Under an Amber Sky: A Gripping Emotional Page Turner You Won’t Be Able to Put Down. Rose Alexander
‘Thirsty work, renovations,’ he said. ‘I’ve had a good look round and I reckon I can get started tomorrow. Here’s what I’ll need straight away.’ He handed her a page torn from his notebook. ‘Oh, and I’ll take the top bedroom on the left,’ he added, casually.
A shock of horror flooded Sophie’s body. She opened her mouth to protest, to express her displeasure at his assumption that he’d been invited to move in as well as to work for her, then abruptly shut it again. He might as well stay. There was plenty of space.
‘I’ve got me sleeping bag but I’ll need a mattress and a couple of chairs, please. Folding ones will do. And don’t worry about dinner. I’ll be going out in a bit.’
Laughing, partly in disbelief and partly in admiration of his chutzpah – she’d agreed to let him stay, not to be his personal cook and housekeeper – Sophie poured herself a generous glass of wine. To hell with it. She had a lodger whether she wanted one or not. She sipped the wine, the taste that had grown unfamiliar after so many months of abstinence bringing memories of happier times flooding back. In for a penny, in for a pound. She quite liked the idea of going to bed a bit drunk tonight.
Next day, head aching somewhat, Sophie went off to the DIY store again. The same cab driver came to pick her up.
‘What you going to do with all this?’ he asked her, the corners of his eyes crinkling in bemusement as he gave her an indulgent smile.
‘I’m renovating the house,’ she replied, stashing a box of assorted tools in the boot.
‘Alone?’
‘No – I’ve got a –’ Her thoughts ranged wildly. How to explain Frank? ‘A friend of mine’s come over from London. He’s going to help.’
The cab driver nodded. ‘I will let my wife know. She has been worried.’
Sophie looked at him in astonishment. ‘Your wife?’ she questioned, in the kind of voice that she immediately knew made it sound like having a wife was something illegal, or at least underhand. ‘Who is your wife? How does she know me – and what am I doing that’s worrying her?’
The questions spilled out before Sophie had time to think that perhaps this poor cabbie didn’t deserve an inquisition.
The driver merely laughed. ‘You are in the bay; everyone knows everything about everyone.’
Of course, a small community anywhere would be aware of a newcomer. It would be different, probably, in the height of summer when the area was jampacked with strangers, but in the winter months nobody visited except mad, widowed, eccentric English women – and the only one of those was her.
‘My wife works in the mini-market by your house. She has been worried about you, but she doesn’t speak English so she could not talk to you. When I told her I had picked you up in my taxi, she say to me why you didn’t invite her? Why you didn’t bring her to our house for some rakija? So I invite you now, before I get into trouble again.’
They had reached the roundabout from which all roads diverged – left towards the Lustica peninsula with the sandy beach Tomasz had so loved in the summer, straight on to the airport and the luxurious super-yacht marina Porto Montenegro, or left towards Kotor and the bay and home. The cabbie stopped talking to concentrate on driving whilst Sophie pictured his wife in her mind’s eye: the pretty, smiley lady who was always so friendly and seemed to will Sophie to understand what she said even though Sophie quite clearly couldn’t.
Sophie bit her lip, feeling emotional again. These people’s interest was not prurient or invasive, it was purely concerned and altruistic. She felt hugely touched and did not know how to respond. To be invited for rakija was a small thing that meant so much more.
‘Sandra – that’s my wife – she said you are too thin and too alone. It is not good to be always by yourself,’ continued the driver, ‘so when do you come?’
‘Gosh, you are so kind.’ Sophie thought for a moment. ‘What would suit you? Perhaps tomorrow, or the day after? Or next week, if that’s too soon?’
‘Tomorrow is good. My name is Petar, by the way, and my wife is Sandra – but I already told you that.’
‘Sophie.’ Sophie went to hold out her hand and then, realizing Petar couldn’t shake it as he was driving, withdrew it. ‘Thank you,’ she said, and meant it.
As they were unloading outside the house, Frank came bounding down the stairs. Unfortunately, the spring went out of his step as he hit the broken board on the final tread, slipped, did a comedy back bend and recovered just before he fell. Sophie turned her face away to stop herself sniggering. She didn’t want to be mean but he had looked funny, so big and broad and suddenly unbalanced.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.