Master of Glenkeith Read Online Free
Author: Jean S. Macleod
turned to find the girl with the dark violet eyes standing a few paces behind him.
Framed in the ancient stone archway, with a strand of white-starred creeper almost touching her cheek and the soft dark hair that had fallen over her eyes as she had run in pursuit of the children swept backwards from a clear, high brow, she looked different—older somehow. The cut of her dress was nondescript, but it curved over her young, high breasts and clung to the long, slim line of her figure with a certain attractiveness which Andrew sensed rather than saw, and her eyes were smiling now, gently and challengingly, as she looked at him.
“Are you Mr. Meldrum?” she asked in a firm, clear voice that bore only the slightest trace of an accent. “Luigi said that you would come.”
Taken completely aback, Andrew could do nothing but stare at her for a full and uncomprehending second before she spoke again.
“I am Tessa Halliday. Luigi said that he had written to Scotland and that Mr. Meldrum’s son would come to fetch me.”
“His grandson,” Andrew corrected, feeling completely at a loss to cope with the situation. “I am—your guardian’s grandson.”
She was looking at him now with her head on one side, the dark-lashed violet eyes considering him with deepening interest until her smile flashed out, widening the too-generous mouth and setting the seal of an urchin cheerfulness upon her without the shadow of a doubt.
“I knew you would come!” she said. “I knew it was going to be all right.”
He felt awkward and decidedly uneasy standing there with the thought of Glenkeith flashing through his mind, but at that moment a small, rotund figure appeared in the doorway above them and Luigi Zanetti waddled down the steps to bid him welcome to Rome.
“I have told Tessa that you would come quite soon!” he beamed, holding out his plump hand. “And all day she is excited to know when it will be! Every time there is a cab come into the street she must run out for fear it will pass and you not knowing the way you are to come to the Villa Rosa!” He fussed round his visitor, leading the way up the steps, which were now alive with children. “Ah! the leetle ones, they are everywhere!” he said, his dark eyes glowing in his round perspiring face as he picked two of the youngest up in his arms and allowed a third to ride pick-a-back on his shoulders. “Never do you go anywhere in Italy where there are not a lot of children making a lot of noise, but always they are laughing!”
His own laugh was so infectious that Andrew found himself smiling in return, although he was all the while conscious of some cataclysmic event marching inexorably towards its destined end.
Luigi ushered him into the nearest flat.
“Ben venuto, Signori ,” he said. “It is not much, but it is my home!”
They entered a big, untidy room full of the smell of cooking and hung with children’s clothes. The small Zanettis had obviously been out in the rain before they had been stripped and put to bed for the midday siesta, and as yet the big bed in one corner of the room was unmade. A table in another corner was set for a meal, and Andrew noticed with relief that everything on it was scrupulously clean, from the lace-edged cloth, which was no doubt kept for christenings and other special occasions, to the last cup and saucer of motley design which adorned it.
“You will stay and eat with us?” Signor Zanetti invited, and Andrew was conscious of his own refusal like a cold douche of water flung in the face of impulsive kindness.
“I shall have to find an hotel,” he explained.
“You can go to your hotel afterwards.” The voice behind him was eager in its youthful insistency. “I will take you. It is not very far. There are many hotels on the
Corso from which to choose.”
Her English was perfect. Andrew found himself looking at Tessa and realizing for the first time that it was only natural, since she had a Scottish grandmother and a
Framed in the ancient stone archway, with a strand of white-starred creeper almost touching her cheek and the soft dark hair that had fallen over her eyes as she had run in pursuit of the children swept backwards from a clear, high brow, she looked different—older somehow. The cut of her dress was nondescript, but it curved over her young, high breasts and clung to the long, slim line of her figure with a certain attractiveness which Andrew sensed rather than saw, and her eyes were smiling now, gently and challengingly, as she looked at him.
“Are you Mr. Meldrum?” she asked in a firm, clear voice that bore only the slightest trace of an accent. “Luigi said that you would come.”
Taken completely aback, Andrew could do nothing but stare at her for a full and uncomprehending second before she spoke again.
“I am Tessa Halliday. Luigi said that he had written to Scotland and that Mr. Meldrum’s son would come to fetch me.”
“His grandson,” Andrew corrected, feeling completely at a loss to cope with the situation. “I am—your guardian’s grandson.”
She was looking at him now with her head on one side, the dark-lashed violet eyes considering him with deepening interest until her smile flashed out, widening the too-generous mouth and setting the seal of an urchin cheerfulness upon her without the shadow of a doubt.
“I knew you would come!” she said. “I knew it was going to be all right.”
He felt awkward and decidedly uneasy standing there with the thought of Glenkeith flashing through his mind, but at that moment a small, rotund figure appeared in the doorway above them and Luigi Zanetti waddled down the steps to bid him welcome to Rome.
“I have told Tessa that you would come quite soon!” he beamed, holding out his plump hand. “And all day she is excited to know when it will be! Every time there is a cab come into the street she must run out for fear it will pass and you not knowing the way you are to come to the Villa Rosa!” He fussed round his visitor, leading the way up the steps, which were now alive with children. “Ah! the leetle ones, they are everywhere!” he said, his dark eyes glowing in his round perspiring face as he picked two of the youngest up in his arms and allowed a third to ride pick-a-back on his shoulders. “Never do you go anywhere in Italy where there are not a lot of children making a lot of noise, but always they are laughing!”
His own laugh was so infectious that Andrew found himself smiling in return, although he was all the while conscious of some cataclysmic event marching inexorably towards its destined end.
Luigi ushered him into the nearest flat.
“Ben venuto, Signori ,” he said. “It is not much, but it is my home!”
They entered a big, untidy room full of the smell of cooking and hung with children’s clothes. The small Zanettis had obviously been out in the rain before they had been stripped and put to bed for the midday siesta, and as yet the big bed in one corner of the room was unmade. A table in another corner was set for a meal, and Andrew noticed with relief that everything on it was scrupulously clean, from the lace-edged cloth, which was no doubt kept for christenings and other special occasions, to the last cup and saucer of motley design which adorned it.
“You will stay and eat with us?” Signor Zanetti invited, and Andrew was conscious of his own refusal like a cold douche of water flung in the face of impulsive kindness.
“I shall have to find an hotel,” he explained.
“You can go to your hotel afterwards.” The voice behind him was eager in its youthful insistency. “I will take you. It is not very far. There are many hotels on the
Corso from which to choose.”
Her English was perfect. Andrew found himself looking at Tessa and realizing for the first time that it was only natural, since she had a Scottish grandmother and a