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Back The House by the Sea Save as PDF
Chapters (71)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. 36
  39. 37
  40. 38
  41. 39
  42. 40
  43. 41
  44. 42
  45. 43
  46. 44
  47. 45
  48. 46
  49. 47
  50. 48
  51. 49
  52. 50
  53. 51
  54. 52
  55. 53
  56. 54
  57. 55
  58. 56
  59. 57
  60. 58
  61. 59
  62. 60
  63. 61
  64. 62
  65. 63
  66. 64
  67. 65
  68. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  69. MORE FROM LOUISE DOUGLAS
  70. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  71. ABOUT BOLDWOOD BOOKS

It was a good day. With so many hands to help, with volunteers to run into town if there was anything any of the skilled tradespeople needed, masses of work was done in a short space of time. The scaffolding was erected. Liuni’s sister and her colleagues attended to the old wiring, pulling out yards and yards of ancient cabling and feeding in new. I joined the cleaning team, and with several of us at work taking down the curtains and lifting furniture out into the gardens to be examined and cleaned, the chore became fun. Another team replaced the broken window-glass, others stripped off the ruined wallpaper and chipped away at scorched plaster and burned lathes.

There was laughter and constant joking. I couldn’t follow most of it, but I went along with it and people made sure I was included. Within a few hours, I had forgotten the feelings of the night before and the insecurity that had brought us so close to giving up. I forgot the fear I’d felt when I saw Gabriele Arnone standing in the night garden staring into the pool. I forgot how alone I’d felt, facing our faceless, nameless enemy. With our friends behind us, Joe and I were unstoppable.

In the early afternoon, we congregated on the lawn and spread ourselves out and shared the food that people had brought: cold pizza, bread, cheese, olives and a huge bowl of tomato and basil salsa that we could spoon onto bread toasted over a fire fashioned inside an old metal pan. Bottles of beer were opened, wine was poured; the kittens were petted and admired. Everyone was relaxed, everyone was laughing, talking about their memories of the villa and of Joe, and his family. There was an intense discussion about the Madonna del Mare painting and what might have happened to it. The painting was famous in Porta Sarina; everybody knew of it.

I looked across to Joe. He was sitting on the lawn, leaning back on his hands. He caught my eye and smiled. His smile was one of reassurance. We weren’t going to give up on the villa: why would we when we had so much support, so many friends around us? We weren’t going to give in to cowardly threats and acts of malice. We were going to stand our ground until whoever was waging this campaign against us stopped and let us be.

It was good to see Joe so content and buoyed. It was wonderful to have these good people with us. I should have been happy, but above us, storm clouds were gathering, great, heavy, violent clouds obscuring the peaceful blue sky.

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