Page 15 of Under A Sicilian Sky
7
The brief time at Leonardo Da Vinci airport in Rome consisted of a little duty-free shopping, head down, large shades on, hair in a messy bun, so as not to be recognised. Ruby’s clothes were deliberately plain and indistinct, like nothing she would normally wear. She wanted to blend in, and it worked… to a point. When people began to mumble and point around her, she dashed away with her few new items of clothing, more shades, and a large sun hat. The flight to Sicily was a regular one, no first class available, but thankfully Valerie had contacted the airport in advance and Ruby was allowed a little privacy.
The mid-afternoon temperature, as Ruby exited the airport in Palermo, was surprisingly warm and springlike, and after dozing on the one-hour flight, she was relieved that no one seemed to recognise her with her bird’s nest hairdo. The shades that covered the majority of her puffy face probably helped too. She found it incredible the amount of anonymity she had discovered with the help of a few changes; not that fans had ever been an issue in the past. She’d enjoyed the selfies and the spontaneous autograph sessions; the adoration and compliments had been lovely too. Sadly, those situations all seemed like a distant memory now.
The airport was surrounded by rugged mountains on one side and the crystal blue Tyrrhenian Sea to the other. The salty breeze felt cool against her skin and she inhaled deeply, happy to once again be on terra firma. If anything good could come of the situation, at least she was going to have an adventure and visit a completely new place.
She was greeted by her driver, an older gentleman who introduced himself as Angelo. He was pleasant enough but didn’t seem to speak much English. He opened the rear door of the black saloon car and dutifully carried her cases to the boot.
She climbed in and lowered the window. It was her first visit to the island, and she wanted to soak up the sights, sounds and smells.
Once back inside the car, the driver set off, heading away from the airport but keeping to the coastal road.
The hedgerows were filled with signs of spring. The purples of wild orchids and the vibrant yellow of fennel accompanied by its aromatic hint of anise. The sky overhead was a little dull and cloudy, quite a contrast to the cheeriness of the wildflowers.
The driver communicated in his own language, gesturing at the views as they passed, with the odd, ‘isn’t it?’ dotted in for good measure. At least he tried. All Ruby did was nod and smile sweetly, avoiding the urge to reply ‘Bella’ to everything he uttered. Was it even a valid word? Her little phrasebook was packed away in her suitcase, stupidly.
As they travelled to the house, Valerie called to tell her that security was already in situ in a small gatehouse at the property and that she wouldn’t even realise they were there. That disappointed her a little. A bit of company wouldn’t be so bad.
Due to roadworks, they took a detour and passed through a small, yet built-up, coastal city called Cefalù that was nestled into an imposing rock. The narrow streets were buzzing with people on mopeds, winding in and out of pedestrians like some kind of choreographed dance. She half expected music to play and a flash mob to begin in the square where the cathedral sat peering down on the residents going about their daily routines. She had presumed the swarthy Italian men she had heard about were just a stereotype, but she spotted several, shirtsleeves rolled up to their elbows, dark, almost black hair, swept back from their olive-skinned faces.
The sun made a welcome appearance as the sound of Italian speaking voices drifted through the open car window, and the smell of fresh pasta and coffee made her stomach grumble. She knew from the research she had done that this was the closest suburban place to the villa that had shops, eateries and clubs; although she was under strict instructions to stay away from any such place. In fact, she was under strict instructions not to leave the house!
They travelled undulating roads, edged with the fragrant tang of citrus trees. Cypress trees reached skyward, with their furry fronds seeking out the sun, and umbrella pines gave shade to the road, intermittently causing an almost strobe-like effect.
Eventually they ascended up into what felt like the middle of nowhere, and a set of wrought-iron gates came into view with the wordsVilla Vista Maretwisted into a pretty font amongst the posts. As she’d been told, a small, single storey gatehouse was situated just inside the gates, which opened automatically as the car pulled up.
A man in a white shirt and suit jacket approached the driver’s window and the two men chatted briefly in Sicilian… or was it Italian? She couldn’t tell.
The security guard, a shaven-headed hulk of a man, complete with holstered firearm, raised a hand towards her window but she guessed he couldn’t see her due to the tinted glass.
The property was incredibly isolated, with the closest neighbours a fair trek along the road. The long driveway that led to the front of the property was lined with twisted and gnarled-trunked olive trees that had clearly been there an age. The house itself was beautiful and sat in an elevated position with the front overlooking the azure blue Tyrrhenian Sea. Her first impressions of the exterior weren’t at all what she had imagined, a run-down ramshackle hut. The pale stone structure was covered in lush green vines and appeared complete from the outside and she wondered if the problems would begin at the interior because so far it looked too good to be true.
