The words il dottore brought me spinning round on her. ‘How do you mean?’ I asked. ‘What doctor?’
‘The one who come through this room when I am making the bed, signore.’ She looked pale and rather frightened. ‘He say that the signore is not to be disturbed. But the signore is not ill. Please — I do not understand.’
I took hold of her by the shoulders and shook her in my sudden, intuitive panic. ‘What did he look like — the doctor? Quickly, girl. What was he like?’
‘I do not remember,’ she murmured. ‘He came in from the balcony, you see, and he was against the light so that—’
‘From the balcony?’ So that was why the french windows had been open. Somebody had been in my room. ‘Tell me exactly what happened?’
She stared at me, her eyes very large. She was frightened. But I don’t think she knew quite why she was frightened.
‘What happened?’ I repeated in a more controlled voice, trying to calm her.
She hesitated. Then she took a breath and said, ‘It was whilst I was making the bed, signore. I had opened the windows to the balcony to air the room and then this man came in. He frightened me, appearing suddenly like that.
But he put his fingers to his lips and told me I was not to disturb you. He said he was a doctor. He had been called because you were taken ill, signore, and he had given you some medicine. He added that you had gone to sleep now and he had come out by way of the balcony because he was afraid the door might make a noise when he closed it and wake you.’
‘And he said he was a doctor?’