden rose up from a courtyard through five terraces until right at the top the cerulean sweep of the water became visible again above the pantiled rooftops. Fig, pomegranate, lime, and grapefruit trees grew wild and untended, and the fragrance of wild mint scented the air as their legs brushed against its leaves. A plump tabby cat lay on a stone, basking in the heat.

‘How much is it?’ asked Anna. Sophie surreptitiously kicked her but Anna took no notice.

‘It has just been reduced significantly, and it won’t hang around at this price.’

Jovanka named a sum which, translated into pounds at the current exchange rate, was a steal. The price of a studio flat in London.

‘The owner of the house is ninety-four,’ the estate agent continued. ‘And she wants to sell. She’s set her heart on ending her days in a retirement village on the Croatian coast where it’s nearly always sunny. She’s already sold up in Zagreb.’

Sophie thought she might cry. She wanted the old lady to have sunshine and happiness in her twilight years, and was sorry it wouldn’t be them who made that dream come true. She comforted herself with the knowledge that – as Jovanka asserted – the house was definitely a bargain; someone would undoubtedly snap it up.

‘So the owner would probably negotiate,’ continued Jovanka, cutting through Sophie’s ponderings and going on to present her with exactly what she had been dreading. ‘She’s spending a week or two here in the hope of getting everything sorted – she’ll be back any moment now. Her neighbour takes her for a little stroll to the café every morning. Let’s go in and meet her.’

Sophie and Anna exchanged glances: Sophie frowning, Anna beaming.

‘Lovely,’ said Anna, before Sophie had a chance to say anything. ‘Let’s go.’

Reluctantly, Sophie followed. The last thing she wanted to do was give the poor old lady reason to believe they might really be prospective buyers when they were anything but.

Mileva Golubovic proved utterly delightful, apologizing for speaking better Italian and German than she did English, and then proceeding to converse fluently in said language. Sprightly, bright-eyed, and petite, she looked years younger than she was. She made no secret of her desire to clinch a sale, talking of how much she worried about the house when she was far away in Croatia, about how she couldn’t afford the maintenance and upkeep any more and how she just wanted to be free of all responsibilities.

It turned out that she was a fan of the art form known as abstract expressionism, something she had in common with Anna – a talented artist who currently scraped a living from the paintings she produced in a dilapidated shed at the bottom of her garden. Amidst their avid conversation, Tomasz fell asleep on the aged sofa with a fraying fabric cover whilst Sophie found herself wandering off again, unable to resist the temptation to explore the house further, drawn to the rooms at the front with their gracious proportions and views over the glittering water of the bay.

An antique bureau stood beside the window in what had obviously once been the formal sitting room, its dark wooden furniture still precisely arranged for receiving guests. As Sophie stood there admiring it, thinking how good it would look once restored, the sun must have minutely changed its position in the sky so that it fell upon the heaped-up piles of papers, ornaments, and books shoved into its open front. The light caught something bright and shiny, a diamond sparkling amidst the clutter.

Drawn towards it, Sophie found herself shifting an ancient concert brochure to one side and revealing beneath it a finely carved wooden jewellery box with a mother-of-pearl inlay lid. Without thinking what she was doing, that she was intruding into someone’s private possessions, Sophie opened the lid. Inside, tied together with a ragged piece of ancient string, was a thin bundle of letters. There was something strange about them that at first Sophie couldn’t quite put her finger on. Tentatively, she reached into the box and picked them up.

Immediately, she saw what was odd. The letters were all unopened. They were also heavier than expected and as she handled them, an old-fashioned man’s watch slipped out from the middle of the bunch and tumbled into the box with a solid thud.

‘I’m sorry.’

The old lady’s voice sliced through Sophie’s absorption, causing her to jump and break out into a cold sweat. She had been caught prying into personal papers. How shaming. She turned slowly towards Mileva, flushed red with her guilt.

‘No, it’s me, I must apologize for –’

Mileva, interrupting, shook her head. ‘I’m sorry for the mess, the house is not tidy like it once was; everything has got too much for me.’ She was resting on her stick, breathing heavily. Sitting down she had looked so fit and well but standing as she was now, slightly bent, clearly finding all movement an effort, her years began to show. ‘Many of the things in that bureau I inherited with it and the house. I’ve never gone through it all. I started this summer when I arrived, but as you can see –’ she waved her hand to indicate the disarray ‘– I don’t think I have the energy to finish the job.’

Sophie nodded and smiled sympathetically. ‘I’m sure there’s no need to, is there? If it’s been here for so long, there can’t be anything vital.’ She looked down at the box, then hastily replaced the letters. Unimportant: possibly, and without value in monetary terms: almost definitely. But they were without doubt intriguing.

Mileva shook her head. ‘I suppose not.’ She fell suddenly quiet, her head drooping, her stick wobbling beneath her hand and threatening to destabilize her.

Instinctively, Sophie moved towards her to support her, weaving her way between the heavy furniture. ‘Are you all right? You look like you need to sit.’ She escorted Mileva back to her sofa.

‘Old age,’ Mileva murmured, as she sank down. ‘It’s a terrible thing, but I try to make the best of it.’

‘You seem to be.’ Sophie couldn’t think of anything else to say. She seemed like such a brave old lady, not lonely and needy at all despite being ninety-four and having lost her husband twenty years before, a fact that Sophie had gleaned from Jovanka earlier. A vision of herself, growing old without Matt, flitted through Sophie’s mind and she swiftly banished it.

She looked towards the wide-open window and the bright sunlight on the water. How much better it would be to end one’s days in a place like this than in grey, dreary England. She was envious of Mileva’s sun-soaked future.

Jovanka appeared at the door, looking at her watch, Anna beside her.

‘Ladies, I don’t want to hurry you but I have another appointment. And –’ she glanced meaningfully towards the sofa ‘– I think we should probably leave Mrs Golubovic to rest.’

‘Oh yes, of course,’ replied Sophie, not wanting to exhaust poor Mileva, but for some inexplicable reason not wanting to leave the house without knowing the fate of the box with its mysterious cache of letters.

‘If you buy the house you can have everything in it.’ The old lady seemed to have read Sophie’s mind. ‘Otherwise the house clearance people will take it all to the tip, and I’ll probably be heading for the human version soon so none of it’s any use to me.’