What Happens In Tuscany.... T Williams A

Please can you call me just plain Victoria. I’m afraid my father insisted everybody should call me Miss Victoria all my life and I can’t seem to get them to change. Isn’t that so, Rosie?’

      ‘Yes, indeed, Miss Victoria.’ The maid’s face was expressionless.

      Katie smiled and took a better look at Victoria. She looked four or five years younger than her, probably in her mid-twenties, tall and slim, with light brown hair piled up on her head in formal manner, revealing a pair of earrings. If the diamonds set in them were real, they were worth a fortune. Katie reflected that if they were false, they were the first fake she had seen all day. The clothes she was wearing were elegant, if dated. Her blouse was unmistakably silk, a delicate cream colour, and she was wearing a dark blue skirt that just covered her knees. On her feet she wore flat leather shoes. Instinctively Katie tugged her own skirt down as far as she could, but her knees were still visible. She rather regretted her choice of sandals now.

      ‘I hope you had a good journey here and that your room is satisfactory to your requirements.’ Katie found it hard to reconcile Victoria’s formal, rather antiquated, language with a girl of that age. It sounded weird and slightly ridiculous. She did her best to reply equally politely.

      ‘Yes, thank you very much. The room is great and everybody has been so very helpful. And I did enjoy my ride in that fantastic big white car. It was an awesome experience.’

      ‘Awesome? You can use that?’ Victoria repeated the word as if hearing it for the first time. ‘An awesome experience.’ She caught Katie’s eye and smiled a warm, genuine smile. ‘I think I shall use the word awesome myself. You see,’ she was still smiling, ‘I’ve got so much to learn. Anyway, you’ll work that out for yourself, I’m sure. Now, I asked Mrs Milliner to put out a bottle of champagne. Is that to your liking?’

      ‘I adore champagne, thank you. I’m afraid I haven’t had any for quite a while now. Normally I have to wait until one of my friends gets married.’ Something must have shown on her face. As Victoria waved to Rosie to pour the champagne, she gave Katie a gentle smile.

      ‘Mr Evergreen told me you had just separated from your husband. I’m very sorry.’

      Katie took the glass of champagne that was handed to her and resisted the temptation to drain it in one. ‘Thank you, Victoria. We weren’t married, so it’s not a proper divorce, but we were together for seven years.’

      ‘Living in sin is the expression, isn’t it? Or is there something more modern?’

      ‘I think the technical legal term is cohabiting, but we just used to say we were living together. Living in sin is a bit old-fashioned nowadays.’ Katie was indeed beginning to get a taste of what awaited her. Somehow, this young woman acted and sounded like a Jane Austen character. She took a deep breath and raised her glass. ‘Thank you for your marvellous hospitality. Cheers.’ They clinked their glasses together and Katie did her best to follow Victoria’s example and just take a delicate sip of the wine. It, too, was amazing.

      ‘I hope you like the champagne. It’s only five years old but my father told me that this was a particularly good year. Une année royale.’

      Katie noticed her excellent pronunciation. ‘It’s wonderful, thank you.’

      ‘Awesome? Could I say that?’

      Katie smiled back at her. ‘You certainly could.’

       Chapter Three

      The next few days were a voyage of discovery for Katie. Rather than a hired employee, she felt more like an honoured guest. The house itself was as remarkable inside as it was on the outside. Victoria gave her a guided tour of a never-ending succession of magnificently decorated and furnished rooms until Katie had totally lost her bearings. There was a ballroom, a billiard room, a dedicated sewing room and even an observatory cleverly set into the roof. The kitchen was huge, dominated by the most enormous range cooker Katie had ever seen. Even the larder was about twice the size of her old bedroom. Upstairs here, the bedroom she had been given was bigger than the whole of her old flat. It was quite enormous, with its own private bathroom and a view out of the two huge windows across the lake, the wooded island in the middle of it and as far as the hills of Exmoor in the far distance. There was no doubt in Katie’s mind; Iddlescombe Manor was quite phenomenal.

      At the same time, there were, inevitably, a number of disadvantages to living in the great house. In particular, as Katie had already discovered, there was no mobile phone reception and, worse still, no internet connection. In fact, there was no sign of a computer in the whole place. Although Victoria invited her to use the landline whenever she wanted, she only made a short call to her parents. What she really wanted to do was to call Jenny, to recount the wonders of this amazing place and to describe the unique person for whom she was now working. She had to admit that it would also be rather nice to call Martin to see how he was and just to chat to him, but she could hardly do that from the venerable Bakelite telephone in the study with Victoria standing by.

      Otherwise, as far as she could work out, the only other telephone was in the kitchen, under the watchful eye and curious ears of Mrs Milliner. Mrs Milliner was the housekeeper, cook and butler, and clearly responsible for the daily running of the household. She was kind and friendly, but there was no way Katie could have the sort of cosy chat she wanted with Jenny or Martin under these circumstances. After two days, Katie resorted to snail mail and wrote a long and fairly incoherent letter to Jenny, which was taken by Mr Mackintosh to the post box at the station in Nymptonford.

      But, above all, what Katie found truly fascinating was her young employer. As the days passed, Katie slowly began to build up a clearer picture of Victoria’s background. It was bizarre, to say the least. Gradually, as they got to know and trust each other, Victoria added more flesh to the bones of her past.

      One of Victoria’s favourite places, Katie soon discovered, was the boathouse down by the lake. While the July weather stayed fine, the two girls got into the habit of going there most afternoons. It was down here, more than anywhere else, that Victoria felt most relaxed and most willing to talk.

      ‘My mother died when I was ten.’ In answer to something she read in Katie’s face, she explained. ‘They were both involved in a car accident, on the corniche above Monaco, not far from where Princess Grace died. Father survived, but he spent ages in intensive care in Monte Carlo before they let him travel home. He had received a massive blow to the head in the crash and he was never the same again. Ask Mrs Milliner. She knew him before the accident. His behaviour became very peculiar. Above all, he became increasingly,’ she looked across at Katie, ‘some would say, obsessively, concerned for my security.’

      ‘You weren’t with them?’

      ‘No.’ Victoria raised her eyebrows as if that were the most ridiculous idea. ‘Me travel abroad? I hardly ever left Iddlescombe. Do you know something?’ Katie caught a look of great sadness in her eyes. ‘I sometimes used to think I was in a prison here. All right, it was a very comfortable, spacious prison, but a prison all the same.’

      ‘You mean he kept you locked up here?’ Katie was appalled.

      Now, along with the sadness, there was a spark of anger in Victoria’s eyes. ‘Not in so many words, but in effect yes, I was a prisoner here. You know, Katie, I never went to school or university.’ She was gripping the armrest of her deckchair so tightly that Katie could see her wrist shaking with the tension. She reached across and laid a calming hand upon Victoria’s and felt her fingers slowly relax.

      ‘But you’re clearly very well educated.’ Katie was finding this hard to digest. ‘You know all about history, art, all kinds of stuff. And I did a languages degree at university and your French and Italian sound better than mine.’

      ‘Grazie tanto!’ Victoria allowed herself a wry smile. ‘I’ve had a succession of really good tutors all my life. The Italian was from Signorina Belluno and the French came from Mademoiselle Lemarchand. I’ve had history teachers, literature teachers, you name it. Of course,