The Italian's Christmas Housekeeper - Шэрон Кендрик (2019)

Loosening his tie and undoing the top button of his shirt, Salvio braved the chilly corridor to the bathroom and was on his way back when he heard a sound from the floor above. A sound which at first he didn’t recognise. He stilled as he listened and there it was again. His eyes narrowed as he realised what it was. A faint gasp for breath, followed by a snuffle.

Someone was crying?

He told himself it was none of his business. He was leaving first thing and it made sense to go straight to bed. But something tugged at his... He frowned. His conscience? Because he knew that the person crying must be the little housekeeper? He didn’t question what made him start walking towards the sound and soon found himself mounting a narrow staircase at the far end of the corridor.

The sound grew louder. Definitely tears. His foot creaked on a step and an anxious voice called out.

‘Who’s there?’

‘It’s me. Salvio.’

He heard footsteps scurrying across the room and as the door was pulled open, there stood Molly. She was still wearing her black uniform although she had taken down her hair and removed her sturdy shoes. It spilled over her shoulders in a glorious tumble which fell almost to her waist and Salvio was reminded of a painting he’d once seen of a woman sitting in a boat, with fear written all over her features. He could see fear now, in soft grey eyes which were rimmed with red. And suddenly all the lust he’d felt from the moment he’d set eyes on her was replaced by a powerful sense of compassion.

‘What’s happened?’ he demanded. ‘Are you hurt?’

‘Nothing’s happened and, no, I’m not hurt.’ Quickly, she blotted her cheeks with her fingertips. ‘Did you want something?’ she asked, a familiar note of duty creeping into her voice. ‘I hope... I mean, is everything in your room to your satisfaction, Signor De Gennaro?’

‘Everything in my room is fine and I thought I told you to call me Salvio,’ he said impatiently. ‘I want to know why you were crying.’

She shook her head. ‘I wasn’t crying.’

‘Yes, you were. You know damned well you were.’

An unexpected streak of defiance made her tilt her chin upwards. ‘Surely I’m allowed to cry in the privacy of my own room.’

‘And surely I’m allowed to ask why, if it’s keeping me awake.’

Her grey eyes widened. ‘Was it?’

He allowed himself the flicker of a smile. ‘Well, no—now you come to mention it. Not really. I hadn’t actually gone to bed but it’s not a sound anyone particularly wants to hear.’

‘That’s because nobody was supposed to. Look, I’m really sorry to have disturbed you, but I’m fine now. See.’ This time she gritted her teeth into a parody of a smile. ‘It won’t happen again.’

But Salvio’s interest was piqued and the fact that she was trying to get rid of him intrigued him. He glanced over her shoulder at her room, which was small. He hadn’t seen a bedroom that small for a long time. A narrow, unfriendly bed and thin drapes at the window, but very little else. Suddenly he became aware of the icy temperature—an observation which was reinforced by the almost imperceptible shiver she gave, despite the thickness of her black dress. He thought about the fire in his own bedroom with the blazing applewood logs which she must have lit herself.

‘You’re cold,’ he observed.

‘Only a bit. I’m used to it. You know what these old houses are like. The heating is terrible up here.’

‘You don’t say?’ He narrowed his eyes speculatively. ‘Look, why don’t you come and sit by my fire for a while? Have a nightcap, perhaps.’

She narrowed her eyes. ‘A nightcap?’

He slanted her a mocking smile. ‘You know. The drink traditionally supposed to warm people up.’

He saw her hesitate before shaking her head.

‘Look, it’s very kind of you to offer, but I can’t possibly accept.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because...’ She shrugged. ‘You know why not.’