‘Signora Emma, your guest has arrived.’
‘My guest?’ Had Laney Travers arrived a day early? ‘What’s her name?’
‘His name. It’s a… gentleman.’ There was a slight moment of hesitation before he decided on the correct nomenclature. ‘His name is Delgado, Erasmus Delgado.’
Comprehension dawned in Emma’s head. ‘Oh, right, good. How did he get here? We were expecting to pick him up from the airport tomorrow.’
‘I believe he was driven here by his personal assistant. She is here with him.’
By this time Emma was on her feet. She swallowed the rest of her espresso and braced herself for action.
‘Right, thanks, Claudio. Please lead me to him.’
Erasmus Delgado was standing with his back to the reception desk, while a tall woman with very short-cropped hair completed the formalities. Erasmus Delgado’s hair, on the other hand, was anything but short. It hung in long, straggly grey cascades onto his shoulders and reminded Emma of stained-glass images of biblical prophets in St Martin’s church back home in Norfolk. His attention was directed at a gorgeous display of roses of all colours from deepest dark red to purest virgin white in a crystal vase on a delightful antique table, their perfume filling the air of the lobby. Emma went up to his side and did her best to attract his attention. It wasn’t easy.
‘Mr Delgado, good evening and welcome. My name’s Emma Taylor and I work for JMGP. It’s wonderful to meet you.’
His gaze never wavered from the roses as he answered. ‘I imagine it is.’
Clearly this particular film director wasn’t of the modest, self-effacing variety – not that there were a lot of them about. Emma had met his sort before so she just bolted on an even broader smile and tried again.
‘We’re so glad you could come here to meet up with Ethan and Laney. I’m sure they’ll be so happy to meet you.’
‘Yes.’
Emma waited for more, but nothing was forthcoming. Instead, she felt a touch on her arm and turned to see the lady with the urchin haircut. The smile still on her face, Emma introduced herself. The woman, who was probably in her forties or even early fifties, didn’t smile back, but she replied cordially enough.
‘I’m pleased to meet you. My name is Katya. I am Mr Delgado’s personal assistant.’ The accent was mid-European, her attitude brusque.
As they shook hands, Katya almost broke Emma’s fingers. Surreptitiously nursing them behind her back, Emma continued with her charm offensive.
‘I hope you had a good journey. We would have been very happy to meet you and drive you here from the airport.’
‘Mr Delgado prefers to avoid air travel where possible, so we drove up from Rome, stopping off in Orvieto on the way as he was keen to see the town. His carbon footprint causes him sleepless nights.’ Emma nodded, vaguely wondering how he had managed to get to Europe from the USA, but Katya hadn’t finished. ‘Mr Delgado has a deep and lasting respect for the planet.’
‘I see. That’s good to know. Well, at least you’ve arrived safely.’ Emma turned her attention back to the director and for the first time she noticed a lump at his waist, concealed beneath his crumpled Hawaiian shirt. Might this be the famous tooth mug Ethan had mentioned? Clearing her throat, she had another go at establishing communication with him. ‘Is there anything we can do for you, Mr Delgado? Something to eat or drink, maybe, or would you like to see your rooms?’
To her surprise, this elicited a response, but it wasn’t exactly what she had been expecting.
‘So sad, so very sad…’ His voice tailed off and his eyes never strayed from the roses. Fortunately, Katya was there to interpret.
‘Mr Delgado hates to see dead things. These flowers have been cut, so they are dead. This saddens him.’
‘Ah, yes, of course.’ Emma was beginning to feel she was in one of those dreams where you are trying to run through quicksand but it just drags you down and down. Fortunately, help in the shape of a Hollywood hunk arrived to save her.
‘Razzy, my man, it’s great to see you again.’ Ethan enveloped Erasmus in a bear hug and then transferred his attention to Katya, giving her one of his broadest and most beguiling smiles that would have had the knees of millions of women around the globe trembling in response. ‘Katya, my darling, you look just as gorgeous as ever. What happened to all the hair? The plaits?’
As he said it, an image crossed Emma’s mind of Katya with blonde plaits, dressed in a dirndl, running across an Alpine meadow singing about the hills being alive with the sound of music. However, Ethan’s greeting brought no more than a token polite reply. Emma found herself wondering if the woman ever smiled. Mind you, from what she had seen of Erasmus so far, working for him was unlikely to be a bundle of laughs.
‘Good evening, Ethan.’
Katya held out her hand towards him and it was on the tip of Emma’s tongue to warn him to beware of the vicelike grip but she decided to keep her mouth closed; however, she felt sure she saw him wince at the contact. Whipping his hand away again, Ethan turned to Emma and repeated his warm smile. Her knees didn’t tremble, but she definitely found herself smiling back.
‘Hi again, English. Who does a man have to kill around here to get a cold beer?’ He glanced over his shoulder at the monolithic figure of Sinclair who had materialised behind him, arms crossed. ‘Two beers?’
Sinclair nodded at his boss and then shot a hint of a smile at Emma who immediately pointed in the direction of the orangery.
‘No need to kill anybody. Come on through and let’s have a beer.’
To her surprise, Katya took Erasmus by the arm and led him firmly, but not unkindly, away from the roses in the direction of Emma’s pointing hand. He obeyed meekly and Emma was impressed. However unapproachable she might appear, Katya did at least know how to deal with her eccentric employer and this boded well for the success of the weekend.
They ordered drinks and then took up places on two comfortable leather sofas facing each other across a glass-topped coffee table, Katya at her boss’s right hand and Ethan beside Emma. Sinclair perched on a bar stool a few feet away and kept a weather eye open. Ethan tapped Emma’s arm.
‘So, how’s it been going? Found any other romantic places for us?’
Emma was happy to be able to launch into a detailed description of the places they had visited since they had said goodbye in Pisa. Gradually, as she did so, she spotted more than a glimmer of interest on the face of the director and a hint of a smile, although this might have been simply as a result of tasting one of the villa’s special apple, kiwi and passion fruit smoothies. Katya, Emma noticed, drank nothing. By the end of her exposé, during which she also gave Erasmus a quick outline of the locations they had found up north, she definitely got the impression that he had been listening. Clearly he was already familiar with the screenplay and he proceeded to ask a number of questions about the different locations, culminating with Villa Graziella itself. Emma told him about her idea.
‘I thought this might be an ideal location for the point in the movie when Emily and her governess have the fever. I know it’s Umbria, rather than Tuscany, but I don’t see that as a problem. Do you?’
Erasmus shook his head. ‘Absolutely no problem at all. I think it would be perfect.’ Then, to Emma’s total surprise, he actually paid her a compliment. ‘JM was right – you know what you’re doing.’