The Padova Pearls. Lee Wilkinson
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I answered, he explained to me in very poor English that he was looking for a Signor Jordan. He had a package for him.’
‘What kind of package?’ Sophia asked curiously.
‘It was a parcel, about so big…’ The old lady sketched the size in the air. ‘I told him to go across the hall and ring the bell of your flat. Then I waited until I saw your father open the door and let him in.
‘He only stayed a couple of minutes, then left in the same taxi that brought him.’
Sophia frowned. Why hadn’t her father said anything about having a visitor? It was most unlike him. And, with so little happening in his life, he couldn’t have forgotten…
‘But, to get back to the young man who carried the shopping—’ Mrs Caldwell broke into her thoughts ‘—I’m surprised he didn’t ask you out.’
Stifling a sigh, Sophia remarked with determined lightness, ‘I’m afraid we’re just destined to be ships that pass in the night.’
‘But you were attracted to him.’ It was a statement, not a question.
Trying to dissemble, Sophia asked, ‘What makes you think that?’
‘Dearie, it was obvious.’
Feeling her colour rise, Sophia said, ‘For all I know, he’s married.’
She had judged him to be in his late twenties or early thirties, so it was odds-on that he was either married or in some kind of stable relationship.
Oh, surely not, when he’d invited her to have dinner with him…
But the fact that he’d asked her out didn’t necessarily mean he was unattached. Perhaps if he travelled a lot he took his pleasure where he could find it…
‘I happened to notice his left hand,’ Mrs Caldwell told her. ‘He wasn’t wearing a ring.’ With a sly glance, she added, ‘It’s high time you started to look for a husband.’
Sophia poured rice into a large cast-iron frying pan and began to stir in the stock. ‘I don’t know where to start looking.’
‘You know what they say—love is where you find it. All it takes is mutual attraction to spark it off.’ Then, thoughtfully, ‘There was something about the way that young man looked at you that showed he was attracted. Very attracted.
‘Oh, I know what you’re thinking…I only got a quick glimpse of you both together. But that’s all it takes. I felt sure he would ask you out. Perhaps tomorrow he’ll—’
‘He’s going home tomorrow,’ Sophia said flatly.
‘That’s a shame. One date might have been all that was needed to start a transatlantic courtship. An old-fashioned word, but a nice one, don’t you think?’
Before Sophia could answer, she went on, ‘It’s a pity you didn’t ask him to have supper with us.’
‘I only thought about it after he’d gone. Of course he might not have accepted.’
‘I rather fancy he would. When I heard the front door close, I looked out. He didn’t just walk away, you know. He stood under that tree for several minutes watching your window. In fact he’d only just disappeared when you came over.’
Sophia was filled with disappointment. If only she’d looked out and seen him there, she might have plucked up the courage to go and issue an invitation.
But it seemed it wasn’t to be.
CHAPTER TWO
PERHAPS Mrs Caldwell picked up that disappointment because she changed the subject by asking, ‘Are you showing your father’s miniatures?’
‘Yes. There’s plenty of space for them, and they’re some of Dad’s best work.’
‘My favourite is the one of the dark-haired girl in that beautiful blue silk ball gown. She’s wearing such exquisite pearls and holding what looks like a carnival mask…It always reminds me a little of you…’
Sophia knew the one she meant. It was another of her father’s portraits that particularly appealed to her. Judging by the gown and the hairstyle, it had been copied from a much older painting.
But when she had asked him where he’d first seen the original, he had replied that it was so long ago he’d quite forgotten.
‘When I mentioned to Peter how much I liked it,’ the old lady went on, ‘he told me that it was his favourite too…
‘I miss him, you know,’ she added abruptly. ‘I enjoyed the games of cribbage we sometimes used to play in an afternoon.’
‘I know he enjoyed them too.’
Her eyes suspiciously bright, Mrs Caldwell sat up straighter and demanded, ‘So how is the exhibition coming along?’
‘We’re all set to open tomorrow morning.’
While the paella finished cooking they talked companionably about the exhibition in particular and painting in general.
When the meal was ready, Mrs Caldwell suggested frivolously, ‘Let’s have a bottle of wine. There’s several in the rack. Make it a Rioja and we’ll pretend we’re in Spain.’
After they had toasted each other, they tucked into the paella, which the old lady declared to be the best she had ever tasted.
Warmed by her pleasure, Sophia put aside her low spirits and made a real effort to be cheerful. She succeeded so well that, after she had cleared away and stacked the dishwasher, they talked and laughed and played cribbage until almost eleven o’clock.
Suddenly catching sight of the time, she cried, ‘Good gracious, I’d better get off home and let you go to bed.’
With Mrs Caldwell’s thanks still ringing in her ears, she hurried back across the hall and unlocking her door, went inside and switched on the light.
The first thing she noticed were her keys lying just under the edge of the coffee table. She must have knocked them on to the floor when she’d moved the bag of shopping.
She had closed the door behind her and stooped to pick them up when a sudden strange, unprecedented feeling of unease made her stiffen and glance around.
Nothing seemed out of place and her handbag was where she’d left it, but a sixth sense insisted that something was wrong. Not as it had been.
But what?
Still puzzling, she dropped one set of keys into her handbag and put the spare ones back into the sideboard drawer, while she continued to look around.
Yes, that was it! At both the front window and the kitchen window at the side of the house, the curtains, which had been open, were now closed.
The fine hairs on the back of her neck rose and her skin goosefleshed as though a cool breeze had blown over it, while her thoughts flew backwards and forwards.
Someone must have been in the flat after she had gone across to Mrs Caldwell’s.
Impossible. There was only the old lady and herself in the house.
However, the fact remained that curtains didn’t draw themselves. And they must have been drawn for some specific reason.
It seemed to point to a burglar, or someone with nefarious intentions who hadn’t wanted to be seen by anyone passing.
But the back door was always kept locked and bolted and no one could come in the front way who didn’t ring one of the flats or have a key.
Yet someone had been in.
And perhaps still was.
Chilled by the thought, she shivered.
Then, nerving herself, she went to look, switching on lights as she went.
The