Rich turned around and surveyed Mark with renewed interest. ‘You can trace your ancestry back seven hundred years? Wow, all I know is that my father’s grandfather was a wool merchant in Kiev at the time of the Russian Revolution and his name was Miroshnychenko. When he and his family emigrated to New York, the immigration official at Ellis Island shortened it to Miros, but that’s as far as it goes.’
Emma was equally awed by Mark’s story. ‘And you wouldn’t believe how many Taylors there are in England. So does this mean you’re of noble blood, Mark? Should I be curtsying every time we meet?’
He gave her a broad grin. ‘That’s all in the past. Italians don’t do noble titles any more. We’re a republic, and republics and nobles are mutually exclusive. No, I’m just plain old me.’
While they were chatting, Marina was following the gravel track as it wound its way through a dense wood composed of a spectacular variety of trees, from oaks to umbrella pines, hollies to palms, as they gradually gained even more height. Finally, after at least several hundred metres, they emerged from the wood and found themselves in a wide, open, nearly flat, parking area overlooking the valley below. A massive sweeping stone staircase led up from there to one of the most beautiful houses Emma had ever seen. The photos on Mark’s phone hadn’t done it justice. This place was stunning.
As Marina turned off the engine, all they could hear was the drumming of the rain on the roof of the car, and they all just sat and stared.
It was built in three distinct layers on the sloping hillside. The first layer was a terrace, surrounded by decorative balustrades and classical style statues. No doubt from there, guests would have a spectacular panorama across the valley towards Gubbio, which clung to the steep slope on the opposite side. Leading off this terrace was the entrance to the ground floor. This whole part of the structure was made of light-coloured stone and composed of a mixture of arches and pillars. The doors themselves – tall enough and wide enough to get a coach and horses through – were adorned with masterful whirls and curls of carved and gilded wood, with modern glass doors fitted inside.
Above this was the main body of the house, arranged over two floors and covered in gorgeous ochre-coloured render, the windows highlighted by aquamarine, louvred shutters. Finally, from the very centre of the building rose a massive tower, built of wonderfully weathered ancient bricks. This was clearly very old and had almost certainly performed a defensive function back in the Middle Ages. The lower windows were little more than arrow slits, with larger, arched windows up on the top floor from where the views must have been amazing.
Emma gaped at it in awe.
‘Will it do?’ Mark’s voice sounded maybe just a little bit hesitant and she was quick to reassure him.
‘Will it do? It’s perfect. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite like it. And to think we’re going to be staying here…’
‘I’m glad you like the look of it. The interior’s been completely revamped so hopefully you’ll find that to your liking as well.’ He looked relieved. ‘So, remind me, what happens here in the movie? Didn’t you say the heroine gets sick?’
Emma nodded. ‘She develops a raging fever and they fear for her life. Don’t forget this would have been before Alexander Fleming and the discovery of penicillin. People really did die of a high temperature back then. The old governess also contracts it and it falls to Robert, who’s a friend of the marquis who owns the place, to help look after both of them. There’s what should be a real tear-jerker of a scene, where he believes Emily has died and this, more than anything else, makes him realise the depth of his feelings for her.’ She gave Mark a smile. ‘Fortunately she gets better very quickly and they’re ready to move on after a week.’
‘And the governess?’
‘She survives as well and she now understands that Robert isn’t an evil gold-digger or a rapscallion just trying to have his wicked way with Emily, and her whole attitude towards him changes for the better, so that when they leave, it’s with a smile on their faces.’
‘So this is the place that puts a smile on everyone’s face. Well, let’s hope it does the same to you guys and to your famous guests. Look, here’s Claudio.’
He pointed through the windscreen and they saw three figures hurrying down the steps towards the car, carrying umbrellas. The first to reach them was a tall man in a very smart dark suit. Claudio the manager certainly looked the part. Beside him were two staff members, also immaculately turned out. All of them were smiling.
‘Ciao Claudio.’
Mark jumped out and shook him warmly by the hand. As the others followed, they were handed umbrellas and shepherded up the steps towards the terrace and the shelter of the front door. As Emma handed her soaking umbrella to another smiling staff member and went in through the glass doors, she saw Mark suddenly fall to his knees in front of her and she rushed forward in concern.
She needn’t have been concerned.
‘Ciao bella gioia. Come stai? Ciao Carmen, it’s good to see you.’ As Emma’s eyes focused, she realised that he was hugging a very happy – and presumably bilingual – black Labrador; the dog’s whole body wagging along with her tail while she nuzzled into her master’s armpit, emitting contented little canine whines as she did so.
‘Emma, Rich, Marina, come and meet Carmen.’
Mark glanced up over his shoulder and Emma could see his eyes gleaming. She hadn’t seen him with such an expression of happiness before and, if anything, it made him look even more desirable – and for the first time in her life she felt jealous of a Labrador.
They were introduced to the dog who was very pleased to meet them, but it was clear where her main affections lay.
Emma couldn’t fault the dog’s taste.
After saying hello to Carmen, Emma stood up and took a good look around. They were standing in what was now the main lobby of the hotel. The floor was made up of slabs of polished marble, alternating red, white and black, in a sort of checkerboard pattern, and the walls were hung with mirrors in ornate gilt frames. Over to one side was the reception desk with, behind it, another welcoming face, this time a very pretty dark-haired woman probably still in her twenties.
‘Would you like me to show you to your rooms?’ Claudio picked a handful of keys off the desk. ‘Or would you prefer a cup of tea first?’ His English was excellent and his smile was infectious as he caught Emma’s eye. ‘You are English after all, and tea is traditional, isn’t it?’
Emma smiled back at him. ‘Could I do both? Maybe see my room and then come back downstairs for a cup of tea?’
‘Of course, Signora Taylor. And your colleagues?’
Emma looked across at the others. ‘Marina, what time’s Ethan due in?’
‘Six thirty. And it’s barely half an hour from here to Perugia airport, so I don’t need to leave until six, or a bit before. Do you want to come with me?’
Emma would have been quite happy not to go out in the car again, but she wondered if Ethan might be expecting her to be at the airport to greet him. At the same time, she couldn’t help remembering Mark’s conviction that Ethan might even have a thing for her. Maybe she should let Marina go on her own, so as not to give the actor the wrong idea. For the first time in ages, she found herself really stumped. Normally she was very logical in her decision-making. Suddenly, since she had arrived in Italy, she was a different person. No, she immediately reminded herself, like it or lump it, the fact was that this new uncertain Emma hadn’t started upon arrival in Italy. It had started upon meeting Mark for the first time when her knees had turned to jelly. As she was still trying to work out what to do, Rich gave her a helping hand.