Clarissa's Warning by Isobel Blackthorn

Author:Isobel Blackthorn [Blackthorn, Isobel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Creativia
Published: 2018-11-29T22:00:00+00:00

Theories Tested

I phoned Mario the next morning, as early as I dare, and asked as politely and indifferently as I was able what caused him not to turn up at the property the other night. I thought we had agreed, I said. He sounded apologetic as he launched into a tedious explanation involving a prior engagement he had forgotten about, and how he had to rush out the door almost the moment he arrived home and left his phone on the kitchen bench by mistake. The scenario he painted sounded plausible but I did not believe one iota of it. Frustrated and a little let down, I cut in, swiftly changing the course of the conversation with, 'Have the workmen finished plastering those two rooms?'

There was a moment of silence in which he processed my question and answered in the affirmative.

'Good, because I am going to have to move on site.'

'What?! Why? You have an apartment!' Thankfully my phone was on speaker or I would have burst an eardrum.

'Sadly, the owner wants me out,' I said softly, not allowing his hysterical tone to influence my own. 'I cannot find an alternative.' I described my online efforts of the day before in a measured voice. 'I don't feel I have much choice. Other than to leave the island for the summer.'

'Okay, okay. No, don't do that,' he said, calming down. 'Progress will be much slower without you around. When do you need to move?'

'Two weeks.'

I heard him exhale.

'You won't like it.' He referred to the noise, the dust and the lack of privacy, power and water.

'There's a generator.'

'That's only for the cement mixers and power tools.'

'You mean, I can't use it?'

'No.'

'Why?'

'Because you would need to run it all night for a fridge and there'd be noise complaints.'

It was my turn to react and I all but gasped. Who was there in my street to complain about noise?

'And the men won't like it,' he added.

That, I could understand. There would at the very least be the matter of an extension cord running from the barn all the way into my rooms. As my mind scrambled to assimilate the lack of power, I told him I would find a way to deal with all the difficulties and I would keep looking for an alternative. Meanwhile, at least having me around at night would keep away intruders. He relented, but not before telling me I should paint the rooms first.

'Me?'

'My men are not painters. I can't get a painter in until all the work is finished. Painters always come in last.'

'Can't you make an exception?'

'I have my reputation to consider. The painters don't like it and neither do the others. Can you paint?'

Of course, I could paint. What self-respecting owner of a mid-terrace home in Colchester didn't know one end of a paintbrush from another? Although I had to admit privately that I had only tackled the bathroom in an Easter break, a small bedroom in another, and all I did was paint over what was already there.

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