CHAPTER TWO

MICHELLE’S heart leapt each time she saw her temporary home. It nestled in a sheltered part of the garden, and was designed so that the banks of flowers billowing on every side could be enjoyed whatever the weather. Glass made up most of the front of the building, while deep eaves shaded a swing-seat. Michelle unlocked the sliding French doors and stood aside for him to go in.

‘This is impressive.’ Alessandro Castiglione looked around the living room, with its stacks of art boxes and storage bins. Wandering into the kitchen, he nodded appreciatively at the big stainless steel sink and double drainers that took up most of the room. ‘It wouldn’t take long to remove this partition wall to make better use of the space,’ he murmured to himself.

Michelle stood silently in a corner while he roamed around, occasionally taking something from the huge collection of equipment and supplies she had to squeeze around. Once he had studied a packet of paper, a box of pencils, an easel or some brushes, he put them back carefully in their place. Michelle was glad to see that. Most employers would have put them anywhere. They pay you to be tidy for them, her mother had always said.

She found it fascinating to watch him when she could. Each time he caught her doing it, he smiled. Michelle found herself blushing madly, and had to look away. Her guest knew exactly the effect he was having.

‘I never knew Terence had so many art books!’ He ran his finger along the spines lining the shelves, but it was a volume open on the coffee table that really caught his eye. ‘Raphael. He’s one of my favourites. Do you mind if I borrow this one and take it back to the villa with me?’

He picked it up and began flicking through the pages, from the back to front of the book. Of all the ones to choose… Michelle felt as though he had reached inside her ribcage and pulled out her heart. She knew exactly what he was thinking, because she had experienced it so often herself. As he revelled in the beautiful pictures and glowing colours, it showed clearly in his face. It was only when he reached the flyleaf that he stopped smiling.

‘“Presented to Michelle Spicer as part of the Lawrence Prize for the year’s outstanding portfolio,”’ he read aloud, and then looked at her directly. His eyes were smiling, ‘So this is yours?’

Michelle nodded, too struck by the sparkle in his eyes to speak.

‘A little light bedtime reading?’

‘It’s a bit too heavy for that, signor.’

‘For one person, maybe…although two might manage, I suppose. One could read while the other looks on?’

A vision of Alessandro Castiglione in bed came to Michelle, and it didn’t involve any art books. She managed not to gasp aloud, but couldn’t help taking a step backwards, away from him.

When he put her presentation book down on the table again Michelle was puzzled.

‘Aren’t you going to take it after all, signor?’

He shook his head. ‘I couldn’t possibly. It’s yours and must mean so much to you.’

‘It does—but if you want it…’

‘Thank you. I’ll let you have it back as soon as possible.’ Taking possession of it again with relish, he patted the cover. ‘This must be an inspiring place to work for you, as an artist. How many pictures have you done while you’ve been here?’

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