‘Signor Trelini must have had a very early start, no?’ the housekeeper said.
‘Er…yes,’ Keira said, glad she’d thought to ruffle the sheets on his side before she came downstairs.
‘You want some breakfast? I have bacon and eggs and—’
‘No, thank you, Marietta,’ she said quickly as her stomach started to heave. ‘I have to get to college. I have to finish some work for my final exhibition.’
Marietta peered at her. ‘Are you feeling all right? You look very pale.’
Keira swallowed once or twice until the rolling waves of nausea stilled. ‘I’m fine…really…I hate mornings. I never feel really human until about lunch time.’
‘The separation, it was hard on you, no?’ Marietta commented softly.
Keira felt tears rush to her eyes at the older woman’s empathetic tone. ‘Yes…yes it was but things are better now…’
‘You are nearly finished your Masters degree, yes?’
‘Yes,’ Keira said with a relieved sigh. ‘I just have to put the finishing touches to my portfolio of work and I’m done.’
‘You are a very clever girl,’ Marietta said. ‘Me, I cannot draw a straight line.’
‘My work is what you call abstract,’ Keira explained. ‘It’s not to everyone’s taste.’ Not my parents’, in any case, she tacked on mentally.
‘Ah, but it is a gift to be able to translate your thoughts and feelings on to a canvas, is it not?’
‘Yes, I guess so,’ Keira said, recalling how her painting had been almost cathartic at times. ‘But I don’t think about what I’m feeling all the time; I just feel the urge to paint and I paint.’
‘I feel the urge to cook,’ the housekeeper said with a grin. ‘But you are frustrating me for you do not eat. You are thinner than you used to be. You are not dieting, are you?’
‘No, I just haven’t been well for a few weeks,’ she said. ‘I got a bad stomach bug on top of the flu and haven’t really picked up since.’
‘You will be much better now you are back home,’ Marietta said confidently. ‘You were pining for him, no?’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ Keira said, suddenly realising
it was true. ‘I was pining for him…”
Keira lost track of time in the studio at college. She had been allocated a small studio which she shared with another Masters student, who fortunately was not working that day, so it was a treat to be alone.
She looked at her watch after what had seemed to her to be only an hour to find that it was close to six p.m. She quickly cleaned her brushes and, locking up the studio, caught the next tram.
Patrizio was waiting for her when she arrived, his expression tight with anger. ‘You are late,’ he said and, running his eyes over her, added, ‘and you are filthy.’
‘I was working on my portfolio, I lost track of time.’
‘You should have phoned.’
‘There isn’t a phone at the studio,’ she said, starting to feel irritated by his tone.
‘I have bought you a new mobile,’ he said. ‘It is charging in the kitchen. In future I would appreciate it if you would carry it at all times so you can let me know when you are going to be late.’
‘You didn’t come home at all last night and do you hear me bawling you out for not phoning to let me know what your arrangements were?’ she threw at him crossly.
‘You are not in a position to argue with me over my private arrangements,’ he said with an imperious look.
‘Your double standards make me sick,’ she said. ‘In spite of what you said to the contrary, you’re continuing your affair with that woman to make me jealous.’
‘Making you jealous would be a pointless exercise,’ he put in coolly. ‘You would have to be still in love with me for it to work, but you are not. You were not in love with me in the first place.’