Outside the entrance was a little bistro table with two chairs; it was shaded by the vines which extended over a wooden canopy and she imagined it would be a nice place to sit and have a cup of tea in the nice weather.
She had been informed that a key had been left inside but the main entrance door would be unlocked as security were checking things regularly and there was only one way in and out of the estate. Valerie had said the builders would be in on Monday so there would be no one to greet her or show her around. She was told the location of the main rooms she would need, and was looking forward, although with trepidation, to exploring; especially now she’d seen the view.
Angelo carried her suitcases inside and left them on the tiled floor of the entrance. Ruby could smell dust, plaster and paint; not the aromas she’d hoped to be greeted with in a Sicilian hideaway, but she couldn’t complain. Someone she didn’t know had been gracious enough to allow her to stay here. Apparently, the fridge was full and she was to help herself to whatever she wanted.
She knew little of the owner, all she had been given was a name, Mr Adair. Nosey internet searches had brought up little on the man himself, so he was clearly someone who avoided social media – she wondered what that was like. The only photo she had been able to find was a rather blurry one of him, as a long-haired, stubble-chinned, bespectacled young man. Ruby knew you should never judge a book by its cover, but he didn’t look like a property mogul; more like the lead singer in some nineties grunge rock band. She presumed he had changed since then, but as his personal internet presence was pretty much non-existent he would no doubt remain a mystery.
She left her cases and wandered through the villa, opening each ornately carved door and poking her head into every room she passed. The kitchen was modern-looking in one sense with its plain white, shaker-style units and pewter handles, but the patterned tiles on the backsplash were more traditional and colourful, the floor was tiled in terracotta and a stone plinth skirted the top of the room with large brass plates balanced precariously on it. A huge oak dresser unit covered one wall where the crockery was displayed, along with other pots and pans in shiny copper. An old gnarled table sat in the middle of the room surrounded by odd chairs and with a huge bowl of lemons in the centre, their scent fresh and strong.
The thick stone walls were bare, except for in the main sitting room, where they were adorned with paintings of seascapes and the odd nude study. A huge, tiled fireplace dominated one wall of the room and the vaulted ceilings gave it a sense of grandeur and space. There was nothing personal, however, no photographs, certificates or trophies.
Many of the rooms had stacks of furniture in the centre covered with huge, white dust sheets, but each had large windows with spectacular views either onto the lemon trees at the rear or the sea and sky at the front.
Her footsteps echoed on the tiled floors as she travelled from room to room, finding her bearings and wishing Kitty was there tooohandahhover things with. The house was quirky with many different levels but still nothing that told her more of the owners. Her curiosity was piqued, and she made a mental note to ask Valerie about her gracious host next time she spoke with her.
Ruby had been instructed to use the third bedroom along the corridor on the second floor, so she returned to the hallway, collected her cases and made her way up the curved stone stairs in search of her room. Tiredness was beginning to outweigh her desire to explore and she decided she hadn’t even enough energy to fill her grumbling stomach. She counted the doors and opened the one she hoped was hers.
Once inside, she put down her cases and took in her surroundings. The room was sparsely furnished and functional. The walls were whitewashed and, like much of the house, a terracotta tiled floor lay beneath her feet. A carved, oak bed was against one wall, with a tapestry throw blanket like that which you might find in a British stately home. A teal, chinoiserie-style blanket box on legs adorned another wall, its intricate details and bold colour a contrast to the plain backdrop. And a large oak wardrobe took centre spot on another, the carvings of which matched the headboard of the bed. It was minimalist but comfortable and had everything she needed.
A Juliet balcony provided light and more of those stunning vistas that surrounded the house. Perhaps there was no real need for artwork on the walls with views like that, she pondered, feeling any stress she’d been carrying ebbing away. She opened the doors and stood for a moment, breathing in the salty air and fresh scent of the lemon and olive trees below. If she was to be a prisoner, there could be worse places to be locked up, she surmised.
* * *
After a restful night – the first in a while – Ruby awoke on Sunday to sunlight flooding in through the voile drapes at the window. The temperature in the room was a little chilly and she wondered if it might actually be warmer outside. She opened the double balcony doors again and, sure enough, the sun reached her skin, warming her momentarily before ducking behind a cloud. The distant whoosh of the ocean brought a smile to her face and she sighed in the closest feeling to contentment she’d had in days.
