The Count of Castelfino by Christina Hollis

last gesture was always a quick glance at her house. It seemed to be directed straight at her. Meg was mystified. Something must alert him, yet he never confronted her about spying on him. That was stranger still. She knew enough about him by now to sense he wouldn’t keep a concern like that bottled up. He would have sought her out at work and said something. It didn’t happen. Meg suffered in silence, but it was no hardship compared to the alternative. That would be to give up her nightly vigils, which she would never— could never—do.
    Lying in bed listening to Gianni’s footsteps would be no substitute for watching the living, breathing reality of her fantasy man.
    Meg lived on in an agony of suspense for several more days. She supervised the last adjustments to the magnificent range of greenhouses she had designed without any more visits from Gianni. It was only when she was putting the finishing touches to the planting plan inside the greenhouse that the axe fell. Her mobile phone interrupted her while she was wiring some young orchid plants to an artistic arrangement of tree branches in the new tropical section.
    ‘Miss Imsey? The Count di Castelfino wants to see you in his office.’ It was one of Gianni’s personal assistants. Meg’s heart bounced like a ball at the request.
    ‘OK—when?’
    There was a shocked silence. Meg realised this must be the first time anyone had ever tried to keep Gianni Bellini waiting. The reply was terse, and to the point.
    ‘ Immediatamente , if not sooner!’
    Meg didn’t need any more of a warning. She ran to obey. Covering the distance between the old kitchen garden and the villa at top speed, she was still brushing chipped bark from the knees of her jeans as she dashed into the estate office. Its noisy hubbub fell silent in an instant. The eyes of every secretary and PA followed the journey of each small brown fleck of bark raining down from Meg’s clothes and boots. One woman, as beautiful as a bird of paradise, moved swiftly to sweep up all the bits with a dustpan and brush. A second secretary stepped forward holding a roll of perforated plastic. Chivvying Meg toward an impressive mahogany door labelled ‘Strictly No Admittance’, she knocked on it loudly.
    ‘Come in!’
    Meg had thought she was nervous. Hearing the rich,smooth sound of Gianni’s voice added an extra frisson to her fear. She froze.
    How the secretary threw open the door and bowled the roll of perforated plastic inside so casually, Meg had no idea. It uncoiled as an eighteen-inch-wide strip, protecting the highly polished wood floor of Gianni’s office.
    Meg was desperate to break the tension of her ordeal. ‘No red carpet for me, then?’ She giggled nervously to the secretary.
    ‘No, only a carpet protector,’ the woman snapped, shooing her along.
    Meg walked forward. Gianni was sitting behind a vast workstation at the far side of the room. With his back to the windows, head down and engrossed in his work, he presented an imposing figure. Meg wasn’t sure what to do. She looked back the way she had come. As she did so the door slammed shut. That cut off any hope of escape. Edging forward, she stopped a respectful distance before the end of the silver plastic road. There she knotted her hands together in an agony of guilt, and waited. It felt as though one end of her nerves were nailed to the tip of Gianni’s fountain pen. The further across the page his hand moved, the further they stretched.
    He was writing an extremely long sentence.
    Outside, swifts screamed across the sky. Dust motes spiralled up the shafts of sunlight thrown across the glassy floor of his office. The heat increased. Meg’s temperature rose. Outside, a dog barked down in the village. A clock ticked. The dog barked a second time. Beneath his desk, Gianni shuffled his feet.
    He was testing Meg’s nerves beyond endurance. Suddenly, she couldn’t stand it any more.
    ‘I’m sorry I’ve been spying on you out of my